Clementine wipes the beads of sweat glittering on her forehead, matting the baby hairs to her dark skin, and sighs. District 11 is hot and muggy, it's just a fact of life, but the past month or so has been almost unbearable. The dirt roads that web across the district shimmer from the heat waves late into the afternoon, and almost everyone has had to start wearing shoes when they walk around the place. A day hasn't gone by where at least a few people in the crops don't drop from exhaustion or heatstroke. It's usually both. In the past, the Peacekeepers assigned to the fields have stood there uselessly when a worker would drop. It didn't happen often enough that they were obligated to help. Nowadays, they're made to stand there with medkits and canisters of water. Wouldn't want to lose a worker.
Supposedly the areas where the district is settled were hot back before the catastrophes, but nothing like today. Something about the natural disasters affected the weather, and District 11 was unfortunate enough to already be the hottest area of the continent when the temperature started inching upwards.
Despite the shade of the Idowu's veranda, the torridity envelops Clem like a blanket, and the thin, wooden roof does little to block the sun from beaming across her face. She groans in frustration.
"Where are you, Florina."
She knocks on the door again, and there's still no answer, though for a moment, she thinks she hears movement from inside. She ties her locs back behind her head to keep the hair off her neck.
"Maybe she's in the town square already?" Winnow suggests from behind her. She walks over to one of the windows and ducks down to see through it better. "A lot of stores are closing up early today."
Clem fans herself with her hand. "It's not like her to forget things she organizes."
There are a few more windows along the front of the property that she considers asking Winnow to look through while she's there, but there's no point.
She bangs the door with her fist.
The merchant's square is empty and quiet. A few shop owners are still around, but they're closing shutters and locking doors. Carrie Nachum, the old lady who runs the post office, swings her broom at an alley cat. She's an old thing with hobbled joints, so her swings are slow and miss by a wide margin, but she relents, and the cat hisses and runs when she smacks it squarely on the head. The rest of the stores are lifeless. Mostly everyone's closed up shop already for the card reading that will decide the twist of the Hunger Games this year.
Mrs. Idowu told them once that the last card reading was treated like a day off. Sort of like Reaping Day. The workers are let off early so that there's time for families to congregate. Then you get two choices; stand in the square with everyone else for reaction footage or stay home for privacy with your family.
Clem's father will be home when she returns, and he'll be rolled over on his mattress, facing the wall and pretending to be asleep like he does when the Games are on. She'll pretend to believe it.
The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky and has shed the harsh rays for a softer golden light. The heat still does not relent, and she swats a bead of sweat from the back of her neck in irritation.
"I'm going to kill you, Florina."
The air remains quiet despite her threat. Clem huffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever."
"Come on, they're not home. We can re-organize the meeting when you see her at school." Winnow starts to step down the stairs and beckons Clem to follow her.
"Yeah, alright."
She starts going down the steps. It's difficult to ignore her disappointment. Today is an emotional day, and it's going to be hard to go back to her shack and try to get food and water into her father. Florina's face would have made the day just a little more bearable.
"I'd rather you didn't kill me, thanks."
Florina is standing in the now-open doorframe. Her dark curly hair is pulled back into a bunch, but several strands have loosened, and they frame her face delicately. Her overalls aren't the only indicator that she's been doing some sort of physical activity; her lips and face are glossy from sweat. A droplet falls from her long eyelashes. She's as pretty as always despite the redness in her face and neck; it just makes her look like she's blushing.
Clem attempts a stuttered response, but Winnow cuts in.
"Couldn't hear us?" Her hands are on her hips. Florina's eyebrows raise apologetically.
"I was moving some things around for Ma, sorry. I was up the back of the store until a couple of minutes ago."
Florina steps aside and lets them into the building. She gives Clem a toothy smile, and Clem gives her one back. Winnow grumbles past like an old man.
"Has Logan come yet?" Clem asks.
"With this heat?" Florina says. "Don't you think you're giving him too much credit? I doubt he'll leave his house."
"I would not be surprised if Mayor Hedley kicks him out of the house so he stops annoying her. She's probably stressed enough about today without having him buzzing around her."
The two of them laugh.
