The final chapter of the train saga!
I'm psyched for more character interactions as they all meet each other, and our final 9 tributes to be introduced.
Enjoy!
~ Meghan
"You praise the distant city to the stars."
- Horace, 65 B.C. - B.C., Roman Republic
The Arrival.
...
Alstroemeria Kane - 16 y.o. - D9
...
- Somewhere in Panem -
Azzie dreamt of home.
She dreamt of her fingers brushing rough stalks of buckwheat, warm sun dancing across her face on a hot day, the sound of the combines rolling out in the fields for harvest. But the churning of the combine's reel turned into Ellie's peal of laughter.
Wailing.
Azzie turned, the haze of the dream pulling at her and melting away the summer day with Ellie at her side. Snowflakes fell on her cheeks, sharp, frigid, biting. Granary 5 was burning. Orange flames blazed into a gray winter sky.
Screams.
The memories were a patchwork, seared into her brain like the scorch marks still left on the siding of the rebuilt granary. But she could remember the world looming so much larger above her when she was only four, arriving at the smoldering site where her parents turned into ash alongside the grain. But in this dream she was older and faster as she ran, throwing open the doors and rushing into the flames. They didn't burn as they licked her arms or her dark hair. She just choked on the smoke.
Sobbing.
The smoke sounded like it was crying as it suffocated her. She stumbled. The charred bodies at her feet were unrecognizable - but she knew they were her parents.
Another stumble. A floor full of flames.
She fell. Azzie caught herself just before collapsing near a corpse. Numbness and smoke filled her as she stared down at her own dead face.
Flames roared-
Azzie woke up coughing, spitting out the bedsheet that had somehow wound up pressed against her face. Air filled her lungs, gloriously clear, with the scent of cherries - not smoke - still lingering from her shower the night before. When was the last time she had a nightmare? It had been so long. Usually her Aunt Talisha was there in the house like a guard against the bad dreams.
She looked around the dark room, lit only by the gray of early morning outside her window. Right. The train.
The reaping.
Stumbling out of bed, Azzie turned on a lamp and breathed in relief as soft gold light washed over the room. The nightmare about the granary wasn't real - she was just living in one long nightmare now. But she wasn't at home with Aunt Talisha and her cousin to keep her company. Were they sleeping at all tonight? Hopefully they had rested soundly. Ellie was only twelve, but she was a smart girl. She would know that she'd need her rest for the week to come.
Azzie shivered. Her silky nightgown was soaked with cold sweat. She drifted over to the bathroom with its shiny glass shower and gleaming tiles. Back home, they'd had a metal tub with an unreliable faucet. On a good day, there was hot water. In the winter, they had to keep it dripping or else the pipes froze. But here it was so different. If this was what the train looked like, what would her room in the Capitol look like?
Reaching out a trembling hand, Azzie turned the water on and made it as hot as it would go. It didn't take long before steam was filling the room and she was running her finger down a wall of buttons to choose between the different scents of soap. When she finally stepped out of the shower, the steam was soaked through with the sweet aroma of hibiscus and almond, enveloping her, washing away the smell of smoke still in her mind.
Azzie pulled on the fluffiest robe she could find and hugged the fabric to her face as she drifted into the small connecting room full of racks of clothing and drawers full of even more. Her hand - steady now - drifted over them longingly. How much longer did she have to try on all of these outfits? There'd be more waiting in the Capitol, probably.
Her lip curled in disgust.
It was just like the rich girls at school who had stuffed closets and still wanted more each birthday. They had everything. And they wanted more. The Capitol wasn't really much different.
But at least she didn't have to steal these ones.
She pulled on a soft tunic, the same blonde color as Ellie's wispy hair, and flowing brown pants. Azzie twirled on the spot, her toes making a divot in the plush carpet.
"You're like a magpie," Aunt Talisha had sighed once when Azzie lingered at the roadside, picking at some rocks that glittered. "Anything pretty catches your eye and you're flitting away."
Azzie beamed back, holding up a shimmering stone to the sun. "That's why I love you."
Aunt Talisha had laughed, looping her arm through her niece's and tugging her along.
