Ebony Merrick from District 7
Victor of the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games
Seven Times the Odds Were Not in Ebony Merrick's Favor:
1. When she was born
A three-year-old boy named Willow stood in the corner of the room, wringing his hands anxiously. The birth was long and horrific, but Willow couldn't look away. The morbid curiosity of his child mind far exceeded his disgust as he watched his mother scream and writhe in agony.
In District 7, the birthing process was never this painful. There were always medics available, natural remedies aplenty to ease the woman's horrible pains. But this was the height of the war, and every family fought for itself.
A chorus of screams rose outside the little house where they were hiding. There was the thundering of peacekeeper boots, the roaring gunfire, the crack of a whip. A knot of terror contracted in Willow's chest, and he crouched down in the corner, burying his head in his hands.
"Daddy! What are they doing?"
"Not now, Willow…"
His mother was screaming, thrashing wildly, moaning with an invisible agony that Willow was far too young to understand. Soon, her cries blended together with the cries of the people being murdered outside. Willow was screaming too, adding to the cacophony. A horrifying choir of human suffering.
There was the sound of a baby crying. Willow saw his mother slouch backward, sighing with relief. A little girl named Ebony Merrick had entered the world. A world wrought with war, a world of guns and boots and bombs. And, sooner than later, a world of Hunger Games.
"Out of here, quickly," Willow's father hissed. He helped his wife to her feet. She was still trembling with pain.
"Willow!"
The terrified little boy followed close behind.
He peeked through the blinds. The scene of utter mayhem outside the little shack had calmed somewhat. There were still peacekeepers, of course, but not enough to make escape impossibly dangerous. The family slid discreetly out the door and shuffled downhill: through the green, through the trunks, through the rows and rows of old and decrepit buildings that would soon be destroyed by the falling napalm.
Napalm. Willow didn't understand what that word meant, but he'd heard his parents using it recently. He got the impression it was something dangerous. The way they said it chilled them to the bone.
Two days later, the Merick family – the mother, the father, and the two little children – were looking back on the angry red flames consuming the town they called their home. They didn't know it, but nearly a third of District 7 was in flames. And with so much greenery, the fires were spreading quickly.
The baby in the blankets – Ebony Merrick – slept peacefully while the bombs fell. Rattling the earth, clouding the sky, dancing red and black in the distance. If the birth had taken just a few moments longer, if anything had slowed down their escape, they would all be dead.
But Ebony Merrick was a girl who refused to die. She was a girl born out of misfortune; she lived a life of danger and uncertainty but survived against the odds. It was her destiny to look Death in the face and laugh at it. Her destiny to survive.
Of course, surviving was not always easy. She would learn that in due time.
2. When she was reaped
Sixteen years had passed since Ebony's birth. These days, instead of worrying about bombs and napalm, the people of Panem worried about the annual Hunger Games.
Ebony's older brother had entered the games the year earlier. Willow Merrick, the victor of the thirteenth annual Hunger Games. Ebony thought her brother's name sounded strange through the speakers. His face looked strange on the big posters advertising his victory tour.
Whatever boy they were parading around Panem was not Ebony's brother. He had the same body, sure, but Ebony was left with the horrifying thought that the games had changed him beyond recognition.
"Welcome, District 7!" shouted the lady with the goofy hair. "Today, we'll be choosing two of you to compete in the fourteenth annual Hunger Games. First, of course, there are the formalities."
The escort made a broad gesture, revealing the two previous District 7 victors.
"I will now list the previous Hunger Games victors from District 7. Rowan Dobson of the second Games!"
Ebony was only a little child when Rowan won the games. That didn't make it any less traumatizing to watch.
"And… Willow Merrick of the thirteenth games!"
As Ebony watched her older brother walk across the stage, a distant memory flickered deep inside of her. The most distant thing she could remember, her very oldest memory:
There was the banging of guns, the thundering of boots. And there was light; the first light she had ever seen. Willow was standing in the corner, shaking with fear. An invisible fiery wind swept through the house, and the memory ended.
But that must have been just a dream. No way could she remember seeing Willow for the first time. Then again, trauma often heightens memory retention. Ebony knew that all too well.
