Chapter 6- Oak Peacewood
The boy whose shanty is next to mine coughs for what seems like the millionth time. It's barely dawn, and I haven't slept much at all; whooping cough or something similar has been rampaging around the Sap. With my luck I'll get it next.
I'd rather hear them cough than hear the wailing, though, like I heard two days ago when that little girl died from the sickness. Her mum screamed until her voice gave out and turned into whimpers. I've hardened myself against the death that's surrounded me for the past three years, but I'll admit that I mourned that little girl. She was a sweet thing, always toddling around after her older brother. Probably no more than two or three.
No use sleeping in, I suppose. At least I don't have to head over and play friendly with my work team today. Today's July 4th, isn't it exciting? Not. It's Reaping Day. There's got to be some eligible kids in here; I wonder if one of them will be chosen. I think more than a few people think that the Capitol won't go through with their little Hunger Games, but what do they know? I've seen what the Capitol is capable of, and I can tell you that they are more than happy to sentence kids to death.
They've done worse with less provocation.
I don't think I'll stick around today. I'm bound to get my name called, what with the tesserae I took out for myself, and the fact that I'm a Peacewood. All these factors combined have almost guaranteed me a place in the Games. I've been planning to leave for weeks now, but I've been holding out, waiting. I can't wait any longer, though.
Katya isn't coming.
I roll off the bed, if you can even call it that, and shove the planks up. It rained last night, making the ground spongy and moist. The dirt sticks to my fingers when I pull my chest up from the ground. It reminds me a little of the chocolate cake Mom made for me when I was nine or ten. God that memory hurts.
Brushing the past and the dirt away, I pull out my treasures. Katya's ring goes on my finger, my mother's necklace around my neck. I slip my father's watch into my pocket, alongside the doll that I can't bring myself to leave behind. Pulling my hair back, I tie the blue ribbon into it, making me feel even just a little pretty again. I haven't felt that way in a long time.
I look at the picture of the four of us again, then pull the photograph out of the frame and fold it up to put in my pocket. I don't need the frame, not where I'm going. I put the frame back into the chest, then rebury both of them. Maybe one day I'll come back for them, maybe I won't. The hunk of bread and the apple I got yesterday go in my pocket too, alongside two pecuniae coins. I'll have to leave the pillow behind, but I roll the quilt up and stick it under my arm.
Time to go.
One look back at the place I've lived the past few months. It's not home; home will always be Cherry Lane. Then I walk away, leaving the buried chest and the pillow behind. Someone else will enjoy it, I'm sure.
People are just starting to wake up as I walk by, my dirty boots making little sound on the cracked road. The rest of District 7 is still a mess, but they're at least trying to fix it up. Nobody cares about the Sap.
A little boy peers out from behind the tarp that makes his roof and walls. His blue eyes are overly large in his dirty face, reminding me of another little boy I saw when I went through the districts with my parents. His eyes were blue too, until they closed forever.
Move on, Oak. Forget and move on.
The Sap ends a mile or two later, past the shanties and the sick and dying. I see a girl, a young woman really, lying like a dropped doll on the side of the road, her pregnant stomach leaning away from her as she stares emptily into space. Nobody cries for her. Soon the men and women self designated as the undertakers will take her away and bury her in the woods, just like everyone else who dies in the Sap.
The people of District 7 die and are buried in the old cemetery; the people of the Sap are forgotten in the woods. Everyone knows that those who live in the Sap are only district in name; in everything else we're outsiders. Me more than anyone.
The road turns from cracked and ruined stone to rubble to dirt, and there the woods meet the Sap. I look back at what I'm leaving behind. It's not much, is it? A desolate shanty town and a district that hates me. Why on earth did my mother want me to come back?
It's not like Katya would have come back anyway.
"Halt!" I pull my foot back from the step I've taken into the woods, and turn to see two Peacekeepers who have materialized out of nowhere, aiming their guns at me. I put the hand that isn't holding the quilt up in the air.
"Yes?"
"Name, address," the man barks. It's a male Peacekeeper and a female Peacekeeper today, and neither of them seems friendly. Like any of them are, but anyway. What are they doing in the Sap?
"Oak; I live in a shanty that way," I say, nodding with my head. Like hell I'm giving them my last name.
"And where are you headed?" the woman asks. Both of them seem a little trigger happy to me, and that makes me nervous. Nobody would care if a seventeen year old girl got gunned down at the edge of the Sap. Especially if that girl is a Peacewood.
