INTERVIEW WITH THE MOCKINGJAY – Chapter 12
Sam Horn sets up his screen and starts giving his presentation, updating the status of the various construction projects around District 12. Clearly, this is the usual highlight of the Town Meeting.
The thick-bearded construction manager, peppy as usual, starts off with photographs of the latest work, then follows with graphs and charts, rattling off numbers and statistics of the accomplishments of the last two weeks. Most of that seems to have consisted of building additional modular huts to accommodate additional workers who are coming down by train next week, to overcome recurring delays on constructing the housing complex that will replace the homes that have been blasted by the Capitol when it bombed the District in the war.
It's hard for me to follow the presentation. Exhaustion is finally kicking in. I cannot read my own notes. Archer shoves me in the side. "Wake up, boss."
I rub my eyes and yawn. "Is he saying anything important?"
"He's going to take questions when he's finished. You might want to hear them."
I straighten up in my seat. I could use a cup of coffee right about now, I think. I glance over at Peeta and Katniss. They seem almost bored with the presentation.
Finally, Sam wraps up his report, and asks, "Any questions?" He wears a big smile.
A forest of hands shoots up. Linda Morrison walks her remote microphone over to an olive-skinned woman, who barks, "Yeah, when…do we move into our homes?"
Sam's smile vanishes. "We're looking at late spring."
Groans from the audience.
Someone else asks, "What about the medicines factory? When do we get out of the mines?"
Ron Davis answers that one. "As I said in the last meeting, we don't have a date for the medicinal factory, or for when we can close the mines. However, I will fight for both those issues." He grins broadly.
There is a roar of cheers and applause. "He must be referring to is election as District Senator," I say to Archer.
"Really," Archer answers. "I never would have guessed."
After the applause, another question, this from a grim man holding a young girl on the shoulder. "I want to know when these damn workers are going to start behaving themselves, Mr. Horn!"
"What's the problem, Mr. Middlebrook," Sam answers.
"The other night, my daughter heard noises under her window. She woke up and found…she found…do I have to say it?"
Meredith says, "You don't have to give details."
"Two construction workers…doing something they shouldn't be doing in public! I went outside and chased them away!"
Sam gulps, rolls his eyes, and flushes red.
"And this isn't the first time," Middlebrook says. "I don't understand why these construction workers can't behave themselves. They're guests in our house!" He sits down. Everyone applauds.
Sam slowly walks across the room. "I know…there have been a number of… incidents."
The audience laughs. I take notes.
"But I assure you, we take them seriously when they are reported…"
The audience groans.
Sam spreads his hands wide. "My guys work 10- and 12-hour days, too! Sometimes they get a little out of control…but when we have incidents, we crack down. I am truly sorry these things happen. We will punish any worker who breaks the laws of the District. We always have."
The response is a mixed mutter of approval and disbelief.
Another resident, an elderly lady, takes the microphone. "Look, we just want the work done, and any worker who doesn't want to stay here, to leave. We want the coal mines closed down, and our new business district opened up." The woman looks right at me. "So I want you to write that down and put that in your newspaper!"
The residents look at me and applaud. So does Davis. He knows how to read his people, I think.
Sam looks nervous. His immense red beard bobs. He slaps the smile back on his face. "Well, we're all working hard, and we'll get the job done!" he says, buoyantly.
After Sam finishes his presentation, the meeting moves on to more routine matters: resolutions authorizing expenditures to repair the barbed-wire fence that encloses the District, discussions about the water treatment facility, a report from Police Chief Angelica Barnes on the recent arrests and summonses issued – I am not mentioned – and a vote of welcome and best wishes to a pair of schoolteachers freshly assigned to the District.
As the meeting breaks up, I collar some of the residents for comment on the proceedings, getting their quotes, while Archer snaps more photographs. The residents mill with each other, talking. Some argue with Sam Horn and his aides, and one of the aides pulls out a notebook to take down complaints. Ron Davis effusively greets residents as he leaves, and Meredith packs up her kit.
I wobble down to the front again. "You look exhausted," I say.
"I am," she answers, as she stacks her papers and ledgers. She looks up at me with wet eyes and a beaming face. "I'd invite you home, but I have to finish tonight's paperwork."
"I have to turn tonight's meeting into a story. It'll probably run not in tomorrow's paper, but the day after." I glance at my watch. "Yeah, the day after."
We stare at each other, weary, reunited, but unable to reunite. "I want to be with you," I say at last. "We have so much catching up to do." I stroke her face, heedless of the official nature of the situation. I know it's unprofessional, but I can't hold back.
Meredith takes my hand and kisses my fingers. Then she leans forward and kisses me. When our lips part, she says, "I know. I'll give you the tour of the District tomorrow, and then we have dinner with Katniss…how about then. After we're done with Katniss, I'm yours. Will you wait for me, fair man?"
"I'll wait for you, dark lady," I answer. "If I fall behind…"
"…Wait for me," she finishes. I kiss her again across the table, and we pull apart. I watch her retreat from me. She turns her head back as she goes, like she did the first time we met, and so many times after that, gives me that impish smile, and exits through a door.
And Katniss and Peeta are standing there.
"So I guess we're having dinner after all," Katniss says. "What time?"
I break out of my reverie. "Yes…yes…I'll come over at 4:30 and start cooking. We'll eat at 6."
"Fine," Katniss says. "See you tomorrow." Peeta waves at us, and the first couple of District 12 turns and heads home.
