Chapter 7: Wolfmark Redpath
These days, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone left alive who was either a direct signatory of, or material witness to, the ratification of the Treaty of Treason. The precious few who do remain almost all live in the Capitol, and were mostly senatorial aides back then – 18, 19, 20-year-old kids at the time.
Quintus Kuykendall is one of these. He was part of the Capitol delegation suing for peace between the two parties, a staff aide to Senator Heather Bresch of West Virginia – part of what would become District 3 and eventually, the Great State of Latier after the Mockingjay Revolution.
You can meet Quintus if you are of the mind to visit the Capitol's largest nursing home – St. Primrose, christened after the little sister of the beautiful Katniss Everdeeen – on a lazy Sunday afternoon. 99 years old now and still remarkably lucid, Quintus Kuykendall will talk to you… once plied with some raspberry lemonade spiked with fine Capitol Merlot – year of the 55th, for back then, wine was all that was good.
"We were so busy in those days…" he recalled. "Senator Bresch had us running back and forth, presenting terms and drafts to the Treaty all together. Then… we'd come back into her office…. adding new proposed lines in, crossing them out…" His body shakes in what might be a shudder, though it could just as easily be due to the draft coming in from his window on this cool, spring morning.
Quintus can't remember exactly what was said during those peace negotiations, even though he was in the room where it happened. He explains he had a young family to support back then, newly married, to a graphite-mining heiress from one of the finer families of District 1. Heidi's been gone for quite some time now. You might ask him what his wife was like back then, if she was a Loyalist who stayed steadfast to the Capitol. He says he doesn't know – the family he married into wasn't big on politics.
And to this day, Quintus Kuykendall has no clue who proposed what would become the most fateful clause in the Treaty of Treason.
The Volunteer Clause, as it is known, reads as follows: "WHEREAS the children of the rebellious districts may feel the need or desire to make something of themselves or shall be riddled with guilt for the sins of their fathers in the rebellion, they may voluntarily submit themselves for penance into THE HUNGER GAMES if they so wish."
Again, Quintus isn't sure who proposed such an amendment, but it was approved, and added to the Treaty. On the face of it, the Volunteer Clause makes absolutely no sense, and didn't at the time it was ratified. Even the Capitol was baffled by it: the people of the districts were mindless rubes, still bitter over their loss. Who would willingly step into a fight to the death? At the time, as Quintus reminds me, there was no reason to. No great incentive, for in those days, Victors weren't treated as superstar celebrities. If you happened to win the Games within the first decade or so, you would go home a Victor but back to the dreary life you had before.
So, the Volunteer Clause was just sort of there. No one thought any district teenager would be stupid enough to actually use it.
But that's exactly what happened in District 11, on the morning of the Reaping for the 7th Annual Hunger Games.
The boy initially Reaped that year was an anemic twelve-year-old. His nose was already running blood… as well as other fluids further down his anatomy, when his name was called to take the stage. The girl – a rather buxom 15-year-old – had already been chosen, and the district mayor (Mayors were required to conduct the Reaping in those years, escorts wouldn't come until later) was just about to prompt both tributes to shake hands when a voice rang out from the Square:
"I volunteer as tribute!" – a phrase that would, overtime, become one of a handful synonymous with the Games themselves.
In a collective 'Huh?' moment, everyone's heads swiveled back to where a loping and strong young man emerged from the 17-year-olds' pen. Wolfmark Redpath was cocky and self-assured at first blush, and clearly a man on a mission.
Watching the tape of that Reaping is a surreal experience, the whole moment in District 11 coming off as close to light comedy. The Mayor is gaping like a fish. He stammers and splutters and finally hisses something in the ear of one aide who dashes into the Justice Building. Wolfmark strides confidently up to the stage, a contingent of Peacekeepers awkwardly circling around him, stuck hovering somewhere between instincts, between orders. Should we direct the guy up to the stage? Should we cut him off? We already have a boy tribute! – the white-plated officers seem to be thinking. Though, gotta admit, this Negro is a damn sight nicer than the little whelp Mayor Bel-Edwards picked.
At that moment, Mayor Bel-Edwards and his advisers are frantically scanning down a parchment of papyrus that was being handled as though it was sacred, because it was: the district copy of the Treaty of Treason.
You can see the moment when Bel-Edwards gets to the Volunteer Clause. He looks both relieved and absolutely astonished. By now, Wolfmark is mounting the steps to the stage, a group of Peacekeepers following him. One soldier is practically begging the Mayor with his eyes: can we shoot him?