"A walk in the woods. It's Reaping Day; thought I should get out in nature while I can," I say as calmly as I can. I don't look away from the man's eyes; I stare him down with all the ferocity I have inside me.
"With a quilt?" he says, looking down at the blanket I hold under my arm.
"It was cold and I don't have a jacket," I say, still calm, although inside I'm very, very nervous.
"I'd suggest that you make your way home, Oak," he says, also dangerously calm. "Wouldn't want to lose a girl on Reaping Day, now do we?"
"I'm not intending to get lost," I say.
"Everyone's presence is required in the square at noon," the woman says. "Why don't I walk you back home so you can for sure be on time?"
"I can walk myself, thank you very much."
"I insist." I flick my gaze to look into her eyes; they're a light blue, almost colorless, and hard as stone. I could make a run for it now, but that just destroys my plan, and would likely get me killed in the process.
"Alright," I say. What else am I supposed to do?
"Nero, you go that way; I'll escort her," the woman says to the man. He jerks his head in a nod, lowers his gun, and walks away to the left. Off to patrol and terrorize more people I suppose. The woman lowers her own gun slightly, then motions for me to come with her.
"Reapings at noon, don't you forget that," she says as we walk back along the road I tried to leave by.
"I won't. I doubt anyone will," I say bitterly.
"And nobody should," she says. After that, she falls silent, and so do I as we walk the road of the Sap, a straight and narrow pile of rubble. It takes a while in stifling silence, but we finally arrive back at my shanty- the very place I was trying to escape. Bloody Peacekeepers, always ruining my plans. As soon as she leaves, you can bet I'm going to book it into the nearest wooded entrance.
"Well, this is mine," I say, stepping to the side. People are staring; it's not every day you see a Peacekeeper in here. The woman stops with crisp movements and turns to look at me.
"I'll look for you at the reaping this afternoon," she says, her words as cold as her eyes. "Peacewoods are not exempt from the reaping, as you might know."
She does know who I am. "I know."
"In the case that you are not in attendance, I would fear for your neighbors here. I would hate to see something terrible happen to them at dusk." Nodding her head once, the woman turns and walks away, back in the direction of the district.
The people whose shanties are by mine stare, until I meet their eyes and they pull back into their tarps and metal and wood. Damn it, I hate the Capitol. I hate the Capitol! Blackmailing me into staying, when we all know I'm likely to be chosen for their Hunger Games. If I leave, I'll probably be caught, now that they're on the look out for me, and the Sap people will be murdered.
I'll have to stay. I'm not callous enough to make them die for me.
I keep my things in my pocket, however. If I get the chance to get out later, then I'm going to take it. If I show up at the reaping, then they'll have no reason to punish the Sap, and then I can get out of the common while the expected chaos goes on. Of course, reason didn't exactly stop the Capitol from blowing up District 13.
I sit down on my bed, spread the quilt over my knees, and bury my face in it, trying to gather up some smell of home. All I smell is dust, dirt, and a little mildew. The past is gone, and all that remains are the memories I carry.
Memories like the trip out of the district, well over a year ago. I can hear the rattling of the train wheels even now; I remember every word my mother said to me that night.
"Come on, hurry Oak! We can't miss it; it's not going to slow down for you or me or any of us."
"So we're jumping," I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. All around me are the rebels that volunteered to go with us. The others are staying behind, to defend the district against the Capitol. But I, I am going with my mother to the Capitol itself, and we are going to bring it down together.
"Sky, some of the others are getting nervous about this mission," someone, a man says. I can't see him in the dark.
"It's coming, I know it's coming," my mother says, and just as the last words leave her lips, the rattling starts. My heart beats faster as the noise grows louder and louder. A single headlight appears in the distance, coming closer, until the train is upon us. Mom grabs my hand and pulls me forward; I jump and land in the cargo hold of the train; others have apparently done the same, because I hear hooting and laughing.
"You see? We're on our way," Mom says, and a few people cheer. I can see the stars overhead, blurring as we go by; I think I can see the outlines of trees too, but I can't be sure. This is my first time leaving the district, and it's both exhilarating and terrifying. I really feel like a rebel now, like I'm doing something to help get our freedom.
"How do you feel?" Mom asks me.
"A little bit of everything," I say. "This is it, isn't it?"
"It is." The last mission. She whispers, "As long as we have the passion and the fire of the districts behind us, we can't lose, Oak. We're going to win this war."
"And we'll see Dad again? And Katya?"
