CHAPTER EIGHT: Deane Scythe
I hate the bloody anthem, and yet it calls us to stand where we are, caps in hand, tin cups of coffee left to the tabletops. It is the beginning of the Hunger Games, and it is the siren call for some unfortunate Tributes, ill-fated citizens of Panem. Thatch is by my side when the screen in the mess hall flickers to life after the anthem and emblem of Panem disappears. We are panning out from the opening image of the Cornucopia – dressed in a sleek black metal with dusty grey kicked up onto it as a false wind dances through an empty city circle. We are panning from the backside of the horn, so the opening – likely stockpiled with loads of weapons and other killing devices and some food stock – is not in view. The arena is decked out like an abandoned metropolis. There are two long and narrow alleyways leading from the central circus to two smaller circles: one is to our right, the other to our left. There are four Tributes frozen on their pods around each of the smaller circle. To the right are adjoined buildings that are all burnt out – some are smoldering still. The beams of the roofs have fallen in the sad structures and a few walls look like they could collapse soon too. To the left, there are rows of neglected brick townhouses. They're completely intact but each needs a lot of work to be shined up to an attractive gleam. The townhouses and the burnt out buildings encircle their smaller starting circles from where the Tributes are poised and ready to spring. I assume they can see down their alleyways to the large black horn in the center of the city, but as we continue to pan out and up higher, I see how big the arena is and second guess my assumption. It looks like it could be up to 3 miles from small circle to city center, and maybe four miles from the right circle to the left circle. I doubt any Tribute can see beyond their own circle anyway because all the circles are closed in by different types of buildings.
Positioned roughly in the middle of the arena are two more small circles with alleyways leading to the city center. One is on the left, and it is bordered by the shells of three-storey cement apartment blocks. One is on the right, and it is surrounded by equally sad but more intact apartment blocks. In the farthest right side corner is a maze of burnt out five-storey apartment buildings that look like they're all connected to each other. They completely hide what I assume is another small circle with its four Tributes waiting the remaining twenty seconds to spring from their pods toward each other, each building, the Cornucopia: in this arena, I decide, there are many directions to go in, but only one place to end up at: death – somehow, someway, but horrible nonetheless. And finally, in the farthest left side corner, rising high up over the rest of the ruined city are fully intact ten-storey cement apartment blocks. They are garish, grey and intimidating. I assume they also hide the last four Tributes in a small circle we cannot see at this moment. The entire arena, then, is a rundown, burnt out, messy and depressed cityscape, and at the center is the horn of plenty.
The clock runs down in the left hand corner of the screen. Ten, nine, eight… "Seven, six…" some of the ranch hands begin to chant, emotionlessly. "Five. Four. Three! Two! ONE!" We all join in for the final seconds of some sad count of children's lives. Then the air goes out of the hall, silence crashes down upon us; live newly submerged boatmen, we all hold our breaths for the eternity that lasts between the final second and the sounding of the gong. And all Hell breaks loose on the screen. Six different cameras cover all the small circles from where the Tributes begin their Hunger Games fight for survival. In all of them, twenty-four Tributes launch from their pods at once. None of them are armed, but all of them are confused. The second screen features the District 1 female Tribute, Scylla, who has murder in her eyes as she launches from the pod she's on and heads directly for a boy near her. He doesn't see her coming as he sprints toward the alleyway opening directly across from his pod. It's a dramatic but predictable result. Scylla collides with the boy, knocking him to the ground where they slide, she atop him, a few inches. Despite the advantage of taking him by surprise, Scylla appears to be in a rough first fight. Around her and the boy, the other two Tributes in the circle take to the buildings around them and disappear. Scylla is trying to strangle the boy, but he's holding his own. Thatch shakes his shoulder free from my grip, making a face at me. I grab onto whatever is close to me when I get excited. Scylla seems to be gaining an advantage but then the boy flips her over very roughly and she slams her head into the pavement and loosens her grip. The boy jumps free and staggers off toward the alleyway. Scylla sits up and seems to need time to gather herself. Suddenly from the window of the building looking down on the alleyway entrance, a spike whizzes through the air and catches Scylla along the neck, tearing through her jugular vein. Blood spurts from her neck and she cries out like a wounded animal. Another whizzes through the air as she is feeling her first gash. This one catches her in the back near the spine. She arches her back and bellows again. A third whizzes at her, catching her in the shoulder and embedding itself deeply near her muscles. Now her cries are unbearable. The cannon booms suddenly, and I look at Scylla lying slumped on the ground. She's gasping for breath! She's alive!