Azzie bit back a sigh and walked back in her bedroom. Her bedroom. It was ironic. She'd wanted beautiful things all her life. And now she was getting them. Right before being thrown into the arena. She could be that corpse in a week. She could be-
Bile burned in Azzie's throat, threatening to come up.
Her dream-corpse returned to her mind, dark eyes empty, turned into hollow sockets.
"Azalea. Bluebell. Chrysanthemum. Day lily." Azzie swallowed hard, struggling to come up a new flower for the letter E. Ellie's name kept coming up instead, ruining what was usually a calming game. Azzie's cousin crying at the reaping came back, piercing through her heart.
Shoving the memory in the back of her brain with the nightmare, Azzie marched to her door and out into the hallway. Being alone in her bedroom was driving her insane, even with all the beautiful things inside it. Outside, the hallway was just as empty. Shades were drawn over the windows and the door to Royal's suite shut.
Was he dreaming about his girlfriend?
Azzie couldn't help the pang of jealousy that stabbed at her.
Royal Kariki was one of the boys at school who was always surrounded by a cloud of friends, two parents at home, enough food to keep him full, and a new-looking shirt at the reaping. But he was hard to hate. The boy was like a puppy, all friendly and confident but with with a quietness about him. He wasn't bad, as far as district partners went. There could've been worse.
At least he wasn't exactly shaping up to be competition. He had spent most of dinner staring at the flower from his girlfriend that Azzie had put in a glass for him.
She couldn't help but wish she had a boyfriend herself - or, preferably, a girlfriend - who had come to say goodbye at the Justice Hall. She wanted someone who was waiting for her at home like Meadow was for Royal - even if the situation was awful. Sure, she had Aunt Talisha and Ellie, but still. Love was probably the most precious thing of all and she couldn't quite pick-pocket that like she could a wallet or an earring.
When she arrived in the main train car, Azzie was surprised to find someone else awake.
She wiped the scowl off her face and plastered on a bright smile. "Good morning, Florius."
The fuchsia-haired escort jumped. Some of his blue glitter eyeshadow dusted off as he pressed a hand against his forehead. "Oh, good morning! I didn't see you there, Alstroe - I mean, Azzie. My apologies. You're up early."
"Habit," Azzie replied with a shrug. "During harvest season we have to get up early as shit, way before the sun to start work before it's too hot. I passed out once from heat stroke. It's hellish out there in the middle of summer."
Florius looked down, somewhere between flustered and horrified. "Oh, that's right. I forgot."
Azzie turned up her smile a watt and sighed just dramatically enough that she knew Ellie would've rolled her eyes. "It's just, you know, so hard to remember now that I can rest and enjoy all the wonderful things from the Capitol. I'm just so grateful."
With a sympathetic nod, Florius clasped one of her hands in his gloved ones. "Oh, of course! And I'm here to help make this as easy and comfortable as possible."
"Thank you," Azzie said, tilting her head with a gentle smile. How could these Capitol peacocks believe any of this? She almost felt bad doing it they were just so stupid. Almost.
"Well." Florius let go and returned to the tablet he had been looking at. "Breakfast won't be ready for a couple more hours, but is there anything you'd like? I can have one of the kitchen staff whip up something for you in the meantime. They make the most scrumptious gâteau à la crème."
Azzie grinned at him. The fuck is a gatoo ala cream? "I'm okay for now, thank you, though." She turned towards one of the windows. Gray, flat grasslands skimmed by. "Do you know how close we are?"
Florius gave his tablet a few flicks. "It's exactly half-past-six now. We should be arriving in the Capitol in about four hours."
Four hours.
A shiver dropped down Azzie's spine as she walked to the window. On the horizon, faint light was struggling to shine through the thick, dark clouds. Rain was coming. Not exactly a warm welcome to the Capitol. What was it going to be like? She couldn't really imagine it, even though she had seen the Capitol all her life on television.
She had watched all the past Hunger Games go by with tributes stepping off the train to a cheering crowd and flashing cameras. It just didn't feel like that was going to be her - and yet here she was, standing in the silver tribute train with the engine humming underneath her as they soared to the Capitol.
"What were the tributes from last year like?"
Florius peered up from his tablet, eyebrows drawn as if he hadn't heard her right. "The... the tributes?"
Azzie nodded, keeping her voice light. "Yeah. What were they like to escort?"
