Chapter 8: Instinct
My eyelashes are having to flutter at about the same speed as the rotors of the military plane just off to our left the next morning, as I work to blink any residue of sleep and now the sun's glare out of my eyes. Standing on the roof of the Training Center, Haymitch is studying the fabric between his fingers with a contemplative frown.
"Mesh material," he finally concludes, letting go of the swath he has been pinching from Jax's forearm. "That probably means no internal heating. So I would have to guess the arena's environment is either tropics or desert. But I would ask Portia for a second opinion."
I can't help but cringe. I was in my element last year in a forested arena, and Peeta and I still barely managed to make it out alive. If the arena really is a desert, and thus without any kind of foliage, the other tributes won't have to kill each other - the sun will. Plus, a desert would be a bit of a downer for this year's Games; that was the environment only about six years ago, the summer before my father died. The boy from District 9 who won that year only got a 3 in Training - the best I can say for him is that the Games helped him lose some critical pounds.
"Any last advice?" Jax queries.
Haymitch can only smirk grimly. "Stay alive."
Paula doesn't even deign a glance in my direction as she turns away. "I think you should make the run. To the Cornucopia," I blurt out. "You can handle it." She ignores me completely, stalking resolutely for the hovercraft with Jax. Beside me, Peeta and Haymitch both raise eyebrows at my bold advice, but say nothing.
With the open design of the military transport, we can observe the Peacekeeper injecting our tributes with trackers. Then the rotors pick up speed, and with a roar, the hovercraft lifts off into the sky.
We watch it until it is nothing but a speck in the sky, and then Haymitch gives a jerk of his head. "Let's go."
We follow him to the elevators, and take the ride down all the way into the basement. I don't know what I expect to see when the doors ping open, but once they do, I gape.
An entire Control Center stretches out before me. A pelthora of a dozen screens - each belonging to one station for each district - stretches across the front wall to my right. We have to traverse the entire length of the floor to arrive at the station for the District 12 Victors, all the way in the far corner. Right beside us, Chaff and Seeder both politely nod in our direction. They are studying the holograms and buttons spread out before them, the blue pixelated renderings displaying critical stats for their tributes like age, weight, height and muscle mass ratio.
The buttons along the dashboard at our station are almost comically large, but at least they're clearly labeled. A big, orange one loudly reads SPONSORS. I have a feeling we'll be pressing that one a lot... provided that our tributes make it out of the bloodbath with their lives, and that's if they're lucky. But Jax and Paula didn't both score in the same range as the Careers for absolutely no reason. If my first-year as a mentor shows both my tributes make it past the first few hours, I'll call that a win.
I turn to see a dazzling, million-watt grin nearly in my face and I have to stumble back a step, blinking. Finnick just laughs at my expression. "Morning, all," he drolls. "Lovely day." Tucked into his side is a strikingly beautiful young woman with flowing, red hair. She whimpers in fear, but Finnick just smiles at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, Annie, these are some new friends." He smiles sadly at me, almost like he's apologizing. "I wanted to leave her back in the hotel room where it's safe, our mentoring bench is plenty deep, but... the decision was out of my hands."
Peeta steps forward with a friendly smile. "It's nice to meet you, Annie."
As they are talking, I continue to take in the space around me. Lining the back wall behind us is an imposing catwalk. Behind it, on the floor above, I can see a white circle of people in clinical lab coats, tinkering with a giant and blue pixelated rendering. The Gamemakers, undergoing last-minute prep for the arena. A portly man with thinning blonde hair, clad in an ostentatious purple robe, strides onto the catwalk and calls out in an onerous voice:
"All rise for the President!" We Victors obey, and some speakers somewhere play a lively tune as President Snow himself strides onto the catwalk, overlooking the whole display.
"At ease. Be seated," he commands with a deferential wave of his hand. I take my seat warily, finding myself unable to look anywhere but at him. As Snow turns away, I just know his gaze is locked with mine, and I am terrified by what I find there - or, rather, what I'm not able to find.
"10 seconds to launch!" an automated voice calls. Glancing at each other, Peeta wordlessly holds out his hand. Gulping, I seize it.
