Peeta

The afternoon sun behind us highlights burned out buildings and a seemingly endless debris field. Amazingly, the inhabitants of the city navigate the otherworldly devastation to go about their lives. Though this destruction occurred years ago, parts of Shanghai look like they were attacked only yesterday.

"People from many parts of the world have sought refuge in this city throughout history, but right now the Chinese from rural areas are coming here, desperate because they've lost their homes," our supervisor, Charles, explains. The truck we're riding in hits a bump, causing my grandfather to simultaneously brace himself against the door and fling his other arm out to try to protect me as though I were a child. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I'm just thankful for a drivable road.

"The food distribution workers have a kitchen," Charles explains. "And the medical team has a building with temporary shelters for the sick, but most of the refugees are living in the open air. They're resourceful and will make shelters and tents out of whatever materials they can find though."

"I'll be spending most of my time with the medical team?" my grandfather asks.

"Yes," Charles answers, "and Peter will work in food distribution if that's alright with you."

My grandfather nods.

I'd told Cai to meet me in a specific neighborhood in Hong Kong if we were ever separated, a neighborhood I remembered from letters my family had exchanged with my grandfather when I was a boy. The neighborhood was the last place he'd lived in China before he joined my grandmother in the US, having finally given up on being able to continue their work.

My grandfather and I hoped we'd at least go through Hong Kong, but we were told to travel directly to Shanghai instead. My feelings stretched out and tore raggedly between my desire to find my wife and the work I'd agreed to do, confusing me as to how honest I should be with my supervisors, my co-workers…and even myself. Normally I'd explain my situation, and they'd pray for me. They might assist me in the search, but something told me my situation wouldn't register as "normal" to anyone around me.

"So, our headquarters is in Hong Kong?" I ask tentatively.

"Yes," Charles answers. "Hong Kong is in much better shape than Shanghai, but there are refugees there also. Many, many refugees."

"Would I ever be needed in Hong Kong?" I ask.

My grandfather cuts his eyes over to me.

Charles takes the question in stride. "Maybe. They must have thought they needed you here more. Are you worried about working in Shanghai? Everyone is shocked at the suffering of these people, Peter, but the refugees in Hong Kong have similar stories."

"No. No, I want to be where I'm needed, Charles."

My grandfather nods his head approvingly, and I try to prepare myself to jump into my work wholeheartedly. Motivation proves easy to find as I watch the sad eyed refugees wind through the food distribution line. The children hold tightly to a parent's clothing to avoid being lost in the crowd. Each person has a bowl they bring with them into the line, and I fill it with soup. Further down the line they're given some rice. I feel an empathy I would never have known had I not been MIA and then a POW in China. I watch the children especially, hoping each of them survives this critical time in their lives and wondering how they'll fare in the coming years.

Charles stays nearby, teaching me more about my job until he overhears two men screaming at each other. Suddenly one throws a punch at the other, dropping two bowls of soup on the woman and child beside them in the process. Charles intervenes by pulling the two men apart while I rush to the woman and her child. The soup wasn't hot enough to burn them, and as the crowd backs away they follow. The larger of the two men calls Charles a vile name.

"Take your hands off me! You shouldn't even be here," he says, throwing his hand up as if to invite others to comment.

"At least they have food," the other man yells back.

"Not enough! And they control it! We should decide when and how to give it to people!" The larger man counters.

Charles stays quiet, apparently waiting to see what will happen next.

While most of the crowd continues to stay back a few Chinese men gather around Charles, and I'm unsure if they intend to protect Charles or join the angry man's cause.

"We don't need foreigners telling us how to do anything! We throw out one army, and they bring in another. This one has no uniforms but is still dangerous," the angry man continues. Several Chinese men nearby try to calm the angry man, reminding him that we need to get everyone fed and that Charles is making sure that happens. The men closest to Charles grow closer to him, facing away from him rather than toward him. I take a deep breath, certain now that the crowd is siding with Charles. Soon the angry man is coaxed away by several people who appear to be his friends, and food distribution resumes.