She could remember them even if she had forgotten their names. They hadn't seemed particularly promising, although the boy looked strong. He'd ended up dying at the bloodbath after one of the Careers from 4 - she couldn't remember if it was the boy or the girl - stabbed him in the back with a spear. It was difficult to watch him struggling to crawl away before he laid there and died. Just like that. The girl from 9 had lived a bit longer, but one bad infection and no sponsors took her out in the middle of the Games.
It didn't exactly bode well for Azzie's own prospects.
"They were a polite pair," Florius said quietly. He at least had the sense to look solemn.
Azzie nodded. "District Nine isn't really popular with sponsors, are we?"
The escort hesitated, glancing back at his tablet. "Well... to be honest, there have only been three victors from the district so far..." He ran a hand through his hot-pink hair, searching for words before turning back to her. "But a standout tribute from one of the outer districts can draw attention much quicker than one from the affluent districts. Those wealthier districts might have more consistent interest, but - between me and you - they don't tend to be the most interesting tributes."
"What makes an interesting tribute?"
"Someone who the Capitol hasn't seen before. When a tribute takes the crowd by surprise, they'll be remembered more in the arena."
"I don't know if there's much I can impress a crowd with, then," Azzie said half-jokingly. She leaned against the wall for support, trying to make it look casual, relishing the refreshing chill of the window against her arms.
Florius gave a surprisingly kind smile. "I doubt that, Miss Azzie. You might surprise yourself." He gathered the tablet in his hands, pushing his sleeves up. A thin, red bracelet sparkled on his wrist, the same color as Aunt Talisha's fiery hair. "Don't count yourself out before we've even reached the Capitol."
The train started to slow.
"Just a fuel stop," Florius said simply when Azzie started to turn to the window. "I have to go supervise, but we'll speak again at breakfast."
Azzie smiled brightly. "Of course." She drifted past him, brushing close as she pointed out the window. "See those flowers there? The tall white ones? They're called Culver's root. There're huge meadows of it outside the fences around District Nine. You should take a look; honeybees love them." She walked off down the hall, heading toward her room, hands clasped.
She was back at her suite door within a minute, reaching for the brass door handle when a voice made her jump.
"Azzie?"
Forcing a laugh, Azzie leaned back, tucking her hands behind herself, her heart speeding up almost as fast as the train. "Sorry, Ms. Patalena, you snuck up on me."
Emmer Phox stood in the doorway from the next car, dressed in her usual elegant get-up of stylish, long slacks and a golden blouse that highlighted the warmth in her brown eyes. She must've been at least as tall as Aunt Talisha. But Azzie's aunt was never fortunate enough to be dressed up like a Capitol doll.
"Feel free to call me Emmer Phox. And I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
"No worries," Azzie said. She beamed. "If you were looking for Florius, he went to go check on the fuel stop."
"Oh, right..." Emmer Phox said, trailing off and letting silence settle for a moment. She took a few steps forward. "How did you sleep?"
"Like a babe in a bassinet," Azzie said with a reassuring nod. "The train practically rocked me to sleep."
A look crossed her mentor's face. It was one that Azzie had seen now and then, when other people in District 9 from the more well-off areas saw her patched-up clothing or remembered what happened to her parents. It was that way their eyes would tilt down with pity and they would look at her, the poor little orphan girl who has nothing, and whisper to each other when they thought she couldn't hear.
Azzie never wanted their pity. She didn't want those pandering looks like she was a little, injured baby bird fallen from the nest. She certainly didn't need the pity of some Capitol-kiss-ass victor who lived in a mansion in the Victor's Village.
She certainly didn't need the look in Emmer Phox's famous eyes that said she saw through Azzie's plastered-on smile.
"If you need anything-" Emmer Phox began.
"I'll come find you first thing," Azzie finished with a charming wink. "I'll let you go see Florius now and not keep you waiting." She nodded at her mentor and pulled open her suite door without waiting for the woman to say another word - or give another one of those knowing looks. Azzie just slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
On the floor, crumpled in a heap, were her worn reaping clothes. Gray morning light from the window pooled around them.
Azzie pulled her hand from behind her back and watched Florius' red bracelet glint in the dim light.
Lewis Fowler - 13 y.o. - D11
...
