District Four Reaping
What You Want


Eleven months, two weeks before the reaping

Kekoa Palu, 17

The tension in the room was palpable. The Games were down to the final two – Jerica Camlet from District One and Douglas Reed from District Four. The sponsors had favored Jerica throughout the Games, and maybe that made sense. She was the twin sister of the previous year's Victor, and, on top of that, she was confident. Ruthless. Brutal.

But now she was on the run. So was Douglas. Clowns armed with hatchets chased the pair of them through the brightly-colored arena. Towards the giant Ferris Wheel in the center of the carnival. Kekoa shook his head as the pair arrived on opposite sides of the wheel and began to climb. He didn't know Douglas very well – they'd met a few times during training, but they'd never really spoken – but it was obvious the boy hated heights.

Jerica, meanwhile, quickly scrambled up the spokes, keeping her distance from the clowns below her. By the time she made it to the top, Douglas was only halfway up, the clowns close on his heels. Jerica grinned. The clowns were driving Douglas right towards her. She had the high ground. All she had to do was take advantage of it.

Quickly, she removed her backpack and drew out a hatchet. Douglas' eyes widened as he realized that he'd dropped his only weapon – the spear that he'd been using for most of the Games. He was quite deadly with it, but it would have been impossible to carry it while climbing. Jerica's preferred weapon, on the other hand, fit neatly inside her backpack.

She could have simply thrown it. Even if the blow didn't kill him, it would probably be enough to make him lose his balance. But she didn't. Maybe she didn't trust her aim. Maybe she knew the Gamemakers would want something more than that. She always seemed to know what the Gamemakers wanted…

That was part of Douglas' problem. He saw the Games as a battle rather than … well, a game. His strategies had taken the other tributes into consideration, but never the audience. Jerica had won their favor, and had nearly won the Games.

Sure enough, she climbed down towards Douglas, sure-footed as ever while he still clung on for dear life, his knuckles white, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Kekoa tensed. This was it. Douglas had to do something now if he was going to have a chance. He had to make a move. He had to do something.

But he didn't. He simply clung tightly to the wheel as if frozen in place. He was terrified. It was hard to blame him for that, of course. It was hard not to feel sorry for him. But sympathy didn't save him as Jerica's hatchet came down, slicing his right hand clean off. Douglas screamed as he nearly lost his grip with his left hand. He managed to wrap his legs around one of the spokes, blood spurting from his wrist as Jerica swung again, chopping his left hand off. After that, one good kick was all it took.

Groans of disappointment filled the training center. District One had another Victor – a Victor who was slowly descending in one of the Ferris Wheel's cars. And District Four … well, District Four would have to wait another year.

"I told you you should've volunteered this year," one of the trainers mumbled as he passed Kekoa. "You never would've frozen like that."

Kekoa shrugged. He hoped that was true. He hoped that, if it had been him, he would've been able to do something, rather than simply staring up like a beached fish as Jerica killed him. But what was he supposed to do? Douglas had wanted to volunteer. And, for all the trainers' prodding, volunteering for the Games still wasn't something that Kekoa wanted.

Kekoa shook his head as he headed back home to his parents, sister, and grandfather. There was no guarantee that, if it had been him in the Games, he would have even gotten that far. Was there anyone who could have stood in Jerica's way this year? Maybe. Maybe not. But there was no point in getting worked up about it now. The Games were over – for this year, at least. Only one more year, and then the trainers would have to leave him alone. After next year, he would be too old, and they would have to find someone else.

They would, he was certain. There would always be someone else. No matter how many of their tributes died in the Games, there would always be someone eager to volunteer. He would never understand that. Maybe life in District Four wasn't perfect, but at least it was life. That had to count for something. As for the Games … well, he could let someone else have a chance.


Two weeks before the reaping

Mora Loch-Tiller, 18

This was her last chance. Mora dove beneath the surface again, circling around behind her opponent. The trainers were watching, as were the other trainees. But the only person who mattered right now was the girl in front of her. Pearl Arroyo, one of the other eighteen-year-olds vying for the right to volunteer. It was Pearl's last year, too. Her last chance. But that didn't matter. Couldn't matter. Once she was in the arena, she would have to kill people. Compared to that, the thought of ruining someone's chances at volunteering was child's play.

Pearl was bigger – at least a head taller, and a good fifty or sixty pounds heavier – but Mora was faster in the water. She'd been swimming since before she could remember, and had spent most of her life on her mother's fishing boat. Even here, in the shallows, that gave her an advantage. Mora quickly darted between the bigger girl's legs, knocking her off-balance, then threw in an extra kick for good measure. Pearl flailed, trying to get a grip on Mora, but she was too slippery. One more blow to Pearl's head drew a whistle – the signal to stop the match. Mora surfaced, barely gasping for breath, watching the trainers expectantly.

