Chapter Two

The journey to the Capitol was unlike anything Dyson had ever experienced.

Travelling in a luxury train, with an entire car to serve as his quarters and Capitol attendants to give him anything he asked for, he could almost forget why he was making this journey. Almost, but not quite. He knew, only too well, that he, Astra and twenty-two others would shortly be thrust into a fight for survival which only one of them could win. But, before that, the tributes would be given a taste of what the Capitol had to offer, including the food.

Food such as the meal he and the rest of the party from District 5 were currently eating: roast pork, accompanied by apple sauce and a selection of vegetables which included baby carrots and the creamiest mashed potatoes he'd ever tasted. The portion size was bigger than he was used to at home, but he knew he had to eat as much as he could over the next few days in preparation for the hardships he would face in the arena. After that, there was no telling when, or if, he would see food like this again.

Next to him, Astra looked up from her plate and turned to Piper, the victor who would be acting as her mentor; Rik, who was drinking from his hip flask again, would be Dyson's mentor. Since the Tenth Games, each tribute had been assigned a mentor to advise them on their strategy in the arena, as well as lining up sponsors who would provide the tribute with gifts which could quite literally mean the difference between life and death. The first mentors had been students at the Capitol Academy, but a series of unfortunate incidents surrounding the Games that year meant this idea had quickly been dropped. Instead, from the Eleventh Games onwards, the task of mentoring a district's tributes had fallen to its past victors, if any. If a district had no victors, its escort also took on the role of mentor, though this was not currently necessary as every district had at least one living victor.

Victors such as Piper Hale, the woman Astra would look to for advice over the next week. And Astra had decided to start by asking a question which was on both her and Dyson's minds. "So what happens in the arena?"

"Twenty-three kids die, of course," was Piper's somewhat terse reply.

"Yes, I know. But how do you avoid becoming one of those twenty-three?"

"Try paying attention during training. You never know, you might pick up some useful skills."

"You mean with weapons, don't you?" Astra's voice trembled slightly despite her attempts to control it. "But we'll only have a few days; the kids from the Career districts have been training for years!"

At this, Aurora let out a loud snort. She was accompanying the others from District 5 who were going to the Capitol, even though she was not mentoring this year; many victors who had the year off did the same. "Just be glad you're getting any training at all," she said. "In my day, it was a night in the stables, then straight into the arena. Weren't no luxury trains either, oh no. We rode in cattle waggons like animals." She recalled how she and her district partner had been thrown into a smelly, windowless train car along with several other frightened youngsters, their hands shackled in front of them. Treated as though they were less than human. Quite a contrast to the luxury which now surrounded her.

"Yes, I do mean weapons," said Piper, ignoring Aurora. "But I also mean survival skills. Knowing how to build a shelter, find food - those things are just as important." Which, she thought, was probably Astra's best chance; the girl was not the sort of tribute who was suited to physical combat. It might be best if her strategy was to get as far from the other tributes, including Dyson, as possible, then wait out the Games. Trouble was, the Gamemakers had a habit of forcing the tributes together, which could be bad news for the younger ones like Astra - if they lasted that long.


At length, the Capitol attendants came in and cleared away the main course to make way for dessert: bananas and ice cream in a rich chocolate sauce. Neither Dyson nor Astra had ever tasted anything like it and, even though they were both feeling somewhat full already, they made short work of it. Afterwards, their stomachs complaining from too much rich food, they accompanied the adults to the next car along to watch the televised recap of the reapings. Gathered around the television, the party from 5 watched as the Capitol seal was projected onto the screen and, one by one, the kids who would be Astra and Dyson's competition were revealed.

The actual reapings started with District 12, followed by 8, 6, 11 . . . and so on until all twelve districts had chosen their tributes. The recap, however, was edited so that the districts were shown in numerical order, meaning the first thing to appear onscreen after the seal was the main square in District 1, the district which specialised in luxury goods. It had also produced more victors than any other district apart from District 2, eleven in total, nine of whom were still alive. And, Dyson thought as he watched the proceedings, this year's pair, a female volunteer named Dazzle Bernstein and a handsome sixteen-year-old named Garnet Monroe, also a volunteer, both looked like they might be contenders. For all their classically beautiful looks, District 1 tributes were often among the best fighters in the arena.

