The Peacekeeper's Son
"Now, Carl." Rick, his father said firmly, kneeling down in front of the chair he was in. "I want you to know. This is your second year in the reaping, and I want you to stay calm, like last time."
"Okay, dad." Carl replied softly.
He was already dressed up in a navy blue dress shirt, and black pants. His mother had given him black patent leather shoes to wear, which she had gotten out of the trade. His name was in about fifteen times, and he wasn't sure if that gave him a more likely chance of being picked for the games. Well, for one thing, it scared him deep inside.
"It's time to go. Come on." His father told him quietly, keeping one arm around him as they walked to the foyer.
His mother came out from the kitchen. Her dark brown eyes seemed to widen as her pale face stiffened, looking at the son she feared might not be coming home. Bending over, she wrapped her arms around him.
"I love you, baby." She whispered, kissing him. "Go with your father, okay?" She ordered, holding back tears.
He nodded, as she drew away with fear. They went out the front door, walking toward the town square for the reaping. The streets were crowded with people, but Rick just led Carl to where he needed to be.
"I'm going with the other grown ups now. You go over there, okay? After they do that, you go stand over there." Carl nodded, looking down. "Hey." Rick said, and he looked into his eyes. "Be brave."
"I will, dad." Carl said gravely, and walked away.
As Carl found himself standing amongst other boys around his age, he was caught up by the high pitched 'whiz' of the microphone. He looked up at the man on the stage who had dark brown hair and a interestingly shaved beard. He wore a green suit and a burgundy dress shirt underneath, and a sparkly fuchsia bow tie. 'Philip Blake', Carl remembered from mentions on TV and other people in district 8, the representative from the Capitol.
"Welcome! Welcome. Happy hunger games! And may the odds... Be ever in your favour." He boomed with a charming smile.
He introduced a small presentation from the Capitol, explaining Panem's past in the war, and resulting in the games. Carl thought it a sad thing to turn to, after all those losses, but of course, their people had no choice. If you wanted to live in peace, you had to go through this for six years. That is, if you don't get chosen.
"Now then. Ladies first." Philip said fancily, stepping over to the rightmost ball of slips with a big 'Cheshire cat' smile.
Silence filled the air, and Carl sneaked a look at the girl's side. They were all holding hands, scared stiff at the thought of hearing their name. The only girl he recognized fairly well was one blonde girl named Beth, eighteen years old. Her family sold his mom peaches and bread. He knew her older sister Maggie, and step-brother Shawn who'd give him cookies for free at their house. But now, all that seemed to freeze out of minds as they waited.
"Sophia Peletier."
All of the young girls gasped and turned inwardly to a girl in the middle of the line. Carl couldn't see very well over the kids' heads, but he knew she was slowly approaching the stage.
"That's it, dear. Come on up. That's it. Alright."
The girl wore a pale pink dress that went just past her knees, with a white, flat curved collar. Her hair was about chin-lengthed, and a light dirty-blonde. From where Carl was standing he could faintly see her shaking, and his head filled with pity. It was always sad when young people often seemed to look naive.
"Now." Philip sighed happily, walking in the opposite direction. "For the boys."
Carl breathing had slowed down, waiting for the name to be called. It couldn't be him. He knew it wouldn't be him. He just looked on, face blank as ever.
"Carl Grimes."
His stomach fell. The boys around him dissolved into murmurs, searching the crowd for his face. Swallowing hard, he kept straight and walk silently to the stage and up the steps.
"Ladies and gentleman, our representatives from district eight!" The crowd was silent, and Carl didn't dare look for his father. "Go on, shake hands, you two."
Carl turned awkwardly and took her hand gently, giving it a flimsy shake. The moment he saw her face, he knew he'd seen her somewhere. She was the daughter of the leather salesman near his house. In the winter, her mother sold Carl mittens. He'd seen her once through the crack of one window being beaten by her father, a burly man in his thirties. He also remembered her arriving at school every day with red eyes, once with bad bruises on her leg. Carl's mother had fixed her up, though Carl only watched silently from the railing upstairs. She must have lied about it.
Letting their hands drop, Carl turned back to the crowd solemnly. But shortly after that, they were taken in through the doors at the back of the stage, and thrusted into rooms separately. Carl waited eagerly, not knowing what was happening. Before he could trace his thoughts, the door burst open. His dad was pushed in by a peacekeeper.
"You have three minutes."
Rick rushed over and threw his arms around his son, so tight he almost couldn't breathe. Then suddenly he drew back, and began with a low, firm voice.
"Carl. Remember what I tought you. You fight, or you run. You pick either. Now I know you're strong. You can use a knife. Or a machete."
"Dad." Carl breathed, not knowing what to say.
"Now you stay alive. I know you're able."
"Dad, don't worry. I'll get through this." He said calmly, eyes a dark, piercing blue.
"Yeah. You- you do what you can. Do whatever it takes. I won't be there, but you try. Try to stay alive."
"I will." He panted, trying not to panic.
"Okay." He replied blankly, but again leaned over and embraced him tightly.
Then the door swung open and the guard stepped in to pull Rick away.
"Carl," Rick gasped, trying to resist the pulls, "mom and I will be fine, you do whatever it takes to stay a-" SLAM.
Carl fell back into his seat, eyes wide and his breath uneven. He knew he was strong, strong enough to maybe survive the games. It was one thing to be optimistic, and another to actually avoid being killed. This girl, Sophia, didn't look very ready at all. He could protect her. After all, it was the right thing to do.
