Coriolanus turned his back to the cage, leaning on the table with his hands, waiting.
“It’s like this,” said Sejanus, his voice rising with emotion. “Some of the rebels are leaving District Twelve for good. Heading north to start a life away from Panem. They said if I help them with Lil, I can go, too.”
As if questioning the claim, Coriolanus raised his eyebrows.
Sejanus’s words tumbled out. “I know, I know, but they need me. The thing is, they’re determined to free Lil and take her with them. If they don’t, the Capitol will hang her with the next lot of rebels they bring in. The plan is simple, really. The prison guards work in four-hour shifts. I’m going to drug a couple of my ma’s treats and give them to the outside guards. This medicine they gave me in the Capitol, it knocks you out like that —” Sejanus snapped his fingers. “I’ll take one of their guns. The inside guards are unarmed, so I can force them into the interrogation room at gunpoint. It’s soundproof, so no one can hear them yell. Then I’ll get Lil. Her brother can get us through the fence. We’ll head north immediately. We should have hours before they discover the guards. Since we’re not going through the gate, they’ll assume we’re hiding on base, so they’ll lock it down and search here first. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone. No one hurt. And no one the wiser.”
Coriolanus dropped his head and rubbed his brow with his fingertips, as if trying to collect his thoughts, unsure how long he could refrain from talking without seeming suspicious.
But Sejanus hurried on. “I couldn’t go without telling you. You’re as good to me as any brother could be. I’ll never forget what you did for me in the arena. I’ll try to figure out some way to let Ma know what happened to me. And my father, I suppose. Let him know the Plinth name lives on, if only in obscurity.”
There it was. The Plinth name. It was enough. His left hand found the remote and he pressed the NEUTRAL button with his thumb. The jabberjay resumed the song it had been singing earlier.
Something caught Coriolanus’s eye. “Here comes Bug.”
“Here comes Bug,” the bird repeated in his voice.
“Hush, you silly thing,” he told the bird, inwardly pleased it had resumed its normal, neutral pattern. Nothing to alert Sejanus there. He quickly snapped the cloth in place and marked it with J1.
“We need another water bottle. One broke,” said Bug as he entered the hangar.
“One broke,” said the bird in Bug’s voice, and then it began to imitate a passing crow.
“I’ll find one.” Coriolanus handed him the cage. As Bug left, Coriolanus crossed over to a bin where they kept supplies and began to dig around. Better to stay away from the other jabberjays while the conversation continued. If they started mimicking too much, Sejanus might wonder why the first bird had been so silent. Not that he really knew how the birds worked. Dr. Kay had not explained that to the group at large.
“It sounds crazy, Sejanus. So many things could go wrong.” Coriolanus rattled off a list. “What if the guards don’t want your ma’s treats? Or one does, and collapses with the other watching? What if the inside guards call for help before you get them in the room? What if you can’t find the key to Lil’s cell? And what do you mean, her brother will get you through the fence? No one’s going to notice him, what, cutting through it?”
“No, there’s a weak spot in the fence behind the generator. It’s already loose or something. Look, I know a lot of things have to go right, but I think they will.” Sejanus sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “They have to. And if they don’t, then they’ll arrest me now instead of later, right? When I’m wrapped up in something worse?”
Coriolanus shook his head unhappily. “I can’t change your mind?”
Sejanus was adamant. “No, I’ve decided. I can’t stay here. We both know it. Sooner or later I’ll snap. I can’t do the Peacekeeping work in good
conscience, and I can’t keep endangering you with my crazy plans.”
“But how will you live out there?” Coriolanus found a box with a new water bottle.
“We have some supplies. I’m a good shot,” said Sejanus.
He had not mentioned the rebels having guns, but apparently they did. “And when the bullets run out?”
“We’ll figure something out. Fish, net birds. They say there are people in the north,” Sejanus told him.
Coriolanus thought of Billy Taupe luring Lucy Gray to that imaginary outpost in the wilderness. Had he heard about it from the rebels, or had they heard about it from him?
“But even if there aren’t, there’s no Capitol,” Sejanus continued. “And that’s the main thing for me, isn’t it? Not this district or that. Not student or Peacekeeper. It’s living in a place where they can’t control my life. I know it seems cowardly running away, but I’m hoping that once I’m out of here, maybe I can think straighter and come up with some way I can help the districts.”
