Daryl
Daryl doesn't forget the reaping. It's always in the back of his mind even when it's a long way off, even when he's enjoying life like he never has before. Most everybody in the district is the same. The reaping and the games consume them for a month and then they put it away, unless they lost someone close in which case it will probably haunt them forever. Then suddenly it's summer again. And this time Daryl has someone close to lose. It's unlikely, though. Glenn's name is in only 14 times, seven as tribute and seven for tesserae for himself. As an orphan he has no one else to support. This is Glenn's last year. He'll be safe. Daryl will take two tributes to the Capitol and watch them die and return to District 11. But this time Glenn will be waiting for him.
Glenn
Everyone is especially nervous when they're 18 because they only have to beat the odds one more time. And the odds are ever in your favor at the reaping. If your name is called, that's when the odds plummet. So if you make it through the last reaping, you're safe. Instead of dying in the arena, you're safe to starve if it's a bad year for crops, or get hurt or sick and die without proper medical care.
The escort is the usual overdressed, twee woman who might be pretty if a few layers of unnecessary makeup were scraped off. Her name is Venetia Faire but she's called Vanity behind her back.
Amy Harrison's name is called for the girl tribute. She's a year younger than me and I know her slightly. Her sister Andrea is quite a bit older and is the mediator. The Capitol likes to give towns the illusion of working out their own problems so Andrea mediates disputes. You can bet the Peacekeepers would step in if they thought it was necessary but Andrea is fair and good at compromise and there's not much dissension in the district anyway. This will be a terrible blow to her. She's too old to volunteer and only one tribute has ever returned outside a coffin.
Vanity twirls her hand in the huge glass ball of boy names and pulls out a slip of paper. "Carl Grimes!" she shouts as if the kid won the lottery. This is worse than usual because I know the mayor's son. Carl is Rick's and Lori's only child. He's 12 like Daryl was but he's not a scrapper like Daryl was at that age. He stumbles forward and someone calls out, "I volunteer as tribute."
Daryl is on his feet staring at me. He whispers, "No" under his breath but he's on the dais and can't make a scene. And I realize that I spoke the words out loud, not in my head. Too late. I can't unsay it and now that I think about it, I don't want to. I'm an orphan. Sure, people like me, but no one will miss me for long except Daryl. We're the only two I'm hurting by my action. It seems inevitable anyway. I've been happier the past few months than the rest of my life put together so why shouldn't death be the only possible outcome?
The Grimes' gratitude is overwhelming when they come into the little room to say goodbye. Lori hugs me, saying "Thank you" over and over. Rick shakes my hand. "There's no way to repay …" He chokes and turns away.
Carl is defiant. "I was picked. I should go."
"You'll have six more chances," I tell him, and he looks fearful again.
Dale cries and says he'll see me in a month but I can tell from his eyes that he thinks this is farewell forever. Merle is the only other person they let in.
"Use that innocent 'Who, me?' thing you got going," he says gruffly. "That can work for you. And get your ass back here to take Daryl off my hands. He's a load I been carrying too long."
Then Vanity is there and she takes Amy and me to the train where Daryl joins us. He looks pale and his blue eyes are dull. He asks to speak to me alone.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" he demands.
"It popped out and I couldn't take it back. I didn't want to anyway. I couldn't stand there at 18 and let a little kid go. Male tributes have always been my age or older. And I know the Grimes. So do you. Rick is your friend."
"But you … you're everything to me."
"I love you, Daryl. I didn't plan to do this. I even regret it but that doesn't mean it's the wrong thing to do. I have a better chance than Carl."
"Chance don't mean much in the arena. And I can't help you. They don't let victors use their income to send parachutes. We're a poor district. All we can afford is a little food. And Capitol folks might bet on a long shot privately but publicly they sponsor tributes who are rated high."
Daryl repeats that a little later with Amy present so she'll understand how it works. She's a sweet girl but until now she's had her sister looking out for her and she's scared. It's the kind of fear that makes you weak instead of strong. But she does ask the question I've never brought myself to ask Daryl:
"How did you win?"
And Daryl tells us.
