Chapter 9
Waking up stiffly on the couch, I discover a thin blanket pulled over me.
Heading into my room with the blanket wrapped around me, I find Alex crouched low beside the bed.
"What are you doing?"
He looks up at me. "Maysilee, there you are. You weren't in bed so I figured you must've fallen under it in your sleep." Alex gets up and hands me loose clothing to change into.
After changing, he leads me up to the roof. There a hovercraft appears and a ladder drops down. As soon as my feet and hands are touching the lower rung of the ladder, I'm frozen in place by some kind of electric current. With me still glued to it, the ladder is brought up safely into the hovercraft.
A doctor in a white coat appears with a syringe in hand. She explains that inside it is my tacker. The doctor warns me of the sting of the needle but it does little to lessen the sharp pain that comes. The needle injects a tiny metal tracker under the skin of my forearm. In this way the Gamemakers will always be in the know as to where I am while in the arena.
Once the tracker is placed I'm instantly able to move freely again. The doctor with the syringe moves off somewhere and Alex is brought up to the hovercraft.
An Avox appears and ushers us to where breakfast has been placed on a table. Ignoring the queasiness I'm slowly beginning to feel, I eat the cinnamon roll, bacon and egg muffin, salmon and pea quiche, cottage cheese omelette, and freshly sliced mangoes.
"Don't forget what Konrad said about finding water," says Alex. "After the other tributes, dehydration is your most immediate danger."
Drinking water and staring through the window, I'm taken aback at the amazing birds-eye view of the city and the wilderness beyond.
The windows of the hovercraft black out after about two hours, indicating we are close to our destination. Alex and I head down the ladder once the hovercraft lands. The ladder takes us down underground, where the catacombs lie, directly under the arena. Following specific directions, we soon arrive at the chamber I will use. Here preparations are made in the final minutes before tributes enter the arena. The official name for this place is the Launch Room. It has a more fitting name that is known throughout the twelve districts; the Stockyard. A place occupied by animals waiting to be slaughtered.
As I will be the first and last tribute ever to use this room, absolutely everything in the Launch Room is new. Arenas are turned into historical sites once they are no longer actively used. Capitol citizens often visit them for month-long morbidly grotesque vacations. Where they can rewatch the Games, tour around the catacombs, visit sites where the deaths took place, and even take part in re-enactments.
The food is supposedly superb.
After hazily taking a shower I dazedly clean my teeth, fighting to keep breakfast down. Alex then ties my now smooth hair into a tight ponytail.
"Could you tie it into a bun, please?" I ask after a second thought.
"Certainly, don't want your hair getting in the way, now, do we?"
He proceeds to twist my ponytail very gently as I answer with, "Right."
Once my hair is in place, we move onto attire. It's the same for every tribute. Designed by the Gamemakers so even the stylists have no idea what lies within the package that arrives. After the white undergarments are on, Alex helps me into black leggings, a black cotton singlet, thin woollen socks, and a pair of black sturdy leather boots that just reach the top half of my calf. Just as I'm about to voice my opinion that these clothes don't appear sufficient enough in keeping anyone warm or dry, Alex holds up a military-styled camouflage thermo jacket. Turning around, I extend my arms slightly so as to allow Alex to pull the hooded jacket on me. The aforementioned jacket is surprisingly warm and falls several inches past my hips.
"Judging from the fabric of your clothes, the arena isn't likely to be aquatic-based. Nor is it likely to be in a desert. That's simply the wrong colour," Alex waves briefly at what I'm wearing, "for that type of terrain."
All I can manage to do is nod mutely.
Assuming all preparations are now done, it comes as somewhat of a shock when Alex fishes out a golden pin from his pocket.
"Where did that come from?" I manage to ask after the initial shock passes. I've been looking for that mockingjay pin for the last two days, sure that it was lost.
"Sorry, but I needed to make sure the Gamemakers would approve of your token," Alex states remorsefully.