"Shrimp," Pearl growled. "What're you gonna do if there's no water in the arena?"

Mora scoffed. It wasn't as if she'd failed the land-based tests, either. She was one of the academy's best trainees. But was she the best? The decision was up to the trainers now. If she didn't get to volunteer this year, she would never get another chance. This was her last year…

"You've all performed well," the head trainer, Marlowe Bay, announced. "As always, this will be a difficult decision for us. This year's volunteers will be announced tonight after the announcement of the Quarter Quell twist."

Mora nodded. That made sense. The volunteers were usually decided immediately after the last matches were finished, but the trainers probably wanted to wait and make sure that the Quell twist wasn't going to be something that would interfere with their decisions. There were rumors that the twist might double or even triple the number of tributes. Those were just rumors, of course, but if it was true…

If it was true, her chances would be even better. There was nothing to worry about. Winning the Games in a normal year would have been enough to satisfy her, but the trainers had made a habit of picking eighteen-year-olds to volunteer for the last few years. Maybe they thought they were being kind by choosing someone who wouldn't have a chance at volunteering the next year. Maybe they simply wanted an eighteen-year-old Victor to round out the district's numbers. Mags had been seventeen when she'd won, and Coraline had been sixteen. Hudson, who had turned nineteen in the arena, was the oldest Victor not only in District Four, but in the history of the Hunger Games.

That was a record she wasn't likely to break – not without also breaking the record for longest Games. Her birthday was more than a full month after the reaping. But that didn't matter. She didn't need to break every record on the books in order to be satisfied. Winning the Games would be quite enough.

But first, she had to get in the Games. That was hard enough in District Four, now that it had become a Career district. It had taken it a while to get there, and Four still hadn't shaken its reputation as an 'emerging' Career District. Yes, they had three Victors, but only one of those could properly be considered a Career. Mags had joined up with the Career pack, but only in the interest of survival. Hudson hadn't volunteered, either, and his low training score had gotten him kicked out of the pack. Only Coraline could really be considered a Career, and even her Games had been a bit of a disappointment, with more tributes dying from hypothermia and starvation in the barren, frigid arena than in any Games before it.

Mora shook her head as she made her way back to her mother's fishing boat. Coraline was a Victor now, the same as any other to come out of the Games. In the end, it didn't really matter how a tribute won the Games. All that mattered was that they won. And that was exactly what she intended to do.


Hudson Calder, 29
Victor of the 14th Hunger Games

He still didn't understand how anyone could want this. After ten years of mentoring, Hudson still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of wanting to be in the Games. In those ten years, he and Mags had only managed to bring one tribute home. Only one tribute from District Four who had volunteered for the Games had ever come back. But there always seemed to be more. There were always more volunteers – more children – ready to risk their lives. Eager to put their lives on the line.

He hadn't had a choice. Career training hadn't hit District Four full-force until after his own victory. He'd been reaped for the Games, just like most of the other District Four tributes before him. Just like Mags, who gave a little shrug as she took a seat beside him on the stage. She didn't understand it, either; that much was obvious. She'd been seventeen when she was chosen for the Games. He'd been eighteen at the reaping, nineteen when he'd won. But neither of them would have taken that risk on their own. Their odds had been good, but that was no guarantee.

There were never any guarantees.

This year, there weren't even any guarantees about the reaping. He could hope that the district had the sense to pick someone who had been campaigning. Someone who actually wanted to be in the Games. But nothing was certain until the names were actually revealed. They could have picked anyone. And this time, there would be no chance for anyone else to step in if they picked someone who didn't want to be in the Games.

Hudson's gaze strayed to Coraline, who arrived at the square with her six brothers and sisters. Only the youngest, Misty, was still eligible for the reaping. She hadn't been campaigning, but for the sister of a Victor, that might not mean anything. Coraline had volunteered for the Games, so people might assume that her sister would be just as eager.

He hoped they would have more sense. Coraline gave her sister a hug before Misty went to join the other eighteen-year-olds. This was her last year. Recently, that hadn't seemed to mean much in District Four. Eighteen-year-olds weren't nervous, and neither were the twelve-year-olds. Any other year, they could relax, knowing that someone else would be willing to step in and save them from the Games.

But not this time.

Coraline nodded stiffly, and Hudson did his best to smile back. There hadn't been anyone to step in and save him or Mags. This year was no different from the years before the Career system, when anyone could be picked. When someone like him could be picked.

Except it wasn't up to chance. It was up to the district. And he wasn't sure whether that made it better or worse. As long as they made the right choice – a good choice, someone who had a chance, someone who wanted it – then there wasn't a problem. But if they chose badly…

Hudson could feel Mags' hand on his. She gave a little squeeze, and he nodded. It was only for one year. One year, and then everything would go back to normal.