- Somewhere in Panem -
Lewis followed the smell of warm bread, honey, and citrus.
He blinked his raw eyes, red from crying himself to sleep. And crying in the car to the train station. And in District 11.
"Don't cry," his father had said at the Justice Building. Coleman Fowler stood over his son, face as stern as ever, but twisted with barely-concealed pain. "Lewis, look at me, you need to stop crying."
Lewis hiccupped, wiping at his eyes even though it hurt. As soon as he had been swept into the Justice Building, he'd pulled his burlap gloves from his pocket and stood there shivering in the grand hall. The girl who had gotten picked with him was led away, not looking at him. Lewis had felt the hot tears pricking his eyes the second the Peacekeepers escorted him to a lavish room to receive goodbyes.
The burlap fibers stung the wet skin under his eyes. "Dad, I c-can't-"
There was a commotion at the door that had frozen the flow of tears for a moment.
A second later, the doors opened and a Peacekeeper in his gleaming white uniform strode in, jaw set tight, helmet tucked under his arm. "Coleman."
"Doughtery," Coleman said with a nod. "Thought they were only letting one visitor in at a time."
"They thought so too," Pierce Doughtery had responded. He tossed his helmet onto the couch carelessly and walked over to Lewis, going down on one knee to look the boy in the eye. Pierce reached his hand up hesitantly, suede gloves smooth as he brushed away a tear threatening to drip from Lewis' eyelashes. "Keep your head up, Lewis. Don't let the other kids see you upset. You'll be alone on the train tonight and you can cry then."
At the mention of the train waiting to carry him away from District 11 - to take him into the Hunger Games - Lewis felt his throat constrict painfully. "I can't do it."
"You can," Pierce said. He leveled a fierce look at Lewis, blue eyes burning. "You're not defenseless. These kids in the arena are just going to be like the ones here."
Lewis swallowed down a sob. Thinking back, it had probably been a weird sight for someone to see. Everyone in District 11 certainly seemed to think it was strange. Pierce looked like any other Peacekeeper in his uniform, helmet on, with a District 2 accent to match. The man was Lewis' opposite in seemingly every way - his skin was pale and his hair was blonde, lightened even more from the hot sun in 11. He was a friend, Lewis supposed. He saw Pierce like something of an older brother, since the man was in his mid-twenties.
It was only in that moment that Lewis realized he didn't even know how old Pierce really was. Maybe he should've asked then. But he just cried.
Lewis walked through the train, forcing his legs to carry him into the dining car where silverware clinked.
Sitting in the gauzy morning glow, the people he would be spending the next week with were sat around a breakfast feast. And it truly was a feast. Lewis had only seen more food before at dinner the previous night. Now the large wooden table was laden with glasses full of rainbow-colored juice, plates piled with steaming eggs and bacon, and bowls full of fresh fruit that probably just came from District 11.
Despite the pain in Lewis' heart at the thought of home, his mouth watered.
Kera looked up. "Good morning." She set down her fork and waved to the empty chair next to her. "I saved you a seat, Lewis."
He gave the young woman a grateful smile as he sat down on the cushioned chair. Kera Grandover was the newest victor in District 11, part of the Golden Duo with Seeder, making up 11's two victors from the past decade. While Lewis barely had memories of the 36th Games - he mostly just remembered all the extra food and celebrations that followed - Kera was a familiar sight with her flowing brown curls and kind smile. Lewis couldn't keep track of how much charity work she did in 11. She was someone he knew he could be safe around.
He couldn't quite say the same for their escort, who didn't even spare him a glance.
"Good morning, Lewis," Juniper said.
Despite the grim situation, Lewis couldn't help but smile for Juniper. She was a few years older, so he'd never seen her in school, but it didn't take long to realize last night how cheery and nice she was. It also didn't take long for Lewis to realize she couldn't really see well, but he didn't want to be rude and ask how much she could. So he just smiled. "Good morning."
"They have some oranges that taste incredible," Juniper said. She pointed to a bowl of bright citrus slices.
The sight of it made Lewis' heart sink.
"My dad used to work in the orange orchard sometimes," he said, voice brittle and shaking. "He got to bring one home once."
Kera deftly brought the whole bowl to him. "Then have as much as you want, sweetheart."