"Number four! Look at number four!" A ranch hand calls out. We all look at the fourth camera cut-away. It's the camera covering the circle surrounded by the intact but sad looking apartments on the right side of the arena. A female Tribute is being maliciously choked to death with a hefty string of rope by a familiar faced boy Tribute. She's not moving, but he continues to strangle her. Her body is limp, being held up only by his inability to let her go. Another boy appears in the circle with something that looks like a flask. Where are they getting this weapons and items from? No one could have run all the way to the Cornucopia and back in the few minutes that have passed. The familiar faced boy drops the dead girl Tribute and quickly knots his rope into a lasso, whirling it around his head like a cowboy… "Well I'll be goddamned! It's Seeder! That's our boy!" One of the ranch hands says, whooping. "First kill, boys! District 10's got the first kill! Woooweeee!" Some others applause and the Games seem to have begun properly in the Ranches of District 10. Thatch starts to clap as well, but I put an end to his applause. "What?" he demands of me.
"Why would you applaud a murderer, Thatch? Why?" He shrugs.
"Because he's one of our boys." The cannon booms again, drawing our attention back to the Games.
"Six! Number six!" We look to the sixth cut-away. The boy from District 3, Switch, is pulling out and cleaning a pair of knives from the boy from District 6, Kilin. Two dead, twenty-two to go. I look away from the recent kill and look back to the second cut-away. Scylla is gone, but the boy from District 8, Gusset, is in the circle all alone, painting his face with the blood spilled on the pavement. He's carrying a few more spikes with him. His eyes look crazed. Where's Scylla? Did she go off to die somewhere more private? The boys are whooping again. In the first cut-away, two Tributes have reached the city center and are trying to trip each other before they reach the Cornucopia. The camera works hard to catch them. It swings around as they both dive for the opening of the horn. I grip Thatch again as the camera manages to focus on the opening of the Cornucopia. The other ranch hands voice my own confusion at the sight. "What the…?" "Now, that just ain't right." "The Hell? It's f**king empty!" And that it is: the screenshot proves it. The wide open and gaping mouth of the horn of plenty reveals its true nature: emptiness. The two Tributes stagger a minute as they take in the awful truth. Their quest has been futile. Their rewards are nothing. Suddenly, the bigger Tribute turns and pounces on the smaller, screaming a blood-curdling war cry as she strikes at the boy with sharp fingernails, ripping flesh from his face and his hands as he tries to shield himself from her assaults. No one has the energy to speak, even when the cannon booms again in the midst of the fight at the Cornucopia. All eyes are on this battling pair. The gruesomeness of the Hunger Games is settling in, now. Several ranch hands are sitting down now and trying not to look at the screens. We'll see it all later with commentary as the first day is recapped and the dead Tributes are announced. At the Cornucopia, the girl has successfully prized away the boy's hands and is ripping chunks of flesh from his face. He appears to be alive still and I imagine he is moaning, but he's not strong enough to fight her off. After a minute of crazed tearing at his face, she graciously lifts his head with her hands and flattens it on the pavement. We hear the crack seconds before the cannon booms. She continues to smash his broken skull against the pavement until a light from above shines on her and she has top move away. She retreats, licking her bloodied hands, into the darkness of the Cornucopia like a predatory animal, like a crazy bloody witch. The look on her face sends chills down my spine and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This is the Hunger Games. I pity the soul who tries to come to the Cornucopia.