Florina leads the way into the back, where the storage room is. The Idowus have tried their best to keep the heat out; the shutters and doors are closed to make the place as cool and comfortable as possible. The pharmacy is well off for a store in District 11. Compared to a lot of businesses, which keep themselves afloat by the skin of their teeth, this one has managed to avoid falling into despair.
Mrs. Idowu's grandfather won the Hunger Games decades ago, and though he can't technically just give her the money, the family always somehow has enough money to fix the peeling paint or the broken floorboards. But not enough for an industrial fan, apparently. The Idowus use their familial wealth and prestige to help people, something Clem has always admired them for. It's hard to be jealous of people like that.
The strategy of closing everything up has worked somewhat, but an underlying mugginess still fills the air. Despite it not being very hot within the building, Clem continues to sweat. At least there's protection from the sun now.
The storage room in the Idowu apothecary is the coolest place in the building besides the cool room downstairs, where pastes and antibiotics are stored to keep fresh for their upper-class customers. The three of them have been using this place to hang out for years, so much so that they have boxes designated for each of them to sit on.
They've only just entered the room when there's a knock on the front door.
Florina rolls her eyes and groans. "Make yourself at home and give me a couple of minutes."
She rushes back off to the front of the shop.
The storeroom is as pleasant as it could be given how small it is, and as always, the boxes are weirdly cozy, albeit a little flimsy. Winnow sits uncomfortably on one due to her muscular frame, her legs stretched out awkwardly. The box puffs a little from the weight.
They sit in silence. The room is dark but calming. Winnow isn't much of a talker, and ever since her brother died in the Hunger Games, she's gotten even quieter. Clem doesn't attempt to make conversation, and she can tell Winnow appreciates it. Florina doesn't take long to come back anyway. She comes down the hallway with Logan, arguing about something.
"My parents barely allow me in the coolroom. What in Snow's name makes you think you've got permission."
Logan drops it, and they squeeze into the coolroom. He pulls a whiny face.
"Logan decided to grace us," Florina says. "So now we can have this meeting. Tell us what you know."
Clem and Winnow share a look.
His golden-brown eyes move to Florina, "You sure the place isn't bugged?"
"No chance. Chaff comes down from Victors' Village once a month for Grandpa's painkillers, and he and Ma talk in here. The bugs would pick up on either an affair or treason, and either one would be revealed by the Capitolian news before he could even make it back up the Village. Given how Ma looks at my pa, it's definitely sedition they talk about."
Logan puts his palms to the roof, causing Florina to roll her eyes.
"She told me it's not! Just get on with it."
"Ma had a meeting with Cassius Branch." He starts after an over-dramatic sigh. "Right after little Rue McKissak got speared in the arena last year and the riots started. They were discussing strategies to dissipate the crowds and get ahead of any future ones. Things have eased up enough for a few weeks that the Peacekeepers are loosening their grip. Slightly."
You already told us that." Clem says.
Ignoring her, he continues.
"Branch and Ma had a follow-up, and he was talking about how his job as head Peacekeeper was on the line and so was hers as mayor, and he let slip that District 8's also been having riots."
Winnow rolls her eyes and scoffs,
"Yeah, because a bunch of sickly people with smog-filled lungs are for sure doing the damage we've done here. Our people have torn down silos and set crops on fire. We see the kids from Eight every year during the Games; they're slow, stiff-jointed, and barely make it past the first few days. I don't think I can remember the last-"
"They took control of the Peacekeeper's headquarters."
Winnow leans hard against the shelf behind her. It shudders slightly.
"How on earth did they manage to do that."
Logan shrugs. "Not quite sure, as Cassius Branch didn't disclose that information to Ma, though something he said to her implies that a lot of people on both sides died in the process. The entire district is supposedly on lockdown, and no one is allowed out of their houses under any circumstances."
"That means no one is working!" Florina says. She cups her face in her hands. "They're probably all starving!"
"Yeah, that's likely," Winnow says.
Clem wipes a bead of sweat from her cheek. "Well, we have to be careful. Unless we want to end up like Eight, people need to stop burning shit."
Logan scoffs. "Says you. Do I have to remind you of the week you spent in prison for fighting those Peacekeepers?"
The corners of Clem's mouth tilt upwards, but she forces herself to keep a neutral face.
