Chapter 30: Seeder Till

This particularly long and excruciating Reaping Day is finally drawing to a close as I head down the length of the train car to check that the tributes' accommodations are to their liking. Or, more specifically, to make sure that Rue is in bed. She had meekly but politely excused herself just after dinner while Chaff and Thresh were still going over strategy.

But when I open the door and gently poke my head into the darkness, nothing stirs. "Rue?" I call out sotto voce. "Baby? Are you asleep?"

No response. Frowning, I drift closer to the silhouetted outline of the bed, running my hands along it to find the lump of a body. I have to squeeze my eyes shut tight at that last word – body – and tell myself, She won't die. You can get her out. A twelve-year-old hasn't won before, and it would be a novelty. Maybe she'll be the first. Historic. Peppa Cornac, my mentor, would say that false hope is foolish, but everyone's gotta have hope in some amount, right? Even if it's small.

The hope I quickly abandon when I panic upon not feeling any kind of lump in the bed at all. The bed is empty. "Rue? RUE?!"

I dash back out into the hall, racking my brain as to where she could have gone. There are only so many places on this train she could disappear to. The roof, I can already rule out – no tribute has ever been allowed to ride the trains from the top of the cars in sixty years, not since one little preteen from Three cast herself off from there while going over a trestle spanning the Great River. Wolfmark told me the story once, breath hushed and eyes gleaming like he was telling me a really juicy secret, for the tale itself is not well known. At least, it's nothing the Capitol would want you to know about.

I dash down the length of the train car – the last in the series – heart pounding as I get closer and closer to the back door leading out onto the small caboose. Capitol locomotives being sleek and streamlined as they are, the caboose itself doesn't serve any actual purpose beyond just nice scenery. Quaint and rustic trappings are back in as a trend, and have been since Isaac's year, which makes it long, as Capitol trends go.

"RUE….?!" I barely finish yelling her name while I'm still throwing open the door, and I pull up short, a hand over my relieved heart when I see my little tribute turn back to me in bemused confusion. She's sitting cross-legged on the caboose and watching through the bars of the rear railing as the tracks fall away behind us, stretching and yawning back out into the distance. The sun is setting over the dusty plains, and I know we've passed briefly into Ten, before the tracks turn and we'll be carried north up through Two and to the Capitol itself.

I lower myself down beside the little girl, feeling the creak in my bones acutely. It's hard to believe I'm already 62. Shit, it's still hard to believe I've ever been 60, a full two years on. Wolfmark and Chaff threw me a rather ridiculous party in the Village; both of the boys were drunk before it even started. I feel my breath hitch as my eyes well up when thinking about the former. Wolfmark…. My party was only a month before he died….

I try to refocus on the fabulous sunset bathing Rue and I in color – pinks and purples and even a streak of gold, down by the horizon. The paints of the sky blaze across my little charge's brown-skinned face, making her look like she's awash in tongues of flame. Like she's on fire.

Another horrible vision fights to bubble up from my subconscious and I wrestle it back down with a silent growl. The Gamemakers won't use fire on the kids this year – fire is out as a mechanism for driving the tributes together, following a particularly nasty incident in the late 60-s.

Rue's mouth is pursed in a thin, grim line that makes her seem far older than her mere twelve years. "Don't know how many of these I'll get to see."

She sounds at once so brave and so fatalist when she says it, and I feel my heart shatter for her. There's always at least one twelve-year-old brought out for this thing; it happens every year. I failed at concealing my anguish when Thomas Cameron, the escort for Eleven, called Rue's name this morning. It was worse for Chaff, who gave her a hug when she got to the stage, but wouldn't any uncle be worried for his niece? At least my colleague had seemed relieved to get a fine 18-year-old specimen in our boy.

Still, down at the other end of the scale, we still have a twelve-year-old. And not just one this year, but two of them, on account of the little boy from 4; I doubt Finnick and Ron are pleased. It was almost three, but then that truly brave and beautiful flower from the coal mines stepped forward and demanded to take her sister's place. Does Haymitch know that he probably has his best chance at the Crown in years, as they speed towards the city from District 12? I hope he does, and that he'll know how to help the pretty young thing. The volunteering of that Katniss Everdeen is all that was playing on the holoTV when I excused myself from dinner.