"We'll be all together again, in the new world we're going to make," my mother says, and I can hear the confidence in her voice. We will win the war, and we'll be together as a family once again.
And then we didn't win. The war ended after three years, and I never did see my father again. I saw Katya, once. Once while we were there. But we never were all together again like my mother promised.
Isn't it foolish of me to think about broken promises now, promises made on a train in the dead of night? Promises that couldn't help but be broken? My mother, the eternal optimist; where did optimism get her? It got her a grave somewhere outside the Capitol, a grave that I will never see.
The war cost me everything, but I can't say that I regret it. I regret the outcome, but I don't regret the war itself; the Capitol needed to be stood up to. It fears the districts now, and that makes me at least slightly smug on the inside. I helped make the Capitol afraid, I cut their supply lines, I made them starve and cry and despair.
I suppose it's my turn now.
Slowly, the sun goes up until it's nearly overhead. Already people are shuffling by my shanty, making their way out of the Sap and into the district itself. Good, infect the rest of the place with the whooping cough; that will go over well with the officials. Bloody idiots, the lot of them.
I roll the quilt up tight and tie it like that with a long strip of tarp I rip off the roof. Using another long strip, I tie the quilt to my back, then leave my shanty, blending in with the crowd of people already trickling out.
The sheer number of hopeless looking people overwhelm me as I trudge along with them. This, these people are who we fought alongside and for! These defeated people, who are crushed under the Capitol's thumb, are who we wanted to liberate. Freedom, that's what we fought for. That's what my family died for. And now we're worse off than before; no wonder they despise me.
Nobody looks well fed; every person I see has sunken eyes and sharp angles to their face, a look only hunger can give you. A few people stare at me, with what? Curiosity? Hatred? But most let their eyes slide over me, like I don't even exist. I'm not sure which is worse.
The herd of humanity that I'm swept along in turns a corner, and there is the common; a large open space in the center of the district. Who knows how far the rest of the district had to travel to get here on time for twelve? District 7 is large, with the mills in the south and south-west, the dam in the north-east, and the forests cover the rest. I don't know how many people are left here, though. So many died in the war.
My mouth drops open at the sight of the common; when the rebellion was crushed, and I got back here, the first thing I saw was Jack Kirhorn and Molly Loren, the two who were put in charge of managing the district in our absence, get shot through the head while cameras filmed the whole thing. I saw worse later, but I push the thought away. But when Jack and Molly were killed, the common was open.
Now, there's a fence, probably twenty feet high, encircling the common, with a Peacekeeper at the only gate, letting children through. Damn, there goes my escape route. Maybe I won't get called, maybe they will make it random. Not likely.
A Peacekeeper with a train horn voice shouts, "Eligibles! Eligible tributes here!" Around me, mothers kiss their children, while they all hold back tears. I don't cry; I don't have anyone to cry for, or to cry for me. I just have to get through this day, and then I can leave town.
Pushing my way through the crowd, my quilt still tightly strapped to my back, I make my way to the gate, where a Peacekeeper with light blonde hair stands. "Name, age?"
"Oak, seventeen."
She looks at me witheringly. "Last name, sweetheart."
I pull myself up to my full height and look her dead in the eyes. "Oak Peacewood." Recognition flashes in her eyes, but she doesn't say anything. All she does is mark my name down on a clipboard hanging next to her, and waves me in.
"How old are you?" another Peacekeeper asks as soon as I get inside the slaughtering pen that they've created.
"Seventeen," I say.
"In here." He pushes me through a smaller gate, into a sort of pen with a bunch of other girls my age who don't acknowledge me at all.
I need a way out; how am I going to get out? I hate to say it, but they've been thorough this time. The fence goes all the way around the common, connecting to the Justice Building at the very back of the common. The building's seen better days, with a large hole in its side where someone blew it up, but at least it's still standing. Peacekeepers are stationed at even points throughout the common, just waiting to catch someone if they do make a break for it. Namely, me.
While I puzzle over the problem of escape, the common fills up with hollow faced kids. A lot of them are crying, but I keep my face neutral. No weakness today. When the last kid files in, the gate is shut and locked at the back, and the real fun begins.
Our mayor, a short, squat little man who is a Capitol supporter waddles out on stage. He obviously didn't suffer too much during the war, considering the size of his stomach. I hate him just as much as I hate the Peacekeepers that surround me.
"Hello District 7! Welcome to the reaping of the first ever Hunger Games!" he says, too happy for the occasion. To the people of District 7's credit, nobody claps or says anything to him. We all just stand in silence, glaring at the man. He coughs once, then continues.
