#unintentionally found a way to weave in her very first para look at that

[poppy-battenberg]

one for the rebel

This war was never about just you. 

You traversed the nation, you met the people, you fought for the people.

You hear the explosion as you kiss your sister’s forehead. And you pause, then you tell her to go back to sleep.

You tell you brother to block the doors behind you. You grab the backpack you left by the door. Your father hands you a knife.

You once thought this war was not about you. But it is.

You are the people. 

When the Games ended, the Battenbergs left. This time it was not just Poppy heading out on a train across the country, it was all that was left of them. Each had a duffel bag. Hers had several knives tucked away, her brother’s was weighed down with books, her sister had family photos slipped out of their frames, and her father’s was filled to the brim with the clothes his children were too foolish to think to remember. In a separate car, tucked away from the District Twelve team, Tarta Battenberg brought his children home. 

There was an empty apartment above a now defunct butcher shop. It was covered in dust, but that gave the family something to do when they arrived. Ian dusted, Sara unpacked, and Tarta and Poppy met with her father’s old friend that secured them the place to stay. It was not a safe house, but it was far from the Capitol. Poppy didn’t yet know what was to come, but she knew nothing good would come staying near her aunt’s mansion now. And she hoped it might be nice for her father to see his home again.

It did not take long for the rebels to find her. A note was slipped under the door while the whole family was asleep. Tarta slept in an armchair, Poppy slept on a couch, and Ian and Sara each got one of the two bedrooms. Tarta woke first, and left the note on Poppy’s pillow. 

The first meeting was in the Seam. Never before had Poppy witnessed such a state of poverty. The smells were worse than any back alley she’d ever stumbled through. Even the stables and barns of Nine were better. At least there was something fresh, even about the manure. She gasped when she saw a makeshift gurney carried out of one shack, with a girl no older than her sister lying dead on it. Her face was pale and her stomach knotted when she arrived to the meeting. No one asked her what ghost she saw. She was a Capitol-raised woman in the Seam. She was prepared for blood and gore; she was not prepared for the much crueler death of starvation.

Once a week, for three weeks, she walked through the Seam. The stench always hit her hard, and she was convinced it grew more rotten by the day. Her sister and brother begged her for details when their father was not around, but she told them nothing. She did not like to think of it when she was not there. 

On September 12th, Poppy woke up before dawn. She’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Her father, blissfully unaware and ruining his back, was sound asleep in the armchair. She dressed, and washed her face in the cold water that never got warm. Her brother kept complaining about it. She packed another set of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste and towel, and a full bottle of water. There was a small first aid kit tucked in the front pocket of the bag, and four knives were carefully strapped to her thighs. 

When she opened the window to see a line of miners in the distance walking away from the mines, she heard her father stir. He moved slowly, but she stayed standing with the blinds open for him to see. Soon, a group of Peacekeepers were heading for the mines. Her father asked her what was happening. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t tell. Poppy told him to get the window boarding out of the closet. They would need it.

Poppy sat with her father as they ate a meal of toasted stale bread and jelly. She didn’t want to be hungry when she left. She did not know what lied on the other side of the door. 

Ian awoke before Sara. Poppy hugged him and told him to start reading slower or he’d run out of books by the end of the week. She went into Sara’s room and gently pushed some of the hair off her warm forehead. She leaned down to whisper good-bye and kiss her sister’s head, but a loud bang and a shake of the house woke the younger girl. 

“Go back to sleep,” Poppy said quietly, placing a hand on her sister’s cheek. “It was thunder.”

Sara’s head slowly fell back to the pillow, and Poppy closed the door softly behind her. Every movement that came next was quick, deliberate, sharp. She barely looked at her brother or her father as she retrieved her backpack. She did not want to see them watch another member of their family walk out the door and possibly never come back. 

There was a tap on her arm, and her father was carefully holding out a knife toward her. He did not look as if he actually knew how to use it, and she didn’t know who gave it to him, but she took it. She took it, and shut the door behind her. The staircase leading down to the first floor was dark, damp, and quiet. She had to slow her pace only so she wouldn’t tumble down. 