Merle made a deal with the devil. Madame Diabla was notorious in the Capitol – even that center of excess – for her appetite for sex and blood. She might start with one but it didn't matter which as each led inevitably to the other. Merle approached her with the promise of witnessing something special in the Games if she would sponsor a small weapon sent to a 12 year old boy. Diabla was rich beyond imagination but the cost of parachuting even a rudimentary crossbow was too great to be satisfied with the possibility of unusual carnage in the arena. There would be carnage with or without the weapon and no doubt the carnage would be greater to a 12 year old if he had no weapon. She needed more. Merle had thought this bitch might want to fuck him and he was just fine with the notion. He had heard the rumors; that was why he picked her. She was willing to cross lines that other wealthy sponsors would not.
But she wanted blood instead of sex. "Do you love your brother more than your right hand?" she asked.
Merle's heart sank but he nodded, understanding that she intended to have her pound of flesh literally. He wondered if he could get the hand reattached after they cut it off. This was the Capitol and their medical technology was legendary.
But that was not to be. Merle would not be anesthetized so that his hand could be quickly and cleanly removed by a surgeon. Instead he was given a hacksaw. He had the presence of mind to insist on watching the parachute be prepared. Diabla said it would be sent as soon as his hand was off. Merle believed her – she had her own sort of honor – but he was determined to remain conscious to be sure. This was too important to allow himself to pass out.
Merle used his belt as a tourniquet. It was long enough to bite down on the end of the strap. He placed his arm on a table and methodically sawed through his wrist as fast as he could, swallowing the agony. When his hand lay there an inch from the rest of his arm, he looked at Diabla through eyes clouded with pain. Her eyes were unfocused, her mouth open. She looked like she just came and she probably had. But she gave the word and the parachute was released.
The hand might have been reattached even after such a brutal amputation but it wasn't Merle's hand anymore. It was Diabla's trophy. A doctor cauterized the stump and gave him morphling. And then Merle watched his little brother kill seven kids. And felt nothing but satisfaction because they were all bigger and older than Daryl and would have done the same to him. 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' The old phrase his grandmamma used to say came to Merle out of the past but it took on a whole new meaning in the arena.
There were repercussions of course. Weapons had not been banned as gifts because the cost was so exorbitant that few could or would pay. Most sponsors would consider it an unfair advantage anyway. They liked seeing the smaller, weaker tributes taken out in the bloodbath at the beginning but after that they settled in hoping for some real competition between the survivors.
Rules were revised. Weapons were forbidden. Basic items such as water, food, matches and medicine were allowed. Anything else must be approved before being sent.
President Snow and his council called Merle and Daryl before them. Snow was furious with himself for not plugging the hole in the parachute rules before someone could take advantage of it. He wasn't as experienced yet as he would become in later years. He attempted to shame Merle but Daryl was alive and Merle had no regrets.
"You have debased the Games. Your brother won by dupery."
"I think he won by killin' a bunch of Career kids from your favorite districts," Merle replied.
"You have no honor." Snow's contempt was palpable.
"I traded it for my brother's life. But honor's not worth much so I threw in my right hand."
"Ah, yes. A prosthetic from the Capitol will never be available to you. No doubt there is a rusty hook in your dismal district that you can make use of."
"That'll suit me," Merle replied with bravado. "What's the matter, Snow White? You and your dwarves don't like to see the tables turned by District 11?"
Snow's eyes sparked. He was unaccustomed to having his will thwarted, especially by an ignorant hick. He was further enraged that this hick might not be so ignorant, having taken in the number of council members and used it with his own name to mock him.
"You will not set foot in the Capitol again."
"Wasn't expecting to be rewarded like that."
"It is a punishment not a reward."
"You want to punish me, you should have made me live here. Daryl and me will be on the first train out."
Later in his administration Snow became increasingly cruel in his punishments but at that point he was still cautious enough to let the incident go. The less said the better. Besides, the people of the Capitol were fickle. They might not want a victory like this in every Game but the unusual was a novelty and the Dixon brothers had their attention for the moment.
As Daryl finishes I realize that Amy and I aren't the only ones who have heard it. We're just the only ones alive. I'm sure all the tributes ask what happened. And even though the story can't help them, Daryl tells it. It's a kind of consolation prize – to hear the truth that the rest of the district will never know. Because the tributes have taken it to their graves for 16 years.