Chapter 1: 43rd Reaping

The foreman calls for quitting time in the fields. I pause in my harvesting of the grain, which District 9 is known for and begin my long walk back towards town and home. I'm only 16, but the child labor laws here are likely the least restrictive in all of Panem. Besides, my parents figured they could use the extra money.

That's all I really am to them: an extra pair of hands.

My name is Daniel Bernhardt. I am one of the top wrestlers on my team in school. Other than that, I might as well be invisible.

None of the girls seem to notice me, despite my stocky build. And my parents see me as the youngest of their seven sons. All the rest are past Reaping age.

But not me. And that's where I have to head now, to partake in the Reaping for the 43rd Annual Hunger Games. It is a sick contest meant to serve as everlasting punishment for the twelve districts of Panem rising up against the Capitol over a generation ago. 24 tributes, each a boy and a girl between the ages of 12 and 18 is sent into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. Last one standing becomes the Victor, and then a mentor to coach future tributes until they die.

Really, the Games have not been going on for long. And already, District 9 has made a respectable Victory Record for itself. As I make to stand with the other 16 year old boys, I notice the Peacekeepers bring our four Victors to the stage. All of them women. No man from Nine has ever returned from the Games alive, which is a shame. If myself or one of my wrestling buddies was Reaped, one of us could probably make a go of it, maybe even win.

The Mayor is now reading through the Dark Days speech, so I tune him out until he reaches the reading of Past Hunger Games for District 9.

"The Victor of the 19th Hunger Games: Mizar Aldjoy!" A middle-aged woman waves to the polite applause from the crowd. Really, it should not have taken nearly two decades for Nine to wrack up a win, yet here we are. Even District 12 got a win before us; their only one so far - a woman named Cassiope Fletch triumphed just about three years before Mizar.

"The Victor of the 27th Hunger Games: Laurel Flamsteed!" A woman in her early 30s smiles at the crowd. She won in a frozen tundra not unlike the one that Cassiope from 12 had to go through. She's the mother of two small children - one of the few Victors who has ever broken what is known as the Victors' Code. It forbids attachment, and that means no marriage and families, for one's own protection.

"The Victor of the 35th Hunger Games: Jomilee Lapworth!" Jomilee is only in her mid-20s, and very pretty. A lot of the boys in school like her. A few have even proposed, but the Code has forced her to turn them down. Such a shame. She could have her pick of a husband, if she really wanted to.

"The Victor of the 39th Hunger Games: Marian Green!" Our most recent Victor is scarcely 20, but she has a beaming smile. I like Marian's smile. It is almost motherly, although she would refuse to break the Code just as much as Jomilee.

All girls. No boy from 9 has ever won the Games. But I am hopeful. We have a rivalry with District 5. It's really a joke, but what we've noticed is that, whenever a District 5 tribute has won, a District 9 tribute has almost always won the following year. The year before Marian emerged victorious, a female tribute from 5, Porter Millicent Tripp (lord, what a name!) sustained a heavy neck injury to kill her final opponent and become Victor. Thornburn Clodowech, a male from 5, won the year before Laurel, just after the First Quarter Quell. And since James Logan, the boy from 5, won last year... I am more confident about Nine's prospects.

Until our escort, whose name I can't remember and don't bother to, reaches into the Girls' Reaping Bowl. "Dewda Earthscape!" A girl of 14 tremblingly takes the stage. No tribute under the age of 15 has ever won the Games. I already know that she is a casualty.

Then the boy is called. "Daniel Bernhardt!"

She picked me, I think in almost a stupor. Indeed, the Peacekeepers have to haul me up on stage. No one volunteers for me. Of course they wouldn't. Volunteers are rare outside of the Career districts. Some districts have never had a volunteer before.

Dewda and I are escorted into the Justice Building.


My family does not cry for me. As I suspected the wouldn't. The have six other sons, several already with wives and families. Most of my parents' grandchildren are sons, so the Bernhardt line is sure to continue on, even without me.