"Together?" he mouths.
I nod solemnly. "Together."
"3 seconds to launch!"
The screens before us go live all at once, revealing our first look at the arena. Within seconds, I can hear Abram Mills, the formerly tubby Victor from District 9 who won several years back, swearing loudly. He is soon joined in the obascenities by a higher-pitched voice, more female, which I just know to be Johanna Mason.
The Cornucopia sits on a rocky island in the middle of a miniature sea. Jagged, rocky spokes jut out from the island, forming a dozen watery wedges. Within these wedges each sit two tribute pedestals, which are just finishing bearing the tributes up into the arena before clicking into place.
I can hear the Careers screaming from clear down the other end of the Control Center. "District with first death buys drinks!" Brutus bellows.
As the coverage begins and the camera focuses on as many of the tributes' faces as possible, I try to track the lens and locate my tributes. I wide shot gives me a glimpse of Paula, who appears to be on the pedestal directly in front of the back tip of the horn. I patiently wait, hoping that the camera will give me an orientation on Jax. Jax... where is Jax?
On the screen next to us, in front of the District 11 mentors, I see the coverage lock briefly on Selena Dogwood, the old lady from 9. It appears she has had the sincere bad luck of being flanked on either side by Careers: she shares her watery wedge with Andronicus, while over the spoke to her immediate left, Sheen and Fritz Sparkplug from District 5 are trapped together. Sparkle is on Andronicus's other side.
Selena takes this all in.
"30... 29... 28..."
Suddenly, with a serene smile, Selena closes her eyes and gracefully steps off her pedestal.
KABOOM.
Selena goes up instantly, causing a chain reaction. The two pedestals on either side of her go up too. Then the two on either side of them. By the time the Gamemakers desperately throw up a forcefield, half a dozen other tributes have been blow to bits before the Games can even start.
There is silence in the Control Room. Even from this far away, I can see a muscle ticking in Brutus's jaw. Finnick merely lets out a dramatic sigh.
"Drinks are on Nine, I'd say."
A chorus of voices go up:
"Thanks a lot, Abram."
"Yeah, nice one, douche."
"There goes my best chance..."
But all I can do is look up at the sky and whisper a prayer to Selena. "Thank you," I murmur. With her suicide, she managed to take all of the Career pack save Domitia off the board. The Capitol must feel pretty stupid that they set up some of the Games' biggest players for that kind of trick. I hope that Abram Mills, Evelyn Morris and the other District 9 mentors won't be punished for it.
"Let the 75th Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith is announcing. "May the odds be ever in your favor! 5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."
The gong sounds, but only a few of the remaining, terrified 17 tributes actually dive into the water on cue. Frantically, I search for Jax. Oh no... was he a casualty of Selena's...?
No, he wasn't, but he is moving quite slowly, lowering himself hand over hand off his pedestal and into the water before bobbing along like a buoy. About three wedges over, Paula has still not moved from her pedestal.
That's when I realize, and my face goes white:
"How many of the tributes actually know how to swim?" I ask the boys weakly. Depending on the answer, this Quell could end very, very quickly and too, too cleanly.
Glancing warily to the District 8 Mayor sharing her wedge, Paula holds her nose and bravely leaps into the water. Like Jax, she bobs along for a bit, but she critically does not sink.
That's when Peeta sees it. "Check it out." He points to a spinning holographic schematic of some kind of belt. "The belts on their suits. They act as flotation devices. At the very least, they'll keep you from drowning."
Jax seems to have figured this out, for he is beginning to make experimental strokes towards the island. Before long, Paula copies him.
A few of the younger tributes have already reached the island first, picking over the weapons in the horn. One of them is Domitia, who spins upon seeing both of the District 11 20-somethings pull themselves, sopping wet, onto the sand. Letting out a battle cry, she charges for them, but is suddenly driven back by the 21-year-old man from Four, and the man from Seven who looks to be in his late 30s.
By now, Jax is hoisting himself onto the rocks, and Paula is not far behind. Seeing Domitia make a run for their District 11 allies again, Jax races forward.