"Let's get this story filed," I say to Archer. "Then I gotta crash."
"You and me both," Archer says.
It takes us another hour and a half to do our work…Archer to go through his photographs, select the best, and prepare captions, me to write my article.
After we are done, I call the editorial desk, and get Harry Byrne on the line. He is, indeed, putting the paper to bed.
"Your story about this Town Meeting won't get into the paper tonight," he says, in his familiar grating voice. "But your feature on your arrival in the District is going above the fold, with art."
"They're using your pictures above the fold," I say to Archer. He grins and gives me a thumbs-up. It's prestigious for him. "What's the lead story?" I ask Harry.
"The Army is not revealing the contents of the video chip they found at the Hunger Games site, but Eric and Kae Lyn think they'll be able to get a copy from a source."
I cup the phone. "They think they can get a copy of that video chip from that Hunger Games site from a source."
"I'll bet the source is Gale Hawthorne," Archer says.
"What else is in the paper," I ask Harry.
I hear shuffling sounds, and he answers, "War crimes trials, organization meeting for the new Senate, continued investigation of the killings in District 1, and a science story…a former Tribute named Beetee has made some kind of breakthrough in District 3, about electrical power. It may eliminate the need for fossil fuels and even nuclear power."
"Eliminate the need for fossil fuels?" I say. "That would make a lot of coal miners in District 12 very happy. What's this about?"
More shuffling. "Apparently this Beetee character has made a breakthrough involving some research done hundreds of years ago by someone named Nikola Tesla. Have you ever heard of him?"
"Doesn't ring a bell. Beetee sounds familiar." I nod at Archer. "You ever heard of a Tribute named Beetee?"
"Hell, yes. He's a fucking genius. From District 3. He represented the District in the 75th Hunger Games. Helped blow the games up. Then he was very big in breaking through the Capitol's TV broadcasts during the war."
Then I remember the name. He jammed the Capitol's communications and took them over for the rebellion. "Well, we'll share this with Katniss and Peeta. They'll be very interested in this news."
"What news," Archer asks.
"Beetee has made some kind of breakthrough in electrical power, Harry says. It would close down the coal and nuclear power industries. Make them obsolete."
Archer lets out a whistle. "That'll make District 12 happy." He points at the phone. "You got Harry waiting for you."
I finish up with the editor. "We've got a long day ahead of us, Harry. I'm getting you an overall piece on District 12 tomorrow, from the Business Administrator."
"Are you going to interview her, too?" he asks.
I smile. "Writing a story about her might be a conflict of interest for me," I say, "But I think we should do a story on her."
"When do we get the big story on the Mockingjay," Harry asks.
"That's still up in the air."
"Well, Altman told me to tell you to get the damn thing, and don't take no for an answer."
No shit, I think. "I'm trying, Harry. Good night."
After I hang up the phone, I crash onto the bed, exhausted. It's nearly midnight. I'm whipped, and I have a lot more to do.
Archer hits the lights. Then, out of the dark, "If you have any more nightmares, I'll punch you out, so at least I can get some sleep."
Actually, for once, I don't have any nightmares.
My alarm clock wakes us up at 8 a.m., and I let Archer get cleaned up first, preferring to take a few minutes to open the room's curtains and stare outside. Near us is yet another modular building, but this one appears to be a school, and a bunch of kids, probably the school's entire student body, mill around the building's door with their parents, waiting to go in. The future of District 12 is a tiny community. They will need more residents, I think.
Breakfast in the messhall is sausage, hash browns, and toast, with plenty of coffee. On the wall, a big-screen TV broadcasts the morning news. The army and cops are still pursuing the terrorists, who have vanished. General Gray's troops are searching high and low for them. The video chip is not being released. The government is considering allowing construction workers doing repair and rebuilding work in the various districts to bring their families out to those districts, if they choose to live there. A live theater opening up in the Capitol to perform plays, which are being unearthed from various bookshelves in the Districts, being compiled and reprinted in the Capitol, to try to restore culture.
At 10 a.m., we are outside the messhall, and Meredith and Sam Horn arrive in an all-terrain vehicle, Meredith driving, wearing the usual jeans and a dark blue windbreaker, ready to give us the official tour of District 12. She has her hair in a pony tail – she has not taken time to do any styling.
We embrace, and I climb into the jeep, sitting next to her. "Sleep well?" she asks.
"I did, for once," I say.
She looks at me carefully. "You're having nightmares, too?"
I nod my head. Meredith looks ahead. "So do I," she says. She shifts gears, and we bounce off and onto the rutted road, to tour District 12.
Sam Horn, as expected, does a lot of the talking. The big plan to rebuild the shattered district is a mixture of simplicity and grandiosity. The original town center is to be preserved as a "stabilized ruin" and as a memorial to the residents who were slaughtered by the Capitol. The last project that will be done by the workers will be to create a memorial plaque that will list all the District 12 residents killed in the bombing and the war. The only things spared by the air attacks, he says, were the coal mines and the Victors' Village.
The first project was to build the rows of modular buildings, to provide temporary housing for construction workers and District 12 residents alike, along with office space, workshops, garages, administrative facilities, a medical clinic, and stores. Building that took longer than expected, because the District lacked water, power, and roads.