"I will read the Treaty of Treason, as outlined by our benevolent Capitol, to remind us all of our sins."
Nope, I'm out. I don't have time for this bullshit, it's time to get out of the district where I don't have to hear the Capitol's propaganda being piped back at me. I turn in circles, trying to figure a way out. A girl glares at me when I accidentally hit her with my quilt.
"This season is a time for repentance and a time for thanks. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future," the mayor finishes, then coughs again. "It is my great honor to choose the tributes who will represent District 7 in the first Hunger Games. I will begin by choosing the girls."
Alright, alright, please don't let it be me. I feel the ring on my finger, Katya's ring, and I get ready to run.
The fat idiot reaches into the glass bowl where I dropped all of my name slips in April, rustles around, then pulls out one white slip. Waddling back to the center of the stage, he pulls it open, reads it, and says, "Oak Peacewood!"
Shit.
Automatically I turn and run, pushing my way through the girls and hopping the short fence that divides us from the eighteen year olds. They clear out of my way, leaving me a path to the fence; it's chain link, I can climb it, I've climbed worse things. Just as I get my fingers into one of the links, someone pulls me hard from behind.
A Peacekeeper has my leg in his hands; I kick hard and he lets go; I start climbing as fast as I can, scaling the fence like a spider climbs up a wall. I have my hands at the top, pulling the barbed wire apart, when I hear the gun click behind me.
"I think you should step down and come with us," she says, aiming the gun at my head. It's the Peacekeeper, the same one who took me back to my shanty earlier. The one with the cold blue eyes.
"Yeah? Or what?" Slowly, I pull the wire up, and pray she doesn't notice me doing it.
"Or I will be forced to shoot." She's calm, too calm. The gun in her hand never wavers.
"And then you'll have to pull another name, and it'll be a hassle and a mess," I say. Wire's almost up; just have to keep her talking until I can dive under it. "Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk?"
"Come down from there, Oak," she says. I take a deep breath, then haul myself over the top of the fence, barbed wire scratching my cheek and catching on the quilt on my back. I pull it loose with a ripping noise just as the gun goes off over my head. Missed me. I drop to the ground, landing hard on my ankle- and I run.
I'm fast, pushing through the crowd of skinny and defeated people. If I can get to the woods, I can scale a tree or something; I can hide until they give up looking for me, and then I can get the hell out of the district.
Something hard catches me on the side of the head; I see stars but I keep running, shoving anyone in my path out of the way. God that hurts. I'm running, I'm running- someone catches me around the waist and I scream, thrashing out of their grip, but someone else has me too, grabbing my hands and pulling them behind my back.
I kick, but someone else grabs my leg and pulls it, almost knocking me down; in retaliation, I bite out blindly, meeting flesh and I'm rewarded with a shout of pain and the taste of blood. Good.
"The little bitch bit me!" That's right I did. But no matter how much I struggle, I can't get away; they have me too securely. One Peacekeeper has my hands held behind me, another grabs my hair so I can't move my head. They can't hold me forever, and when they let me go I'll just run again. I'm not going to compete in their Hunger Games, I won't.
The whole of District 7 is silent as my captors march me back through the gate, up the walkway, to the stairs, and up to the stage. The mayor still stands there, his mouth open in an O of surprise. Bet they didn't expect me to book it. I'll do it again, I'll get away.
"This is Oak Peacewood?" he asks, almost nervously.
"If I wasn't, would I have run?" I say sarcastically. To my satisfaction, he swallows and can't think of anything to say to that. And of course he knows who I am; he'd have to be a blind fool not to. Maybe he is, I don't know. I'm about to open my mouth to say something else, when my gaze falls on the white piece of paper that's fluttered to the stage, open.
My name's not on it. It reads Daria Speedstorm. Not Oak Peacewood.
"You lying, cheating piece of crap!" I scream, kicking the Peacekeeper who holds my hair right where it hurts. He groans and lets my hair go, just enough for me to try to weasel my way out of their grasp. "You lied! It's been rigged! You rigged it, you bastard!"
"Shut up," the Peacekeeper says in a half groan, pulling my hair back so hard it makes my head jerk backwards.
"You rigged it! That's not my name! My name isn't on the slip, it's been rigged!" I scream, making sure the whole common can hear. If I'm going to go out, I'm going out with a bang, and I want everyone to know that the Capitol is rigging their reapings. Did I expect it? Yes. Am I okay with this? Absolutely not.