Dazzle and Garnet were escorted into their district's Justice Building, then the broadcast cut to District 2. Officially, this was the masonry district. Unofficially, it was the centre of the Capitol's military might, a fact reflected in its tendency to produce tough tributes, most of whom went into the Games as volunteers. This year's pair, Bellona Maynard and Lupus Hendrix, were no exception, both of them charging towards the stage the moment their escort asked if anyone was prepared to take the place of the kids whose names were originally drawn. They also had that look about them which Dyson had seen on the faces of other District 2 tributes. That look which said they were in the Games to win and anyone who got in their way would not live to regret it.

District 3 had a girl named Synthia Gates and a boy named Digit Emerson, both of whom had jet black hair. Neither of them looked like much of a threat, but Dyson knew underestimating your opponents could be a potentially fatal mistake when it came to the Hunger Games. Tributes from 3 were often skilled with technology and, given the opportunity, they could utilise those skills to devastating effect. Such as the electrical trap one of their victors, a boy named Beetee, had used to take out several other tributes at once.

Next up was District 4, the last of the Career districts; its tributes this year were a pair of fifteen-year-olds called Salacia Cox and Fathom Osborne. And then it was District 5's turn. Dyson watched as Janus called Astra's name, followed by his own, saw himself shaking hands with Trent before making his way to the stage. He'd tried to act casual, but, seeing himself on the screen, he couldn't help noticing the tension in his body language as he took his place in a contest he'd never wanted to take part in. But he was here now and, as he'd told Tia, he would just have to do his best.

Monica Bennett and Axle Carling were called from District 6, followed by Lara Somerville and Xylon Wilde from 7, Pleat Naismith and Linus Hall from 8, Valerie Marsden and Glean Bellingham from 9. So far, Dyson noted, Astra was the youngest of this year's tributes, but that changed when a twelve-year-old girl called Tallulah Burns was called to the stage in District 10. She was a tiny thing, barely 4'6", and looked like she would be easy prey for the Career pack once the Games began. Despite this, when her district's escort asked for volunteers, not one of the girls who stood behind the ropes in the livestock district's main square stepped forward to take her place. "Poor mite," said Aurora as Tallulah stood on the stage, fighting back tears. "Let's just hope she gets taken out quickly." Back in 10, a sixteen-year-old boy named Randall Pearson became Tallulah's district partner; he too had no-one who was willing to volunteer for him, but he at least looked like he might be a contender. Probably, Dyson thought, he already knew something about slaughtering animals. If he could transfer those skills to humans . . .

Ten districts down, only two to go. Mallow Wicks, a girl with dark hair, eyes and skin, became District 11's female tribute; her partner, Husk Ackerman, who had the same colouring, was another twelve-year-old. Before making his way to the stage, Husk shook hands with a boy who was taller and more muscular than him, but had to be the same age since they both stood in the same section. Dyson thought the taller boy could be a contender in a few years' time. In the meantime, Husk mounted the stage and the request for volunteers was made, only to be met with the same deafening silence that had already met all but four of the previous such requests.

Last of all, the District 12 reaping was shown. The coal mining district had never fared well in the Games, having produced only two victors in nearly seventy years. Of those victors, one had vanished without trace and had later been declared officially dead, while the other had a drinking habit that surpassed even Rik's. Dyson watched as a scrawny fourteen-year-old girl called Stoke Lynch, whose dress looked as though it had had several previous owners, was called to the stage by a woman whose pink hair looked suspiciously like a wig. The latter asked for volunteers, then, when no-one responded, quickly moved on to drawing the name of 12's male tribute, Cormac Walker, a 6'1" seventeen-year-old who actually looked as though he might be in with a chance of at least making the final eight. If he did, he would be the first District 12 tribute to make it that far since a girl named Trillium placed seventh in the Fifty-second Games.


As soon as the seal reappeared to mark the end of the recap, Janus, who was nearest the television, reached out and shut it off. "Right, you two," he said to Astra and Dyson. "Bedtime. We'll be arriving in the Capitol first thing in the morning. And you'll have a big day ahead of you getting ready for the parade."

The parade. Neither Astra nor Dyson needed any elaboration on what that meant. Every year, the tributes were paraded through the streets of the Capitol in horse-drawn chariots, one for each district. This ritual had first taken place at the Eleventh Games, though back then the tributes had worn their ordinary clothes and carried banners bearing their district numbers. Somewhere down the line, however, someone had hit on the idea of dressing the tributes up to represent the principle industries of each district. Which meant Astra and Dyson would be wearing something related to electricity. There was just one thing, though.

"But that's not until tomorrow night," Dyson said. "Why's it going to take all day to get ready?" He spoke to Janus, but it was Rik, his words slurred from too much alcohol, who answered.