In the next few moments, they were taken by truck to the train that went to the Capitol. They entered, beholding the fine decor and furniture, so beautiful compared to the district.
"A fine place, the Capitol. You'll be comfortable here. You can settle in over there, if you'd like."
Sophia turned dazedly to Carl, who was staring around the room in amazement. From the ceiling hung a stunning crystal chandelier, planted firmly with a golden base. The ceiling had a white wavy texture, and the floor was covered in a patterned dark blue rug. Counters were covered with neatly stacked pastries and refreshments, complimented with a round table covered in white linen and a glass vase of lilies.
The two had settled awkwardly into seats by the window of the train, and after a while, it started to move. Carl stared out the window for a long time, savouring the last views of the place where he was born, raised, and educated. A dull sensation of dread filled his head, making his posture slightly sink. Home was gone. And no matter what, he'd have to fight like hell to get it back
.
"Daryl Dixon." Carl stated clearly, face blank as he turned to Sophia. "Our mentor."
Sophia was hugging her knees on an armchair, glancing up at him shyly.
"Do you know him?" She asked softly, voice hushed and quiet.
"No. Well, not in person. What about you?"
"My mom did. Came to our house when my dad was away. I was just born. She talks about him to me all the time."
"Hm." Carl pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "Do you know if he'll be able to help?"
Sophia shifted, breaking eye contact.
"I don't know. I suppose he will, from what I've heard."
In the next silent half-minute, as if on cue, the compartment door swung open and a surly-looking man stepped in. His eyes were narrow and icy blue, shaded slightly by the mussy locks of hair that fell low to his stubbled chin. He gave them one calm look, walking slowly in with a bottle of beer. Sophia got up from the chair she was sitting in and plopped down next to Carl, near the window. The man sat in the seat across, sighing.
"Y'all know who I am?" He asked, voice deep and slightly raspy.
They were both quiet for a moment, then Sophia spoke.
"Do you remember who I am?"
Carl turned to her, eyes wide. The man just stared at her and hid a smile.
"As if I didn't."
"You're Daryl Dixon... Aren't you?" Carl asked in a steady voice
"Yes, sir. Hunter in the sixty-seventh games, up and runnin'."
"Cool. So, um... What do you suppose we...do?"
Carl glanced at Sophia, remembering the way his father had described Daryl. Tough, ruthless... Won his games by trapping people in clever rope snares and beating the life out of those who freely crossed his path. If anything, the human reaction for Carl was to be intimidated. Frankly, he was a little. Sophia didn't seem to be, which made him relax for a reason he didn't know. But knowing that anyone in district eight hadn't won in in fifteen years sent shivers down his stiffened spine.
"You want my advice?" Daryl grumbled indifferently
Carl suppressed a frown. Well yeah.
He sighed again, setting down the beer bottle. "I advise you use your training time wisely. You know you only get so much time... Tell me what you two are best at."
Carl thought for a moment, looking down at his hands, and back up at him.
"My... My dad is an officer in the district, so I have pretty decent self defence... I'm good with a knife." He replied thoughtfully.
Daryl gave a small nod, then shifted his gaze to Sophia, who was sitting quietly in the next seat.
"Me? Well... I'm good at doing knots. My dad used to make me finish up laces and stuff for designs, and I used to help out on my granddad's farm." She shifted awkwardly, then glanced up. "That's all."
"Well." Daryl said in a deep tone, leaning slightly forward. "I think you two could work out ways that-"
"Daryl! There you are!" Philip burst in, eyes gleaming.
Daryl looked over, disgruntled.
"I can see you're helping out the young'uns. Ain't that right. Heh, heh, heh." He chuckled, patting Daryl on the shoulder.
"We were goin' over their strengths." He replied simply, voice very quiet in comparison to Philip's.
"Is that so? Go on, then."
Carl and Sophia just sat with blank looks on their faces, the brightly coloured man next to Daryl slightly scaring them.
"Apparently Carl's a fighter. Said somethin' about knives... Sophia here said she know her knots."
"Wonderful, wonderful. I suppose you have a plan." Philip stated, giving a shiny, white smile.
"Yeah." Carl responded. "We were just getting to that."
"Before, I need to see y'all do those things first. Now, I can tell you how to hunt, or set up camp."
"Okay."
For the next while, Daryl talked to them about hunting. He referenced his times in the games, where he'd wound up with a good lot of supplies, and how he hid the snares and bags away in good places. He told them their chances of finding that much stuff alone wasn't all that high, since his partner helped him along the way.
"Amy Harrison. Died on the fifteenth day."
Carl looked at him, hesitating as he asked, "What happened?"
"Went out one night... To go do somethin'... All I heard was screamin', and..."
Sophia looked on, hanging on his every word.
"See, you don't take your eyes off each other. You protect her. You look out for him. Got it?" He instructed, pointing to each of them.
Carl nodded, and Sophia just mumbled a soft "Okay."
The next morning, the train arrived at the Capitol. Sophia got up from the dark, polished table to gaze out at the crowds of people waiting for them. Carl looked over her shoulder, seeing dozens of people that had gathered outside the train.
"Here we are." Daryl grumbled hoarsely, sipping his drink.
As Carl looked more closely at the people outside the window, he noticed that they were all dressed so fancily. Women in black bearing flashy neon colours, with eyelashes the length of his pinkies. Men wearing multicoloured tuxedoes and ties, with hair the colours of the entire rainbow. The two stood in awe as the people clapped and cheered, chanting their names. Daryl's voice was the only thing that brought them back to their senses.
"What're you waitin' for? Let's go."