Right. Normal. As if children volunteering for this – volunteering to fight, to kill, to die – would ever be normal. The rest of the district seemed to have accepted it. And why not? It meant their untrained children didn't have to worry about being chosen for the Games. It meant no little twelve or thirteen year olds being ripped from their families at the reaping. Those fears were gone. But what had replaced them … was it better or worse?

It was certainly easier – at least for him and Mags. It was easier to mentor tributes who actually wanted to be there. Tributes who were prepared, who came to the reaping already familiar with what they would be expected to do. Who already had some idea of what strategy they wanted to use. Who were prepared to jump right in and make allies and charm the Capitol without having to be coaxed out of their shells. It was easier. But did that make it better?

Their escort certainly seemed to think so. Rufus Maxim was grinning as he took the stage, and the crowd cheered in return. Hudson smiled a little. The district was beginning to get used to Rufus, and he'd certainly taken a liking to District Four – enough to have his skin patterned with green scales to look more like a fish, and his tongue forked to look like … something. What, exactly, Hudson wasn't sure. Maybe no one had had the heart to tell him that fish didn't actually have forked tongues or pointed teeth.

"Hello, Dithtrict Four!" Rufus beamed, waving and grinning at the crowd. They kept cheering until he finally motioned for quiet. "What a wonderful occathion to be back in thith dithtrict! Our very firtht Quarter Quell!"

Hudson couldn't help smiling a little. How much of Rufus' strange speech was simply the Capitol's accent and how much of it came from what he'd done to his tongue, Hudson wasn't sure, but at least it made the reapings a little bit more entertaining. It gave a little spice to something that, recently, had become more of a formality than anything else. For the last few years, the volunteers had been chosen in advance, well before the reaping. Nothing at the reaping had come as a surprise to anyone for the past few years.

"I believe Mayor Bennett hath the rethulth of the vote." Rufus turned to the mayor, who nodded and handed over an envelope. Hudson stole a glance at Caroline as Rufus opened the envelope and removed a slip of paper. "And our female tribute ith … Mora Loch-Tiller!"

A loud "Yes!" erupted from the eighteen-year-old section, and a girl stepped out. She was short – maybe a couple inches over five feet – but lean and fit, her skin tan and her muscles toned. Her sandy blonde hair was tied up on a ponytail, and she wore a long-sleeve white blouse, a pea coat that matched her bright blue eyes, black pants, and black boots. She strode confidently towards the stage, taking the stairs quickly and joining Rufus onstage without a moment of hesitation. "Thank you, District Four," she beamed as Rufus handed over the microphone. "I won't let you down."

Hudson fought back a twinge in his stomach as Mora handed the microphone back. How many other tributes had stood where she was standing, confidently declaring that they would be back, that they were going to make their district proud? How many times had he heard it? How many times had those tributes actually come back?

Once. He and Mags had promised no such thing, and Coraline … she had gotten lucky. But this was as good a year as any for District Four to get lucky again. Maybe Mora would be the next one to come home.

Hudson smiled a little as Coraline relaxed. At least her sister was safe. And Mora seemed more than happy to be standing onstage, beaming out at the crowd. He was pretty sure he'd seen her at the training center; maybe she would even have been the trainers' choice to volunteer. She was a little short, a little small, but size didn't always matter, in the end. It certainly didn't matter as much as her training, or whether she had the guts to do what had to be done. Whether or not she did … they would just have to wait and see.

Rufus, for his part, was still grinning as he opened the second envelope. "And our male tribute ith … Kekoa Palu!"

The eighteen-year-old section parted again, but this time, their tribute was a little slower to emerge. When he finally stepped out, he couldn't quite hide the surprise on his face. Slowly, he started towards the stage, glancing this way and that. He was taller than Mora and well-built, with tan skin, dark hair, and dark brown eyes. By the time he reached the stage, he'd managed to put on a bit of a smile, but he still didn't look nearly as enthusiastic as Mora. It took him a moment to even realize that she was holding out her hand for him to shake.

Once he noticed, however, he shook it readily, relaxing a little more. "Let'th have a hand for your tributeth, Dithtrict Four!" Rufus called.

The crowd cheered a little more before finally beginning to disperse. The cameras switched off, and Coraline flashed Hudson and Mags a relieved smile before heading off to join her sister. Mora turned to the pair of them. "So … who's mentoring who?"

Hudson smiled a little. It only made sense that she would want to get that out of the way. That was usually something that was decided before the reaping. Kekoa shrugged. "Got a preference?"

"Do you?"

Kekoa shook his head. "The way I see it, we'll probably be working together, anyway, so … take your pick."