By the time food distribution ends we have only enough time to clean-up before bed. I spend the rest of the evening in the kitchen washing dishes and then settle into a cot in the room I will be sharing with four others. Charles is staying here for the night also, sleeping on a nearby cot.

"What do you think of that man who was so angry during dinner?" I ask him.

"I think he's right to be afraid, but he's attacking the wrong people," Charles answers. "There are those who would take advantage of how devastated China has been by this war. China has fought so long, and there's still no peace. But our group? We are the wrong people to fear."

A lump comes up in my throat when Charles asks me how he can pray for me. Of course, I'm hesitant to share the thoughts closest to my heart, so I ask him to pray that I will readjust to life in China easily and can focus on the tasks at hand.

Cai

We're sleeping under the stars every night surrounded by a throng of people, and I don't like it.

"This is the worst place we've been," I argue. As usual, Ping disagrees.

"At least they are giving away some food," he says.

"Some of the people here are sick. Peeta would say that's bad," I tell him.

"Are you ever going to stop following everything Peeta told you like a duckling following its mother? You do realize that many things have changed since Peeta drew that map for you, Cai. Besides, if you go to a big city where many people are gathered there are going to be some sick ones."

"Being around sick people can make us sick, Ping. That hasn't changed."

Ping sighs, which is his general response to anything I say lately. He changes the subject.

"What can we sell? If you want to move on we have to buy food."

I push my hand against my shirt and feel the gold rings hanging from the string around my neck, pressing them against my body. Unlike when they were buried in the ground at home, they might be of some of value here. We do have to find the right buyer, which might be difficult. And I don't want to sell them. In my mind they are Peeta's. I certainly can't sell Peeta's carving of a Katniss leaf, which I also have hidden in my clothing. It means even more to me, and nobody would want it anyway.

"We have to sell them," Ping says, not even explaining what items he means, but I know he's referring to the rings.

"No!"

"Cai, don't you think Peeta would want you to buy food with whatever money you can get from those rings?"

"Sell the gun," I whisper harshly, trying to make sure nobody overhears the word "gun."

Ping recoils.

"No, it's worth more because it can help us if we get into trouble on the way to the next city."

"I still don't believe you know how to shoot it!"

"I do. Besides, just pointing it at some people is enough to stop them. Not soldiers but just thieves. They don't know how well I can shoot it."

I glare at Ping.

"So you admit it! You don't know how to shoot it," I accuse.

"I didn't say that. You're getting loud. Somebody might understand what we are saying."

"Sell it," I repeat.

"No. Peeta gave it to me. Stop acting like a child. You should do as I say. What kind of woman are you? I've done nothing but try to make sure you were safe ever since the morning I came to tell you about the soldiers coming to our landlord's house."

"And why did you do that, Ping? Why did you care? You had your own family to care for, didn't you?"

He glares at me this time.

"I hid my wife first," he says, sounding wounded. "They found her anyway, just like they found you."

I turn away, feeling as though I've gone too far. Mentioning Ping's wife was unfair. It'd be like him saying I hadn't tried to keep Min or my mother safe.

"After my wife was hidden I thought of my neighbors," he says. "Maybe I shouldn't have."

"No," I tell him. "I'd be dead if you hadn't warned us. I can't sell the rings though. Not for anything."

Ping's friend's baby cries softly, almost weakly, while lying beside his mother. Ping shakes his friend's shoulder, waking her to care for the child.

"We'll decide tomorrow," he says to me.

Peeta

The soup line seems even longer today. I'm listening to Charles talk to the head cook when I get a glimpse of Cai out of the corner of eye.

Am I imagining her?

I take a step away from Charles and closer to the section where Cai is sitting. She looks similar to during the winter we spent together. She's sitting in a way that allows me to see her profile, and I another step to get a better look. My heart begins to race. My legs feel like jelly. The shock of seeing her and my jelly legs prevent me from running to meet her.

