After she’d quickly cleaned the fish and wrapped them in leaves, they gathered up their bundles and hurried to the house as the rain pelted them. It might’ve been fun, if it hadn’t been his real life. Just an adventure for a few hours, with a charming girl and a fulfilling future elsewhere. The door was jammed, but Lucy Gray bumped it with her hip and it swung open. They scrambled in out of the wet and dropped their belongings. It was only one room, with concrete walls, ceiling, and floor. There was no sign of electricity, but light came through the windows on four sides and the single door. His eyes lit on the fireplace, full of old ashes, with a neat pile of dried wood stacked beside it. At least they wouldn’t have to forage for that.
Lucy Gray crossed to the fireplace, laid the fish down on the little concrete hearth, and began to arrange layers of wood and twigs on an old metal grate. “We keep some wood in here so there’s always some dry.”
Coriolanus considered the possibility of just staying in the sturdy little house, with plenty of wood around and the lake to fish in. But no, it would be too dangerous to put down roots this close to District 12. If the Covey knew of this spot, surely other people did, too. He had to deny himself even this last shred of protection. Would he end up in a cave after all? He thought of the beautiful Snow penthouse, with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers. His home. His rightful home. The wind blew a splatter of rain in, peppering his pants with icy drops. He swung the door shut behind him and froze. The door had concealed something. A long burlap bag. From the opening poked the barrel of a shotgun.
It couldn’t be. Unable to breathe, he nudged the bag open with his boot, revealing the shotgun and a Peacekeeper’s rifle. A little more and he could recognize the grenade launcher. Beyond question, these were the black market guns Sejanus had bought in the shed. And among them the murder weapons.
Lucy Gray lit the fire. “I brought along an old metal can thinking maybe we could carry live coals from place to place. I don’t have many matches, and it’s hard to get a fire going from flint.”
“Uh-huh,” said Coriolanus. “Good idea.” How had the weapons gotten here? It made sense, really. Billy Taupe could have brought Spruce to the lake, or maybe Spruce had simply known about it anyway. It would have been useful to the rebels during the war, to have as a hideout. And Spruce had been smart enough to know he couldn’t risk hiding the evidence in District 12.
“Hey, what’d you find there?” Lucy Gray joined him and leaned down, pulling the burlap from the weapons. “Oh. Are these the ones they had in the shed?”
“I think they must be,” he said. “Should we take the guns along?”
Lucy Gray drew back, rose to her feet, and considered them for a long moment. “Rather not. I don’t trust them. This will come in handy, though.” She pulled out a long knife, turning the blade over in her hand. “I think I’ll go dig up some katniss, since we got the fire going anyway. There’s a good patch by the lake.”
“I thought they weren’t ready,” he said.
“Two weeks can make a lot of difference,” she said.
“It’s still raining,” he objected. “You’ll get soaked.”
She laughed. “Well, I’m not made of sugar.”
In truth, he was happy for a minute alone to think. After she left, he lifted the bottom of the burlap bag, and the weapons slid out onto the floor. Kneeling beside the pile, he picked up the Peacekeeper’s rifle he’d killed Mayfair with and cradled it in his arms. Here it was. The murder weapon. Not in a Capitol forensic lab, but here, in his hands, in the middle of the wilderness, where it posed no threat at all. All he had to do was destroy it, and he would be free from the hangman’s noose. Free to go back to the base. Free to go forward to District 2. Free to rejoin the human race without fear. Tears of relief flooded his eyes, and he began to laugh out of sheer joy. How would he do it? Burn it in a bonfire? Disassemble it and scatter the parts to the four winds? Throw it into the lake? Once the gun was gone, there’d be nothing to connect him to the murders. Absolutely nothing.
No, wait. There would be one thing. Lucy Gray.