The escort clapped twice. "Now, it is my pleasure to introduce the mayor of District 7, Gora Keith!"
Mayor Keith entered. She was only thirty but looked much older. She had seen far, far too much in her time as mayor. And, Ebony thought, she probably hadn't been getting her beauty sleep.
She delivered the annual speech about the generosity of the Capitol, the horrifying war, and so on and so forth. All the while, Ebony's eyes were transfixed on her brother. Or rather, the boy who looked like her brother. Her real brother was lost forever.
"Before we choose the names, I've been asked to give a word about the head gamemaker. Marcellus Chamberlain, the man who has lead every Hunger Games in history, is very sick. Please give him your… best… wishes."
Mayor Keith fell out of character for a moment. Nobody would be wishing Marcellus best wishes. They all wanted him to die.
The next thing she knew, there was the rustling of paper in the glass ball. A slip of paper, containing the name of the unlucky girl who'd been chosen to die.
"The female tribute from District 7 is… Ebony Merrick!"
Her heart prickled with fury. No way in Panem, no way in the universe had this been a fair drawing. Too often did the cousins and the friends of previous victors enter the games. But the sister of the previous year's victor? That was truly a spectacle.
"Ebony Merrick, Ebony Merrick," the escort contemplated. "Are you, by chance, related to this young man here?" She gestured toward Willow, whose mouth was agape with shock.
"You bet I am."
"How are you feeling about the games, Ebony?"
"You know how I'm feeling, ma'am."
From that point on, she watched the cameras coldly. She put on the most solitary stare she could manage. A few moments later, some boy who worked at the paper-making factory was reaped, but Ebony didn't offer him a single glance. Even when they were instructed to shake hands, she looked at his chest instead of his face. No way would she give the Capitol that kind of satisfaction.
3. When she was assigned a mentor
"Good morning, Ms. Merrick," said the peacekeeper, with clinical smoothness. "Now it's time for you to meet your mentor."
"My mentor?"
"Don't worry. President Cornelius will explain."
Sure enough, a holographic TV screen flickered to life, displaying the rather revolting face of Panem's "president".
"This is a message from your president," Cornelius said onerously. "This year, we are encouraging interaction between the past victors and the current tributes more than ever. In fact, we'll be officially assigning the victors as 'mentors' to advise and train the tributes this year."
Ebony thought about that for a second. District 7 had two victors. That meant she and her district partner would be assigned individual mentors. Of course, they would give her Willow. They would, wouldn't they? They were siblings, after all.
Other than Districts 1 and 7 (which had two victors each), the rest of the mentors would be working with two tributes. And, Ebony realized with spite, Districts 9 and 10 had no victors at all. The tributes from those districts would be all on their own.
It didn't make much sense to sympathize with her rivals, but Ebony couldn't help it. We are getting totally screwed over here, she thought.
And she was right. Because when she walked through the door to meet her mentor, it wasn't Willow. It was Rowan Dobson.
"I tried, Ebony," Rowan muttered. "I tried to get Hatchet so that you could get your brother."
"Hatchet?"
"Your district partner, Hatchet. You heard his name as the reaping, didn't you?"
"Not really."
Rowan opened his mouth a little, as if to smile. But he stopped himself before he could get too happy. "Take a seat, Ebony."
As soon as she sank down into the blue chair, the train started to move. A queasy feeling lit up in her stomach. She hated trains.
"What's my brother like these days?" Ebony asked. It was a childish question, sure, but she couldn't help wondering. She saw so little of him. And Rowan must know him better than anybody nowadays.
"He's very quiet," Rowan explained, taking a bite of a lemon cookie. "And he's gotten a bit of a hard shell. But under that, he's the same kid he was before the games. I promise."
Ebony found that hard to believe, but now wasn't the time for argument.
They spent the next hour or so exchanging casual conversation. They tried not to talk about the games, but they did crop up every once in a while. At one point, Rowan quipped, "I'll try not to recount anything that happened in my games, because you've probably seen them on TV a billion times before" and Ebony thought that was very smart of him.
Through it all, she was struck by how fatherly Rowan could truly be.