Bel-Edwards dashes forward and pumps Wolfmark's hand, whispering something low in his ear. Then the Mayor approaches the microphone and announces to the crowd:
"Young Master Redpath's bravery shall be allowed to stand! For it is written in the Treaty of Treason: WHEREAS the children of the rebellious districts may feel the need or desire to make something of themselves or shall be riddled with guilt for the sins of their fathers in the rebellion, they may voluntarily submit themselves for penance into THE HUNGER GAMES if they so wish."
Zooming in on Wolfmark's face, it is apparent that the lad is not really riddled with guilt about anything. He also doesn't appear to have "the need or desire to make something of" himself, because again, coming home alive a Victor gave you absolutely no perceivable benefits in those days.
But as he stepped onto the train bound for the Capitol, in place of a grateful tween, Wolfmark Redpath aimed to change all that. And he would. For the 7th Hunger Games is rather fateful, just as other years would become – the 10th, the 50th, the 65th. The 74th….
Wolfmark would later be quite stone-faced on the peppered questions about why he had done it. Why did you do it? Volunteer? In the ensuing decades, he would say nothing beyond, "I think my actions in the arena made it clear enough." And indeed, it doesn't take a deeper viewing into the 7th Games tape to understand: Wolfmark wanted revenge. A clear motive for that need only require going back and watching the 3rd Hunger Games, when Clayton Redpath, Wolfmark's older brother, came so close to coming home until he stopped bothering to watch where he was cutting and accidentally hung himself like a punk.
And though he never confirmed the theory outright, through his actions, Wolfmark still makes it clear: he is out for revenge. Security camera footage from the Capitol Zoo reveals Wolfmark isolating and targeting the District 9 boy for torture right away, pleased when the 12-year-old doesn't fight back. The kid might not be sickly, but in terms of guts, he's no Dell Fonio.
In later years, Seeder Till would reveal that Wolfmark had reflected on his plan and shared it with her: he would find the District 9 boy at the Bloodbath and take him hostage, scare/kill anyone else away when and if he had to, and wait for the field to weed itself down to the Top Two. Then, he would let District Nine go, to give him a sporting chance, and demand the kid fight him. The fact that a terrified twelve-year-old would be his opponent would make the avenging of his brother all the sweeter.
It's a pretty good game plan, and you would be forgiven for secretly wishing the 7th Games had played out that way, to include a hostage situation. You know, kinda like the way everyone wishes that Titanic had ended differently, with both Jack and Rose on that floating door.
Unfortunately, Wolfmark's plan fell apart within seconds of the gong going off.
The District 2 boy that year was a jacked 18-year old, and ruthless. And he was launched just one pedestal away from District 9, whereas Wolfmark was nearly on the other side of the semi-circle ring. So it was that District 2 got to Wolfmark's prize first and snapped his neck: the first of many unintended consequences the 7th Hunger Games would birth.
Here's another one: the disaster of flooding the arena the previous year had caused the contractors at Capitol Landscaping LLC to take a step back this time. Rethink their strategy with a new ally at their behest, Dr. Volumnia Gaul. That, coupled with President Ravinstill's order regarding no more live audiences, produced the unintended consequence of leaving the stands surrounding the arena completely empty.
Denied his claim, Wolfmark charged into the fray for the weapons. He got his hands on a scythe, which he had been handling since he could toddle, and killed an unusually muscular boy from District 3 with it. The kill got his message across well enough, and though he bullied back other tributes, he never injured or much less killed anyone else within the opening melee. Wolfmark preferred instead to take off and disappear up high into the deserted stands with his bounty. He found an abandoned concessions booth and scaled it, making that his camp and lookout post, able to see for miles anyone else who might be on approach. It wouldn't be the last time that same concession booth saw some action, but more on that another time.
With the stands of the stadium effectively cleared, the tributes could actually run, even while still being walled in. Unlike in the 5th, however, they couldn't hide, and the dozen who survived could see everyone else and where they were positioned. For the two tributes placed the farthest apart, that would mean seeing a speck on the horizon, its shape amorphous enough so that you couldn't tell, at first blush, that it was a fellow human.
The District 2 boy garnered a lot of fans, and people wondered whether he was Maximus reborn (a very Roman superstition that in this case made no sense, as Maximus was then still alive, well, and watching from the television screens at home). District 2 entered a partnership with the large boys from Districts 8 and 12 and they prowled through the stands, hunting for the other nine competitors.
If a Hunger Games fan wants action, then look no further than the 7th Games. The arena play offers plenty of salivating chase scenes, the first two of which last for five hours each. District 2 and his allies – the sight still a novel one despite Shrimp's introduction of it the previous year – run over every inch of the stands to catch the girls from 9 and 7. The latter was a particularly hard-fought kill, because absolutely no one wanted another Acacia Ivy.