When she opened the door, the first thing she smelled was burning. She didn’t know what was burning, but it stung her nostrils and her eyes. She did not look back up at the apartment behind her, running out quickly instead across the merchants’ quarters to join familiar faces as they overtook a Peacekeeper vehicle. There was no room inside, and she instead clung to the grates on the roof with another rebel holding tight to her waist out an open door. Peacekeepers began to march across the square, raising their guns. She vividly remembered when she was tased. Titaniara left her there, to nearly choke on her own vomit, without a second thought. 

The Peacekeepers split up to make way for one of their vehicles. Through the windshield, she did not see the sharp, harsh helmets of the robots. They were human faces, with guns trained out the window. 

“OUT!” Poppy screamed, using the bottom of her knife handle to bang on the top of the truck. “OUT! OUT! OUT!”

She leapt off the truck and tucked up as tight as she could. She dropped the knife to avoid cutting herself as she rolled, and she was followed by two others from the truck. One strap on her backpack completely tore, and pulled off enough fabric to send her things spilling on the ground. She left the bag, grabbed the knife from the hard-packed dirt, and ran. She went for the Seam, sucking in the ash and stench and trying her best not to hack up a lung as she sought refuge. 

Another rebel grabbed her arm and pulled her down a path that led to the Hob. She’d only ever been told this was the way to the Hob, never actually been this way. There was no time to see what was around her. The ash was filling the sky, blocking the sun and leaving a shadow over everything. A long table was quickly moved, a shovel was used to scrape away some dirt, and a wooden door was revealed. Poppy didn’t question, just followed the rebel she now trusted with her life down into the hidden cellar. 

The door slammed shut, and a candle lit up. There were four of them there, and Poppy was the only one who didn’t have to crouch down to fit. The one who led her down, a woman she now recognized as Linta from the meetings, placed a finger to her lips. Poppy nodded, and had to clasp a hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her coughs. When there was noise above, they all sat down. They stayed quiet amid banging, and shooting, and screaming above. It lasted for a long time. So long the tickle completely diminished from Poppy’s throat, and she was hungry again. Not a single one of them spoke, instead all looked up repeatedly at the door. One loud bang was too close for comfort, and made the wooden door shake and dirt slipped through the cracks. But it stayed closed.

Things went quiet. And still, they stayed. It was not until Linta finally cleared her throat that Poppy felt like she could breathe with her mouth open again. When they tried to open the door, it was weighed down. It took all four of them to push against it and get it open under the weight of a table that had fallen on it. Everything was dark around them. When Poppy tried to take a step, she felt her feet land in something soft. She didn’t know what it was. Linta reached out in the dark to take her hand and guide her. She knew Twelve like the back of her hand, and wordlessly guided the rebel group through the overturned tables and chairs until they were on a narrow path. When Poppy looked up, she could still see a dark haze covering the sky, blocking out the moon almost entirely. She wondered if her father had dared to venture outside.

Poppy was expecting to be hit with the smell of the Seam, but instead the air seemed to clear. Tall, dark masses were stretching up around them. The trees weren’t thick, but they were densely packed. She tripped over some of the thin roots a few times. They’d probably been planted after the bombing, to try to replenish the air and vegetation. Linta came to a stop, and lit another match. A camouflage tent was set up, covered almost entirely by leaves and branches. She let the rebels inside, blew out the candle, and offered them each a can of cold soup in the dark.

For two days, they stayed there. Two at a time would leave the tent if necessary. Linta had a walkie-talkie that was turned on only at certain times to receive news. The mine bomb was successful, but the smoke and ash was worse than expected. Several rebels had been captured. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but the district leaders wanted to free them. Poppy volunteered to help Linta with the task. 

When it was dark, they moved out. No candle, no light, only Linta’s knowledge to guide them back to the square. Poppy did not question, only followed the older woman with a knife at the ready. It would be useless against a Peacekeeper’s gun, but it was all she had. Linta only had a knife and a hammer, but the latter would probably be useful that night. 