"Do you truly feel that…" she swallowed hard. "Do you really feel like the same person you were before the games?"
"Of course not," he said. "I was younger then. When you're young, there's no chance you're the same person you'll be in, say, ten years' time."
Ebony sensed that his cheery attitude was covering up so much pain; there was something fake, something artificial about the way Rowan Dobson strung his words together.
For the first time since she'd entered the train, she allowed herself to think of her brother. Whether he truly was the same person Ebony had grown up with. Was the boy who chased her through the trees during childhood games of tag really gone forever? Or was he just hidden deep down?
If the latter was true, Ebony was resolved to find the old Willow. She would fight the other tributes as hard as she needed to, go to any lengths necessary to escape the arena with her life.
That was a tall order, of course, but Ebony knew she could do it. Surviving was her destiny, after all. Ebony Merrick would not allow herself to die. Not today.
4. When she entered the arena
When Ebony entered the arena, the first thing she saw was a blanket of snow. Her body quivered, but from fear as much as cold. She remembered chilly nights in District 7, entire weeks of frigid weather where only tesserae oil and hope sustained the Merrick family.
But the knot in her chest loosened a little. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. The tributes from the hotter districts, like 10 and 11, didn't know how to be cold. Not like she did. And that was a huge advantage.
Even so, the odds looked bleak. The careers were strong this year, skilled archers and swordsmen from 1 and 2 respectively. Any one of them would be a deadly opponent, no doubt.
The numbers ticked downward, seemingly taking far too long. Were the gamemakers slowing the countdown to draw out their fear, or did it merely seem to be taking forever?
Now wasn't the time to split hairs. The bitter-cold wind howled higher than ever when the gong sounded. She leapt off the pedestal and started moving.
The snow was shockingly deep; every step required a constant effort. And the bitter cold was making things difficult. There was no doubt that the arena itself would provide most of the kills this year; hypothermia could be an extremely effective killer.
As far as Ebony could see, she was the first tribute to reach the cornucopia. That was awfully suspicious, because the snow inside the horn was far from smooth. In fact, the surface was torn up with bloody tracks.
She put two and two together a split second before all hell broke loose. The boy from 1, Thebes, flew out of nowhere, hoisting up his sword and roaring viciously. Panic flushed through Ebony's body, and her mind went blank of everything, even her instincts.
But Ebony Merrick would not allow herself to die. Not today.
She grabbed a nearby pack of supplies – miscellaneous weapons and foodstuffs – and started throwing. It was a pathetic attempt at self-defense, sure, but it was better than nothing. By some miracle, she hit him in the eye, distracting him for a split second. She gave him a knuckle sandwich and then ran for her life.
By this point, the cornucopia was full of tributes, scared and starving kids trying to avoid the wrath of the careers as they scooped up supplies. There were screams, red splatters, but Ebony didn't look back.
She caught a glimpse of metal, a glossy wooden handle…
An axe! Her best weapon! If she got her hands on that thing, her odds of survival would increase exponentially. Her feet were moving five seconds before her mind had time to catch up – swerving out of her way to grab the weapon she so desperately wanted.
She laid her hand on the polished handle, but another hand was already there. Ebony recoiled in shock, but it was only Hatchet, her district partner. They hadn't had a single conversation but she recognized his face.
Ebony tugged on the axe, pulling the handle out of his grasp. But second thoughts struck her right away.
"Team?" she asked.
Hatchet nodded morosely.
An hour later, the newly allied tributes from District 7 were traipsing through the snow, groaning from exhaustion. The bloodbath had long since ended, and just over half the tributes remained. They weren't making any effort to cover their tracks, but the heavy snowfall would hopefully take care of things before long.
"Well, we made it," Hatchet said as they curled up to sleep that night.
Ebony sighed. "So far. Now get out your blanket."
She wasn't trying to be rude, but the snowstorm had her in a nasty mood.
Hatchet's blanket wasn't huge, but it could cover both of them. When Hatchet curled up against her, reaching his arms over her body, she understood it as a non-romantic development. They were just trying to stay warm.
It's nice to have a friend, Ebony thought. And maybe the odds weren't so hugely against her after all.