Next, Sam's crews started laying out residential neighborhoods, a shopping center, and an administrative area, as well as the space for the planned medicines factory. But when they began that work, the need for coal in the Capitol and Districts became fierce, and Sam's crews had to put everything aside to re-open the coal mines and restore the coal sorting and loading facilities.
That has pushed back the timetable on all the other projects, especially the residential center.
"Why do they want to build a medicine factory here in District 12," I ask Meredith. "They could build that anywhere. They could build any kind of business here."
"The plant life in this District has a great deal of medicinal value," Meredith says. "They want to combine that with the latest medical technology to create more powerful drugs," she says. "This District will ultimately become farmland for herbal-based medicine. They think it would replace morphling, and be less addictive."
We thunder along by the immense barbed-wire fence. "That's not to keep people in," Meredith says. "That's to keep wild animals and intruders out. It's the exact same fence that was here before the war." She points at a sign on the fence. It warns people that the fence is electrified. "That's from before the war," she says. "We haven't had the time or manpower to remove those signs."
We roll along and stop at a wide gate in the fence. Meredith hops out. "You might want a photograph of this," she says.
A police officer mans the gate, sitting at a desk. He jumps to attention as Meredith walks over. "I'm not used to that," she says. "They do it because of my job."
Archer breaks out his camera to take photograph of the three of us. "What's the significance of this gate," I ask.
"This is Katniss's gate," Meredith says. "That's even the gate's name. Aside from the rail link, it's the only way in or out of the District by land. Sometime after I was appointed Business Administrator, she told me she was getting tired of having to crawl under the fence to go hunting every day. So I ordered this gate put in. Eventually, when they start farming, we'll use some of the fields near here, and the farmers and farm workers will also go through here."
"How will Katniss be able to hunt if there are farms here?"
"The farms are not going to be created near the forests and hills, obviously," Meredith answers. "We're leaving that terrain alone. Like a forest preserve."
I point my thumb at the police officer, who has sat down again and broken out what appears to be a training manual.
"And is he here all the time?" I ask.
Meredith shakes her head. "No…I assigned him yesterday, after Katniss told me about the terrorists. Until yesterday, we just relied on keys and a lock."
She shoots me a determined look. "I'm taking care of Katniss, too."
We climb back into the car. "You told me that you and Katniss are friends," I say. "How did that happen?"
"Are we on or off the record," Meredith says. The sun is getting higher now, and she puts on a pair of sunglasses.
"I actually can't interview you for the paper," I say. "It could be a conflict of interest."
She smiles. "So there won't be a story about me?"
"Well, I can't write it…but I'll arrange for one of my colleagues to interview you later."
Meredith laughs. "All right," she says. "No story by my fair man."
"Not today," I answer. "But how did you and Katniss become friends?"
"We met a day or two after I was assigned here," she says. "I went over to Peeta's bakery to buy some bread and introduce myself, and she was there, helping him."
"With the customers?" I ask.
"No…she's too private. She was in back, doing inventory. But Peeta took me back and introduced me. She immediately saw my resemblance to Rue. When I told her that Rue and I were cousins, she asked about our family, and if we were still getting a portion of her 74th Hunger Games winnings."
"Are you? Your family, I mean."
Long silence. Her face becomes tight. There's something going on there, I think. "They were until the war started," she says. "After that, I don't know. I hope so." There is a silence. She's hiding something, I think.
Meredith resumes her tale. "Anyway, we became friends after that. I asked her if there was anything she needed from me, as Business Administrator of the District, and she didn't say anything. But Peeta blurted out that Katniss was always coming back scratched up from having to crawl under that fence to go hunting every day, so I put through the order for the gate the next day."
"How did she take that?"
"Well, she was very grateful, of course. I think she didn't want to be in a situation where she felt she owed something to the government. I've told her many times that if she needs something, all she has to do is ask."
"What has she asked for?"
"Mostly protection from you guys," Meredith says, grinning at me. "She doesn't want to be interviewed, so they passed the Katniss Ordinances at a Town Meeting. And we ignore the fact that every time she goes hunting, she breaks her parole. She's first to get mail and packages on the postal route, and when she goes to the store, she doesn't have to stand on line at the cash register. And you saw what happened last night at the Town Meeting."
"Yeah…as soon as Peeta spoke, the whole District supported him."
"That happens to both of them. It's funny, if Peeta or Katniss were to run against Ron Davis for Mayor, they'd win. Davis knows that. But they don't want to be in the public eye again. That's why Davis pushes so hard…he's competing against a pair of legends, and they don't have to lift a finger to say anything."
"This place is more complicated than the Capitol," Archer says, from behind us. "I thought those guys liked to play games, but they have nothing over this District."
For some reason, Sam has been silent during this exchange. I lean up to him. "What's your side of the story? Last night, the residents were pretty hard on you."
"Hey, we're just trying to do a fantastic job here to rebuild this District," he says. "And my guys are working their asses off."
"Yeah, but they say you're moving too slowly and your workers get out of control."
Sam stares out of the jeep and into the distance, and then looks back at us. "Look, I could probably get this job done faster if I cut a lot of safety corners. Obviously, I can't, because that would just create buildings that fall down. I could also get this job done faster if I bring in even more workers from other Districts and more supplies. But if I do that, then I have to build even more modular buildings to house and feed them, and it would be like running in place. I have put in requests for more of both, and I'm willing to take that chance. But it would still be mostly running in place. My assignment from the Capitol and the Department of Reconstruction is to make District 12 the model district for successful rebuilding."