Fat chance, thought Coriolanus. It will be amazing if you survive the winter. He pulled the water bottle from its packaging. “Well, I guess all there is to say is I’ll miss you. And good luck.” He felt Sejanus moving in for an embrace when Bug came through the door. He held up the bottle. “Found one.”
“I’ll let you get back to your work.” Sejanus gave a wave and left.
Coriolanus went on mechanically covering and marking cages while his mind raced. What should he do? Part of him wanted to run to the hovercraft and erase jabberjay number 1. Put it on PLAY, then NEUTRAL, then RECORD, then NEUTRAL again in swift succession so that it would have nothing memorized but the distant shouts of the soldiers on the tarmac. But then what would his options be? To try to dissuade Sejanus from his plan? He had no confidence that he could, and even if he did, it was only a matter of time before Sejanus came up with another scheme. To rat him out to the base commander? He would likely deny it, and as the only proof lay in the jabberjay’s memory bank, Coriolanus would have nothing to back up his accusation. He didn’t even know the time of the breakout, so no trap could be set. And where would that leave him with Sejanus? Or if it got out, the entire base? As a snitch, an unreliable one at that, and a troublemaker?
He’d taken care not to speak while the jabberjay was recording so as not to incriminate himself in any way. But Dr. Gaul would get the reference to the arena, and she would understand the taping had been intentional. If he sent the bird to the Citadel, she could decide how best to handle the matter. Probably she’d put in a call to Strabo Plinth, discharge Sejanus, and send him home before he did any damage. Yes, that would be best for everybody. He dropped the remote into the bin of bird supplies. If all went well, Sejanus Plinth would be out of his hair in a matter of days.
The calm proved short-lived. Coriolanus awoke after a few hours’ sleep from a terrible dream. He’d been in the stands of the arena, looking down at Sejanus, who knelt beside Marcus’s wrecked body. He was sprinkling it with bread crumbs, unaware that a multicolored army of snakes was closing in on him from all sides. Coriolanus screamed at him over and over, to get up, to run, but Sejanus didn’t seem to hear. When the snakes reached him, he had plenty of screaming of his own to do.
Guilt-ridden and slick with sweat, Coriolanus realized he had not thought through the ramifications of sending the jabberjay. Sejanus could be in real trouble. He leaned over the side of his bunk and was reassured for a moment by the sight of Sejanus sleeping peacefully across the barrack from him. He was over-reacting. Most likely, the scientists would never even hear the recording, let alone pass it on to Dr. Gaul. Why would they bother to put the bird on PLAY? There was no reason to, really. The jabberjays had been tested at the hangar already. It had been a questionable act, but it would not result in Sejanus’s death, by snakes or otherwise.
That thought soothed him until he realized that, in that case, he was back to square one and in great danger for knowing about the rebel plan. Lil’s rescue, the escape, even the weak spot in the fence behind the generator weighed on him. That chink in the Capitol armor. The whole idea of the rebels having secret access to the base. It frightened and infuriated him. This breaking of the contract. This invitation to chaos and all that could follow. Didn’t these people understand that the whole system would collapse without the Capitol’s control? That they all might as well run away to the north and live like animals, because that’s what they’d be reduced to? It made him hope the jabberjay delivered its message after all. But if the Capitol officials did, by chance, hear Sejanus’s confession, what would they do to him? Would buying rebel guns to use against the Peacekeepers be cause for execution? No, wait, he hadn’t recorded anything about the illegal
guns. Only the part about Sejanus stealing the Peacekeeper’s . . . but that was bad enough.
Maybe he was doing Sejanus a favor. If they caught him before he had a chance to act, maybe he could get prison time instead of a more severe sentence. Or, most likely, Old Plinth would buy him out of whatever trouble he faced. Foot the bill for a new base for District 12. Sejanus would get kicked out of the Peacekeepers, which would make him happy, and probably end up with a desk job in his father’s munitions empire, which would not. Miserable, but alive. And, most importantly, someone else’s problem.