"People can live without new fabrics for a month or two. We're not going into complete lockdown; Eleven's industry is essential. Also, those Peacekeepers were being assholes, so it was deserved."
Florina grins at her.
"Yeah, well, at least the Capitol has eased up on its crackdown," Logan says. "Our reason and cause can stay stagnant until Peacekeeper forces ease up."
Winnow crosses her arms. "What's District 8's reason and cause then?"
No one responds. They have the same reason, it always circles back to the Hunger Games, but there's no point in mentioning it. There's nothing any of them can do to aid District 8. They've barely managed to scrape by as it is.
District 11 has been through hell during the past three months. Whippings, hangings, anyone suspected of treason forced into jail. The jail is completely unfit for humans; Clem had cockroaches all over her when she was locked up. That's the point, though. To show the citizens of Eleven how powerless they all are when it comes to their basic rights and treatment.
When Katniss Everdeen came around on the Victory Tour, she spoke kind words about Winnow's brother and Rue McKissak, thanking them for their bravery. It stoked the flames of rebellion. Ever since the 74th Games, Eleven has felt a sort of kinship with her even before their tributes were dead. An old man did the District 12 hand signal.
He was rewarded with a bullet to the head, and the Peacekeeper presence throughout the District became an all-time high. Clem is continuously grateful that the Capitol focused on the central villages where most of the fighting is, rather than the outer villages, or she'd probably still be in prison. The only reason the lockdown eased up is for the card reading so the Capitol can film reaction shots.
Florina stands up. "Well, that was a lovely meeting. Thanks for dropping by and ruining the festive mood, Logan."
He shrugs. "I gotta keep my girls informed."
"Now that you're here, you're more than welcome to come and watch the card reading with us in the square. My parents are at the Victors' Village with Grandpa." She sighs and starts to say something but shakes her head.
"I would, but Ma wants the family together for it."
It's obvious that Mayor Hedley is worried riots will break out and doesn't want her son in the middle of one. Clem can't blame her.
They leave the pharmacy and go their separate ways. Logan walks off towards the mayoral villa. As she watches him walk off, Clem can't help but think about how odd it is that he ever bothered to speak to them at school. He has other friends in the other upper-class students, but for some reason, he found the three of them interesting enough to befriend.
The area of Merchants' Square where the huge screens are set up isn't that far, but with the heat, the walk drags on. The more time they spend in the sun, the more the air feels suffocating. Florina fills it with what's been going on in the apothecary, but she can't quite link it to any information on how the Capitol is affected by the riots in District 8 and possibly other districts. They've barely had an increase or decrease in purchases.
They're silent for a while, shoes crunching on the dirt road. Clem and Florina walk shoulder to shoulder, bumping together now and then. Winnow keeps drifting, though.
"We've known each other for two years, and I never thought to ask why you're so passionate about this." she suddenly asks. It sounds forced.
It catches Clem off-guard. She considers lying. It'd be easy to bring up how unjust the way the Capitol exploits the district is or the horror of watching two of their own be paraded around like prizes just to die a week later, but when she looks at Winnow, she can see the sadness behind her eyes that matches her father's almost exactly.
Images of Thresh Robinson's death replay in her head. A broken neck sending the entire District into silence and shutdown. Winnow's cold and emotionless eyes. There's no need for Clem to keep the truth close to her chest. Winnow can be trusted.
"My aunt died in the last Quarter Quell. The one with double the amount of tributes. My Pa rarely talks about her, and whenever the Games are on, he gets depressed and overwhelmed, so I watched the tape in the school library one day when I was eleven. They don't show it on the television, and I wasn't even sure I'd find it, but there was one copy in the school library. I was so scared of the Games back then and how I would be in the reaping in less than a year."
Winnow kicks a few pebbles along the dirt but remains quiet. Clem feels stupid and vulnerable. Florina nudges her shoulder supportively.
"She died just a few days in when the mountain in the arena turned out to be a volcano." Clem continues. "She'd taken shelter there to recover from a sting and died instantly."
Winnow's scowl has softened into a look of compassion, and the silence that ensues would've been awkward had it been with someone other than her.
Clem suddenly flushes with embarrassment. She never knew her aunt. The only effect from her death she's ever felt is the grief that's followed her father for twenty-five years, and here she is talking about herself to someone whose suffering is so fresh. Someone who probably still doesn't know how it will follow her around for decades from now.