"What about the behavior issues," I ask.
"These guys and girls work 12-hour days," he says. "They're getting paid well for the first time in their lives, and even with allotments going to their families, they have plenty of money, and not many places to spend it here. When they come off-shift, they like to blow off steam."
"That incident with the guy and girl getting caught under Middlebrook's house is not unique," Meredith says, her voice sounding grudging.
"When we catch these guys acting out, we fire them and they go to court," Sam says. "After they pay their fine, they're on the next train back to the Capitol. There are plenty of people who want these jobs. And most of the troublemakers are workers who aren't going to stay here when the jobs are done," he adds.
"They're staying here?"
"The residential district being built is four times the actual registered population of District 12," Meredith says. "A lot of these workers are going to stay on after the jobs are done, and take new ones, either on the farms or in the factory, or in the service economy. Their families will come out and join them. We think that by the end of the project, this District will be back up to a population of five or six thousand, counting immigrants. A number of them are from District 13, where they're tired of the regimented life there."
She stops the car near the top of a hill. We debark and look down on a vast construction site…curving roads that go into cul-de-sacs, sidewalks, wood-and-concrete frames surrounded by workers and vehicles. Sam describes the project, one of the new residential areas, which is within walking distance of the factory site and a short distance from the downtown shopping area he is building. At the core of the new neighborhood is a park, complete with playgrounds. The houses will all be multi-bedroom dwellings, with plenty of lawn space, trees, solar panels, and all the latest technology, even the shower systems they have in the Capitol. Each family will own its own house and land, free and clear.
"This used to be the Seam," he says. He points at a strip of ruined buildings beyond the site. "Over there is Katniss's old house and those of her neighbors. Her house is also being preserved as a 'stabilized ruin.'"
"She didn't want it torn down," Meredith says. "She actually didn't want any of the ruins torn down, but I convinced her to let most of them get knocked down." Archer fires off some photographs.
"I'd like to talk to the workers and residents who are moving in to the houses," I say. "Do the residents get any say in the construction of their homes?"
"They were allowed to pick their sites, and given opportunities to go over the design of their homes with the architects and construction managers," Sam says. "It's going to look a little mass-produced at first, but once they move in and start personalizing their homes, they'll be individualized."
We return to the car, and all hop in. "I'm just so excited to be a part of this," Sam says. "It's like building a whole new world. I just wish everybody would believe me when I tell them we're trying to do our best. I just can't do it fast enough."
"They were bombed to hell," I say. "It makes them very nervous when a guy from the government says, 'I'm here to help.'"
The car bounces off along the road, and over potholes. "Why are these roads so bad," I ask Sam.
"I have heavy-duty vehicles going over them in all kinds of weather," he says. "We slapped these roads together really quickly, and they're falling apart just as quickly. One of the last things we'll do before we're done is put down roads that can last. We just don't have the time right now."
Meredith drives the car through the unfinished downtown. "The plan here is to create a Victorian-style shopping area," Sam says. "We built Peeta's bakery first, pretty much as a beta site."
"What's a beta site," Archer asks.
"It's a test bed for all the other designs," Sam says. "It's the model for the other stores." He points out a number of sites that are un-built beyond foundations. "Over there we're going to have an indoor market, with small vendors, fresh foods, crafts, clothing, and stuff like that. Guess what it's called?"
I shrug my shoulders. Sam grins. "The Hob."
"That should mean something," I say.
"The Hob was the illegal black market before the war," Meredith says. "It was originally a coal warehouse, and it was destroyed by the Peacekeepers before the rebellion, when the government was cracking down on this District. It will honor its predecessor. It'll be good for the economy."
"And tourism," Sam says. Meredith gives Sam a glare.
"You're not encouraging tourists," I gasp. "I thought you were protecting Katniss."
"We are protecting Katniss," Meredith says. "Tourism is a big political issue in this District. Some people want to encourage it over the long term, and some people are flat against it."
"Because the tourists that would come here…" I say
"Would be like the guys I used to take in my Hunger Games arena tours," Archer finishes. "Thrill-seekers who want to see Katniss Everdeen."
"And I'm not in favor of people sticking their cameras in Katniss's window and invading her privacy," Meredith says. "That's one of the few things the Commissioner and I agree on."
"But I think that in the long run, tourism in this District would be good," Sam says. "Camping, hiking, hunting, wildlife, craft fairs, would buck up the economy and give people entertainment and activities to replace the Hunger Games." His voice cracks a little, breaking from his peppy demeanor. "I lost a few pals in the Hunger Games myself. Including a girlfriend when I was a kid. We need something better for entertainment."
It's a division that the residents of District 12 will have to sort out for themselves, I think.
Meredith stops the car by a vast meadow, and she debarks. We follow her. "This is another historic site," she says. "This is the Meadow."
There's nothing unusual about it…just a meadow covered with grass. Beyond it is the barbed-wire fence that delineates the District. Meredith explains. "After the war, they dug this area up and buried the remains of District 12's dead here. Most of the remains were burned beyond recognition, and virtually no effort was made to identify anybody."
The Meadow is covered with late-season flowers, and the autumn wind moves the grass. "The plan is to build a memorial here, of course," Meredith says.
Archer whips out his camera and starts taking photographs.
"We're going to work with the residents and some artists from District 1 to develop the memorial," Sam says. "The President wants to come here for the ceremony."
"But Katniss doesn't want her around."
