22 The Volunteer
Pulling the handkerchief from his mouth, Coriolanus found it spotted with fresh blood. He folded the cloth and dabbed his lips dry.
Presidential aide Ashur Magnus returned from across the president's sitting room with a drinking glass. "I brought you some water, sir."
"Is it cold?" asked Snow.
"No, sir. I filled it with room temperature water from the pitcher so not to irritate your throat."
Coriolanus accepted the glass. "Thank you, Ashur."
"Should I turn off the television, sir?" The aide reached for the remote.
"No." Coriolanus held up his hand. "I want to see the replays."
Ashur returned to his chair. "Sir, did that last reaping trigger your coughing fit?"
Frowning, the president hesitated to answer. "Um, perhaps."
Ashur looked up at the screen to see a replay of a man falling off an outdoor stage. "That drunkard who fell is an embarrassment to the Games. I can't believe he's a mentor, nevertheless a victor."
"Mr. Abernathy?" Snow smiled faintly. "I disagree, he's exactly who he's supposed to be."
Ashur turned to the president. "The volunteering did surprise me. I don't think I've ever seen someone volunteer in District Twelve."
"I can't recall it happening in Twelve either." Coriolanus sipped his water and then dabbed his lips with his handkerchief.
Ashur glanced up at the television to see the replay of a teenage girl pushing her younger sister behind her, emotionally volunteering to take the 12-year-old's place in the district's reaping. "I can see how that could trigger a coughing spell.
"Not that." With narrowing eyes, Coriolanus watched the replay skip forward to the moment where everyone in the town square raised three fingers in a silent salute to that teenage girl. With a shaky finger, the president pointed at the screen. "That caught me off guard."
"Didn't the announcers say that hand gesture was a district tradition?"
"They did."
"What's wrong with that?" asked Ashur.
"Nothing...and everything." The president looked to Ashur. "Call it a presidential hunch, but something significant has just occurred." Coriolanus rose to his feet, causing Ashur to do the same. "I have to go to my office. Please call Vera and tell her that I'm on my way."
Ashur began walking with the president towards the door. "Yes, sir."
"And tell her to contact my security man, Tiberius. I need to see him right away."
"Yes, sir." Ashur opened the door. "Should I walk with you in case you have another coughing fit?"
"No," replied the president with a forced smile. "It has passed."
"Very good, sir."
The president's smile evaporated as soon as he passed through the door. Stepping quickly down the corridor, the president gripped his handkerchief tighter as a cold sweat began enveloping his body.
...
Vera entered the president's office, setting a teacup and saucer before the president. "I've brought you some decaf tea with two teaspoons of honey."
The president looked at the cup with disdain. "I asked for your special coffee."
"Your doctor says that you can only have one cup of coffee in the morning; otherwise, it's decaf beverages for the rest of the day." With a brazen smile, Coriolanus's secretary clasped her hands together. "Tiberius should be here shortly. Anything else I can do for you, Mr. President?"
"Yes. Call Tiberius and tell him to pick me up a hot cup of coffee on the way."
"Nope." Vera's smile grew. "That would be against doctor's orders."
The president leaned back against his chair. "He can't order me about."
"No, but I can." Vera stepped towards the door. "You know what happens when you go against the advice of the women in your life."
Don't remind me, he thought, trying not to smile. "You know; I could have you replaced."
Under the doorframe, Vera turned with a raised eyebrow. "You won't. Who else would put up with you? You're getting ornery in your golden years."
Grunting, Coriolanus slid his teacup closer. "I wouldn't be ornery if people would just listen to me?"
"They do, but you also have to listen to your friends." Vera reached for the doorknob. "Anything else I can help you with, Mr. President?"
"Just one," replied Coriolanus. "Tell my head secretary how grateful I am to have her watching over me."
"She knows." Winking, Vera closed the door.
Minutes later, there was a knock on the president's door as Coriolanus watched replays of the reapings on his media tablet.
"Come in," said the president.
Tiberius Pullo entered the office, shutting the door behind him. He promptly moved before the president's desk. "You asked to see me Mr. President?"
"Yes, Tiberius. Take a seat." The president paused the video and turned the tablet to show his guest the frozen image.