Is that really her? It's possible she's like a mirage in the desert, something beautiful but unreal in place of suffering.

Then I see that she's talking to someone, and as my eyes peer around more faces in the crowd I see who it is…Ping, the landlord's servant. He looks thinner and paler but definitely recognizable. Scanning the area around them I can't see anyone else I recognize. Cai holds something in her arms, and when she turns I see the small bundle…the very, very small bundle. My heart sinks. Ping leans over to peer at the bundle, concern flashing on his face. He's holding two bowls in his hand, and he sits back down a moment later, presumably to continue waiting until their area of the camp is called to the food line. Cai turns a little more and I can see the dark hair of the infant over the edge of a ragged piece of cloth. Suddenly terrified she'll see me I slide back behind the cook and Charles.

My eyes close spontaneously. I drop the ladle I'm holding. Charles calls my name, but my head is calculating. The baby is so small…not just small but young. It couldn't be mine, making the obvious explanation clear. The baby has to be Ping's. Cai has found someone. A man who is Chinese and someone who shares her world, language, and culture. They also share a child now, and I can't interfere with that. She probably believes that I'm dead or have moved on from what we had together. Who could blame her for believing that even if by some miracle she actually preferred me?

Charles' voice suddenly registers as a question in my addled mind.

"We've got a long line forming here, Peter. What's wrong?"

"I need you to cover for me," I tell him, my voice unsteady.

He looks around.

"I don't think we can spare you. Is there something else I can do?"

"Uh, no. No. I'll just keep going," I tell him, gathering all my strength and hoping Cai's section won't be called before I can mentally prepare for the possibility that she or Ping might recognize me.

We serve two sections of refugees before I can't take it anymore. Attributing my behavior to exhaustion from traveling and learning a new job Charles sends me to lie down and instructs me to tell my grandfather I'm feeling poorly when I see him. I didn't look in Cai's direction again. That night I plan and pray and shed more silent tears than I thought possible. My roommates remain unaware, or are at least quiet if they notice. I wake up early, finding Charles downstairs getting ready for the trip back to Hong Kong.

"Charles, I have a favor to ask you," I say.

He presses his lips together, no doubt wondering what I am about to ask in light of my conduct yesterday. He probably thinks I'm going to ask to go home, an expensive proposition.

"There is a couple here in the camp with their infant who I knew when I was in China during the war," I begin. My heart's racing now. So much depends on this man's reaction. "Without this couple's help I don't think I would have survived. Obviously they've had a difficult time because Shanghai is a long way from their home."

Charles puts down the clothing he's holding, obviously intrigued by my story.

"I want to help them," I continue. "to send them wherever they would be safest. I'm willing to use whatever I have personally to do that, but I don't want them to know I'm the one who helped."

Charles furrows his brow. "So, you want me to take them to Hong Kong?" He asks.

"I want you to do whatever you think will make them safest and give them the best chance," I answer.

"You know if we start plucking individual families out of the camp and treating them differently because somebody knows them we could start all kinds of trouble, Peter."

"This is a very special situation."

"I'm sure you understand that they'll have to know that it wasn't the mission board who helped them in this way," he says. "So what's your plan for what to tell them?"

I shrug.

"I don't know." My voice finally breaks. "I don't know what to say. They just can't know that I'm here or that any help is coming from me."

"We can't lie to them. That'd be wrong, Peter."

"Then tell them the money came from America but was specifically given for them and that someone recognized them in the camp."

Charles shakes his head.

"That doesn't seem right, Peter. Besides they'll want to know who recognized them. Why don't you just tell about all this yourself and see them off to Hong Kong or wherever they want to go. Don't you want to talk to them? It sounds like they are really important to you."

Charles encourages me to take a few hours to think and pray about how to handle the situation, but my mind's made up. If Charles won't help me I'll find someone who will, and I might even ask to go home. What I won't do is allow Cai and Ping to find out I'm here.