5. When a mutt stole her blanket
"What… what day is it?" Ebony stammered.
"Day 8," Hatchet answered, shivering. "Nine tributes left."
A cannon fired in the distance.
"Eight tributes left," he amended.
Ebony pulled her arms into her body, looking hopelessly at the endless hills of snow. Was this how the entire games would go? Tributes freezing to death one by one until a single player remained?
Hatchet began to speak. "I wonder if this is because of… of…" He gulped hard, tearing up with frustration. "Because of the head gamemaker?"
"The head gamemaker?" Ebony said. "Oh yeah, that o-old f-fart who's about to die."
He let out a strained laugh. "Y-yeah. Him."
The exact details were unclear. The only thing Panem knew was that Marcellus Chamberlain was old and sick and would most certainly be dead within the next few months. Maybe this godforsaken arena had been hastily thrown together in his dying moments.
She thought of the control center, the circular room where the gamemakers worked their magic. She imagined the once-lively Marcellus old and sick, manning the controls one last time.
"I hope he dies in pain," Hatchet said. Ebony was thinking something similar, but she knew that giving voice to rebellious thoughts wasn't a great strategy in the Hunger Games.
Hatchet was getting riled up now. "If only we still had that damn blanket!"
That was two days ago. They'd woken up shivering to the realization that their blanket was missing. The nearby footprints implied that some kind of fox had stolen it from them. They'd tried to follow its footsteps, but to no avail.
Boom! Another cannon shot. Seven tributes left.
Ebony buried her face in her freezing hands, dreary and hopeless. Maybe she would die today. Maybe it was time to stop living in denial.
But maybe victory was nearer than ever before. Maybe hope still remained, as faint as it might have seemed.
She thought of the war and of Willow and of crying in corners. An uneven and shaky sleep fell over her like a blanket of snow, warm and cold at the same time.
It was a fitful night, full of nightmares and imagined screams. When she woke up the next morning, Hatchet had taken his coat and his shirt off. He was dead.
6. At the feast
"Good morning, tributes," Marcellus Chamberlain boomed. His voice was strained and croaky. He truly seemed on death's door. "We will be holding a great feast at the cornucopia tomorrow morning. There will be food, blankets, weapons, and anything else you could possible need. Attendance is not mandatory, but please think twice about not showing up. May the odds be ever in your favor."
Ebony looked up slowly, peering at the cloudy sky in a daze. A feast? There was no doubt in her mind that every tribute would show up.
Did she really dare put her life at mortal risk just for warmth and food? She was surviving well enough by herself. She was frigid, sure, but Hatchet's jacket was helping with that to at least some degree. And she had food. Ugly lichens that clung to the rocky ground. Disgusting but sustainable.
But now was the time to think rationally. Without help, she'd be dead in the next few days. And, if she had to choose between death by knife or by hypothermia, the knife would be a lot faster.
True to Mr. Chamberlain's promise, the horn was stocked with supplies the next morning. Racks of warm coats and tables of hot soup and weapons galore. It looked like heaven, Ebony thought as she leered down at the cornucopia.
By the time she reached the horn, her axe was frozen to her fingers. Before she could stop herself, she'd shoved a handful of warm crackers into her mouth. Her knees buckled with pleasure, and she fell into the snow, laughing a little as she stuffed more and more food down her gullet.
The next half hour was utter mayhem. Thebes, the boy from 1 that Ebony had faced during the bloodbath, was the first tribute to crash the party. Ebony would have been overwhelmed if not for the help of the boy from 4, who was too agitated by the idea of Thebes staying alive to stay out of the fight.
"Thanks," Ebony deadpanned as she and the boy from 4 knocked Thebes to the ground.
"No problem," he stammered.
It was an awkward couple of seconds. Did they kill each other? Help each other pick off the other tributes? Run their separate ways?
The boy from 4 must have agreed on that second option, because he dropped his dagger to his side. "Come on. The pair from 9 should be showing up soon. We can each take one of them."
It was easily done. The District 9 tributes were so weak from hypothermia that they went still under Ebony's weapons almost immediately. She and her new ally grimaced as they fell into the snow, dead.
"Any other careers?" the boy asked.