Well, no matter. She would never tell. She wouldn’t be thrilled, obviously, when he told her there’d been a change of plans. That he was returning to the Peacekeepers and heading to District 2 tomorrow at dawn, essentially leaving her to her fate. Still, she’d never rat him out. It wasn’t her style, and it would implicate her in the murders as well. It would mean she could wind up dead, and as the Hunger Games had shown, Lucy Gray possessed an extraordinary talent for self-preservation. Plus, she loved him. She’d said so last night in the song. Even more, she trusted him. Although, if he ditched her in the woods to claw out an existence alone, no doubt she would consider that a breach of faith. He had to think of just the right way to break the news. But what would that be? “I love you deeply, but I love officers’ school more?” That wasn’t going to go over well.
And he did love her! He did! It was just that, only a few hours into his new life in the wilderness, he knew he hated it. The heat, and the worms, and those birds yakking nonstop . . .
She was certainly taking a long time with those potatoes.
Coriolanus glanced out the window. The rain had diminished to a sprinkle.
She hadn’t wanted to go by herself. Too lonely. Her song said that she needed, loved, and trusted him, but would she forgive him? Even if he deserted her? Billy Taupe had crossed her, and he’d ended up dead. He could hear him now . . .
“Makes me sick how you’re playing the kids. Poor Lucy Gray. Poor lamb.”
. . . and see her sinking her teeth into his hand. He thought about how coolly she’d killed in the arena. First that frail little Wovey; that was a cold-blooded move if he’d ever seen one. Then the calculated way she’d taken out Treech, baiting him to attack her, really, so she could whip that snake out of her pocket. And she claimed that Reaper had rabies, that it was a mercy kill, but who knew?
No, Lucy Gray was no lamb. She was not made of sugar. She was a victor.
He checked to see that the Peacekeeper’s rifle was loaded, then opened the door wide. She was nowhere in sight. He walked down to the lake, trying to remember where Clerk Carmine had been digging before he brought them the katniss plant. It didn’t matter. The swampy area around the lake was deserted, and the bank undisturbed.
“Lucy Gray?” The only response came from a lone mockingjay on a nearby branch, who made an effort to mimic his voice but failed, as his words were not particularly musical. “Give it up,” he muttered to the thing. “You’re no jabberjay.”
No question, she was hiding from him. But why? There could only be one answer. Because she’d figured it out. All of it. That destroying the guns would wash away all physical evidence of his connection to the murders. That he no longer wanted to run away. That she was the last witness to tie him to the crime. But they’d always had each other’s backs, so why would she suddenly think he might harm her? Why, when only yesterday, he’d been pure as the driven snow?
Sejanus. She must have figured out that Sejanus was the third person Coriolanus had killed. She wouldn’t have to know anything about the stunt with the jabberjays, only that he’d been Sejanus’s confidant, and that Sejanus was a rebel, while Coriolanus was a defender of the Capitol. Still, to think he’d kill her? He looked down at the loaded gun in his hands. Maybe he should’ve left it in the shed. It looked bad coming after her armed. As if he was hunting her. But he wasn’t really going to kill her. Just talk to her and make sure she saw sense.
Put down the gun, he told himself, but his hands refused to cooperate. All she has is a knife. A big knife. The best he could manage was to sling the gun onto his back. “Lucy Gray! Are you okay? You’re scaring me! Where are you?”
All she’d have to say was “I understand, I’ll go on alone, like I was planning to all along.” But just this morning she’d admitted she didn’t think she could make it on her own, that sh
e’d return to the Covey after a few days. She knew he wouldn’t believe her.
“Lucy Gray, please, I just want to talk to you!” he shouted. What was her plan here? To hide until he grew tired and went back to the base? And then sneak back home tonight? That didn’t work for him. Even with the murder weapon gone, she’d still be dangerous. What if she went back to District 12 now and the mayor succeeded in getting her arrested? What if they interrogated or even tortured her? The story would come out. She hadn’t killed anyone. He had. His word against hers. Even if they didn’t believe her, his reputation would be destroyed. Their romance would be revealed, along with the details of how he’d cheated in the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom might be brought in as a character witness. He couldn’t risk it.