Lewis reached out a burlap-covered hand and picked up one of the orange slices. The taste of it was just as incredible as he'd remembered, all bittersweet the second it touched his tongue, like nothing else he usually ate in stews or breads most days. He could remember Parcel Day when Kera won, when they were given extra gifts and rations - including fruit. But he'd never actually gotten an orange. Somehow eating one now just made him miss his father more.
Before the tears could come, Husk spoke in his hollow, low voice that made everyone else quiet. "What kind of work does your family do, Lewis?"
The boy swallowed the orange hastily and dropped his hands into his lap, out of view. "My dad's a field worker most of the time. Sometimes the orchards."
Husk Rusor nodded slowly. The man was only in his mid-forties, but he looked so much older with the way his gold-flecked eyes crinkled and how he sighed. Then again, maybe the victor of the 2nd Hunger Games should seem old.
"What field does your father work in?" Juniper asked curiously in her soft-spoken voice.
Lewis couldn't help blushing. She was more pretty this morning, now that they were both sitting in the light and not sobbing. Well, more than pretty, she was beautiful. "East fifteen," he managed.
Juniper perked up in her seat. "My daddy's the foreman of East thirteen! They probably know each other. You and I are practically friends, then."
Lewis blushed deeper. He nodded at Juniper's blue sweater. It seemed to be the same one she was wearing yesterday at the reaping, just over her Capitol clothing now. A small pendant sparkled at her neck. "I like your outfit. That's a pretty necklace."
"Thank you." Juniper brushed a hand over the pendant. "A friend gave it to me," she said, her tone wavering, "after the... in the Justice Hall."
Silence settled over the dining car, save for the noise of their escort setting his glass of juice down. The man - Lewis had forgotten his name - dragged a hand through his lime-green hair before clearing his throat. "Well. I think that does it for morning pleasantries, children. We need to discuss today's agenda."
"I'm sure that can wait until after breakfast," Kera began quietly, her hand tightening around her fork.
"It surely cannot," the escort said, finally looking at Lewis for the first time that morning. He immediately wished the man would look away, but forced a quick smile in the hopes of not seeming rude. "We will be arriving in the Capitol at ten o'clock sharp. You both will be escorted into the Remake Center to meet your respective stylists. I don't want to hear a word about either of you acting out of turn, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Lewis said, glancing down at the table. The escort's artificially green eyes made him too uneasy. Did everyone in the Capitol look like that?
"Yes," Juniper echoed from her place across the table.
"I think it's advisable that we watch the reapings once more before reaching the Capitol," the escort continued. "You'll be seeing your fellow tributes tonight in person."
Lewis looked over at Husk. His mentor. Last night, as they had all sat in one of the lounge cars watching the large television, Husk didn't say a word. He'd just stroked one of his gray dreadlocks and watched name after name get called. Lewis hadn't even seen the man react to parts he actually remembered - most of it was lost in the disorientation he felt after the reaping - but some moments still stuck with him. There was the golden-haired girl from 1 blowing kisses to the crowd, a young girl around his age volunteering in 10, and the two tall tributes from 6 glaring at the cameras. The only time Husk had reacted at all was when Lewis' own name was called, when the victor looked down at the ground as if in respect.
Now he looked over at Lewis, his gaze unwavering, like they were the only two in the room. "You don't have to re-watch it, son. You can ask me all the questions you want."
Lewis risked a glance at the escort. The lime-green man sucked in his cheeks like he tasted something sour. Lewis looked down at his plate instead, and blurted, "I think I'd rather just eat breakfast, if that's okay."
For a beat, everyone was silent again. And then Husk chuckled, a low rumbling sound.
"Have as much as you want," he said.
Lewis leaned forward and put some of everything on his plate until he was stacking food on top of food. He couldn't help but wonder what his father would say if he could see all of it on the plate. What would Pierce think? Surely his father wouldn't have been happy about Lewis eating instead of listening to the escort.
"You can't let them see you act like this, Lewis," Coleman had said one day when Lewis came home with a black eye.
He'd cried as he held his swelling cheek. "I just wanted them to stop trying to kill the butterflies on the playground. I tried to stop it. I didn't know he was going to hit me."
Coleman had sighed, even as he got ice for Lewis. "Why can't you just keep your head down sometimes? It would save you trouble."