One of the Peacekeepers cuffs me on the side of the head so hard it brings me to my knees. Tears come to my eyes, but I don't let them fall. I'm a rebel, I'm the rebel of District 7, the one everyone knows, and if I am going to die, my last acts are going to be standing up to the Capitol. I hear something metallic behind me, and then I feel cold metal encircling my wrists, and tightened painfully.
"It's too tight," I say, lower this time. "Loosen the goddamn things." A white gloved hand punches me in the mouth; I taste blood.
"Shut it!" This time, I listen, but I keep my eyes up; I feel like I'm ablaze in fire, I'm that furious. I'm not going down without a fight, and didn't it take two Peacekeepers to bring me back in? I drew blood. That makes me feel a little better. And by some miracle, my quilt is still attached to my back, and everything is still in my pockets.
"Well, let's get on with the boys, shall we?" the mayor says, laughing a little nervously in an attempt to get the ball rolling again. He reaches into the boys' bowl and pulls out the first slip he touches. Quickly, he opens the paper and calls out, "Aldar Grovepath!"
Oh shit. Seriously?
Aldar doesn't make a break for it; he walks smoothly out of the little pen where he's been standing, up the stairs, and onto the stage, but by himself. I notice that the Peacekeepers by the gate tense while he walks up, but they relax once they figure out he's not a runner.
Aldar glances over to where I'm kneeling, two Peacekeepers still firmly attached to me, then walks to the center of the stage. He swallows once and says, "I'm Aldar Grovepath. Age eighteen."
"Excellent!" the mayor says, clearly ecstatic to have a cooperative tribute. "Do we have a volunteer for Aldar?"
Nobody says anything. I wonder what they're all thinking right now; they just got a free show, didn't they?
"Our District 7 tributes! Aldar Grovepath and Oak Peacewood!" the mayor shouts, to piecemeal applause. Aldar steps back and allows himself to be cuffed as well, then I'm hauled to my feet and half marched, half dragged into the Justice Building.
"Julius, when's that train getting here again?" the man holding my hair says to someone I can't see.
"Let go of my goddamn hair," I snarl, my neck stiff.
"Are you going to bite again?"
"No."
To my surprise, he actually lets my head go, leaving just the other man holding my arms. I can live with him.
"Train gets here tomorrow at 11:30."
"So where do we put them tonight?" my Peacekeeper says irritably.
"There're spare rooms upstairs; put 'em in one of them," the man called Julius says.
"Miss Wildcat here? She'll get out in a minute." Yes I will, thank you for noticing. Speaking of noticing, Aldar keeps looking over at me with an odd expression on his face. I'm not up for dealing with him today, so I look away.
"Cuff her to the bed then and keep an eye on her, idiot," Julius says.
My Peacekeeper snorts, but he says, "Fine. As good a plan as any." With that, the remaining Peacekeeper pulls me away and up a set of stairs covered in threadbare carpet. District 8's still not up and running, so that means no cloth anywhere. No chance of new carpets, I'm afraid.
"Stand still," he says as he opens the door to a small room with a bed, dresser, and a chair in the corner. It's also seen better days, but it's so much better than what I've been living in in the Sap. And there's a window.
As soon as the Peacekeeper opens one of my cuffs, I dive for the window. This time, I'm not quick enough; he grabs me and slaps my face, then shoves me over to the bed. He loops the chain that connects the cuffs over an iron bar that makes up the headboard, then clicks the cuffs back on my wrist, effectively trapping me to the bed.
"Stay," he says, then walks out of the room, leaving the door ajar. This is definitely a new low for me. Everything about my face hurts, from the scratches I got from the barbed wire to the bruises that are probably forming at this very moment. It's not just my face either, actually; my whole body hurts from the manhandling I got.
The train comes at eleven tomorrow, does it? So that's how they're going to get us to the Capitol. Might be prudent to actually get on the train and then ditch from there, in some foreign district where they'll never find me. But what am I going to do about Aldar?
He's not my friend anymore, so I don't even know why I'm worrying about him.
The train comes at eleven tomorrow, which means I just have to pass a whole day chained to this bed. They can hold me here, they can hit me, swear at me, do whatever they want to me. None of that can change the fact that I'm Oak Peacewood, daughter of Sky and Ash, who fought in the Capitol.
The first train I took brought me to the place where I fought for freedom. The last train I took brought me back into oppression. And as for this new train that's going to take me back to where it all ended tomorrow?
I'm going to get free if it kills me.