Still no sign of her. She was giving him no choice but to hunt her down in the woods. The rain had stopped now, leaving the air humid and the earth muddy. He went back to the house and scanned the ground until he found the slight imprint of her shoes, then followed her tracks until he reached the brush where the woods began again in earnest and quietly made his way into the dripping trees.
Bird chatter filled his ears, and the overcast sky made visibility poor. The underbrush concealed her footprints, but somehow he felt he was on the right track. Adrenaline sharpened his senses, and he noticed a snapped branch here, a scuff mark in the moss there. He felt a bit guilty, frightening her this way. What was she doing, quivering in the bushes while she tried to suppress her sobs? The idea of life without him must be breaking her heart.
A patch of orange caught his eye, and he smiled. “I don’t want you to lose me,” she’d said. And he hadn’t. He pushed through the branches and into a small clearing canopied by trees. The orange scarf lay across some briars, where it had apparently blown loose and snagged as she fled. Oh, well. It confirmed he was on the right track. He went to retrieve it — maybe he’d keep it after all — when a faint rustle in the leaves pulled him up short. He’d just registered the snake when it struck, uncoiling like a spring and digging its teeth into the forearm extended toward the scarf.
“Aa!” he screamed in pain. It released him immediately and slithered into the brush before he even had a chance to get a good look at it. Panic set in as he stared at the red, arched bite mark on his forearm. Panic and disbelief. Lucy Gray had tried to kill him! This was no coincidence. The trailing scarf. The poised snake. Maude Ivory had said she always knew where to find them. This was a booby trap, and he’d walked straight into it! Poor lamb, indeed! He was beginning to sympathize with Billy Taupe.
Coriolanus knew nothing about snakes, other than the rainbow ones in the arena. Feet rooted to the ground, heart racing, he expected to die on the spot, but while the wound hurt, he was still standing. He didn’t know how long he might have, but by all things Snow, she was going to pay for this. Should he tie off the arm with a tourniquet? Suck out the venom? They hadn’t done survival training yet. Afraid his first aid treatments might only spread the poison more swiftly through his system, he yanked his sleeve down over his forearm, pulled his rifle off his shoulder, and started after her. If he’d felt better, he’d have laughed at the irony of how quickly their relationship had deteriorated into their own private Hunger Games.
She wasn’t so easy to track now, and he realized the earlier clues had been left to lead him directly to the snake. But she couldn’t be that far away. She’d want to know if the thing killed him, or if she should form another plan of attack. Maybe she hoped he’d pass out so she could cut his throat with the long knife. Trying to quiet his panting, he moved deeper into the woods, gently pushing the branches back with the nose of his rifle, but it was impossible to discern her whereabouts.
Think, he told himself. Where would she go? The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. She would not want to battle him, armed with a rifle, when she had only a knife. She’d return to the lake house to get a gun herself. Perhaps she’d circled around him and was headed there right now. He strained his ears and yes. Yes! He thought he could hear someone moving off to his right, retreating to the lake. He started running toward the sound and then stopped abruptly. Sure enough, having heard him, she was flying through the underbrush, realizing what he had realized, no longer caring if he heard her. He estimated her to be about ten yards away, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and released a spray of bullets in her direction. A flock of birds squawked as they took to the air, and he heard a faint cry. Got you, he thought. He crashed through the woods after her, branches and thorns catching his clothes and scratching his face, ignoring all of it until he came to the spot where he’d guessed her to be. There was no trace of her. No matter. She would have to move again, and when she moved, he’d find her.
“Lucy Gray,” he said in his normal voice. “Lucy Gray. It’s not too late to work something out.” Of course, it was, but he owed her nothing. Certainly not the truth. “Lucy Gray, won’t you talk to me?”
Her voice surprised him, lifting suddenly and sweetly into the air.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Yes, I get it, he thought. You know about Sejanus. “Necklace of rope” and all that.