Sleep evaded Coriolanus for the rest of the night, and his thoughts turned to Lucy Gray. What would she think about him if she knew what he’d done to Sejanus? She’d hate him, of course. Her and her love of freedom for the mockingjays, for the jabberjays, for the Covey, for everybody. She’d probably support Sejanus’s escape plan entirely, especially since she’d been locked in the arena herself. He’d be a Capitol monster, and she’d run back to Billy Taupe, taking with her what little happiness he had left.
In the morning, he climbed down from his bunk tired and irritable. The scientists had flown home to the Capitol the night before, leaving his squad to its dull routines. He dragged through the day, trying not to think about how, in a couple of weeks, he should be starting an education at the University with a full ride. Choosing his classes. Touring the campus. Buying his books. As to the Sejanus dilemma, he’d accepted that no one would ever hear the jabberjay’s dispatch, and he should just corner him and throttle some sense into him. Threaten to report him to both the commander and his father and carry through on that threat if he persisted. He’d had enough of the whole idiotic thing. Unfortunately, the day offered no opportunity to present his ultimatum.
To make matters worse, Friday brought a letter from Tigris, chock-full of bad news. Prospective buyers and a lot of nosy people had been touring the Snows’ apartment. They’d received two offers, both far below the amount they’d need to move to the most modest apartments Tigris had seen. The visitors distressed the Grandma’am, who camped among her rosebushes in a great show of denial when they appeared. However, she overheard one couple, who were inspecting the roof, discussing how they could replace her beloved garden with a goldfish pond. The idea that the roses, the very symbol of the Snow dynasty, were to be demolished precipitated her
downward spiral into even greater agitation and confusion. It was worrisome to leave her alone now. Tigris was at her wit’s end and asking for advice, but what advice could he give? He had failed them in every possible way and could think of no road out of their despair. Anger, impotence, humiliation — those were all he had to offer.
By Saturday, he almost looked forward to confronting Sejanus. He hoped it would come to blows. Someone should pay for the indignities of the Snow family, and who better than a Plinth?
Smiley, Bug, and Beanpole were as eager to go to the Hob as ever, although they were getting tired of spending Sundays recuperating. As they dressed for the evening out, the bunkmates decided to forgo the white liquor for some fermented apple cider, which didn’t pack as much punch but still gave the drinker a nice buzz. The question was academic for Coriolanus, who had no intention of imbibing at all. He wanted a clear head when he dealt with Sejanus.
As they were leaving the barracks, they got roped into an extra detail by Cookie, and spent half an hour unloading a hovercraft full of crates. “You’ll be glad about it next weekend. Commander’s birthday party,” he said, and slipped them a quart bottle of what turned out to be cheap whiskey. It was a big improvement over the local brew.
When they arrived at the Hob, they barely had time to grab some crates and squeeze into a spot against the back wall before Maude Ivory danced onstage to introduce the Covey. Not great seats, but between Cookie’s whiskey and the fact that they could enjoy some of Ma’s treats instead of trading them, no one felt the need to complain, although Coriolanus privately regretted missing his time with Lucy Gray in the shed. He placed his crate practically on top of Sejanus’s so he would know if he tried to disappear again. Sure enough, about an hour into the show, he felt Sejanus rise and watched him move off toward the main door. Coriolanus counted to ten before he followed, trying to attract as little attention as possible, but they were near the exit and no one seemed to notice.
Lucy Gray began a downbeat number, and the Covey played mournfully behind her.
You come home late, Fall on your cot.
You smell like something that money bought.
We don’t have cash, or so you say.
So where did you get it and how’d you pay?
The sun don’t rise and set for you. You think so, but you’re wrong.
You tell me lies, I can’t stay true — I’ll sell you for a song.
The song grated on him. It sounded like another Billy Taupe–inspired number. Why didn’t she write something about him instead of dwelling on that nobody? He was the one who’d saved her life after Billy Taupe had bought her a ticket to the arena.
Coriolanus stepped outside just in time to see Sejanus rounding the corner of the Hob. Lucy Gray’s voice poured out into the night air as he skirted along the side of the building.
You get up late, Won’t say a word.
You been with her, that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t own you, so I’ve been told.
But what do I do when the nights get cold?