"So she's not coming," I say.
"That's another thing we have to work on," Meredith says. We troop back to the car. "At least I won't be here to deal with it," she adds.
"You're not staying here," I say.
"Davis doesn't want me around. I don't know what I'm going to do in five months. Where I'm going to go."
I grab her by the shoulders and face her. "We need to talk about that," I say. I glance back at Sam and Archer, who are trying to ignore our emotional moment. "But not now."
We climb back into the car and drive off. "This is really a small District, compared to Districts 7 and 2," I say.
"Once the major work is all done, we'll move out the fences and add parkland," Sam says. "We just don't want wild animals and intruders walking into the District's streets."
"Speaking of intruders," I say, "Has anyone heard anything new about the terrorists?"
"No," Meredith says. "They've disappeared. I got a warning from the Capitol this morning to be on the alert for them, and passed it on to Chief Barnes. But nothing. Maybe no news is good news."
"Well, I have some good news," I say. "We're running a story in today's paper that says a genius named Beetee out in District 3 is making some kind of energy breakthrough that could render fossil fuels obsolete."
Sam whistles. Meredith looks amazed. "Is this true? If that happens, that will change everything. Once we get the residents out of the mines, I think people will be a lot happier."
We zoom past a bunch of mine pitheads and entrances. A group of miners stands in front of one pithead, where grubby miners are getting coffee and sandwiches from a mobile canteen truck. Among the miners is Ron Davis himself, chomping on his sandwich, looking filthy in his overalls. He ignores us.
"He stays connected with his residents," Meredith says.
We bounce over the rutted roads and into the ruins of the town center, where Meredith stops the car again. "We've already been here," I say.
Meredith points out some of the wreckage. "That's where they did the Hunger Games reapings, and over there was the Hall of Justice," she says. "And that was Mayor Undersee's house. His whole family and their two servants were killed in the bombing. Their remains are in the Meadow."
"And this whole area will be left as it is, untouched," I say.
"Fenced off, with historic markers," Meredith says. "The plan is to make digital images from shots from Hunger Games reapings to provide photos of the buildings for the plaques." She shakes her head. "Otherwise there are virtually no existing photographs of the District."
"Nobody could afford a camera," I say. "What about in the Capitol records?"
Meredith shakes her head. "Nobody has had the time to look. That's a long-term project."
I could ask my father if the Peacekeepers kept photographs of their work, but I don't think they want shots of floggings and beatings. And I know that if I ask him, he'll just give me his usual stony silence. I dig at the dirt. Bits of burnt wood come up under my shoes.
"And when the final work is finished," Sam adds, "We remove all the modular buildings. They'll get re-used in other projects. Then we place the two memorials. And then we're done. Those of us who don't stay here will go on to other jobs in other districts."
He gazes around the ruins. "I just hope everybody remembers why this happened and what it was all for. I think everybody here just wants to forget us…the war, and everything that happened. Nobody's going to care or remember what we did here. They just complain, no matter what I do. It really gets me depressed."
It's an odd statement from the normally cheery and upbeat man. But the strain of last night's cross-examination by the residents seems to be affecting the construction manager.
Archer takes a shot of Sam staring out at the ruins. Meredith and I look at each other. It stirs a memory that we both share.
"I think they'll remember," I say. "In fact, I'm certain of it."
Sam turns back to us. "How can you be so sure?"
I look at Meredith. "I'll have to tell this Katniss tonight anyway, I guess. Do you want to or should I?"
Meredith sighs. "You will have to tell it tonight, and you probably remember it better. So why not do it now, and get yourself prepped?"
"I get to hear a war story?" Archer asks. "At last!"
"Yeah," I say. "A war story. Before the fighting."
It is the second week of our training, and all the officer cadets are charging through a "confidence course," under the tutelage of gray-clad instructors from District 13. They stand by the route, yelling imprecations at us about our abilities.
The skies are overcast from a recent rainstorm, and we recruits, also wearing gray uniforms, are covered in mud from the various obstacles. We are bedraggled-looking lot, filthy from crawling under barbed wire and across streams. Some of us are struggling to make it through the route. We all carry rifles with bayonets attached. Some of us are having little trouble with the course. Others are having great difficulty.
We charge up from under another barbed-wire obstacle and face a row of huge punching bags, dangling from ropes, which we are to stab with our bayonets. It's the last target on the course, for some reason.
One of the recruits is trapped under the wire. Kae Lyn and Mark Salmon crawl back to help the trapped cadet, who is screaming in frustration. I charge out of the barbed wire, next to another recruit, and stab the punching bag. Right in the gut. I run past, and shout out my name as I cross the finish line. Several instructors are standing there, including a short man with a black moustache, carrying a short stick, watching us. Unlike the others, he wears a camouflage battle uniform and a green beret.
The cadet next to me, an undernourished boy named Cooper, stabs the bag at its bottom, and then collapses onto the ground.
Sgt. Allen, an immense male black instructor from District 13, with a shaved head and huge hands, storms over to the cadet. "What's the point of hitting him there, recruit? You're trying to take his life, not his voice! Start over, you idiot!"
More recruits cross the finish line, including Meredith, who gives me a fist bump of victory as she dashes past. Other recruits come trickling in. Cooper rolls over on his back, in tears.
"What's the matter," Allen sneers. "Too hard for you?"
Cooper crawls to his feet, drenched with mud, a picture of misery. He struggles to snap to attention. "Sir!" He shouts. "This recruit requests permission to speak freely!"
