Chapter Four
The train continued on its journey to the Capitol, making three more stops to pick up the remaining six tributes. The first of these were fifteen-year-old Ida Jeeves and thirteen-year-old Brett Upton from District 5, the district that was responsible for generating Panem's electricity. As such it had been a key site for rebel activity during the Dark Days and many attempts had been made to sabotage the power plants and cut off the Capitol's electricity supply, with one rebel-induced power outage lasting over a week. However, like the other districts, 5 had been defeated and Ida and Brett, like the other tributes, were being made to pay the price.
Fern sized them up as they were loaded onto the train. Ida's eyes were red-rimmed, suggesting that she had been crying for a long time, possibly all night. For a moment, Fern wondered what Ida had been crying for, but quickly told herself it was better not to know. Knowing might lead to her comforting Ida and that might lead to the two of them becoming friends. And, as Flicker had said, none of the tributes were here to make friends; they were going to have to kill each other. Best keep your distance, emotionally if not physically. As for Brett, he was a short kid with reddish-brown hair who didn't look like he would pose much of a threat. In fact, neither of the District 5 tributes looked particularly tough, which meant it should be easy enough to eliminate them once the tributes were in the arena.
Eliminate them. In other words, kill them. That was the last thing Fern wanted to do to anyone, but it had to be done. All but one of the kids on this train had to die and if she wanted to have any chance of not being eliminated, she would have to do some eliminating herself. That was why she had chosen not to get involved with any of her fellow tributes, including Logger who was currently brooding in the corner. No doubt he was thinking up some way to make a gesture of defiance against the Capitol, but what could he do? Refuse to fight when the time came? If he did, there were bound to be consequences. And it wouldn't just be a clout across the face.
The next stop after District 5 was District 10, the livestock district. A district dedicated to rearing and slaughtering animals for meat, though there was also a sizeable dairy industry in 10. Which meant its tributes, Pasture Litefoot and Waylon Cooper, were probably used to killing, though whether they would have any qualms about killing humans remained to be seen. Animals were one thing, but people . . .
All the same, that was the line the tributes would have to cross. Fern did not know what would happen if they refused to play these sadistic Games by the Capitol's rules, but she had a feeling it would not be pleasent. Most likely every kid whose name had been drawn at the reaping would be killed, all twenty-four of them. She didn't yet know one of her fellow tributes was already dead. If they fought it out, at least one of them would have a chance.
Kill or be killed.
"I think we're stopping again."
Fern looked up at the sound of Cowrie's voice. The District 4 girl was right; the train did seem to be slowing down, not that it was easy to tell when you were stuck in a windowless waggon. But where were they? Which district was this?
Using her fingers, she counted off the districts the train had already stopped at. District 12 had been the first, followed by 8, 6, 11, 3 and 9. Next was District 1, where the Peacekeepers had started loading the tributes onto the rear waggon, followed by District 7, where she and Logger had been put on the train. District 4 had been next, then District 5, then District 10. Which meant this had to be District 2, home to Panem's stone quarries and, along with District 1, the most Capitol friendly of the districts, though it too had had its share of rebels and was therefore required to take part in the Games along with all the others.
As the door to the waggon was rolled back, the tributes peered out to see those who would be joining them from District 2. A small girl named Ursula Dukakis and a strapping boy named Hector Irwin, both handcuffed like the other tributes, both looking somewhat the worse for wear after being locked up in their district's Justice Building for . . . How long had it been since the reapings took place? Fern had no idea and she had no time to think about it before the Peacekeepers lifted Ursula and Hector up and thrust them into the waggon. "Next stop the Capitol!" one of the Peacekeepers called out, before closing the door and replacing the padlock. Second later, the vibration beneath them told the tributes the train had started moving again.
"Hey," Cabochon said as he made his way over to Hector. "Did you support the rebels or the Capitol?"
Hector looked somewhat surprised by this question, but didn't hesitate to answer. "The Capitol, of course! Lots of people in District 2 did, not that it made much difference; they still reaped Ursula and me. What's it to you?" He and Cabochon stood staring at each other and, had his hands not been manacled, he would more than likely have folded his arms across his chest.