As Tiberius sat, the security assistant squinted at the teenage girl on the media tablet. "Isn't she the one from District Twelve? She volunteered for her sister. Her name is Kitty or something."
"Katniss Everdeen is her name. I want you to do a background check. Investigate her whole family."
"You think she's part of the network?"
Reaching for his teacup, Coriolanus leaned back into his leather chair. "I don't know; maybe I'm just paranoid, but my gut tells me that there is a danger here, perhaps not her directly." Snow took a long sip of tea. "See if there is any connection between her and our friend Haymitch Abernathy."
Tiberius huffed with amusement. "I enjoyed his fall this morning. I'm shocked that Mr. Abernathy isn't dead by the amount he drinks. We believe he now suffers from alcohol delusions. We recorded him talking to the other victors about the disappearance of his family. He has told some that it happened immediately after becoming victor. He has told others that it happened a couple years after his crowning. I doubt he even knows what day it is."
"Check everything out, just in case," said the president.
"Yes, sir." Tiberius adjusted in his chair. "Should we ask your friend Cashmere to sniff around the victors this year? She was right about your financial advisor."
The president nodded in agreement. "I'll ask her. It would be prudent to see if any are acting peculiar."
"Don't you think it strange," asked Tiberius, "when someone well off risks everything, like your former financial advisor? It would be even crazier for a victor to throw their life away. What do they hope to gain?"
"I don't know. Considering man's self-destructive and selfish tendencies, I'm surprised civilization has gotten off the ground." The president focused on his tablet upon his desk until a forgotten subject came to mind. "Whatever happened to the financial advisor's daughter? I think her name was Lavinia."
"She survived Avox training and was snatched up by your friend Julia to work in the Training Center. She's quite pretty and is quite popular with Julia's more elite clientele. Julia continues to send me updates as you instructed."
"Her father knew that she'd pay the price for treason, and yet, he wanted to overthrow me."
Remembering the morning of the failed coup attempt—which had gone unnoticed by the populace, Tiberius grinned proudly. "They didn't stand a chance with such small numbers."
Snow sipped his tea and asked, "Did my advisor say anything under enhanced interrogation?"
"We were only able to get the one name out of him since their spy network is set up as need to know. When we went to the other rebel's apartment, he had already killed himself. After that, your financial advisor only repeated to my interrogators that you had to be stopped, that Panem needed a new government."
Frowning, Snow set down his tea. "I remember your reports stating that they want to stop me. Stop me from what? Stop me from keeping this country afloat on its limited and overstretched resources? Stop me from keeping the affluent cogs of this machine happy?"
Licking his thumb, Tiberius began to rub at a scuff on his designer shoes. "I think he wanted to be president."
"If he truly cared about Panem, he could have had my job," retorted Snow. "In fact, I'm ready to step down as soon as a qualified person shows up."
Tiberius did not take the bait and simply smiled at his boss. "I'll check out this Katniss girl, but I doubt there is anything to worry about. The kids from the Career Districts are all natural born killers. The odds makers predict that the boy from District Two will win this year."
"Let's hope so," said Coriolanus.
"Are you going to wager on the Games, Mr. President?"
Coriolanus shook his head. "The Games are the sacrifice that keeps this country united. The Games run through our blood; they have become whom we are. I've never thought of them as something to bet on."
"Oh." Tiberius's eyes nervously drifted down to the president's desk.
"But I have no qualms with others betting on the Games. Have you picked a winner, Tiberius?"
The security advisor looked up with a smile. "The girl from Two. Something about her tells me that no guy is safe around her."
"Since you are a betting man, how far do you think the girl from 12 will get?"
"Two days max." Tiberius rose to feet. "Mr. President, your concerns should be a thing of the past this time next week."
...
The next day, Coriolanus watched the twelve elegantly decorated chariots pulled by gallant horses from the president's mansion balcony as the tributes made their way around the crowded city circle. He studied each boy and girl as the chariots passed, each decorated in a district theme. But his focus—like everyone else's—remained on the teenagers from District 12.
Tightness gripped his throat, which warned of an impending coughing spell. Sipping water, Coriolanus stared with amazement at the flaming costumes of District 12, which seemed to heat up the crowd. The non-harmful flames did not concern him, for that was a simple science trick. The exceptional art direction made these kids stand out—especially the girl who had volunteered. Nothing about 12 was normal this year, and abnormality was what gave the president worry.