The first day is winding down for us, and most of the screen cut-aways show empty circles with pods around them. I'm searching the second cut-away for any sign of Scylla, but there isn't any. As it appears that the action has slowed down, the cameras begin looking for the remaining Tributes. Despite how gruesome the kills were today, I can only count three cannon booms. If I'm correct, this is an underwhelming first day bloodbath in comparison with some of the other Hunger Games. I can't believe I just thought that; these are shaping up to be the… BOOM! The cannon interrupts my thoughts. The third cut-away races down a dark hall toward a figure against the opposite wall. There is something sticking out of her. As we get closer, we see that she's pinned up to the wall by a huge sword, speared through her chest. Her face is contorted, caught in mid-scream. I feel sick.
Out in the Gaming Reserve, the sun begins to set. I drink in the little breeze as it tickles the dry grass at my feet. The new ranch hand, Biter, is with Thatch learning how to check the dugout traps we've set for big game. I can hear them talking about the Games. Everyone is talking about the Games. The mandatory programming ended three hours ago, and it's all anyone is talking about ever since. This is not uncommon for the first day of the Games at the Ranches. Give it a few more days and there will be much less talk. Even for those of us who are not reaped into the Hunger Games, the heaviness of all those Tributes who die each year for the entertainment of the Capitol folks, that heaviness still weighs on us. Thatch approaches me with Biter, and they look like they have something they want to know. I exchange questioning looks with Thatcher. Finally, he breaks the silent conversation. "Biter and me were just talking about the Games, and why it is exactly that we ranch-hands aren't ever reaped into them. You know?" I shoot a very severe look at my brother, one that cautions him Don't go there, but the truth is that I do know why… or at least I think I know why. "Deane?" I nod, sticking some dry grass in my mouth and chewing on it as I think of the best way to describe what I've heard.
"Okay, so it's like this: we're the major trade in this District, and if the Capitol folks just always reaped us into the Games along with the rest of the boys and girls in this District, then who would be around to get all the work done? There used to be really wealthy folk that lived out here before the fences went up, and when the rebellion happened, it was as much against them as it was against the Capitol. Those folks did some pretty awful things, the way the boys talk about it, and some of them are remembered for rounding up all their workers – rebels and civilians alike – and slaughtering them all for the Capitol. It's one of the ways District 10 fell. This is all hearsay though. Who knows how much of it is true? But the way I hear it told is that the Capitol was in a real pickle when it came to punishing the District. Half the Capitol folk wanted to have the Ranches as their places to come and retreat, and since it was only Capitol folks that could travel around outside the Capitol, a lot of them did come here. But the work here and the entertainment was really bad because everyone was being punished for the rebellion, so the Capitol made a deal with the big wigs in District 10: they'd give special protection to the cow-men and their estates from whatever repercussions were enacted on the rebellious Districts, and in return, the cow-men would make sure that the Ranches were run without any glitches and without any further stirrings of rebellion. That meant that the Capitol allowed the cow-men to make judgment upon their ranches and all their workers as they saw fit and when they saw fit."
Thatch snorted. "That explains Mr. Farnsworth and Mr. Burliss." I punch him in the shoulder.
"Anyway, the cow-men took that as an invitation to go looking for orphans and misfits wandering around in District 10, to bring them back to the Ranches and to make them work for their board and bedding." Biter is nodding. "Yeah," I nod with him. "You probably saw the words cut into the entry archway to this ranch, didn't you, Biter?" He looks me in the eyes. "Work to Live. Live to Work." I say it with him. "That's what we're here to do. In return for doing the jobs we're given, we get to live without the threat of being Tributes in the Hunger Games."
"But our names still go in the reaping bowls," Thatch interjects. I nod.