"It was the same for me and Flicker," replied Cabochon, nodding towards District 1's female tribute. "And we don't think we should be treated like this just because the loyalties of some people got misplaced. We're from District 1, by the way. Anyway, we've decided to team up and teach the scum from the rebel districts a lesson, and we'll prove our loyalty to the Capitol at the same time."
"How do you plan on doing that?" Hector's tone suggested he was intrigued by Cabochon's statement, but also unsure as to how it would work. The Capitol had in effect tarred all district citizens with the same brush, branding them rebels regardless of which side they had supported during the Dark Days. They'd even ordered that kids from Districts 1 and 2, the most pro-Capitol of all the districts, be included in the Games on the basis that these districts had also had rebel factions among their citizens and must therefore be punished along with all the others. It was going to take a lot of work for Flicker and Cabochon to prove they were on the Capitol's side.
"Simple," said Cabochon. "We're going to fight as a team so it'll be easier to take the others out." Again he nodded towards Flicker. "But," he added, "there's only two of us against all the others. That's why we'd like you to team up with us. With three of us, we should be able to give those kids from the other districts something to worry about. And we'll be able to watch each other's backs. So you up for it? Want to kick some rebel butt?"
The discussion went on for some time, but eventually an agreement was reached. Hector from District 2 would fight alongside Flicker and Cabochon from District 1 when the Games began. The three of them would work together to kill their opponents, none of whom deserved to live in their eyes. They were rebels who had betrayed the Capitol, whereas the three of them were loyal to Panem's rulers and they were going to prove it by playing the Games according to the Capitol's rules. Which meant Flicker and Cabochon would have to kill Hector if it came down to the three of them and they had a chance to test Cabochon's theory that, since he and Flicker came from the same district, they would be declared joint winners if they both made the final two.
"What about the girl from your district?" Flicker asked Hector at length.
Hector glanced over to where Ursula was sitting, then turned back towards his new allies. "A twelve-year-old kid? She won't last five minutes. Sorry," he said to Cabochon, "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I know she's Flicker, but what's your name? Mine's Hector Irwin."
"Cabochon. Cabochon Doyle. And Flicker's surname is Willis."
Fern was woken by a loud banging on the side of the waggon, accompanied by a male voice shouting: "Move it, you lazy brats! We haven't got all day!"
She opened her eyes and, though the lantern which provided the only illumination was dimly lit, was able to make out that she was in a cattle waggon with eleven other kids. All of them were handcuffed, as was she. And all of them had a look of exhaustion that she was sure was mirrored on her own face. For a moment, she wondered where she was, who all these other kids were, why she was wearing handcuffs. Then, she remembered. The Hunger Games. She was a tribute in the First Hunger Games. And that meant the other kids must be tributes too, including the boy with the bruised face who she recognised as the one who like her came from District 7, though his name escaped her for the moment. Not that it mattered since the chances were that neither of them would be alive much longer.
In any case, she had no time to think about it before the waggon's door was unlocked and rolled back, causing sunlight to flood into the space which had served as a mobile prison for her and several others. "All right! Everybody out!" The same voice that had shouted before, only now she could see that it belonged to a Peacekeeper who stood on a platform in what was obviously a train station, holding a baton in his hand. No doubt he'd used it to bang on the waggon in order to awaken its occupants. And something told her he was not someone you wanted to cross.
She crawled to the open door and peered out, noting the distance which separated her from the platform. The gap was too wide for her to just step down; she would have to get off the train some other way. She turned round and backed herself towards the opening, then using her bound hands for support lowered herself to arm's length, feeling for the platform with her feet. The moment she felt solid ground, she let go, landing awkwardly but just managing to stay standing. Flicker, Cabochon and Hector followed, all three of them jumping the gap between the waggon and the platform, crouching down as they landed to absorb the shock of the impact. Ursula attempted to exit the train in the same manner as Fern, but she was smaller than the District 7 girl, so she couldn't lower herself far enough for her feet to touch the platform. A Peacekeeper, not the one who'd shouted, grabbed her round the waist and yanked her down, depositing her on the platform before turning his attention to the remaining seven tributes in the waggon.