Having readied himself with an application from his medical inhaler, President Snow stepped up to the microphone to welcome the tributes to the 74th Hunger Games. The speech he had given dozens of times before proceeded flawlessly, but he could not stop glancing at the girl on fire, nagged with the thought that someone was about to get burned.
...
"The Games can't end like this. One of them has to die!" Clutching his handkerchief in his fist, Snow jumped to his feet in his presidential sitting room and glared at the television with gritted teeth. "Why is Seneca recalling the killer muttations? Why hasn't he rescinded the rule change?"
In a nearby chair, a frenzied Ashur held a smartphone to his ear. "Head Gamemaker Crane isn't answering."
Leaning nervously forward, Tiberius rubbed his thighs as he stared up at the screen. "The trumpets haven't blown. They haven't announced them as both being victors."
Snow pointed to the door. "Ashur, go. Go to Game Headquarters and make sure Crane follows my orders."
"That's a couple blocks from here," said Ashur, rising to his feet.
"Then run!" Snow again pointed to the door. "And keep trying to reach him on the phone."
"Yes, sir." Ashur scurried out the door and out of sight.
Dabbing at his lips with his handkerchief, Coriolanus inspected the tiny blood spots that had been growing in size. "Never in my seventy four years have I seen a muck up like this."
On the television screen, Katniss and Peeta began to hobble towards a nearby lake. Both kids wondered openly why they had not been declared victors as declared in the midgame rule change, which claimed that victors from the same district could share the title of victor—a first for the Games.
After a quick drink of water, the young girl inspected the boy's wounded leg. She stood in search of something when she eventually discovered an arrow laying the ground.
Announcer Claudius Templesmith broke into the telecast, his voice resonating simultaneously into the area: "Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rulebook has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."
"Finally," said the president with a sigh of relief. "Crane almost killed me with his daft trick."
His face taut with intrigue, Tiberius continued to stare at the screen as the president returned to his seat.
On the screen, Peeta commented that he was not surprised by the rescinding of the rule change and drew his knife, causing Katniss to draw her bow and take aim at his heart.
Through gritted teeth, Snow said in a near whisper, "Do it. Kill him."
Unwilling to kill one another, first Peeta and then Katniss dropped their weapons, which caused Snow to groan with disappointment. The two tributes began to argue with each other about who should be the survivor when Peeta began tearing off the bandages on his severely wounded leg. Katniss dropped to her knees, struggling with him to stop when the young man again began pleading his case.
Peeta stood, pulling Katniss to her feet. "Listen," he said, "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." As he went on about how he loved Katniss and what life would be without her, it became clear that the girl had stopped listening as her gaze turned downward.
"No, no, no," said Snow in a growl.
"What?" asked Tiberius.
"She's figured it out," replied Snow. "She knows how to beat Crane."
On the television screen, Katniss quickly fumbled with the pouch on her belt until it came loose. Knowing the contents, Peeta grabbed her hand to stop her. She whispered something to him, causing the boy to release his grip. Next, Katniss poured out a handful of poison berries into Peeta's palm and then into her own. "On the count of three," she said.
Peeta kissed her gently and repeated, "On the count of three." They stood back to back and locked their free hands together. "Hold them out," said Peeta. "I want everyone to see."
They held hands, the berries resting in their free and upturned palms for all of Panem to see.
Snow rose to his feet, trembling fists at his side. "Let them die. Let them die!"
Overcome by the events, Tiberius jumped to his feet. "They're bluffing. They won't kill themselves, not after fighting this hard to live."
Katniss counted out, "One."
"I don't care if they are bluffing; there cannot be two victors. I made this clear to Crane when I ordered him to undo his rule change. If he reverses it again, it will be disastrous."
"Two."
Lips twisting into a snarl, Snow swallowed, the scent of blood filling his nose. "Don't you dare, Crane."
Wide eyed, Tiberius stared at the television.
"Three," counted Katniss.
Both tributes places the poison berries into their mouths, causing the nation to hold its breath.
The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouted into the area. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you—the tributes of District Twelve!"
Peeta and Katniss spewed out the un-chewed berries.