"Our names are still put into the reaping bowls because it would be considered unfair otherwise. But the other kids in this District have their names put in more times than once after their first Reaping. The first year they can be reaped, they are entered once. So are we. Then, the second time, their names are entered twice. That makes three entries for a normal kid in District 10. For us, our names are only entered once, making it two entries in two years." I see Biter nodding again. "It's not fool-proof though. The way I hear it, a ranch-hand has just as much chance of being reaped in their first two years of eligibility as any other kid in the District. So we send those first-timers to the Reaping Day like everyone else. If they aren't reaped, the chances that they'll be reaped the next year are considerably smaller. By the time we get to seventeen or eighteen, our chances of being reaped are as good as none. But, it also means that we have to live for our work here, and sometimes that's not much better than spending a few days killing for and running for your lives in the Capitol's arenas."
"I heard that there's a arena somewhere near here," Biter says suddenly. "You know, as I hear it, the Capitol builds the arenas all over the wild parts of Panem, and after the Games, folks pay money to go out and tour the arenas, to see places were their favorite Tributes died or made important kills. It sounds dumb to me, but I was out looking for the arena folks say is near here, and that's how they picked me up." I want him to continue, because talk of the District outside of the Ranches is always welcome to me. But Biter shuts up and there's not a lot I can do about that. So we continue working and talking about what we think the real story is behind our strange arrangement to work until we die as opposed to facing the same fate as the rest of the District.
Later, Thatch throws his dirty socks at me to get my attention. "You think that ranch hands could ever be reaped after their first year, D?" I shake my head; it doesn't seem possible. For once, the odds are in our favor in that regard. The math, if I did it correctly, doesn't favor the majority of the kids in the District who aren't ranch-hands. I shove his dirty socks back at him as we take our seats in the mess hall for supper and the first day recap. "Do you really think that there's an arena near here, D?" Biter is coming toward our table. I shrug.
"I've heard that there are arenas all over the place. If you think about it hard enough, there's got to be almost twenty of them now, and they aren't that big but you saw the arena for this year's Games, and it wasn't that small either." Thatch snorts.
"Sounds like the Capitol to turn those places into tourist attractions." As Biter sits down, the anthem blares from the rejuvenated screen at the front of the room. Biter spills his coffee on himself as we all jump up and remove our hats before the animated image of the Panem seal on the screen, moving in the non-existent breeze. Biter's cussing under his breath. I steal a glance and notice, gleefully, that he's managed to spill the coffee right around his crotch. He can't be having a good time right now. The anthem ends, the seal slowly disappears and we can sit.
Romulus Cane and his commentator companion, Phinehas Gideon – a man who looks very much like an urban bird, and perhaps more so than like a man – appear on the screen, exchanging what they must think are pleasantries with their viewers. Behind them is a live shot of the black Cornucopia glowing eerily in the light of the false moon, while the rest of the arena is swallowed in darkness. From this high angle, the rundown metropolis looks ghostly under the moonlight and the shadowy darkness. The way the light catches the ruins of several of the buildings is very nightmarish, and yet its ghostly power is also beautiful somehow. Phinehas Gideon has a surprisingly low voice when he speaks, which he is doing now.
"Well, well, well, well, well," he claps his hands together animatedly. "The first day of another incredible Hunger Games, and what a day it was! Am I right or am I right, Romulus?"
"You are, of course, right! Who would have predicted that this would be the lay out for this year's Hunger Games arena?"
"Well, I didn't, Romulus. I did not. No sirree. This ghostly city behind us was not what I was thinking of when I thought about the Games this year."
