'He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.'
The First Hunger Games
Phoenix Margaret Caverly, Age Seventeen, District One
The three hovercrafts lower me and twenty three other children down in a perfectly formed ring. I fall three feet to land, feet braced for impact, on a dirt circle in the middle of a small grassy field. The green waves end at a high stone wall perhaps fifty feet from our ring.
I notice this as my eyes dart about, looking for an escape. Escape was what I was so good at in the Rebellion, since that skill should be second nature to an elite spy. But the thing I most want to find is not an escape route through the seemingly impervious walls, guarded as I am by the lingering hovercraft.
I need to find my district partner. Simon Hathaway Caverly.
My little brother.
I spot him six dirt circles to my left. He is flanked by the large boy from District Two, Travers Call, and the painfully scrawny twelve year old from District Five, Annabelle Harper. It's like a comical sideshow or child's movie: The big one, the skinny one, and the short one! Simon has always been diminutive for his age, and at thirteen looks closer to eleven.
His eyes are wide with fear, and it takes him another few moments to find me. He gestures frantically with his hands, mouthing what do we do?
I don't know, for once. No more supremely confident, beautiful, paragon-of-virtue, high ranking Agent Caverly. I never thought this could happen, any of this. I didn't think twenty four rebel kids would be kidnapped to fight to the death. Twenty three dead in minutes.
But there is something I can do.
We're all rebel kids, right? Let's show the Capitol how far we're really willing to go as rebels.
When the hologram countdown in the middle of our ring reaches forty seconds left, I whistle shrilly twice. The signal means, 'Soldiers alert and prepare for next signal.'
Twenty three pairs of eyes lock onto me.
Being careful not to overbalance and step off my circle, which we were warned means death by shooting, I wave my arms in a circle over my head (meaning I'm going to take temporary control), closely following the motion with four alternating long and short whistles. After that, I drop my hands suddenly to my sides, and bow my head.
I've just told twenty three kids ready to fight for their lives to stay calm and do nothing. If someone else, Simon for instance, had tried this, they wouldn't have followed his orders. But I was high ranking in counterintelligence. I was a skilled agent. They should follow me.
One by one, beginning with Simon, the kids drop their ready stance and stand flat-footed on their circles. As the countdown reaches twenty seconds, Travers Call abandons his running pose and stands at peace. He is the final one. I couldn't be prouder of my rebels.
When the countdown ends and a gong rings, nobody moves. Nobody kills or fights or dies. Everybody stands still and calm, in the only form of defiance we have left. We are not the Capitol's pawns. We will not give in to them.
The pilot of the largest hovercraft buzzes out a warning over the loudspeaker. "Rebels. You are to follow orders and fight."
Nobody responds.
He repeats, louder, more insistent. "Follow orders and attack, or you will be punished."
That's a laugh. If we kill each other, only one out of twenty four will live. What punishment could they give that's worse than that?
"This is your final warning. Severe consequences will follow if you do not comply."
The District Twelve boy, Neville Sangrine, presses the three middle fingers of his left hand to his mouth, then holds them out. His district partner, Isadora Tamber, quickly repeats the gesture. I remember what it means. It's a District Twelve gesture. It symbolizes thanks, a goodbye to someone you love.
For us now, it symbolizes everyone we have lost. Thanks to the rebel soldiers for saving lives at the cost of their own. Goodbye to those we love, those we lost. My parents. My and Simon's parents. Our Mother and Father. We salute you.
I repeat the gesture, and like a wave, the children around me follow. We are saluting our fallen soldiers. We are saluting families lost. We are saluting the people we love.
The hovercraft pilot does not agree.
He shines a spotlight in Simon's face, and the spell is broken.
"Simon Hathaway Caverly," the pilot growls. "Do you want to die?"
I am frozen on the spot. What do I do? My brother is not going to die.
"I am not going to die," Simon says, but his voice sounds tiny and frail next to the amplified snarl of the Capitol soldier.
"Kill your sister."
"What? No!"
"Kill your sister or die."
"Simon, Simon, it's okay! I won't let them kill you! Simon, baby, don't make them angry." I lift my chin and address the hovercraft, willing my voice to be steady. "If you want to kill someone, kill me. Simon didn't do anything. Take me instead. He doesn't deserve it." Is this it? Am I going to die now, after everything?
Better me than Simon.
The pilot ignores me. "This is your final warning, Simon Caverly. Kill your sister."
"I won't!" He stomps his foot, as childish at thirteen as he was as a toddler. "I'm not gonna kill Phoenix."
"Then die."
I see terror reflected in Simon's gray eyes, terror that must surely reflect in mine. My paralysis breaks, and I'm running to him, calling for him, running past five other people that don't matter, can't matter as much as my baby brother.
He reaches out his arms to me. "Help me!" he cries.
A heartbeat later, his blood is staining my face.
A piece of Simon hits the grass with a wet thunk.
I fall with it, my mind unable to comprehend what just happened, because this is impossible, he can't have just died, Simon isn't dead. No, Simon wasn't just exploded by Capitol guns. Simon is alive. He didn't die.
I touch my face, and warm, sticky red blood comes off on my fingers. But it's not just there. It's everywhere. It's in my hair, my clothes, my skin.
"S-Simon?" I call out, panicked. "Simon, where'd you go? Simon? SIMON?"