"I pick you, then," Mags interrupted before Mora could say anything.

Kekoa shrugged, and so did Mora. "Sounds good to me," Kekoa agreed.

"All right, then," Hudson nodded. "Looks like you're with me, Mora."

Mora nodded crisply, and Hudson watched as the pair of them headed for the Justice Building. Hudson waited until they were out of earshot to ask his question. "Were you just being nice to me?"

Mags raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Letting me take the one who wants to be here – is that just you being nice, or did you see something I didn't?"

"I saw flexibility. A willingness to work with whoever he might be paired with. And that's a good thing … when it comes to mentors. Not so good when it comes to allies who might turn on you. I can help him with that."

"And I wouldn't be as much help in that department because I didn't have allies," Hudson reasoned. "Smart."

"I try to be."

"And Mora?"

"She's got some training – that much is obvious. Eager, ready to prove herself. That can lead people to make rash mistakes. You're pretty much the authority on not making rash moves."

Hudson couldn't help a smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Let's hope it's enough to get us a Victor this year."

Hudson nodded. He certainly hoped so.


Mora Loch-Tiller, 18

This was everything she'd ever wanted. Mora was all smiles as her family – her mother, step-father, and little brother Storm – entered her room in the Justice Building. They were smiling, too – especially Storm. "They picked you," he beamed. "They really picked you!"

Her step-father ruffled his hair. "Well, of course they did. Everyone knows our girl is this district's best chance at winning the Games."

Mora couldn't hide a grin. When she'd first started training, even her family had been somewhat skeptical. But years of hard work had finally paid off. She'd proven herself to her family. To her trainers. And to enough of the district to earn this year's spot in the Games. Now she just had to prove to the rest of Panem that she had what it took.

It wouldn't be easy, of course. She wasn't kidding herself. In the past twenty-four years, only three of District Four's tributes had made it home. But ever since the Career system had taken off, the whole district had been itching for another Victor. This was their year. It had to be.

No. No, it was her year. It wasn't enough for District Four to earn itself another Victor. That Victor had to be her if she wanted to come home. Home to her family and her friends and her mother's fishing boat. Home to the people she cared about enough to risk her life for. For a chance at something better for them – for all of them. If she won, her family would have everything they could ask for. Everything they needed – and everything they wanted. If she won…

No. No, not if she won. Once she won. She was coming home. Years of training had been enough to prepare her body, but she'd also had time to prepare her mind. She was ready to fight. Ready to kill. Because that was what it would take. That was what Victors did. And she was ready to be a Victor.


Kekoa Palu, 18

He'd never wanted this. Kekoa shook his head as his parents, older sister, and grandfather entered the room. "They voted for me," Kekoa repeated, still not quite believing the words. "Why would they vote for me? There were plenty of others to vote for. Plenty of people who were actually campaigning. Plenty of people who—"

"Who actually wanted it?" his grandfather finished.

"Exactly," Kekoa agreed. "I know it's supposed to be an honor. I know it means they think I can win, but … this isn't something I ever wanted."

His grandfather nodded knowingly. "Then why train for it?"

"Because I…" Kekoa trailed off. It was a question he'd asked himself often enough. Why did he keep training, if he'd never really had any intention of volunteering? "Because it was fun," Kekoa admitted. "Because I enjoyed it. But I never wanted—"

"Never wanted the pressure of actually going through with it. You wanted all of the praise that came with being the top in your class, but not the expectations that came with it."

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?"

Kekoa could feel his face growing warmer. "Kupunakāne…"

His grandfather smiled a little. "Do you think you can win?"

"What?"

"Do you think you can win the Games?"

"Yes, but—"

"But nothing. You go out there, and you win, and then you can come back to District Four and fuss and moan about how it wasn't what you wanted. You hear? There's no time for that now. You have to focus."

Kekoa shook his head. "Did you vote for me?"

"Pardon?"

"Did you vote for me, Kupunakāne?"

"No."

He turned to the others. "Mother? Father? Kaileah?"

They all shook their heads, and Kekoa breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the rest of the district had ignored what he'd wanted, but his family … at least they hadn't wanted to send him to what might be his death. He wrapped his arms around one, and then another. "Okay. Okay, then. I'll see you when I get back, right?" That was what he was supposed to say, wasn't it? He was supposed to act confident. He was supposed to be certain that he was the one coming back.

Do you think you can win? His grandfather's words lingered even after his family had left the room. Of course he thought he could win. But thinking it and knowing it weren't the same thing. Every Career tribute went into the Games thinking that they could win. But how many came back out again?

Kekoa shook his head. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what the other tributes before him had done. He was coming home. He was coming back to his family. Maybe he didn't want to be in the Games, but he wanted to come home. And that was all that mattered.