"Well, what are you lot waiting for?" he demanded. "A welcoming committee? This is the only welcome you're going to get!" And, with that, he reached into the waggon and hauled Ida and Brett out by their collars, dumping them unceremoniously on the platform. Next, he yanked Waylon out, followed by Cowrie. Skipper, Logger and Pasture backed themselves into the far corner of the waggon, but they were only delaying the inevitable.
The Peacekeeper climbed into the waggon, emerging moments later with Pasture in his grip. The District 10 girl screamed as she was shoved through the opening, barely managing to catch herself with her cuffed hands as she fell. Skipper was the next to receive this treatment, followed by Logger. The latter did not come quietly, shouting a string of obscenities as he was dragged out of the waggon and loudly declaring that he was "not going to play this sick game", which earned him several blows that would give him a few bruises to go with the bruise on his face.
"I don't seem to recall you being given a choice in the matter," said the Peacekeeper with the baton.
While all this was going on, other Peacekeepers had been removing the tributes who had travelled in the other waggon, allowing Fern her first glimpse of the kids who'd been put on this train before Flicker and Cabochon. A girl in a maroon dress who wore a rope round her waist as a makeshift belt. A boy, who looked like he might be the oldest of all the tributes, supporting a girl whose leg looked like it would give way at any moment. A small girl with dark skin whose dress was fraying at the hem . . . Wait, she could only count eleven tributes from the other waggon and she knew there should have been twelve. Which meant someone was missing.
The Peacekeeper with the baton, who seemed to be in charge, also noticed the imbalance in numbers. Marching over to the knot of tributes, he turned to the Peacekeepers who had removed them from the waggon. "There should have been twelve tributes on both waggons," he told them shortly. "Why did you only retrieve eleven from this one?"
"Because one of them's dead," a female Peacekeeper replied. "One of the boys. The one from District 9."
"Dead? What do you mean?"
"What I said. We went to get the tributes out and he was lying on the floor. He must have died during the journey. The question is, what do we do now?"
The Peacekeeper with the baton answered without hesitation. "Ship him back to 9 and let his family dispose of the body. It's too late to hold another reaping ceremony; we'll just have to carry on with the tributes we have." Which wasn't going to go down well with President Ravinstill, but there was no other option. The Games were scheduled to begin the next day; there was no time to reap a replacement male tribute from District 9 and bring him to the Capitol. He was about to order the remaining tributes to follow him and the other Peacekeepers out of the station when a shout suddenly went up.
"Stop them!"
Turning, he saw three of the tributes (Cowrie, Skipper and Brett) running towards the train and trying to climb back on board, no doubt hoping they would be taken home if they could get on the train. Either that or they hoped to escape into the wilderness beyond Panem, about which very little was known for certain. Well, he wasn't about to give them that chance. "Hold it right there!" he shouted at them, just as they began to haul themselves back into the rear waggon. "This is your last warning!" The three tributes gave no response except to redouble their efforts to board the train. The Peacekeeper nodded to some of his comrades, who pulled their guns out of their holsters and aimed them at the escaping tributes.
It was all over in seconds. Riddled with bullets, Cowrie, Skipper and Brett lost their grip on the waggon and fell back onto the platform, where the two boys lay motionless while Cowrie continued to twitch, faint moans escaping from her mouth, until a bullet to the back of her head ensured that she would never moan or twitch again. The Peacekeeper with the baton then turned to the remaining twenty tributes, who stood looking horrified at the triple killing they had just witnessed. "Anyone else want to get back on the train?" he asked in a tone which clearly said that any tribute who so much as tried would suffer the same fate as the three who now lay dead on the platform.
None of the tributes moved.
"No? Well, let this . . ." He nodded towards the corpses of the tributes from District 4 and the boy from District 5. ". . . serve to remind you that defying the Capitol doesn't pay! Now, get moving!"
The tributes were escorted out of the station by the Peacekeepers, who kept a close eye on them in case any felt like following Cowrie, Skipper and Brett's example. However, there was little chance of that; seeing three of their number gunned down right before their eyes had put them off trying to escape or even considering it. They trudged across the station in silence, following their captors, the image of the bodies on the platform dominating their minds. Bodies that, until a few minutes ago, had been three kids. Three kids who had been killed for the crime of trying to escape the fate that awaited all but one of the tributes.