Aside from my family, no one else comes to visit me. Dewda and I are escorted to the train and we pull away from Nine probably forever.

Racking up two wins in the 30s has really been crucial for Nine's mentoring. Our Victors can afford to switch off, two by two; this year, the younger ones - Jomilee and Marian - are mentoring, to give the older women a break. The next year, Mizar and Laurel will take over. Unless one of us ends up winning, then they might switch off six months early, for the Victory Tour.

Still, it is a shame that there is no man to mentor the male tribute. Marian takes up the task of mentoring me. She has to. But she likes the job and puts me at ease very quickly. "Be sure to not show off what you know well when you get to the Training Center. What can you do?"

"I'm the top wrestler on my team in school," I say proudly. I know it sounds conceited, and being the youngest of seven sons has forced me to be quite humble. But I don't know how long I'll live, so I have the right to sound a little conceited, right?

Marian leans back in her chair. She is thinking, her brow furrowed. "Good... very good..." I catch something in her eyes. Is it... hope?


We are mobbed by the paparazzi when we get off the train, but all the districts are. We are a fresh crop to them.

And coming from District 9, I know a thing or two about crops.

First, we are painfully reminded of this fact by being dressed up to look like grain. I really hope we get a stylist who actually knows how to design tributes soon. I think our tributes have been costumed as grain as long as I have been alive. Which means Marian, Jomilee and possibly even Laurel have been through this agony.

Then, Dewda and I are stuffed into chariots and paraded through the City Circle. The Careers are well decked out. They're the tributes from 1 and 2, and for years, it has been rumored that they are trained illegally until age 18 and then thrown in. Judging by the fact that they win the thing almost every year, I suspect the rumors are true.

Jomilee and Marian then take us into the Training Center. Floor Nine is our quarters. How appropriate.

Training begins the next day. The kids from Districts 1 and 2 are huge - even the girls have muscles - and are mostly twice my size, though I am modestly built. The tributes from District 12 look like they have never been fed a day in their lives, but that's OK. They'll die the first day, as they've done every year save once. Well, actually, I take that back. The First Quarter Quell, their boy apparently made an epic go of it - this is according to my dad, as it happened before I was born. He made it to the Final Four before the mutts got him.

Seeing that I'm from Nine, the District 5 tributes needle me, but it's part of our joking rivalry. Par for the course. I wonder if the Capitol knows of our friendly spat. Perhaps it amuses them. But the chances of either of them coming back alive, since James Logan won last year, is slim. Back to back wins in the Games for any District is very rare. The Careers have done it, but no outlying district has managed it. No district has pulled off a hat trick - three in a row. Ever.

At the end of the three days, we go into our private sessions with the Gamemakers. I actually manage to pull a 9. Maybe that's my lucky number. Dewda nets a 6. That's mediocre. She should be ready for when her death comes.


The fourth and final day and night is our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. He's a relatively young TV host, but dynamic, putting even the most reticent tributes in a place where they can open up about themselves. All the Careers are arrogant, and the rest seem either young or weak; I wonder if we just got a bad crop this year. But I listen to the District 5 tributes out of friendly respect, but they both name-drop James Logan so much, the latest Victor, that they start to sound stale. And I listen to Dewda out of empathy. At last, my name is called.

"Daniel Bernhardt of District 9! Now, Daniel, you are well built. Seem strong. But no male from 9 has ever won, if my memory serves me correctly. Do you think you'll be the first?"

"Now that James Logan has won, I think so!"

Caesar laughs. "Ah, yes. The old 5-9 rivalry! We here in the Capitol think that's just humorous! So: tell us about yourself!"

I decide to be honest. "I'm the youngest of seven sons. Not many people back home noticed me before. No girlfriend or anything like that. So, maybe in winning the Games, people can finally recognize me for who I am."

The audience Awws, and we are out of time. "Well, best of luck to you, Daniel Bernhardt!"