Things were a bit different when Pierce started befriending Lewis.
"Crying doesn't make you weak," he'd said as they talked outside of the Fowler house one day. "I can teach you how to not get knocked down so much."
And ever since then, Pierce had been teaching Lewis how to box and wrestle as if he were his own brother. They weren't blood at all, of course, everyone knew that. But Lewis also knew that Pierce had met his mother, had stuck around after she'd died, and had loved her like Coleman loved her. It had been one evening at home when Lewis was watching the fireflies dancing outside his window that he heard his father and Coleman talking. It was just a snatch of the conversation, but it was enough. Lewis couldn't even remember the exact words now, but it didn't matter - Pierce had loved his mother, so he'd made a promise to Coleman to keep an eye out for Lewis.
He'd held up his promise so far.
But he can't exactly keep an eye out for me here, Lewis thought grimly. Tears threatened to spill again, so he picked up a piece of greasy bacon and ate as much as he could until he moved on to the rolls and then to the buttery eggs. The food was much richer than anything back home, and he found himself slowing down halfway through the plate.
When he looked over at Juniper, she was looking a bit queasy herself.
His eyes drifted to the oranges. Even as full as he was, he couldn't resist picking up a slice. "Did these come from District Eleven?"
"Of course," the escort said, as if it was a ridiculous question.
Kera quickly pushed the bowl closer to him with a smile. "Yes, they did. Fresh from home. It's all yours."
Lewis put the orange slice in his mouth and reached for another.
Pazley Steppe - 16 y.o. - D8
...
- Just Outside the Capitol -
Paz watched as a tunnel drew closer.
She brushed a hand over the soft, blue delaine jumpsuit she wore. The wool fabric was a bit too warm for the summer weather but she couldn't resist wearing it. She never had a chance to wear delaine back home. Part of her had wanted to hold onto the black outfit she wore at the reaping. Her family didn't have enough money for special reaping clothes but she had managed to scrounge the black blouse and slacks up.
But it wouldn't be good to arrive in the Capitol in something they'd already seen.
Paz knew there would be prying cameras waiting to greet her when they arrived, just like they always were for all the tributes. She needed to make a good impression.
It was all facades with the Capitolites and she intended to play her part.
Darkness enveloped the lounge car they had been sitting in quietly. Paz could still picture where everyone was in the dark: Darrius was sitting in the chair to her left, playing with some ring he'd pulled from his pocket - nothing expensive but a nice piece of jewelry nonetheless; Laurel, their purple-haired escort, had been staring at her reflection in a gold compact mirror; on the couch were the only two victors District 8 had - Woof Mauveine and Spinner Savera. Somebody shifted in the darkness.
"Turn on a light."
Paz stood so still she wasn't breathing, muscles taut, shrouded in the shadows of the upstairs landing. No one living at Needle Manor was supposed to be home right now. She'd followed them for a week - they were always playing blackjack right now. But sure enough, the front door downstairs had creaked open and the couple had come inside.
Just as a lamp was lit downstairs, Paz dipped into the main bedroom of the mansion. In one fist she held a flashlight (nothing like the fancy ones Peacekeepers had, but not a bad one - it had costed her a copper hairclip so it was worth something.) In the other was the velveteen bag she had stuffed several choice pieces from the Needle's collection into. A handsome, hand-painted snuffbox belonging to Mr. Needle that surely was from before the Dark Days. A silver bracelet belonging to one of their daughters. Some pearl broaches she'd taken from Mrs. Needle's jewelry box. And, finally, an antique smoking pipe from a cabinet of other curios. It was bound to add up to a fantastic price on the market when she found the right buyer for each one.
But that would require getting out without getting caught.
Paz breathed out shakily. Someone started climbing the stairs.
She hurried over to the window and put her flashlight between her teeth, struggling to push the frame up. Her hands were damp with nervous sweat, but the leather gloves did their job and she got a grip on the window and pushed it open. A cool autumn breeze punctuated with the smell of factory smoke wafted into the room, sending the purple sheer curtains fluttering.
"I'm just going to change, darling," a man's voice called from the stairs. "Take something for your headache, the cards will be there tomorrow."