"No. All of them except Thebes were dead by last night," she answered. Dread churned in her stomach. She wasn't sure why. "There were five tributes this morning. And we killed three of them. So…"
The 4 boy swiped his knife in Ebony's direction. Panicking, she swung the axe, knocking the blade out of his hand.
It was a long and difficult fight. He had rows and rows of knives at his disposal, but Ebony had the bigger and more effective weapon. That being said, Ebony didn't want to risk throwing her weapon for fear of missing and leaving her completely defenseless.
The boy was a tough fighter, but he couldn't match Ebony's prowess with the axe. Twenty minutes later, Ebony's vision swirled like a kaleidoscope as she stood over the dead body of her final opponent.
The symphony of trumpets started to blare. An insult more than anything else. Ha ha, look at you, the music seemed to say. You did all the horrible things we forced you to. You have been powerless against our influence. And it will be that way for the rest of your life.
The claw descended to carry her into the hovercraft, and Ebony caught a glimpse of the boy from 4 lying dead in the field of snow. She thought of a boy she'd seen many years ago, a boy crying in the corner while she saw light for the first time.
She reached toward the light, closing it in her hands. The light of life, the light of birth. But it was only the ugly white lamp beside her bed in the hovercraft.
7. During her life as a victor
Ebony's fingertips caressed the old, yellowed photograph. She and Willow as children, during the first few years of the Hunger Games. That was only a decade ago, but it felt like a million years.
It was a horrifying photo; behind their smiling faces, behind the little shack they'd called their home, there was a scorched forest. One of the woodland areas that had been burned away with napalm during the war. Sorry, during the "Dark Days".
"We've changed so much," Ebony said, passing the picture back into Willow's hands.
"I know we have." Willow's voice was both sad and hopeful. "Where do we go from here?"
"I guess we try and forget."
Ebony let out an unsettling thought she'd been holding onto for a while. "Do you think they'll have mentors next year? Again? Or was it just a one-off thing?"
"I think they'll do it again," Willow said. "Which means Rowan will get off the hook and both of us will have to mentor."
"Every year? For the rest of our lives?" A pit of despair yawned wide in her chest.
Willow lay back on the couch. "I guess so. Maybe the odds were never in our favor after all."
That reminded her of something. "The boy from 4. In my games. I never learned his name."
"The one who helped you at the very end?"
"Yeah."
He didn't say, the one you killed at the end, which she was grateful for.
Willow's forehead wrinkled. "I don't remember his name either. Let's check."
He grabbed an old pamphlet off the shelf: one of the programs passed out during the chariot rides of Ebony's games. His eyes ran over the list. "District 4 male… Maston Flanagan."
Flanagan!
"Related to Mags, do you think?"
"No doubt about it," Willow said ominously. "Looks like you weren't the only legacy tribute in that arena."
Ebony's head spun out of control. The world was no longer safe for relatives of victors. In that moment, she resolved to never have children. Distance herself from her family members except for Willow. She could never live with herself knowing she'd put them at risk.
It would be like this for the rest of her life. Forever and ever and ever. She could never do anything but be a puppet in the public eye.
She remembered a boy crying in the corner as guns fired outside. Now it had come full circle; she was the one hopelessly fighting against a position she couldn't comprehend. And the napalm of the Hunger Games continued to fall each year, scorching away her mind piece by piece…
List of Victors
District 1 (2 Victors): Luxor Dodge (1st), Citrine Whitacre (9th)
District 2 (2 Victors): Tyrell Crowley (3rd), Lancaster Percy (6th)
District 3 (1 Victor): Lumen Orlaith (12th)
District 4 (1 Victor): Mags Flanagan (11th)
District 5 (1 Victor): Electra Wilty (4th)
District 6 (1 Victor): Jaguar Stratton (7th)
District 7 (3 Victors): Rowan Dobson (2nd), Willow Merrick (13th), Ebony Merrick (14th)
District 8 (1 Victor): Georgio Bronte (8th)
District 9 (0 Victors):
District 10 (0 Victors):
District 11 (1 Victor): Bluebell Singer (5th)
District 12 (1 Victor): Canary Roselock (10th)