He took a step in her direction just as a mockingjay picked up her song. Then a second. Then a third. The woods came alive with their melody as dozens joined in. He dove through the trees and then opened fire on the spot the voice had come from. Had he hit her? He couldn’t tell, because the birdsong filled his ears, disorienting him. Little black specks swam in his field of vision, and his arm began to throb. “Lucy Gray!” he bellowed in frustration. Clever, devious, deadly girl. She knew they’d cover for her. He lifted the rifle and machine-gunned the trees, trying to wipe out the birds. Many fluttered into the sky, but the song had spread, and the woods were alive with it. “Lucy Gray! Lucy Gray!” Furious, he turned this way and that and finally blasted the woods in a full circle, going around and around until his bullets were spent. He collapsed on the ground, dizzy and nauseous, as the woods exploded, every bird of every kind screaming its head off while the mockingjays continued their rendition of “The Hanging Tree.” Nature gone mad. Genes gone bad. Chaos.
He had to get out of there. His arm had begun to swell. He had to get back to the base. Forcing himself to his feet, he tramped back to the lake. Everything in the house remained as he had left it. At least he’d prevented her from getting back. Using a pair of his socks as gloves, he wiped off the murder weapon, crammed all the weapons back in the burlap bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and ran to the lake. Judging it heavy enough to sink without being weighted down with rocks, he plunged into the lake and towed it out into deeper water. He submerged the bag and watched it spiral slowly down into the gloom.
An alarming tingling enveloped his arm. A clumsy dog paddle carried him back to shore, and he staggered back to the house. What of the supplies? Should he drown those as well? No point. Either she was dead and the Covey would find them, or she was alive and she would hopefully use them to escape. He threw the fish into the fire to burn and left, closing the door tightly behind him.
The rain began again, a real downpour. He expected it would wash away any trace of his visit. The guns were gone. The supplies were Lucy Gray’s. The only thing that remained were his footprints, and those were melting before his eyes. The clouds seemed to be infiltrating his brain. He struggled to think. Get back. You must get back to base. But where was it? He pulled his father’s compass from his pocket, amazed it still worked after the dunking in the lake. Crassus Snow was still out there somewhere, still protecting him.
Coriolanus clung to the compass, a lifeline in the storm, as he headed south. He stumbled through the woods, terrified and alone but feeling his father’s presence beside him. Crassus
might not have thought much of him, but he’d have wanted his legacy to live on, and perhaps Coriolanus had redeemed himself somewhat today? None of it would matter if the venom killed him. He stopped to vomit, wishing he’d brought along the jug of water. He vaguely realized that his DNA would be on that, too, but who cared? The jug was not a murder weapon. It didn’t matter. He was safe. If the Covey found Lucy Gray’s body, they wouldn’t report it. They wouldn’t want the attention it brought. It might connect them to the rebels or reveal their hideout. If there was a body. He could not even confirm he’d hit her.
Coriolanus made it back. Not to the hanging tree, exactly, but to District 12, wandering out of a stretch of trees into a clump of miners’ hovels and somehow finding the road. The ground shook with thunder, and lightning slashed the sky as he reached the town square. He saw no one as he made it to the base and climbed back through the fence. He went straight to the clinic, claiming he’d stopped to tie his shoe on his way to the gym, when a snake had appeared out of nowhere to bite him.
The doctor nodded. “The rain brings them out.”
“Does it?” Coriolanus thought his story would have been challenged, or at least met with skepticism.
The doctor did not seem suspicious. “Did you get a look at it?”
“Not really. It was raining, and it moved fast,” he answered. “Am I going to die?”
“Hardly,” the doctor chuckled. “It wasn’t even venomous. See the teeth marks? No fangs. Going to be sore for a few days, though.”
“Are you sure? I threw up, and I couldn’t think straight,” he said.
“Well, panic can do that.” She cleaned the wound. “Probably leave a scar.”
Good, thought Coriolanus. It will remind me to be more careful.
She gave him several shots and a bottle of pills. “Come by tomorrow, and we’ll check it again.”
“Tomorrow I’m being reassigned to District Two,” replied Coriolanus.
“Visit the clinic there, then,” she said. “Good luck, soldier.”
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Page 46