Paz dipped her head out the window - thankfully the Needle's didn't have screens like some other wealthy families - and crawled onto the sill outside, crushing the delicate red flowers in their window boxes.
Lamplight shone outside the main bedroom's doorway down the hall. Someone's shadow crested the top of the stairs.
Paz pushed the window down, shoved her flashlight into her belt, and jumped.
It was eight feet to the ground, but she always landed perfectly. Her knees absorbed the impact of the grass lawn, and she went into a roll by reflex. She dropped to her hands and knees, and vanished into the shadows of the house, breath hitching. She couldn't help the smile that flew across her face after.
The velveteen bag of treasures swung from her hand.
"Where are we?"
Darrius' voice ripped Paz from her memories. She swallowed hard. Sometimes they felt so vivid, she could almost forget that she wasn't about to go on another errand tonight to some unsuspecting house. The fancy ones like Needle Manor weren't her target every night. Sometimes it was an office, an unwatched shipment truck, or a shed. The Needle family had its riches all shown off inside their mansion. It paid to be Capitol loyalists during the rebellion, Paz figured. But she wasn't picky when choosing who to hit. Everyone was fair game. It wasn't personal.
But somehow her name being pulled from the bowl in 8 felt personal.
"We're inside the mountains," Spinner's gentle voice said.
Paz rolled her eyes. Darrius' question had been ignorant, anyway. Most people would know that these were the mountains that kept the Capitol safe from the rebels, the ones that let them win the war. The rebels hadn't played the game well enough and now they were all underground too.
Light burst into the train car, burning Paz's eyes. She held up a hand, shielding them, turning towards the train windows.
A shimmering navy lake appeared. Across it, buildings rose up on the horizon.
The Capitol.
Even though the clouds were gray, the Capitol buildings shone in every color as if someone had taken all the sparkling skyscrapers and dipped them into vats of dye. As much as Paz hated the Capitol, she had to admire it. She'd never seen buildings this tall. The highest things in District 8 were all the smokestacks rising into the air, billowing out a dull white haze. Sure, she'd seen the Capitol on television thousands of times, but this - this just made it real. The television hadn't managed to convey just how big it really was.
"It's always impressive the first time you see it."
Paz turned her head to Woof as he looked out the window ruefully. She sat up. "What did it look like back then? You were born before the Games. It probably looked different before," she said matter-of-factly. Surely things had changed since the 13th Hunger Games when Woof won.
Darrius glanced over at her, brown eyes wide, as if he was surprised she would bring up their mentor's time in the arena.
But Paz didn't care. She was going into the arena in a week and politeness wouldn't change that.
"It was." Woof wasn't fazed. Instead he just rested his chin on his hand as if he were sitting around a fire with them back in 8 on a cold winter day, spinning the yarn. "Back then, the Capitol wasn't quite so... built up from the war. But it didn't take long."
"Rose from the ashes stronger, as we say," Laurel chirped, a warning look in her eyes. "But I'm sure you'll want to talk about what's waiting for you when we arrive."
Woof gave Laurel an amused smile. "We didn't have escorts for the districts back then, you know, Laurel? Just one for all twenty-four of us. We were still brought in on cargo trains and kept in one large apartment." The man was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was thinner, and Paz's stomach tightened. "Mine was the last year when they still left the bodies in the arena. They started using the hovercrafts to remove them the year after."
Paz gritted her teeth. The idea of the metal claw descending from the hovercraft and picking up her body made her stand. "So the parade is tonight."
Darrius peered at her from his chair, horror still on his face from Woof's comment. He would have to face reality soon enough and stop looking everywhere with eyes like saucers. They were going into the Games, and no amount of shock could stop it. The sooner they accepted that, the better. Paz wasn't about to spend this week avoiding what was coming. Darrius might be young, but she'd had to learn how to survive even younger - and she wasn't about to stop now.
"The parade is tonight," Woof repeated somberly. "You both can ask us any questions you have."
"Do you know what we'll be wearing?" Darrius asked quickly. "I just don't want it to look dumb."
Spinner gave a consoling smile, pale cheeks dimpling. "We don't get a say, unfortunately. But I wouldn't worry. The stylists will take care of you."