"Noooo!" Snow picked up his water glass from the coffee table and tossed it at the television, causing the screen to crack and distort. "Damn him!" The president next reached for a heavy leather bound book and tossed it at the television, damaging the screen further.
Stunned, Tiberius stared at the president fearfully.
With deep breaths, Snow began to grimace as the consequences of Crane's actions rushed through his head. Coriolanus reached down with a quivering hand, picking up his fallen handkerchief from the floor just in time to cover his mouth, for a coughing fit began to shake him. He fell back onto the couch as he continued to cough heavily into the fabric.
Tiberius rushed to the drink cart and poured a new glass of water. He returned to the president's side, helping him sip from the glass.
When the coughing lessened, the president removed the cloth from his mouth and found it heavily spotted with blood.
"Should I call for the doctor, sir?"
Coriolanus slowly shook his head. "It will pass," he said in a weak tone.
Defense Minister Antonius rushed into the room, stopping in his tracks when he saw the president and the handkerchief. "Sir?"
"I'll be fine." Snow swallowed. "I take it that you saw the ending?"
"Yes, sir," replied Antonius. "Tensions in the districts were rising over the past couple days. I'm already getting reports from Districts Eight and Eleven. We need to call a meeting of the defense council."
Snow looked down at his spotted handkerchief, bunching the cloth into his fist. "Tiberius, execute Crane...immediately."
Without a hint of emotion, Tiberius replied, "Yes, sir. Method of execution?"
"You decide," said Snow. "I just want him dead by morning."
Tiberius rose to his feet. "Do you want him to suffer?"
"I don't care." Staring down at his fist, Coriolanus swayed his head side to side in disbelief. "Damn him. Damn him. He has caused irreconcilable damage to this country." Snow turned to Antonius. "Do you think we can recover from this?"
Antonius took a deep breath. "It will be hard, but it is possible. Mr. President, can we risk executing Crane? He's a public figure."
Clenching his jaw, Snow gave no reply.
Tiberius straightened as he buttoned his jacket to leave. "I'll make it look like a Hovercraft accident."
"Yes, but..." Antonius's eyes shifted between the president and Tiberius. "But what if word gets out that you executed the man without a trial."
Regaining his composure, Coriolanus took a long sip from his water glass. "No one will care. Every nation from history has executed their own people without trial. Besides, the citizens are distracted by the girl on fire." Snow glanced at the distorted, flickering images on the broken television screen. "I suspect that Crane has already been forgotten. You have your orders, Mr. Pullo."
With a nod, Tiberius proceeded for the door.
"Tiberius."
The man turned. "Mr. President?"
"I agree with the hovercraft cover up," said Snow, his strength returning to his voice. "But, make sure the other Gamemakers know the truth. Make sure they know the price of not listening to me."
...
Receiving his cue from the television stagehand, the president turned to face his granddaughter as she held a pillow supporting a single crown. "Ready, sweetheart?"
"Yes, grandfather," replied Gaia with an anxious smile.
"Don't be nervous," said Coriolanus.
"Okay. I'll try not to be."
With a tired smile, Coriolanus stared at his granddaughter. Within her, he saw his daughter from twenty-seven years ago, back when he crowned his first victor. Have I really crowned that many? he thought.
"Mr. President?" inquired the skittish stagehand.
"Ah, right. Come, sweetie." More slowly than three decades prior, President Snow climbed the short set of steps to appear on stage. Now oblivious to the crowds, the president moved before the pair of victors, his focus remaining on the girl on fire. How many will burn because of you, he thought. From the stage, Coriolanus could hear the confused whispers of the crowd, many wondering openly about single crown.
Turning to face his granddaughter, Snow lifted the crown for all to see, and with a simple twist, the crown separated into a pair of half-crowns sending a sigh through the audience.
Coriolanus placed a half-crown on Peeta's head and found himself smiling, for the man was still an ardent fan of victors—it wasn't their fault that he had to crown two. The president next placed the remaining crown on Katniss's head. When he met her sharp stare, Snow paused. Are you a pawn of the underground rebellion? he wondered. Perhaps you're just a brash knight with ideas of your own. Maybe someone is using you, some malevolent King or Queen? Or perhaps, you're just a girl who might unintentionally turn the world to ashes.