Allen nods. "Go ahead."
"Sir, you can take this training and shove it up your ass! I want to go home to District 8!"
"Well, you're not going anywhere," the short man with the moustache shouts. "What do you think this is, a spelling bee?" The short man strides over to Cooper. "This is a game that you can just quit when you want?"
Cooper tries to splutter an answer, but the man waves his stick, and Cooper shuts up.
"That's Colonel Lewis," Meredith whispers to me. I nod. He's the boss of the training center, and we haven't met him yet. He's only arrived a day or so ago.
"He's supposed to be forming a special parachute-commando unit," I whisper back.
"And you can all shut up back there," Allen hollers at us.
Lewis strides away from Cooper and stares at the course. Five recruits are still struggling through it, two trapped on the high fence, three in the barbed wire. Kae Lyn and Salmon help their recalcitrant recruit out of the wire.
Allen yells to Lewis, but at us, "How about we have all of these guys go through the course again? They can encourage each other!"
Lewis waves his stick at Allen, and the sergeant shuts up. Lewis strides up to us, and faces us. "I want to talk to them for a moment, Sergeant. Tell that idiot to join his cronies."
"At your pleasure, Colonel," Allen says, stepping back. He nods at Cooper, and the tearful recruit dashes over to the crowd of recruits and sits down, trying to look inconspicuous.
Lewis glances back. "Get those people up here. I want them to hear this." Lewis strides up to us, head down, tapping his stick into his right hand behind him, looking thoughtful. With nobody ordering us around, the various officer trainees find somewhere to sit down on the ground. Some disconnect and sheathe their bayonets. I slouch down next to Meredith. We are not lovers yet, but we are clearly "into each other," as Kae Lyn and others like to say.
Kae Lyn looks at us with an amused grin. Jennifer laughs. Cornbread sits to Meredith's left, intent on Lewis. Salmon peers seriously at the recruit he helped, a skinny boy named Shepard.
The other recruits that have been struggling through the course join us and flop down on the ground before the colonel.
"I haven't had a chance to meet you yet," Lewis says. "So I'll take care of that now. I am Colonel Augustus Lewis. Some of you may have heard of me. I used to train Peacekeepers."
My father hasn't mentioned his name. But then, my father doesn't talk about being a Peacekeeper. But some of the recruits nod their heads or mumble in the affirmative.
"I taught combat tactics and military history, two subjects most of my trainees didn't care too much about," he says. "And I was part of the underground resistance against the government, something that I very much cared about. Now I'm training you people to become officers in the rebel army, which you and I will lead to defeat the Capitol. But if we are going to lead that army, we must lead by example, and that means all of you have to be able to complete a confidence course without breaking into tears."
Cooper hangs his head, in shame.
"You break down now, what are you going to do when you're in a battle and people are being killed and maimed around you?" Lewis asks. His voice is calm, firm, and low-key. "Your men and women will look to you to keep them calm, focused, and victorious. If you people can't lead by example, if you crack up, we will lose the war."
One of the instructors in gray says, "Colonel, sir, I did recommend that we do the training back in District 13, with our simulators, which are more realistic…"
Lewis waves his baton. "Bellamy, are we going to fight battles in the simulator or in the field?"
The instructor, obviously Bellamy, blanches. "Well…in the field, sir."
"Fine, Bellamy. Then we'll train in the field. You fight like you train."
Bellamy steps back. Lewis steps toward us. "I don't think you people realize what is at stake here. This is a war unlike any that have been fought in history. And I know about military history. I've taught it for a decade, to Peacekeepers who weren't listening. So I'm going to teach it to you, since you are listening."
He holds up his stick. "This is a swagger stick," Lewis says. "It's several hundred years old. It's been in my family for centuries."
The recruits react with whistles of surprise and amazement. There are virtually no artifacts of previous civilizations in the lives of most citizens of Panem. "One of my ancestors was issued this swagger stick when he was commissioned into a regiment called the 48th Highlanders, hundreds of years ago, in a conflict called the First World War. He was fighting against an aggressive empire named Germany, which had invaded peaceful countries in a continent called Europe, and destroyed their cities."
I remember vaguely a story about a country named Germany invading another country named Belgium, but I don't know what the second empire is. Maybe I should read military history, I think.
"He served in the 48th Highlanders, part of the 3rd Brigade of the 1st Canadian Division," Lewis continues. "He led troops in a heroic and successful attack at a place called Vimy Ridge, against the Germans, and earned a medal.
"He gave the swagger stick to his son, who served in the Royal Canadian Regiment in another war 20 years later, called the Second World War. As it happens, this war was also to stop German aggression. Only these Germans didn't just invade neutral countries, they butchered millions of people in those countries. He fought in Sicily, Italy, and the Netherlands, also in the 1st Canadian Division, and also earned a medal."
I wonder what Lewis is talking about. Where are these places? What is the Royal Canadian Regiment? What is Europe? What is Germany?
Lewis looks at us with determined eyes. "A swagger stick is carried by officers kind of as a badge of rank," Lewis says. "You used it to point out where your men should go. This one was handed down in my family, all the way to me. I carry it with me, to remember my family history, and to remember why they fought."
We are quiet as Lewis speaks. No dramatics. No fire. Just firmness. "My family fought in several wars for a country called Canada." He points to the north. "Over there."