By now, the sun was sinking fast as dusk approached, and the three large boys were winded. There were still four other tributes to hunt, but the three were exhausted. What should they do? Keep going? In front of television screens on the streets of the Capitol, and in the district squares all across Panem, the nation held its breath. The Hunger Games were mandatory viewing, and had previously only lasted a day. What would happen if the Victor was left undecided through the night? Would the people be allowed to return to their homes? Would they have to keep watching without sleep?
District 2 and his allies took a vote: let's hit the hay, and pursue the remainders in the morning.
The nation was caught by surprise. Didn't know what to do. Despite the Treaty of Treason being quite clear on this point - "No less than four-and-twenty tributes shall be released into an outdoor arena, where they shall fight to the death, UNTIL a lone VICTOR remains…" – Hunger Games Day had always been just that: Hunger Games Day. No longer. The district squares had little choice but to subject its people to sleep deprivation, and everyone was forced to watch seven tributes snoozle when they couldn't until sun-up.
Thus, the 7th Hunger Games had the unintended consequence of being the first Games to run over into multiple days – all because three bloodthirsty teenagers were in desperate need of a nap.
The deadly trio resumed their hunting on the second day. They gave chase one by one to the boys from 6 and 7, as well as the girl from 5 – the lattermost of which took the large trio over an hour and a half to end. Coupled with the decently splendid chases for the other two, and by then, it was high noon, and the three boys were already winded.
They passed under Wolfmark's concession stand only ten minutes after dispatching the District 7 girl, still trying to catch their breath. This would prove to be critical.
Wolfmark showed no fear when he dropped down on not one, not two, but three boys equal to him in size and began a furious battle. It's heralded as one of the finest finales in the first decade of the Games, those being decidedly few.
The quartet of testosterone wrestled. They bit. They slashed. But with the element of surprise on his side, it didn't take long for Wolfmark to completely waste the boy from 8, hacking him to pieces with his scythe, before throwing District 2 halfway down the bleachers.
The penultimate duel between Wolfmark and the boy from 12 is mesmerizing. The latter is nearly nineteen, lean and fit, and deadly with a pickaxe. At one point, he sends the tip of it at Wolfmark's temple, but the jab isn't pointed enough. It grazes the skin above Wolfmark's left ear, but doesn't pierce the skull. Still, Wolfmark begins to feel ringing in his ears as he experiences the effects of a large concussion. He fights through it, menacing District 12 low to the ground before disarming him and finishing him off.
By now, District 2 had crawled his way back up the bleachers, his legs broken in two places. Somehow, he managed to stand, and the Capitol was witness to a fractured boy and a concussed boy duel to the death. Wolfmark was a picture of sheer endurance, and when the boy from 2 went down with a roar of defiance twenty-five minutes later, it was rather poetic. District 2 had denied Wolfmark his true revenge. If he couldn't have Nine, the one who killed him would do.
It took a record-breaking 26 hours, but he had had done it. Wolfmark's final path to the Victors' Crown was glitzy and glamorous. The show that the Capitol had always wanted from its Games. Every news outlet wanted to interview him, and for the first time at the Victor Ceremony, still just in its third year, the Capitol saw a Victor who could be a star. Wolfmark took full advantage of the praise, brazenly attesting that District 11 could give the Capitol more shows like that if only the Victors were better treated. The ruthless black boy that the Capitol adored effectively pioneered the idea that Victors could be trusted with the spotlight, that they could become national celebrities, to be looked up to and revered. President Ravinstill was hesitant to let some uppity nigger tell him how to run his own pageant, but still… the potential of what Wolfmark was envisioning intrigued him. It had merit, but not so fast! Best not be hasty, even if a change in how Victors and even tributes were treated was in order. Better to wait a few years, and then the President could claim the upgrade in service as his own idea.
Several other unintended consequences arose from the fallout of the 7th Hunger Games. The first was that live Capitol audiences would truly remain a thing of the past now, the stands to the stadium left empty to give the tributes more room to play. The second was that people now could see that someone could volunteer for the Hunger Games… and be rewarded for it, if not yet in riches, then at least in attention. Several other districts began to take note.
Yet another unintended consequence began to germinate as a gaping Maximus Decimus Meridius seethed at being so close to becoming the first district to have a second Victor. If Shrimp's Victory had been like a car alarm in its warning, Wolfmark's win was like a five-alarm fire. Kovu had been brilliant, only to be denied. How could it have gone so wrong?
The answer came quicker than expected: in the final analysis, Kovu wasn't prepared. And if District 2 couldn't get another win the straight way… well, Maximus figured, District 2 would just have to get prepared. Their tributes would have to train.
One more unintended consequence of note: as Wolfmark would ultimately suffer from a moderate form of tinnitus for the rest of his life, Ravinstill ordered that all pickaxes in the arena be permanently banned. The result would put District 12 at a distinct disadvantage for decades to come.