"Thank you," I choke out, "for ensuring I could bring my token of home into the Games."
Alex places the mockingjay pin onto my singlet before zipping up my waterproof jacket. "It wasn't as easy as you make it sound. Some people kept insisting that it could be used as a weapon. The pin almost didn't pass the review board."
"But it did in the end."
"Yes it did," Alex grins.
With everything in place, Alex suggests I move around in my clothes. Make sure everything fits. After running in circles, walking, stretching, and jumping, I deem everything okay.
"Then you're absolutely good to go," replies Alex with a smile. "Would you like to eat something while we wait for the signal?"
I nod and am soon nibbling on some macadamia biscuits and sipping several cups of water every so often. To calm my nerves I level out my breathing. Inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. Even though my nerves can be soothed, my mind is a whole other matter. It becomes a tornado of thought and endless questions relating to the impending Games. Thousands upon thousands of different case scenarios whizz through my head, none of them even remotely good.
A warm hand is placed on my own, which I hadn't realised was shaking again.
"It's okay to be a little frightened. But don't be. You'll be fine," Alex comforts.
That's easy for you to say. You're not about to be sent into an arena wherein everyone else is trying to murder you.
Instead of saying any of that, though, I only look up at Alex and ask, "You think so?" knowing that he only ever means well.
"I know so," he replies before adding, "What was that song you were humming?"
Somewhat bewildered, I ask, "What was I humming?"
Alex hums a tune and instantly I recognise it as The Hanging Tree.
He tilts his head slightly to the side as he repeats, "The Hanging Tree?"
"Yes, my mother used to sing that song to my sister and me when we were younger. Since then it had always sort of comforted me."
I can almost hear her voice right now:
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they said murdered three?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
That song never fails to creep out Meredith and Jasmine. I used to sing it just to get a reaction out of them.
The first verse seems alright. But the second one sounds as though there is a talking corpse. The third also doesn't seem that bad. Then we move on to the fourth verse, where everything fits together. It turns out that it had been the man who got hung that is singing, and therefore pleading for his love to join him in death.
That's how Jasmine and Meredith must've interpreted it. Hence the reason the very idea of the Hanging Tree terrifies them.
The thought of Meredith has me remembering back to when we said our final farewell.
Our parents had already walked through the door. Just as Meredith was about to leave, too, I call out to her. She stops and turns her head around. Without really thinking I raise the three middle fingers of the left hand, place them to my lips, and hold that hand out to her. That has Meredith bursting into tears. Why did I even do that? I lament regretfully. That gesture is an old one in District 12, usually only seen at funerals. It signifies thanks, it signifies admiration, it's another way of saying goodbye to someone you love.
Alex and I remain seated on the couch until a voice over the intercom informs us that it is nearly time for launch. Immediately immense panic washes over me like a tide relentlessly pulling back to shore. The blood rushes loudly in my ears and I become so dizzy that Alex has to support me as I try to stand. A tattoo that covers his entire right forearm becomes clearly visible, I notice distractedly.
He holds either sides of my shoulders and turns me so that I am facing him.
"Just breathe, Maysilee. You will do fine. Just relax," he repeats.
I do as he advises and thank him for his support.
"It's nothing," Alex assures me, "just know that it has been a great honour working with you. We all wish you the best of luck."
"I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for the work you, Aminta, Alexis, and Aiakos did. After this I hope you and the prep team and even Wendy get promoted to a better district."
"We wouldn't mind staying if it meant working with people like you," Alex replies. That moment I begin to wonder if all Capitol residents are really such monsters.
"Wendy would mind. She's been trying to become the official escort of a more respectable district for years." What possessed me to say that? Mayhap a nervous mind equals a loose tongue.
"She has always been a little backwards, even by Capitol standards." I laugh feebly as Alex continues. "One last thing: remember that during the sixty seconds you are required to stand on your metal podium, don't step off it."
"Or you'll get blown up by landmines," I continue.