The moon don’t wane and wax for you. You think so, but you’re wrong.
You cause me pain, you make me blue — I’ll sell you for a song.
Coriolanus paused in the shadows at the back of the Hob as he watched Sejanus hurry through the open door of the shed. All five of the Covey were onstage, so who would he be looking for? Was this a prearranged meeting with the rebels to lock down their escape plans? He had no desire to walk in on a whole nest of them, and he had just resolved to wait it out, when the woman from the Hob, the one Sejanus had supposedly seen about the pocketknife, came out the door stuffing a wad of bills into her pocket. She disappeared down an alley, leaving the Hob behind.
So that was it. Sejanus had come to give her money for weapons, most likely those guns he was planning to hunt with in the north. This seemed as good a time as any to confront him, while the contraband was still hot in his
hands. He crept over to the shed, not wanting to startle Sejanus if he was handling a gun, his footsteps masked by the music.
You’re here, you’re not. It’s more than me,
It’s more than you, it’s more like we. They’re young and soft, they worry so. You coming or going, they need to know.
The stars don’t shine and shoot for you. You think so, but you’re wrong.
You mess with mine, I’ll hurt you, too — I’ll sell you for a song.
During the applause that followed, Coriolanus peered around the shed’s open doorway. The only light came from a small lantern, the type he’d seen some of the coal miners holding at Arlo’s hanging, positioned on a crate in the back of the shed. In its glow, he could make out Sejanus and Billy Taupe crouched over a burlap sack, out of which protruded several weapons. As he took a step in, he froze, suddenly aware of the barrel of a shotgun positioned inches from the side of his rib cage.
He drew in his breath and was beginning to raise his hands slowly when he heard the quick tap of shoes behind him and Lucy Gray’s laughter. Her hands landed on his shoulders with a “Hey! Saw you slip out. Barb Azure said if you —” Then she tensed, aware of the gunman.
“Inside” was all he said. Coriolanus moved toward the lamp with Lucy Gray holding tightly to his arm. He heard the cinder block scrape on the cement floor and the door shut behind them.
Sejanus leaped to his feet. “No. It’s all right, Spruce. He’s with me.
They’re both with me.”
Spruce moved into the lamplight. Coriolanus recognized him as the man who had restrained Lil the day of the hanging. The brother Sejanus had mentioned, no doubt.
The rebel looked them over. “Thought we agreed this was between us.” “He’s like my brother,” said Sejanus. “He’ll cover for me when we run.
Buy us more time.”
Coriolanus had promised to do no such thing, but he nodded.
Spruce redirected his barrel to Lucy Gray. “What about this one?”
“I told you about her,” said Billy Taupe. “She’s going north with us.
She’s my girl.”
Coriolanus could feel Lucy Gray clench his arm, then drop it. “If you’ll take me,” she said.
“You two aren’t together?” said Spruce, his gray eyes moving from Coriolanus to Lucy Gray. Coriolanus had been wondering this as well. Was she really going with Billy Taupe? Had she been using him, as he’d suspected?
“He’s seeing my cousin. Barb Azure. She sent me to tell him where to meet up tonight is all,” said Lucy Gray.
So she’d just lied to defuse the moment. Was that it? Still unsure, Coriolanus played along. “That’s right.”
Spruce considered it, then shrugged and lowered the gun, releasing Lucy Gray from its hold. “I guess you’ll be company for Lil.”
Coriolanus’s eyes fell to the cache of weapons. Two more shotguns, a standard Peacekeeper rifle like the ones they used in target practice. Some sort of heavy piece that appeared to launch grenades. Several knives. “That’s quite a haul.”
“Not for five people,” Spruce replied. “It’s the ammo I’m concerned about. Be helpful if you could get us some more of that from the base.”
Sejanus nodded. “Maybe. We don’t really have access to the armory. But I can look around.”
“Sure. Stock up.”
Everyone’s head snapped toward the sound. A female voice, coming from the far corner of the shed. Coriolanus had forgotten about the second door, since no one ever seemed to use it. In the pitch-blackness outside the lamp’s circle of light, he could not say if it was open or shut, or make out the intruder. How long had she been hiding there in the gloom?
“Who’s there?” said Spruce.