He smiles slightly. "Long before that battle at Vimy Ridge, some of my ancestors fought to prevent Americans from invading Canada, at Queenston Heights and Lundy's Lane. And they won. They fought tyrannies in two World Wars and Korea. They served as peacekeepers – real peacekeepers, not the sadistic idiots who flog starving people for stealing a crust of bread in the Districts – to prevent wars and hold tyrants back after that. Now we are fighting what may be one of the worst tyrannies in human history. This is a tyranny that tears out people's tongues, that starves its citizens, and forces children aged 12 to 18 to fight to the death in an arena for sport.
"Some of you people understand how evil and important this war is. But some of you seem to think this is a game or an adventure of some kind. A spin-off of the Hunger Games.
"Well, it isn't the Hunger Games. It's worse. In the Hunger Games, only 23 people die. But if we lose this war, the Capitol and the tyrants who rule it will make our world worse than ever. And that will affect each of you personally." He walks up and down from left to right. "Each one of you who survives will probably have his tongue torn out. That's right. Each and every one of you." He points at a few recruits in the crowd, and continues. "You, you, or even you." He points directly at Meredith. She gulps and her face flushes.
"The tyranny will continue forever. Thousands of people will die. Your whole families will be slaughtered, your homes razed. You will all be forgotten, and sadists like Coriolanus Snow will be regarded as heroes. And the sadistic, wealthy, privileged fat bastards in the Capitol will go on holding food orgies and Hunger Games forever. This is our only chance to stop them. It's our only chance to stop them from starving our families, keeping us in poverty, and taking our children away by lottery every goddamn year to slaughter. We can end all that, you and me.
"What we are doing is making history. What we are doing, people will remember. What we are doing is more important than anything that has been done on this continent in more than a century. I want you to make history and be remembered, in the same way that my swagger stick helps me remember Queenston Heights, Lundy's Lane, Vimy Ridge, Ortona, and the Liri Valley. I want you people to write the pages in the history book that nobody will ever forget: the chapter about the men and women who brought Coriolanus Snow and the Capitol's dictatorship down, ended the Hunger Games, and freed our people.
"And you're only going to be able to do that if you complete your training, focus on your jobs in spite of everything, and win this war. We have to win, and we have to lead that victory." He pauses. "Any questions?"
Someone raises his hand. Lewis points at the questioner with his swagger stick. "Go," Lewis says.
"Sir, what are Queenston Heights, Lundy's Lane, Vimy Ridge, Ortona, and the Liri Valley?" asks a quavering voice. Cornbread laughs nervously.
Lewis stares at the crowd of recruits, his features working into fury. "Doesn't anybody here have a clue about what I'm saying?" he gasps. "Anyone?"
Impulsively, I rise to my feet. "I think I know what you mean, sir. About us being remembered and victorious. I think I can explain it."
Lewis folds his hands. Overhead, I hear a distant rumble of thunder. I walk up near him and face the bedraggled trainees. "May I, sir," I say to Lewis.
Lewis nods, puzzled.
I look at the men and women. They are covered in mud and filth. Some of them are still undernourished from years of starvation in their Districts, but are being fattened up by Slim's fresh meat from District 10. They are a mixed bunch, some my age, some younger, all looking fearful and hopeful at the same time. I see Jennifer, Kae Lyn, Mark Salmon, Cornbread, Cooper, Shepard, all looking at me. Most are puzzled. Meredith, however, has a knowing expression.
"Some of you guys know that Meredith and I have been spending our free time reading plays by William Shakespeare to each other."
There is a gaggle of laughter from the recruits. But we're not the only budding romance in the training class.
"Hundreds of years ago, Shakespeare wrote a play about a small army going to war to fight an enemy that outnumbered them something like seven-to-one. The good guys were led by King Henry V, and they were the small army. They were about to be attacked by the bad guys and their huge army, and the good guys were afraid they'd be defeated. So King Henry made a speech to his men right before the big battle. One of his top aides, named Westmoreland, wished that some of the men back home were with them that day, which was something called St. Crispin's Day."
The recruits look at me, puzzled. I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know what St. Crispin's Day is, either." I can feel Lewis staring at me, intrigued.
"Anyway, here's the speech."
I say, from memory:
"What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words –
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered –
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
Nobody says a word. Meredith smiles at me. I showed her the speech three nights ago, and she was excited by it, saying I had to read it to the rest of the recruits. I had told her I would do it at the proper time. Kae Lyn is trying to keep from laughing. Cornbread looks determined. Cooper looks stunned. Salmon looks serious. Jennifer, for once, is not about to make a loud, brassy joke.
The rest of the recruits are staring at me in amazement…and comprehension.
Lewis strides over to me, arms folded in front of him. I hear another distant crack of thunder. "What's your name, recruit?" he asks me, his voice down a few decibels.
"Charlie Allbright, sir." I snap to attention.
"Where you from, Allbright ?"
"District 2, sir."
"District 2. Were you a Career Tribute, a miner, or a Peacekeeper before the rebellion?"
"None of the above, sir. I was a newspaper editor."
Lewis laughs. "A newspaper editor. So you memorized that speech was what you did instead of learning how to throw knives or break rocks or crack skulls?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're that guy who was assigned here by Plutarch Heavensbee to be a combat correspondent as well as an officer, right?"
"Yes, sir. My photographer is with me, too."
"Point him out," Lewis says.