Alex nods. "Right you are. Best get into place now," he says gently.
We embrace quickly before I step onto a circular metal plate in the corner of the room. A glass cylinder then begins sliding down around me at an alarmingly fast rate. In these small quarters it is enough to make just about anyone claustrophobic.
The thought of the Games has my breathing laboured, and my head ache, again when two quick taps on the glass causes me to look up.
Alex straightens his torso and places both his hands behind his back. His legs are spread at shoulder-width and his head remains facing straight ahead of him, looking at me determinedly - willing for me to understand. The message is clear enough that I mimic his stance. Alex gives a nod and the thumbs up.
It was around this time that the round mental plate begins to rise. There is a period of darkness for about fifteen seconds before the plate actually pushes me through an opening at the top of the glass cylinder. Then the glass is retreating back down underground and I'm left in the open, standing on the metal podium.
Immediately the blazing sunlight is simply too intense for my eyes. The dull florescent lights underground may have seemed bright, but compared to authentic sunlight it is like immediately switching from pitch darkness to staring directly at the sun. It's an immense struggle just keeping my eyes open and so, unable to rely on sight alone, I focus with my other senses for the time being.
Colourful song birds and cicadas chirp nosily over the rustle of leaves in a wind. The flapping of wings can be heard from high above. Blissfully summer-warm sun beats down on my skin pleasantly, leaving me feeling a tad drowsy. A light breeze carries with it the smell of trees, bark, and pine. There is a sensationally exotic smell of fragrant flowers wafting through the amazingly warm air. So intoxicating is the floral aroma that I cannot resist inhaling deeply a couple more times. The sweet smell is of spring in full bloom.
At last my eyes adjust to the light, leaving me with the most unbelievable scenery of an arena that leaves me dumbfounded.
From here I'm able to gather that the metal podiums are equally placed to strategically circle the golden Cornucopia, the distance from which I judge to be approximately forty metres. We're in a meadow of lusciously green grass and dotted with patches of flowers with delicate petals of different colours. The meadow itself stretches on for kilometres. Above, the beautiful vast blue sky is covered with fluffy white clouds that glide ever so slowly across it. Far to my left lie the woods; to the right, a strikingly spectacular snow-capped mountain.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!" calls the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the official announcer for the Hunger Games.
His job is to make any announcements that will dramatically change the existing arrangement of the Games. As the only communication we'll likely ever receive from the outside world will be the nightly death toll, this could be the only time Claudius has a job. During the rare event of changes occurring in the Games, first trumpets will sound, followed by the announcement itself. In the several occasions that he has made an announcement, it was to invite the tributes to a feast. This works best when food is scarce and nothing exciting has happened in awhile. Tributes are invited to a location, usually someplace prominent like the Cornucopia, where they would inevitably fight amongst each other. Sometimes the fight is over a legitimate feast. Other times it is over stale bread.
"Ten," calls an ominous voice over the speakers.
Where to run to? I begin to panic.
"Nine."
Where would Konrad tell me to go?
"Eight."
The mountain gives an aerial advantage.
"Seven."
Like what happened for the Capitol during the Dark Days.
"Six."
But the woods serve for better concealment.
"Five."
Except that's exactly where all the other tributes will run.
"Four."
Heart and head pounding painfully, my eyes flicker to the other possible place tributes will run: the Cornucopia. The massive golden horn with its curved tail is constructed to look like the shape of a cone. Its mouth, which stands around seven metres off the ground, is supplied with the necessities one would need in order to survive this wretched Games. Food, water, weaponry, medicines, and clothing are just some of the items available in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Scattered around it are other provisions. They are arranged in a way that the most valuable ones are closer to the heart of the Cornucopia, while the not so essential ones are further away; closer to the tributes.
"Three."
At that moment a small backpack catches my attention. It is an easy five steps to my left.
"Two."
Will I be able to make it?
"One."
I run as though my life depends on it - because it does.