“Guns, ammo,” mocked the voice. “You can’t make more of that, can you? Up north?”
The nastiness helped Coriolanus place it from the night of the brawl in the Hob. “It’s Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter.”
“Trailing after Billy Taupe like a hound in heat,” said Lucy Gray under her breath.
“Always keep that last bullet somewhere safe. So as you can blow your brains out before they catch you,” said Mayfair.
“Get home,” ordered Billy Taupe. “I’ll explain this later. It’s not how it sounded.”
“No, no. Come in and join us, Mayfair,” invited Spruce. “We’ve got no quarrel with you. You can’t choose your pa.”
“We won’t hurt you,” said Sejanus.
Mayfair gave an ugly laugh. “’Course you won’t.” “What’s going on?” Spruce asked Billy Taupe.
“Nothing. She’s just talking,” he said. “She won’t do anything.”
“That’s me. All talk, no action. Right, Lucy Gray? How’d you enjoy the Capitol, by the way?” The door gave a small creak, and Coriolanus had the sense Mayfair was backing away, about to flee. With her would go his entire future. No, more than that, his very life. If she reported what she’d heard, the whole lot of them would be as good as dead.
In a flash, Spruce lifted his shotgun to shoot her, but Billy Taupe knocked the barrel toward the floor. Coriolanus reflexively reached for the Peacekeeper rifle and fired toward Mayfair’s voice. She gave a cry, and there was the sound of her collapsing to the floor.
“Mayfair!” Billy Taupe bolted across the shed to where she lay in the doorway. He staggered back into the light, his hand shiny with blood, spitting at Coriolanus like a rabid animal. “What’d you do?”
Lucy Gray began to shake, the way she had in the zoo when Arachne Crane’s throat had been slit.
Coriolanus gave her a push, and her feet started moving toward the door. “Go back. Get onstage. That’s your alibi. Go!”
“Oh, no. If I swing, she’s swinging with me!” Billy Taupe charged after her.
Without hesitating, Spruce shot Billy Taupe through the chest. The blast carried him backward, and he crumpled to the floor.
In the stillness that followed, Coriolanus registered the music coming from the Hob for the first time since Lucy Gray had finished her number. Maude Ivory had the entire warehouse caught up in a sing-along.
Keep on the sunny side, always the sunny side,
“You better do like he said,” Spruce told Lucy Gray. “Before they miss you and someone comes looking.”
Keep on the sunny side of life.
Lucy Gray couldn’t take her eyes off Billy Taupe’s body. Coriolanus grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” He propelled her to the door.
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
She opened it, and they both looked out. The coast was clear.
If we keep on the sunny side of life. Yessir, keep on the sunny side of life.
The whole Hob broke into drunken cheers, signifying the end of Maude Ivory’s song. They were just in time. “You were never here,” Coriolanus whispered in Lucy Gray’s ear as he let her go. She stumbled across the pavement and into the Hob. He slid the door shut with his foot.
Sejanus checked Billy Taupe’s pulse.
Spruce stuffed the weapons back into the burlap bag. “Don’t bother.
They’re dead. I’m planning to keep this to myself. What about you two?” “The same. Obviously,” said Coriolanus. Sejanus stared at them, still in
shock. “Him, too. I’ll make sure.”
“You might think about coming with us. Someone’s going to pay for this,” said Spruce. He retrieved the lamp and vanished out the back door, throwing the shed into darkness.
Coriolanus fumbled forward until he found Sejanus and pulled him out after Spruce. He forced Mayfair’s body into the shed with his boot and firmly closed the door on the murder scene with his shoulder. There. He’d successfully made it in and out of the shed without touching anything with his skin. Except the gun he’d killed Mayfair with, of course, no doubt covered in his fingerprints and DNA — but Spruce would take that when he left District 12, never to return. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the handkerchief scenario. He could still hear Dean Highbottom taunting him. . . .
“Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It’s the sound of Snow falling.”
For a moment he inhaled the night air. Music, some sort of instrumental piece, floated over to them. He guessed Lucy Gray had made it onto the stage but had not yet reclaimed her voice. Grabbing Sejanus by the elbow, he steered him around the shed and checked the passage between the buildings. Empty. He hurried them down the side of the Hob, pausing before they turned the corner. “Not a word,” he hissed.