"Now, before we begin with the recap, I want to go back to something that President Snow said in his address during the Prelude to the Games. Let's cut to that footage, what do you say?" We have no say in the matter, Romulus. We're going to cut to it anyway. And we do. There he is, President Snow, standing at a podium, a white rose pinned to the lapel of his white blazer; his snake-like (I think) eyes surveying the assembled audience. "The 19th Annual Hunger Games will mark the end of the second decade of gamesmaking, and for this year's Hunger Games, we honor the eighteen Victors living among us and the nineteen years of entertainment they have provided for us. This year, we offer a unique arena that has to be seen to be believed. For those who suffered when the rebels stormed through the mountains and into our streets almost twenty years ago, for those who watched their loved ones cower in fear as doors were being kicked down and their family members were being dragged into the streets and shot or worse, for those who had no choice and no voice in the ruthless slaughtering of our people – these memories are what have built this arena. These sorrows have filled its interior. These stolen goodbyes have motivated our gamesmakers to create a Hunger Games that will free the silenced voices of our people in this mighty, this great Capitol between the mountains, so that we may all shout out, 'Oh horn of plenty for us all, when we raise the cry, the brave shall heed the call, and we shall never falter, and we shall never fall'!" Phinehas Gideon dabs his dry eyes with a fluorescent purple handkerchief and Romulus Cane takes a few dramatic inhales.
"What a stirring speech!" Gideon offers, standing and applauding the screen. "Well said, Mr. President. Well said!" He sits after his performance has ended. With a massive dramatic sigh, he leans on the table and turns toward Romulus Cane. The screen behind them changes back to the wide angle of the arena, eerily bathing in moonlight.
"Well, well, well, well, well! Shall we get on to the recap of these remarkable Hunger Games?" Romulus Cane nods emphatically with a smile and laughs as Phinehas Gideon turns to the studio audience and raises his eyebrows to extend the question to them. They cheer. Phinehas Gideon sits back down. "Well, well, well, well, well, let the Games begin!"
"We began the day with a shocking revelation," begins Romulus Cane as the screen changes to reveal the empty mouth of the Cornucopia. "Unlike all the other Hunger Games, the usual provisions are not stocked in the horn of plenty this year!" The screen changes to a quick montage of several interior locations in the buildings of the arena.
"Instead, we found out that the usual provisions have been scattered around the arena randomly in the buildings of this city. Isn't that marvellously clever, Cane?" Romulus nods in agreement. "Okay, let's see the first kill of the day." The screen changes images again. This time it is set on the small circle where we saw the first kill earlier. On the upper right hand corner of the screen, the picture of the deceased Tribute appears. She is from District 5 and her name is, apparently, Hidra. On the opposite upper hand corner, the picture of the killer Tribute appears. A small cheer ripples through the mess hall as it is confirmed that the Tribute is Seeder, from District 10. Romulus Cane and Phinehas Gideon take turns commenting on the strangling, which is taking place in the center of the screen, while they watch. Suddenly, the other boy Tribute appears and Seeder lets Hidra go, while preparing to lasso the other Tribute. A chase ensues into the nearest building. Replacing the picture of Hidra in the right hand corner is the picture and name of the new Tribute: Knut, District 2.
"Oh!" Phinehas Gideon squeals as Knut almost catches Seeder around a corner inside one of the buildings. "I have to say, Cane, this was one of the highlights of this first day! This chase between the District 2 and District 10 Tributes was so memorable! Oh!" He shivers and shakes dramatically. "Gives me the chills re-watching it!" Now, I'm wondering if our male Tribute made it out of the first day alive. The chase was not something I remember seeing earlier during the broadcast we watched. Seeder is obviously very quick. He darts around sharp corners and switches his position several times while the much stronger and bigger Knut keeps up with him. It seems that we've all forgotten that Knut had a flask in his hand until, looking out of breath, he stops chasing and unstoppers the flask. Phinehas and Romulus gasp in tandem. Knut tosses back the contents of the flask, gulping them down greedily. He wipes his sleeve across his mouth and throws the flask down on the cement floor. It shatters. But he's making a face now, and it isn't one of contentment after slaking his thirst. His arm is still at his mouth and his eyebrows are furrowed. He's looking a little green in the face too. He sniffs, then his eyes go wide dramatically. Suddenly he takes two fingers and shoves them deep down his throat, and seconds later he is vomiting the entire contents of his stomach out the nearby window.