I point at Kae Lyn. "Kae Lyn Harrington, sir."
"Pop tall, recruit," Lewis says, pointing his swagger stick at Kae Lyn. She snaps to attention.
Lewis looks me up and down. "Can you drive a car?"
The question seems bizarre. "No, sir," I say.
"Good," Lewis says. He turns back to Kae Lyn. "How about you? Can you drive a car?"
Kae Lyn goggles at the question. "No, sir."
"Good. If either of you two could drive a car, I'd have to assign you to one of the armored infantry units. But because you can't drive…" He puts out his right hand. "Welcome to the 1st Special Service Force, son. You're going to be a commando." He shakes my hand and walks over to Kae Lyn, and shakes her hand. "So are you, recruit. I can't break up Mr. Heavensbee's press team. You can sit down."
Kae Lyn sits. Lewis strides back to the center, his swagger stick behind him, and faces me again. "I know that speech, too. Only I never memorized it like you did. I also know what battle that was. Agincourt, in 1415. The English defeated the French. The French did indeed outnumber the English by a huge amount, and the English crushed them." He glances up at the storm-laden sky and down at the mud. "Under similar weather conditions." He grins at me. "From now on, your name is 'Shakespeare,' recruit." He nods at the other trainees. "You can rejoin your buddies now."
I dash back to my space next to Meredith. She grabs my hand and squeezes it.
Lewis stares down at Cooper. "You still want to quit, son?"
Cooper stares back at Lewis. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. He yells, "No, sir!"
Lewis smiles. "That's what I like to hear." He looks at Allen and Bellamy. "Sergeant Allen, I think you were about to have these recruits run the confidence course again."
"Yes, sir," Allen shouts.
"Then I suggest you do so," Lewis says. "I'll join them. Show them how it's done."
"Yes, sir," Allen shouts again. He turns on us. "All right, recruits, on your feet, we're doing this again!" We climb out of the mud and get ready to jog to the beginning of the course and do it over again.
Bellamy pipes up, "Um, sir, it looks like there's going to be some heavy rain…are you sure you want to do this right now?"
Lewis smiles at Bellamy. "Well, Bellamy, can you guarantee us that we're only going to fight battles when the sun is shining and the ground is dry?"
Bellamy twists his face and gulps. "Umm…no, sir. I can't."
"Then let's get on with it," Lewis says. He turns back to me and sees me standing next to Meredith, our hands entwined. "You two are involved?" he asks.
"We're…we're going that way, I think," Meredith says, looking at me nervously.
"I think so, too," I say, looking back at her, trying to smile. She smiles back shyly.
Lewis nods. "That's fine." He raises his swagger stick and points it at us. "But there's not going to be any fucking in this training camp. I'm not sending cowards home, and I'm not sending families home, either. Nobody here is being issued any kind of birth control, because it doesn't always work. I'm promoting abstinence. Nobody is leaving here pregnant or with some damn disease. And you two people are officer trainees first. If you wind up in the same unit, you," he points at me, "might have to order her," he points at Meredith, "to do something that could lead to her death, but win the war. Winning the war comes first. Clear?"
Meredith squeezes my hand. For the first time, it hits me that I might be in just that situation. I don't know if I could do that. I just nod my head.
Lewis flicks his eyes at us, going back and forth. "After we win the war, you can have all the romance you want. I catch you two together with your pants off, you're out of here. Separately. Clear?"
"Yes, sir," we both say, almost simultaneously.
"Right." He prepares to sprint off, then turns back to us for a moment, and says, "But you do look good together." Then he thunders off with the rest of the recruits.
Meredith and I look at each other. "What do you think?" I ask her.
"I'd like to be in the same unit as you," she says, "But he has a point."
"We'll worry about that later," I say. We run off to join the other recruits.
And now Archer and Sam Horn are staring at me, and Meredith is smiling. "That's pretty much how I remember it," she says.
"You memorized that speech?" Archer asks. "How the hell did you do that?"
"It was one of the things that motivated me to join the rebellion," I say.
"Who are Warwick…and Gloucester…and Bedford…and Exeter?" Sam asks. "I got a worker named Bedford. She's a plumber."
"They were Henry V's top aides," I say. "They fought in the battle." I dig at the ground, self-conscious. "Any way, the point was, I was telling the guys that if we won the war, we would be remembered for what we did."
"I never heard of the First Special Service Force," Sam says.
"We were better known as the Black Devils," I say.
"I never heard of them, either," he says.
Meredith looks away from us, and I look into the distance, too. "There aren't too many of us left," I say.
"The only way people are going to remember the Black Devils is if you write about them," Archer says.
I whirl on him. "Not you, too," I say.
He smiles slightly. "Hey, you're going to have to tell it. Why not write it?"
I give Meredith a look. "What?" she asks.
"What do you think?" I ask her.
"I want to know what happened at the bridge, too," she says.
"I never told you?" I say.
Meredith folds her arms together. "No. All I know is that you and your troops were mad because it took us nine days to get to you."
"That wasn't your fault," I say. "But I'd like to know that myself."
"This is going to be one interesting dinner," Archer says.
"Yeah, and I have to start preparing for it, and I have to interview some of the workers. Then I need to find a grocery store," I say. I turn to Sam Horn, who looks puzzled beneath his enormous beard. "Where can I get supplies for venison fajitas?"
"What are those?" Sam asks.
"Never mind," I say. "Let's go interview some construction workers."