Sejanus, pupils wide, sweat staining his collar, repeated, “Not a word.”
Inside the Hob, they took their seats. Next to them, Beanpole sat propped against the wall, apparently blacked out. On the other side of him, Smiley chatted up a girl while Bug killed the whiskey. No one seemed to have missed them.
The instrumental ended and Lucy Gray had pulled herself together enough to sing again, choosing a number that required all the Covey to back her up. Smart girl. They would likely be the ones to discover the bodies, since the shed was their break room. The longer she kept them all together up there, the better their alibi would be, the more time Spruce would have to get those murder weapons out of the area, and the harder it would be for the audience to place anything in time.
Coriolanus’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to assess the damage. He thought no one would much care about Billy Taupe, except Clerk Carmine maybe. But Mayfair? The only child of the mayor? Spruce was right; someone was going to pay for her.
Lucy Gray opened the floor to requests and managed to keep all five of the Covey onstage for the rest of the program. Maude Ivory collected money from the audience as usual. Lucy Gray thanked everybody, the Covey took a final bow, and the audience began to shuffle toward the door.
“We need to head straight back,” Coriolanus said quietly to Sejanus. They each threw one of Beanpole’s arms over their shoulders and headed out with Bug and Smiley trailing behind. They’d traveled about twenty yards down the road when Maude Ivory’s hysterical screams cut through the night air, causing everyone to turn back. Since it would have been suspicious to keep going, Coriolanus and Sejanus swung Beanpole around as well. Then, very quickly, Peacekeeper whistles blew, and a couple of officers were waving them back to the base. They lost themselves in the herd and did not speak to each other again until they’d reached the barrack, heard their bunkmates snoring, and snuck into the bathroom.
“We know nothing. That’s the whole story,” Coriolanus whispered. “We left the Hob briefly to piss. The rest of the night, we were at the show.”
“All right,” said Sejanus. “What about the others?”
“Spruce is long gone and Lucy Gray won’t tell a soul, not even the Covey. She won’t want to put them in danger,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll both be hungover and spend the day on the base.”
“Yes. Yes. Day on the base.” Sejanus seemed distracted to the point of incoherence.
Coriolanus grasped his face between his hands. “Sejanus, this is life or death. You have to hold it together.” Sejanus agreed, but Coriolanus knew he didn’t sleep a wink after that. He could hear him shifting around the whole night through. In his own mind, he replayed the shooting again and again. He’d killed for the second time. If Bobbin’s death had been self-defense, what was Mayfair’s? Not premeditated murder. Not murder at all, really. Just another form of self-defense. The law might not see it that way, but he did. Mayfair may not have had a knife, but she had the power to get him hanged. Not to mention what she’d do to Lucy Gray and the others. Perhaps because he hadn’t actually seen her die, or even had a good look at the body, he felt less emotional than when he’d killed Bobbin. Or perhaps the second killing was just easier than the first. At any rate, he knew that he’d shoot her again if he had it all to do over, and somehow that supported the rightness of his actions.
The next morning, even the hungover bunkmates made it to the mess hall for breakfast. Smiley got the scoop from his nurse friend, who’d been on duty at the clinic the night before, when they’d brought in the bodies. “They’re both locals, but one of them is the mayor’s daughter. The other one’s a musician or something, but not one that we’ve seen. They were shot dead in that garage behind the Hob. Right during the show! Only none of us heard it because of the music.”
“Did they find who did it?” asked Beanpole.
“Not yet. These people aren’t even supposed to have guns, but like I told you, they’re floating around out there,” Smiley said. “Killed by one of their own, though.”
“How do they know that?” asked Sejanus.
Shut up! thought Coriolanus. Knowing Sejanus, he could be one step away from confessing to a crime he didn’t even commit.
“Well, she said they think the girl was shot with a Peacekeeper’s rifle, probably an old one that got stolen during the war. And the musician was killed by some sort of shotgun the locals used for hunting. Probably two shooters,” Smiley reported. “They searched the surrounding area and couldn’t find the weapons. Long gone with the murderers, if you ask me.”