"Domitia, don't! They're with us, remember?"
Jax must think that perhaps Domitia hasn't been able to discern friend from foe, or recognize that District 11 are her allies. My gut clenches in foreboding just seconds before Domitia spins, grins wickedly at Jax, and plunges a scythe into his abdomen.
"NO!" Peeta roars. Jax stumbles back in stunned shock. About a quarter of the way around the island, Paula is hauling herself up onto the beach. She breaks into a run, rounding the horn...
... and nearly runs into an axe. She tries to dive out of the way, but not fast enough, and the blade takes off her right arm completely.
With a howl, Paula collapses to her knees, the sands of the beach rapidly staining from the blood gushing out of her stump. The man from Seven retrieves his weapon and is upon her without mercy. Paula screams and yells and tries to claw him off, but Seven brings the blade down once, twice, and with a twitch, Peeta's mother lies still. I glance to Peeta, and his impossibly blue eyes are swimming with tears. The pain on his face is admirably palpable.
I may not have wanted Paula to emerge as the Victor, I may have wanted her to die in the arena... but I didn't want even the likes of her to die this way.
Meanwhile, it is slowly dawning on Jax the depth of Domitia's betrayal, and with the scythe still in his abdomen, he lunges for her in one last ditch attempt to beat her. He jumps right into the long knife that she slides across his throat, and he topples backwards.
BOOM. BOOM.
And just like that, District 12 is out of the 75th Hunger Games... all within the first ten minutes. Paula and Jax end up placing 16th and 15th out of the entire field.
The man from Seven ends up winning the whole thing, subduing Domitia in a bloody Top Two duel right on the island, in the shadow of the Cornucopia.
And things only get worse after the Quell.
The Capitol literally springs on Peeta and me a wild, extravagant Capitol wedding, with decorations and gown designs and ceremonial customs that we had absolutely no say in. Many of our fellow Victors are in attendance, like Finnick and Johanna, and while they offer many happy returns, they also warn us to be careful.
The whole display is farcical. If I ever wanted to get married, I would have preffered to Toast the bread in my living room over a simple hearth. No one in Twelve feels married without that tradition. But it is not to be.
Peeta and I are put up in our own honeymoon suite before we go home. Shortly before we depart for the train station, we are given an audience with the President, upon his request. Here, Snow offers his congratulations... and makes it abundantly clear that he expects to see signs of "the next Mellark generation" very, very soon. He says all my things are already being moved into Peeta's mansion back home.
I go to bed on the train that night screaming from nightmares of Peeta's and my baby being Reaped.
Six months later, on the first stop of his Victory Tour, Johanna Mason, Blight Gavin and Connor Murphy bring their new Victor through Twelve. As District 12's Victors, Peeta and Haymitch and I are obligated to meet them as a representative delegation.
"Congratulations on your tribute's Victory, Johanna," Haymitch says sincerely. "At least it wasn't a Career who walked out."
"No, indeed," Johanna laughs.
"Where's Jules? Taking a break?"
"By his own admission, he's getting a little too old for travel," Blight nods with a slight smile.
At my look of confusion, Peeta leans over to me and whispers, "Jules Elmer, Victor of the 7th Games."
After the brief ceremony, and the new Victor's blah speech, we mingle with District 7 for a bit longer before they have to get back on the train.
"I hope the weather in 11 is nicer," I attempt to make conversation with Johanna. She just shrugs.
"Catnip." Gale now approaches us, clearly having loitered after the mandatory assembly. "Ready to head back to the Village? I'll walk you lot."
"Thanks, Gale," I nod. Johanna is now glancing past me, appraising my best friend with intrigue.
"Who is this, Girl on Fire?"
"Oh, um..." I introduce them. "Johanna Mason, this is Gale Hawthorne. Gale, Johanna."
The Victor and miner shake hands. "So," Gale glances Johanna up and down. "You're Johanna Mason."
"Yes, I am," she smiles.
"Well... you've always been one of my favorites," Gale admits.