Walking along in the midst of the tributes, Fern thought about what she'd seen and what it meant for herself and the others. She'd overheard the female Peacekeeper say the District 9 boy was already dead on arrival in the Capitol, and now three more tributes had joined him before the Games had even begun. Which, she thought to herself, meant four less tributes she had to try and kill, or who might try and kill her. Not a very pleasant thought, but this wasn't a very pleasant situation. She and the rest of these kids were condemned to fight to the death and therefore none of them could trust any of the others; even Flicker, Cabochon and Hector would eventually have to turn on each other. But at least she now only had to face nineteen opponents instead of twenty-three.
At length, the tributes and the Peacekeepers escorting them exited the station to find a truck waiting for them, a truck which had been modified to resemble a mobile cage. Metal bars enclosed the bed and the whole thing was topped off with a steel roof. Several tributes gulped at the sight of it, knowing without having to be told that it was here to transport them to wherever they were going to be held until the Games began. The Games from which only one of them would emerge alive.
The Peacekeeper in charge nodded to one of his fellows, who unlocked the cage. He then turned to the tributes and looked at them as though they were some kind of inferior life-form, not human beings at all. Indeed, Fern thought to herself, the whole set-up seemed to be geared towards treating those who lived in the districts as little more than animals. Transporting the tributes in cattle waggons. Keeping them manacled. And now they were about to be driven through the Capitol in a cage on wheels. However, she didn't have long to think about it before the Peacekeeper in charge began to address the tributes.
"Right, listen up! Each of you will hold out your hands to have your cuffs removed, then get into the truck. The moment everyone is in the truck, the door will be secured and you will be driven to where you will be held until it is time for you to be taken to the arena. And if any of you are still thinking of trying to escape, remember we're armed and you're not. So don't bother unless you want to end up like those kids back there."
With the memory of what had happened to Cowrie, Skipper and Brett still fresh in their minds, none of the tributes were in the mood to resist. Not even Logger, who Fern had expected would give the Peacekeepers some trouble as he had back in District 7 when he'd tried to avoid having his hands manacled in the first place. She thought he might even try to make a run for it despite being warned of the consequences, but he didn't. Instead, when his turn came, he meekly presented his hands to the Peacekeeper who was removing the tributes' cuffs and climbed into the truck the moment his hands were free. However, he did mouth something that Fern suspected was a swear word, though this went unnoticed by the Peacekeepers.
Since the back of the truck contained no seats, the tributes were forced to sit on the floor, which didn't make for a very comfortable ride as the vehicle was driven through the streets of the Capitol. Fern, who was between Fusey from District 3 and Waylon from District 10, with Heddle from District 8 directly opposite, peered through the bars which surrounded her, taking note of the rubble-strewn streets, the buildings pitted with bullet holes, the remnants of what had once been houses. Clearly, even though they had ultimately lost the war, the rebels had left their mark. It would probably take years for the Capitol to erase the signs of conflict and become the thriving city it had once been. Trouble was, it would be thriving at the districts' expense as it had before, and this time it would have the Hunger Games as a reminder to those living in the districts that it had the power of life and death over them.
A group of children playing in the rubble looked up as the truck carrying the tributes drove past. One of them, a girl of about Aspen's age, picked a fragment of brick up off the ground and hurled it at the tributes, barely missing Nigella from District 11, who screamed and ducked her head.
"Traitors!" the girl who'd thrown the fragment of brick shouted. "I hope you all die horribly!"
That was the cue for the rest of the children to start hurling objects (and insults) at the tributes, who were forced to crouch low down in the truck to avoid being hit by the missiles. As for the insults, terms like "district scum" were only for starters. Fern privately thought she would never have dared utter some of the more "creative" epiphets being hurled her way and she suspected the other tributes felt the same. But there was nothing she could do except grit her teeth and wait until they left the children behind. Children who believed they were somehow superior to the kids in the truck, the youngest of whom (Ursula and Nigella) weren't much older than they were.
In later years, the tributes would have been dressed up to represent their districts' industries and paraded in chariots through streets lined with cheering crowds. But, in the year of the First Hunger Games, they were traitors in the eyes of the Capitol and deserved nothing but contempt.