Coriolanus’s nerves unwound a bit, and he ate a forkful of pancakes. “Who found the bodies?”
“That little girl singer — you know, the one in the pink dress,” said Smiley.
“Maude Ivory,” said Sejanus.
“I think that’s it. Anyway, she freaked out. They questioned the band, but when would they have had time to do it? They barely leave the stage, and anyway no guns were found,” Smiley told them. “Shook them up pretty good, though. I guess they knew the musician guy somehow or other.”
Coriolanus stabbed a link of sausage with his fork, feeling much improved. The investigation was off to a good start. Even so, it could still be bad for Lucy Gray, having the double motive of Billy Taupe being her old flame and Mayfair having sent her into the arena. And once the arena was brought into it, could he be implicated? No one from 12 knew he was her new love except the Covey, and Lucy Gray would keep them quiet. Anyway, if she had a new love, why would either of them care about Billy Taupe? They might want to kill Mayfair, though, as a form of revenge, and Billy Taupe might try to defend her. Actually, that was not far from what had happened. But hundreds of witnesses could swear that Lucy Gray had been onstage for all but a brief period of the show. No guns had been found. It would be tough to prove her guilty. He would have to have patience, give things time to simmer down, but then they could be together again. In many ways, he felt closer to her than ever now that they had this new and unbreakable bond.
In view of the past night’s events, the commander locked down the base for the day. Not that Coriolanus had plans anyway — he would have to steer clear of the Covey for a while. He and Sejanus floated around, trying to look normal. Playing cards, writing letters, cleaning their boots. As they knocked the mud from the treads, Coriolanus whispered, “What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”
“I’ve no idea,” Sejanus said. “The commander’s birthday isn’t until next weekend. That was the night we were supposed to go. Coryo, what if they
arrest an innocent person for the murders?”
Then our troubles are over, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Coriolanus slept better that night. Monday the lockdown ended, and the rumor mill claimed that the murders had to do with rebel infighting. If they wanted to kill each other, let them. The mayor came on base and pitched a fit to the commander about his daughter, but since he’d spoiled Mayfair rotten and let her run loose like a wildcat, the feeling was he had no one to blame but himself if she had been keeping time with a rebel.
By Tuesday afternoon, the interest in the murders had died down to the extent that Coriolanus began to make plans for the future as he peeled potatoes for the next day’s breakfast. The first thing was to ensure that Sejanus had given up on the escape plan. Hopefully, the events at the shed had convinced him he was playing with fire. Tomorrow night they would have mopping detail together, so that would be the best time to confront him. If he didn’t agree to abandon the breakout, Coriolanus would have no choice but to report him to the commander. Feeling resolved, he peeled with such zeal that he finished early, and Cookie let him off for the last half hour of his shift. He checked the mail and found a box from Pluribus, loaded with packets of strings for assorted musical instruments and a kind note saying there was no charge. He put them in his locker, happy at the thought of how happy the Covey would be when it was safe enough to see them again. Maybe in a week or two, if things continued to settle down.
Coriolanus began to feel like his old self as he headed to the mess hall. Tuesday meant hash. He had a few extra minutes and went to pick up another can of powder for his rash, which had finally begun to heal. But as he came out of the clinic, a base ambulance pulled up, the back doors swung open, and two medics pulled a man on a stretcher from the back. His blood-soaked shirt suggested he might be dead, but as they carried him inside, he turned his head. A pair of gray eyes landed on Coriolanus, who could not suppress a gasp. Spruce. Then the doors swung shut, blocking him from view.
Coriolanus got word to Sejanus after hours, but neither knew what it meant. Spruce had clearly mixed it up with the Peacekeepers, but why? Had they connected him with the murders? Did they know about the escape
plan? Had they found out about the gun purchase? What would he tell them now that they’d captured him?
Wednesday breakfast, Smiley’s reliable nurse let him know that Spruce had died from his wounds during the night. She didn’t really know, but most people thought he’d been involved with the murders. Coriolanus went through the morning on autopilot, waiting for the other shoe to drop. At lunch, it did. A pair of military police officers came to their table in the mess and arrested Sejanus, who went without a word. Coriolanus tried to mirror his bunkmates’ shocked faces. Obviously, he parroted, there had been a mistake.