"You think they just dress everyone up and put them on chariots? Well, think again. You've got a session in the Remake Centre to look forward to first." He took another swig from his hip flask, frowned as he realised he had drained it and staggered off to ask one of the Capitol attendants for a refill. "Good night!" he called over his shoulder, before launching into an off-key song about someone called Delilah.

Dyson looked at him in disbelief. This was the man he was counting on to get him through the Games? A man who spent half his waking hours drinking from a hip flask? He didn't know Rik personally and had had no desire to get to know him, but he had now been forced into a situation where he would have to spend time with him whether he wanted to or not. Especially since Rik was supposed to be his mentor. "Is he always like this?" he asked, exasperated, not addressing anyone in particular.

"Pretty much," said Piper, as Aurora nodded to back her up. The Games had been hard on all three of District 5's victors, not that they were ever easy, but Rik's had been especially tough. Not only had eleven tributes, including Rik's district partner, died on the first day, the male tribute from District 2 had been sadistic even by his district's usual standards, having brutally raped three other boy tributes before killing them. And Rik had witnessed one of these attacks, though he had fled before he could suffer the same fate and remained holed up in a cave until the field had cleared of all but himself and the girl from District 1. Previously, Rik would not have dreamed of attacking a female, but the horror of what he had seen had unhinged him and, when the two tributes came face-to-face, he had stabbed her without a second thought. Afterwards, like many other victors, he had turned to alcohol in a bid to blot out the memory of the arena, especially the District 2 boy.

Dyson, however, was unaware of this aspect of Rik's time in the arena. He had seen the Forty-second Games in re-runs, but the recording had been edited to remove the rapes and make it look as though the boy from 2 had merely slit the throats of the boys he'd attacked. These weren't the only Games to be censored like this; if a tribute did anything deemed problematic, the footage would be cut from subsequent broadcasts. And, in extreme cases, Games had been banned from re-runs altogether, the recordings destroyed save for the master tapes, which could only be viewed with special permission.


As the train vibrated under him, Dyson lay in his berth, his mind filled with the events of the day and the faces of those he would probably never see again. He pictured Rodd sitting with his arm around Zeta as she wept at the thought of losing her son, Tia who now faced the prospect of becoming an only child. He recalled how the latter had thrown her arms around him when she and their parents came to see him after the reaping, how he had told her to be brave, how he had called her "the best kid sister a guy could ask for". And he recalled the moment the Peacekeeper had escorted his family out of the room when the time allocated for them to say goodbye had expired.

Expired. An appropriate word given his current circumstances. Chances were his life would have expired in just a few weeks, unless he could somehow outlast his fellow tributes. But he knew that meant all twenty-three of them must die, including Astra, and he also knew he would have to be prepared to kill at least once if he was to stand any chance of getting out of the arena alive. Could he do that? Could he take the life of another human being? Perhaps, if his own life was in danger and there was no other way to save himself. But could he kill in cold blood, as he knew some of his fellow tributes would be prepared to do?

There was no easy way of answering that question. Before he was reaped, he might have said definitely not, but now he wasn't so sure. A lifetime of watching the Hunger Games had taught him that being a tribute changed you and, all too often, not for the better. You might go into the Games full intending to kill only in self-defence, but there was no telling how you might react once you were actually in the arena and were faced with an inescapable life or death situation. And even if you managed to survive, you would have to live with the knowledge that you were alive at the expense of twenty-three lives, some of which you may have taken yourself.

He reached towards the crescent moon pendant around his neck, recalling how Paula had kissed him when she gave it to him. He'd always thought of her as a friend, but, when she and Trent came to see him before he was taken to the train station, he'd suddenly noticed that she was quite attractive. More than attractive, in fact. Beautiful, at least by district standards. Had he not been reaped, he might have considered taking their relationship a step further one day. Now, however . . .


Somehow, despite all the thoughts crowding his mind, Dyson managed to fall asleep to the rattling of the train as it made its way towards the Capitol.

The next thing he knew, someone was shaking him, calling his name and saying something which included the words "we're almost there". Opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling and wondered for a moment where he was - until he turned his head and saw the velvet-suited form of Janus Waite standing beside him. It was then that the events of the previous day came back to him and he realised with an unpleasant jolt what had happened and where he was.

He had been reaped. He was on one of the Capitol's luxury trains which, from what Janus had just said, would be pulling into the station at any minute. And, from there, he and Astra would be taken to the Remake Centre, where they would be made ready for tonight's chariot parade.

He was a tribute in the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games.