"Do you know what my arena was, Rue?"

She looks up at me, dark and doe eyes blinking. "No, Miss Seeder."

I chuckle. "I think we can dispense with the formalities, baby girl – Seeder will do just fine. But do you know?"

She shrugs. "Nome. I'm not old enough to study Hunger Games History – that isn't until Upper School next year."

I nod, hoping against hope that she'll live to see her next year. I sling an arm around her. "It was a maze. The Gamemakers thought it would be so much fun to have two dozen kids wandering around hopelessly lost, trying to avoid bramble, a decreasing sense of direction, and each other." Rue giggles a little and snuggles into my side. "I was the only one who kept my head in there, sweetie. Do you know why?"

Again, she shakes her head.

"I remembered that I had a brain, and didn't shy away from the strain of using it as time went by. And after running around in there like a mouse for twenty days, yeah, a lot of shi….. crap could go to your head. There will be others or things in there that are going to want to psych you out. Don't let it. Now, you're cute and pretty. You're smart as heck; I really mean it. The Games can be just as much about smarts as they are about big, bad Career boys swinging their dicks and throwing their weight around." Rue giggles, turning a little pink, and I resolve to ease up a little on the language and keep it cleaner. I've been known to forget myself when I start talking really passionately. I give Rue a squeeze. "There are things you can do, like the stuff you told me at dinner. Run fast. Climb trees. Stick to that, and maybe you can outlast the others."

I can tell by looking into her eyes that Rue's picked up on the chosen verb: I said outlast, not kill. Nevertheless, her smile broadens toothily. "And then I can win?"

"And then you can win," I nuzzle my nose to her. Yet even as I say it, I hear my heart howl. No one younger than Finnick has ever won the Games – ever – and there's a huge reason why: you can run as fast or climb as high as you like, but in the arena, there will always be someone bigger and stronger. A perfect example is chatting with this little girl's uncle right down the hall. The beast from 2 alone looks like he could swagger and intimidate just enough that the Gamemakers might anoint him and rig the whole damn mess for him to have the Crown in a walk. But then there's that mysterious beauty from Twelve… she showed no fear in sacrificing herself for her sister, and I've been mentoring tributes for twenty years longer than Haymitch himself to know that that girl is hiding some ace up her sleeve.

I tuck Rue into my side and get her to rise with me. "Come on. I think Mr. Cameron said there would be Italian ice for desert. You'll like it; trust me."

We head back into the dining car, where the holoTV is still practically masturbating to Katniss Everdeen's lovely face. I detect the horny lust in Thresh's eyes too, even as he's still attempting to half-listen to what his mentor is telling him. At one point, Chaff reaches across the table to grip his boy by the chin and force him to make eye contact.

"Ignore her. Ignore all of them, including that prancing, pretty white boy from Two. Flirting ain't your scene, boy."

Thresh just smirks. "What? I like hot pieces of ass. She's a GILF."

Chaff blinks. "A what? You meant girl. Yes, I'm aware of what she is."

"No, I meant GILF. You know, Girl I'd Like to Fuck…"

"Thresh!" I gasp, clapping my hands over Rue's ears too late.

Chaff just barks out a laugh. "Nigga, if you think a vanilla chick from the boondocks would spread her legs for your black ass, then you're an even bigger 'tard than old Guernsey Hyde!"

I snap my hands towards Rue's ears again when I was just beginning to set them down again, glaring at my colleague for dropping two horrendous slurs in as many seconds. Then again, no one can ever say my only successful apprentice has the mouth of a choir boy, especially when he's trying to get a point across and make his tribute focus. In any case, Rue just giggles and snuggles into her uncle's side. Chaff softens and kisses her forehead.

"Hey there, baby. Italian Ice?" When she wrinkles her nose with uncertainty, he chuckles, "Nah, don't worry – it's lemon."

Rue finally takes a bite of the cold desert. Her eyes light up, and I laugh.