The closer they got, the more careful they had to be. Human soldiers and robotic Peacekeepers alike were patrolling everywhere. A carpenter near the jail left his window open on purpose, and one by one rebels slipped in for a safe space to reconnect before their attack. Poppy was to wait until the rebels were free, then help get them back to the Hob. Another group was waiting there to bring them all to a hidden safe house. A contingent armed with explosives left first, taking aim at the Peacekeepers as bullets began to fly. From the second floor, the carpenter had a rifle that he used to try to target the soldiers defending the jail. Two rebels slipped through the entrance, and that was all that was needed.

When the prisoners began to spill out, Poppy did not hesitate. She was the first one out the door, with Linta right behind her. They caught the attention of the group and started to run. Linta led them, and Poppy followed the group. 

A bullet tore through her skin. It was a graze, nothing punctured, but she began to bleed profusely immediately. And it hurt. She let out a yelp, and turned with her knife raised, forgetting guns were not close-range weapons. Whoever shot her was not there, but there was a soldier in an unusual uniform. She ducked and lunged, tackling him with a pained grunt. She dropped her knife to grab a hold of his gun and try to twist it out of his hands. He pointed the barrel at her forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

She wished she had time to laugh. She grabbed the barrel with both hands and shoved down, slamming the soldier in the middle of the forehead with the end of his own gun. She did it again, and again, and again, until she could tear the gun away from his limp hands. More shots were firing off, and she could hear people screaming all around her. There was a loud bang as the windows were suddenly blown out of the carpentry building. She quickly patted down the man’s vest pockets, found the magazine, and started to reload as she stood. She felt significantly more comfortable with a knife than this weapon, but she would take what she could get. Point and shoot. It couldn’t be that hard. She would need to brace for the recoil more than usual with her right arm weakened and still badly bleeding. 

Her ears rang with the first shot she fired. The group of rebels was long gone now, having followed Linta to what she hoped was safety. All that mattered now was for Poppy to get to safety, too. There was more concentration on the larger groups of rebels gathering in the square, but another one of those soldiers had spotted her. She fired, missed. Fired, missed. A Peacekeeper joined the soldier, and both took aim. She fired, hit the soldier, and didn’t waste time watching him drop. She ducked behind a sign for the train station and felt the entire thing shake as the Peacekeeper’s bullets tore through the posts. She stayed crouched down low and moved quickly, rounding the building as the Peacekeeper unleashed another round of bullets.

The chaos in the square was suddenly cut through with the blaring sound of the train horn. She watched the lights on the side go bright. It was a cargo train. Almost every car was filled with coal. The Capitol couldn’t waste that resource. She knew some rebels were targeting trains. With fighting so close, and with explosives so close, it had to leave before something else went up in flames. 

And she had to leave, too. She didn’t know a place where she could safely hide, not in this district that was so unfamiliar to her. She would be caught, and she would be executed. It didn’t scare her, not now as she crawled on belly and forearms along the shadow of the train tracks, leaving a trail of blood behind her. But her father did not deserve to see that. 

There was a rumble, and the squeak of wheels that were getting ready to start rolling fast. She let go of the gun and stood up just enough to hoist herself up into the last car. It was empty, aside from a few bins of coal secured to the wall. Her right arm gave way, and she collapsed halfway up. With a loud groan that echoed through the almost empty train car, she dug her left elbow into the floor and dragged herself in farther. She came to rest against the carts of coal. She managed to take her shoes off and tear up one sock into a makeshift bandage for her arm. She told herself to stay awake, at least until she saw sunlight. But once the fighting was out of earshot, the border between darkness and consciousness slipped away.

When she awoke, she was hungry, stiff, and in pain. At first she didn’t know where the pain was coming from. The world was blurry and golden and moving fast. She blinked several times, and finally started to push herself up. Her arm. Her arm was what hurt the most, and the golden blur soon had a red splotch in it. Her head hurt from the hunger and more. Probably the blood loss, too. She hadn’t thought, when it happened, that the wound was that bad. But her sock bandage was soaked through, and sticking to her skin. She didn’t dare try to peel it away. With only one sock on, she tied her sneakers back on.