Johanna merely snorts. "Flatterer." But is it just my imagination, or is she... blushing?
We say goodbye to the District 7 entourage, and hiking up to the Village through the wintery sludge, amidst swirling snow flurries. As we progress through Town, we are just passing by the Bakery when I think I hear strange noises coming from inside.
I bite my lip. "Why don't you boys go on ahead? I'll catch up."
Peeta graces me with a concerned frown, but at my weak smile, shrugs, pecks me on the cheek, and trudges up the hill behind Haymitch and Gale.
As soon as the men are out of sight, I steal around to the bakery's back loading dock. The noises are clearer now. It sounds like... moaning.
"Oh no... no... Steffan, please..."
"God, yes..."
"But our children! Our children would never forgive us if we... Mmmm... Hmmmm... Yes, right there... No! No, we mustn't, this isn't right..."
"Belle..."
I gasp. Mother? Quietly, I slip in through the back loading dock, and pull up on a shocking sight.
Mother is spread-eagled over the Bakery's back counter, her baby pink femininity only just visible around where the Baker is frantically thrusting into her. Involved in a deep kiss, Mother's eyes shift over to land on me, and they go wide. Whimpering, squirming, she and the Baker snap apart, though still very much in coitus.
"Katniss, dear..." The bodice of Mother's Merchant frock is torn to shreds, revealing her voluptuous bare breasts that are now heaving as she gasps for air. One of her nipples is gripped in the Baker's large hands.
I am agog. Aghast. And suddenly, thinking back to that strangely charged look Mother and the Baker after the Reaping six months ago, the sight of catching Peeta's and my surviving parents in the act, doing the dirty deed, starts to make a lot more sense.
"I... I don't believe it! You... you and him!"
"Katniss, listen to us, please..." The Baker tries to calm me, though he is biting his bottom lip. "We can explain..."
"Don't touch me!" I twist away. Oh, Panem, what would Daddy think of this? He's probably spinning in his grave. Blinking back hot, angry tears, I flee out of the Bakery and pelt all the way up the hill, not stopping until I reach the Village.
I enter the compound to find Peeta stooped over the center fountain, refilling it with water. His kind face collapses in concern upon seeing me in such a state.
"Katniss? What happened?"
I don't answer beyond a strangled sob as I throw my arms around him and kiss him furiously. I let him hold me as I cry, though I am unable to articulate what I saw going on between our parents.
When I am all cried out, a burning rage, an insatiable need to get back at our parents, takes hold of me, and I grip Peeta by the arm.
"Come with me," I murmur low. I drag him out of the Village, under the district fence and all the way into the woods, not stopping until we reach the river by Daddy's old hunting cabin.
That's when I jump Peeta. I practically climb him like a tree, kissing him furiously and with a groan, he soon sinks into my lips and returns my affection. Locked in a passionate embrace, we soon both lose our balance and fall backwards into the snow. Pinned underneath him, my skin alights at his touch, and I let out a sigh into his lips, making a snow angel with my body as I spread my legs.
Peeta and I continue to kiss in little, fevered pecks, tearing at each other's clothes in our haste to undress each other, despite the chill. Within moments, I feel the dulled pinch as Peeta enters me, taking me slowly before we works up a fierce rhythm that soon has him pounding me into the drifts. I thrash and claw at his back, lolling my head to the side so that his lips can attack my neck. I groan and moan incessantly.
"Uhhhh... Huhhh... Hmmmm... Mmmmm... Mmmhmmmm... Yes, yes, Peeta! I need you to fuck me! Fuck me harder! I'm... I'm gonna cum... Oh, motherFUCK!" I orgasm so hard, I see stars, my fists seizing and digging into Peeta's shapely buttocks as he rides out his own release. He finally ejaculates into me with a groan and lies still.
With the last of my strength, I roll us over so that Peeta is on his back and I straddle him. Beaming at him, though my eyes swim with tears, I dip my head and softly kiss his lips with mine.
"Thank you." I whisper. I needed this. I needed this warmth.
Because with everything hanging over our heads, who knows when the chill of winter will finally release our lives from its hold completely.