Led by Smiley, they confronted the sergeant at target practice. “We’d just like to say that there’s no way Sejanus committed those murders. He was with us all night.”
“We never were apart,” ventured Beanpole. As if he could have possibly known, blacked out as he’d been against the wall, but all of them backed him up.
“I appreciate your loyalty,” said the sergeant, “but I think this is about something else.”
A chill went through Coriolanus. Something else, like the escape plan? Spruce didn’t seem like he’d have spilled the news, especially because it could have affected his sister. No, Coriolanus felt certain his jabberjay had made it through to Dr. Gaul, and this was the fallout. First Spruce’s arrest, then Sejanus’s.
For the next two days, everything seemed to tumble forward, as he tried to reassure himself that this was in Sejanus’s best interest, as the bunkmates’ pleas to see their friend were denied, as the detention stretched on. He kept waiting for Strabo Plinth to descend in a private hovercraft, negotiate a discharge, offer to upgrade the entire air fleet for free, and whisk his errant son back home. But did his father even know about Sejanus’s predicament? This wasn’t the Academy, where they called your parents if you messed up.
As casually as possible, Coriolanus asked an older soldier if they were ever allowed to call home. Yes, everyone was allowed a biannual call, but only once they’d put in six months. All other correspondence had to be by mail. Not knowing how long Sejanus might be in lockup, Coriolanus scribbled a short note to Ma, generally informing her that Sejanus was in trouble and suggesting Strabo might want to make a few calls. He hurried
over to mail it Friday morning but was waylaid by a base-wide announcement calling all but essential personnel to the auditorium. There, the commander informed them that one of their own was to be hanged for treason that afternoon. One Sejanus Plinth.
It was so surreal, like a waking nightmare. In drill practice, his body felt like a marionette being jerked here and there by invisible strings. When it ended, the sergeant called him forward, and everyone — his fellow recruits, Smiley, Bug, and Beanpole — watched while Coriolanus was given the order to attend the hanging to fill out the ranks.
Back at the barrack, his fingers were so stiff he could hardly manipulate the uniform buttons, each one carrying the impression of the Capitol seal on its silver face. His legs had the same lack of coordination he associated with bomb time, but somehow he wobbled to the armory to collect his rifle. The other Peacekeepers, none of whom he knew by name, gave him a wide berth in the truck bed. He was certain he was tainted by association with the condemned.
As with Arlo’s hanging, Coriolanus was instructed to stand in a squad flanking the hanging tree. The size and volatility of the crowd confused him — surely, Sejanus had not garnered this sort of support in a few weeks — until the Peacekeeper van arrived and both Sejanus and Lil stumbled out in their chains. At the sight of the girl, many in the crowd began to wail her name.
Arlo, an ex-soldier toughened by years in the mines, had managed a fairly restrained end, at least until he’d heard Lil in the crowd. But Sejanus and Lil, weak with terror, looked far younger than their years and only reinforced the impression that two innocent children were being dragged to the gallows. Lil, her shaking legs unable to bear her weight, was hauled forward by a pair of grim-faced Peacekeepers who would probably spend the following night trying to obliterate this memory with white liquor.
As they passed him, Coriolanus locked eyes with Sejanus, and all he could see was the eight-year-old boy on the playground, the bag of gumdrops clenched in his fist. Only this boy was much, much more frightened. Sejanus’s lips formed his name, Coryo, and his face contorted in pain. But whether it was a plea for help or an accusation of his betrayal he couldn’t tell.
The Peacekeepers positioned the condemned side by side on the trapdoors. Another tried to read out the list of charges over the shrieks of
the crowd, but all Coriolanus could catch was the word treason. He averted his eyes as the Peacekeepers moved in with the nooses, and he found himself looking at Lucy Gray’s stricken face. She stood near the front in an old gray dress, her hair hidden in a black scarf, tears running down her cheeks as she stared up at Sejanus.
As the drumroll began, Coriolanus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the sound as well. But he could not, and he heard it all. Sejanus’s cry, the bang of the trapdoors, and the jabberjays picking up Sejanus’s last word, screaming it over and over into the dazzling sun.
“Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!”