"Little did he know that one of the items hidden in the arena looks and smells like water, but instead it is poison." Cane narrates. Knut is puking his guts out.
"Oh! Look! Look!" Gideon is jumping up and down and pointing to the figure of Seeder creeping out from the shadows of the hallway into the open behind Knut. It seems to take all his effort, but Seeder manages to lift the vomiting Knut up over the lip of the window and shove him over the side! We watch as Knut lands in the pile of his own sick and lies still. "Dead? Not dead?" Phinehas Gideon can hardly contain himself.
"Spoiler alert, for those who missed it," Romulus Cane interjects. "Knut survives, but we now know that this boy Tribute from District 10 is not to be messed with." The camera zooms in close up on Seeder's face. I can see it in his eyes too: he's gone mad.
We watch the fight between Scylla and the boy Tribute from District 5, Anawn, while Phinehas Gideon and Romulus Cane animatedly comment on it. Then we discover the Tribute throwing the spikes from the nearby window: it's the District 8 male Tribute, Gusset. Each strike elicits a boisterous "OH!" from Phinehas Gideon. We watch as Scylla recuperates and then runs off into a nearby building. She nearly runs into another female Tribute who is lurking quietly in the shadows. We find out that she is from District 12 and her name is Tiary. The camera cuts to Scylla, trying desperately to remove the spike from her back, then zooms in as she slumps over and finally lies still in a pool of blood. So she died. There are comments being made about this "shocking" death, but I don't hear them. We move on. Switch – from District 3 – stabs the District 6 male Tribute (Kilin) to death. Then we see the awful chase and skewering of District 9's female Tribute, Rouge, by the menacingly powerful Dex, District 1's male Tribute, by throwing a sword at her as she stumbles through the hallway. Dex does not come back for the sword, and we follow him as he retreats to an empty apartment where he's amassed a huge store of long and short swords. We leave him for the final kill, which I choose not to watch. It is the ill-fated race to the Cornucopia that leaves District 9's male Tribute Phen bloody and broken, his face clawed to bloody shreds by District 2's female Tribute, Flicka. The final harrowing shot is of Flicka licking her bloody fingers as her figure slowly disappears into the gloom of the cavernous hallow of the Cornucopia.
"And that's it for the first day," sighs a clearly exhausted Phinehas Gideon. "Here's the list of the dead." They appear on the screen behind him: Hidra, District 5; Kilin, District 6; Scylla, District 1; Phen, District 9; and Rouge, District 9.
Thatch tosses his dirty socks at me from his bunk in the boarding house, hours later. I make a one-fingered gesture at him. "D," he whispers.
"What?"
"I can't sleep." I roll my eyes. Sometimes this happens. Sometimes Thatcher can't sleep after a recap of the Games. Sometimes, when this happens, I let him come and sleep next to me so that if he wakes up screaming, I'll wake up too and hold him. In the morning, I'll kick him out to his bunk so that the boys don't talk. But for now, I sigh and throw back my saddle blanket.
"Okay, Thatch. Come on." He's very quiet and very quick to scramble down from the bunk to lay beside me. As he snuggles in, I hear him heave a sigh.
"Thanks Deane." I cover him over with the saddle blanket and shift to my side so we'll both fit on the bed. As I hear him begin to fall into sleep, I put my arm around him an kiss the back of his head. He tugs at my arm, pulling me up against him so that I'm fully hugging him. I'm okay with it, but I won't admit that to him or anyone else, except for my future wife maybe someday. He sighs, yawning sleepily. The words are on the tip of my tongue and I'm ready to say them, except I can tell by his breathing patterns that he's already descending into sleep. So, in the absence of words, I hug him closer, my little brother, and kiss his head again. I can sleep now that you're here. And I'm sure that pretty soon I am.