A loud horn sounded through the air. Her attention quickly snapped to the scenery whipping by, rattling the open door of the car. She was on a train. She was on a train with goods heading to the Capitol. She was a rebel on a train with no way to get off until she was stationary. There would be Peacekeepers at the train station. She’d heard rumors from the other rebels in Twelve of the plans for the Capitol, for the Tower. There was no way they did not have Peacekeepers everywhere. 

And it was daylight now, with only one way out.

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she crawled to sit with her back against the wall right near the open doorway. Looking out at the scenery racing by, she started to get dizzy and feel nauseous. She lied down, back pressed against the wall as the air cooled and covered her skin in goosebumps. Then it was dark, and the air grew thinner. Poppy slowly sat upright, trying to focus. The train would be in the Capitol soon. She had to think fast. Looking down, she found she only had two knives remaining on her holsters. Her right hand was unsteady from the pain still resonating from the graze, but she hoped she could still keep a good grip. 

Poppy pressed her palms into the wall of the car as she stood up, and kept them there to steady herself. The train slowed, and she nearly toppled over with the sudden jolt of it braking. Through the wide opening, she could see her city sprawling out before her. She could see it ruined, with shattered glass and broken doors and toppled streetlamps and broken LED displays. 

The day was dawning on her city, and every reflection looked like it was on fire.

this was her city, was it not? battenberg city, they should’ve renamed it. renamed it for the blood spilled to get it.

Clever thoughts of a stealthy departure slipped her mind. She was in the last car, several yards away from where the last Peacekeeper was standing on the platform. She saw it before it sensed her body heat in the distance. She jumped from the train and raced down the concrete steps at the end of the platform. She used her left arm to balance herself as she climbed over the locked gate that said “employees only” in big, yellow letters. There was the now familiar sound of a gunshots, and she could heard them whizzing by and hitting other trains, hitting the tracks, hitting anything but her. She didn’t stay in a straight line, shifting quickly and randomly to avoid being locked in as a target. All those obstacle courses her coach made her do for agility in high school were paying off.

The gravel of the train tracks gave way to pavement, with garages spanning the length. Ahead of her was another “employees only” sign plastered on a large gate that separated the garages from a parking lot. She kept running. Even as she heard ambulance and Peacekeeper sirens begin to sound, she kept going. Even as she heard the echo of a crash. She did not stop until she was through the parking lot, beyond another gate, and finally back. She was really there. Really back in her city. 

She was tired and hurt and hungry, and she had nowhere to go. The only place she could run to now was the fight.

The once buzzing city was comparatively quiet, but her heart was beating fast enough to match the excitement of her nights out. 

bottle in hand, she was solo ahead of her group as she stumbled headfirst through the streets of the capitol.

Knives in hand, she walked solo over the debris now covering the streets of the Capitol. She followed the traveling sounds of sirens, screams, and shots.

she paused to stare up at a brilliant image of the young, new victor.

Hanging in the display window of a cybercafe was a picture of Nvidia Anderson. It was untouched, despite the window being entirely broken out. She hoped this war left that poor girl untouched.

the lights flashed across her skin like that was all they were meant to do. there was neon glowing where her blood should be flowing.

The siren lights flashed across her as she turned onto a main street. 

Rebels were ducking behind several overturned cars, using them as barriers as they occasionally shot bullets and projectiles at a group of soldiers and Peacekeepers. The officials had actual concrete barriers to protect themselves, and bulletproof vests and another hoard of weapons in their trunk. She could see it, because she came up behind them. One of the soldiers was starting to reload his gun when he saw her.

She grabbed at his throat and dug in her nails. She drew blood as he fought back, hitting her hard in the face with the side of the gun. She stumbled around the back of the car, hearing the distinctive clicking sounds as he went back to work. Her vision was blurry and the world was off-balance, but she still found her knives at her side. It took all her focus to maintain a grip and bring them down, hard and fast, into the backs of two soldiers taking aim at the rebels. She never saw if they fell or not.

There was a sudden searing pain through her skull.

the city was dark.