"Sorry," she mutters. "I know it's not about me but-"
"No, I get it." Winnow gives a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You're doing it for your Pa, and so no one else will have to go through that. So in a way, you're also doing it for me."
She kicks another pebble across the road. She always tries to hide her pain because she thinks it makes her look weak, and she refuses to let anyone talk about her brother when she's around. If anyone begins alluding to him, she glares at them until they stop. Clem awkwardly tries to figure out how to help her, but nothing viable comes to mind. Winnow hates physical affection, so even a hand on her shoulder will do nothing but put her in a worse mood. It'd only be uncomfortable for both of them. Florina can get away with it though, and she hugs Winnow. They continue in silence.
The Reaping Square comes into view slowly, and hundreds of people are already milling about. Mostly the well-kept merchant class who live close by. The buildings stand tall and hide the backdrop of the slums and fields of overworked citizens. District 11 is so massive that villagers from the outer towns need to take a train or a truck to the square, and preliminary Reapings are held to ensure the chosen tributes are in the crowd. The large screen off to the right of the stage is on, but nothing is playing, just silent static while the camera crew finishes setting up for reaction shots of the crowd. One of the crew, the crew leader Clem assumes, is yelling at one of her staff for dropping a stabilizer. The woman shouts orders while the crew hurries around frantically, swinging her clipboard around crazily. She mutters something to a Peacekeeper, who starts passing a message to the Peacekeepers around the perimeter of the crowd. They push the crowd into a tighter space. Florina puts an arm around Clem's shoulder to take up less room.
Eventually, the screen flickers to life with the Capitol seal emblazoned onto a black background. It then changes to a shot of President Snow standing on the balcony of the presidential manor. His eyes, as always, are unsettling and snakelike.
He begins to speak, reminding the nation of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. Because sending defenseless kids to a death match as punishment for their ancestors revolting against oppression is totally fair. He explains that when the laws were laid out, they dictated that the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell every twenty-five years. It would call for a glorified version of the Games to make the memory of those killed by the Districts' rebellion fresh.
"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."
Clem rolls her eyes. Such a Capitolian tactic, not only pitting the Districts against each other every year during the Games but then dividing the Districts from within. How horrific, she thinks, to be called to that stage and know that a majority of the district decided your life mattered the least.
"On the fiftieth anniversary," President Snow continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, every District was required to send twice as many tributes."
Those numbers don't sound quite right, but she understands the effect. Worse odds, more people to distrust, less hope, and twice the amount of corpses going home on the trains. She thinks about how large the pool of competitors would've been. She wonders how scared Aunt Danica was.
"And now we honor the third Quarter Quell."
A little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. In the box are rows and rows of yellowed envelopes. Clem clenches her jaw; whoever came up with the Games clearly prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. When would they have ended? Will they ever? Centuries of slaughtering the districts' children isn't fair punishment for a rebellion.
President Snow takes an envelope marked with '75'. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper.
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that without the Capitol's everlasting empathy and abundance, the Districts would have nothing, the tributes will not receive the aid of sponsor gifts within the arena."
The crowd in the Capitol erupts into cheers almost instantly, reacting mindlessly to anything they hear. The twist could be that the Capitol must compete, and they would probably celebrate. The people standing in the town square remain silent, clearly trying to decipher what this means for the tributes. The Capitol contributes nothing to the Districts but fear, death, and tyranny. How dare they claim empathy and abundance. They kill twenty-five children a year for entertainment.
Clem looks at Winnow, and she's sure the rage on her face mirrors her own. The large screen flickers through the Districts. One is cheering, and Two is clapping politely, but the rest are stone-faced masses, defying the Capitol in the small way they can with their silence. Showing that they do not condone this horror.
The program cuts into commentators, rapidly discussing the twist and bringing up the past two Quarter Quells to compare how this one may work. One of them says these Games will be going back to the roots of the first nine Hunger Games, and how whoever wins will 'truly' have the odds in their favour. They discuss in excitement the prospect of this year's batch of tributes and which districts have the best chance of victory. How another twenty-four teenagers will fight to survive.
Clem's blood boils.