The world bends around me. Everything's red. No, everything's bloody. It's Simon's blood. He's everywhere. He's everywhere.
I hear screaming. It's me. No, it's the other rebel kids. It's everyone. We're screaming. They're afraid. I'm not, no, not afraid, I'm not afraid! I'm a rebel agent. When Simon gets back here, we'll stop them screaming!
I stumble up to the squealing District Five girl who was standing next to Simon. Annabelle Harper. Twelve, a year younger than he was- is. She's covered in red.
"Have you seen Simon?" I ask her. I grab her shoulders and shake her, because she's not answering, but she must have seen, he was next to her.
"Where's Simon? Anna, Anna, Annabelle. Belle. Where's Simon? Have you seen him?" I shake her harder. She's shaking her head no, no, no, please get off me please get off help me help me. "WHERE IS HE?"
"He's dead!" she squeaks.
"NO HE'S NOT!" I slap her, and she falls off her circle, landing in a huddled heap on the ground. "Where's Simon? TELL ME!"
The other rebel kids are stepping away from me, the crazy girl, the bloody girl, they're running away. But I don't care, I don't care, I need to find Simon!
"Where's Simon?"
"I dunno!" She starts to cry.
I scream, pure, thoughtless rage and grief, because I can't find him, I can't find Simon!
I have to do something, I have to punish Annabelle Harper, because she won't tell me where Simon is. I need to find him.
There's a clump of thick grass by my foot, and I don't know what I'm thinking, if I'm thinking at all, why I'm doing it, but Annabelle should know where Simon is, and somehow the grass is in my hand, around her neck, and people are screaming and I think I am too. She's just choking. She should. She won't tell me where Simon is. Where's Simon? Where is he? "Where is Simon?" I shout. Annabelle slides to the ground, face purple. Did I just kill her? No. No, I didn't kill a twelve year old. I didn't. She's okay. Like Simon. Simon's okay. He's somewhere.
I stagger after the District Twelve boy, Neville Sangrine, the one who started the salute. "Where's Simon? Have you seen him?" I call. He only whimpers and backs away. Do I look like a monster? Do I scare him? Is it because I'm covered in blood? No, no, there is no blood, it's just red, because Simon wasn't shot and he's not dead and his blood is not on me.
"Tell me where Simon is now!" I shriek. Neville falls over. "I swear I don't know! Please, please, please, I don't know! I don't have him! Don't kill me! I don't know where Simon is!" He's sobbing and crawling back in the dirt. He's a disgusting worm. "Please don't kill me. I didn't see!"
"You liar. You saw. Everyone saw, and nobody's telling me! I need Simon back!"
It takes longer to make him fall over like Annabelle. His face turns pretty purple and blue and red, and he makes horrible choking noises. I don't care if he's hurt. I don't care. I need to find Simon.
I take another stalk, because the first one broke, and I go to find Simon.
I ask Isadora Tamber, and she doesn't know. So I choke her, because she doesn't matter, and I've gotta find him. I have to. I have to find him.
I ask Travers Call. No more Travers Call. Even though he breaks my nose, and more pretty red flows onto my shirt, I don't care. I don't feel it, anyway. I have to find Simon.
By now, other tributes are fighting, screaming in the panic I've caused. I'm only looking for my brother, but now everyone's dying because they're scared. Except Simon. He isn't dead. He isn't. When I find him, he'll help me stop the panic! He can fix this.
I ask Lysander Brigate from District Four, and Lola Teik from District Seven. They don't know. How does nobody know? Why won't anybody tell me where Simon is? I punish them. I have to! If nobody tells me, I make them choke, because that's how it works until I find Simon.
There's only one person left to ask. He's covered in pretty red, because he killed five other kids, but he's scared of me.
"Excuse me, have you seen my brother?" I ask, staggering through the bodies to Cosmo Forge of District Six. "I can't find him. Have you seen Simon Hathaway Caverly? I can't, I can't. I can't find him. Do you know? Have you seen where he went?"
"Stay away from me!" he yells. When he turns to run, he slips on the arm of his dead district partner and falls into the surrounding wall.
"I can't find. I can't, can't find him, I can't find my brother Simon. Have you seen him? Red hair, gray eyes, small. You can't miss him."
Cosmo shakes his head dizzily. "He- he's dead. I can't help you. He's gone. Simon is dead!"
"Simon is dead?" I whisper.
"He's dead. Leave me alone!"
Simon is dead?
No. No, no he's not, he's not dead. I wouldn't have made so many kids die if Simon weren't lost. I wouldn't, would I? No! I'm high ranking Agent Caverly, a spy. I'm confident and beautiful. I'm a brave rebel. I would never kill. I wouldn't kill people like that. No. No, no, no, no, no, no!
"Aaaaahhhh!" I launch myself at Cosmo's quivering form. He doesn't have time to scream before the noose is wrapped around his neck. It only takes a minute for him to die. Because one more doesn't matter. One more doesn't matter if Simon is dead!
A glowing ladder from the sky descends for me.
I think I'm still screaming.
Hi, District One, miss me? Do you even recognize me? I'm not Agent Caverly. I'm not a rebel. Ahahahaha! I'm not a rebel anymore! Don't be stupid.
I'm Phoenix Margaret Caverly, the Victor of the First Hunger Games.
Where's Simon? Have you seen him?