Paz folded her thin arms. The parade was such pompous idiocy. How the Capitol didn't see it as ridiculous, she'd never understand. It was a waste of time for the tributes. She'd never cared before, but now that it was her neck on the line she couldn't help but be bothered by it. That time spent standing around on chariots could be spent on weapons training instead. Something useful.
"How long until we can start training for the arena?" she snapped.
Woof squinted his dark eyes at her, wrinkles around them deepening, for just a moment. "Tomorrow morning."
"Guess I'd better be a fast learner," Paz said to no one in particular.
"You got good fast."
Paz didn't look at her sister. Instead she looked over the bundles of money she'd stolen from her latest mark. It was a decent amount, especially for a factory head's house. "I think this should be enough to cover a few new coats. Charles has been needing a better one, anyway. He's nearly outgrown his last one."
"And where are you going to tell Ma and Pa you got the money from?" Twyla pressed.
Paz looked over at her little sister. "Same place as always. Work."
"Work," Twyla echoed, that disapproving edge in her tone.
Twyla's gaze drifted down to the stolen money sitting on the worn rug in their bedroom. Faint light shone in through the window through gray clouds. Snow was coming, and Paz knew her money-making tactic would make things easier for them through the winter. It had helped every year since she started, and she only got better. Not that Twyla ever appreciated it.
"It's not honest, Paz," Twyla whispered. Her fingers twisted around a piece of fabric in the rug, as if she was afraid they would burn if she tried to touch the money. Her other hand rested on a worn book, one of those tomes she read until the pages were crumbling, something that even Paz wouldn't be able to sell at a market. "You could get caught... not this time, but there's always the next time. I'm sure if you wanted a real job Harry would let you have one."
Paz's lips twitched in a rare smile. "He probably would." She was on good terms with her "boss" at the garment factory. Harry seemed stern when she first met him - a grumpy man in his mid-40s who had a keen eye for slackers on the textile floor. But he ended up being blunt and as tough as old leather. Paz respected that. He cut her a simple deal: he turned a blind eye when she didn't show up for her shift, but she didn't get a paycheck. It was all a scheme, of course. Her parents couldn't find out that the job wasn't entirely real. She made much more from her errands than she could've made at the garment factory. They couldn't find out what she really did. Besides. She did it all for them.
"You could," Twyla urged.
"I can't," Paz said simply. She looked up at Twyla. Her sister might've been two years her younger, but Twyla was already much taller. Otherwise they were identical with their brown hair and eyes. Spitting images of their mother, their father always said. "There are six mouths in this family to feed, Twy. Someone has to do it." She lined the money up in a neat pile and pulled a wooden box out from under her bed. "You know why I have to."
Twyla didn't argue.
As Paz looked at the Capitol buildings coming closer, she hugged herself. She'd sell all of the stolen things under her bed right now if it meant she could hug her sister again. Or either of her brothers. Would Micah still play baseball this summer while Paz was in the arena? She wouldn't get to see Charlie's blue eyes light up with laughter. She wouldn't hear the sound of Twyla flipping pages in her books in their room. The train suddenly felt overwhelming, too closed in, and the colorful city was rushing closer-
Stop.
Paz forced her lungs to expand. She was going to see Twyla again. And Ma and Pa. And her brothers. She wasn't going to end up dead in their Games. She had to get back home and live. She'd always been the one to get her hands dirty to save others the trouble, and now was no different.
The train rushed into the city on its track, ribboning through the buildings with their colorful windows winking back. Up ahead, cars like the one that took her to the Justice Building drove along smooth streets. People in bright outfits strolled along the sidewalk, free to go about their lives. A dog on a leash sat idly on the sidewalk as its owner sipped a drink.
Darrius walked over to Paz's side, the silver ring on his finger glinting, hand pressed to the window. "Do you think they can see us?"
Paz leveled a stare at the Capitol. "Let them."
The train continued, slowing, and entered a glass station with a hiss. The place was so bright, even in the dampened sunlight from the overcast day, that it burned Paz's eyes. But soon people in an array of colors began to notice and point, rushing towards the train as close as they could get. Their faces - painted and decorated - lit up with glee to spot the two District 8 tributes in the window.
Paz stood unwavering, watching as the Capitol cheered.
In Panem, she knew, there were two kinds of people: the predators and the prey. Paz was entering a den of predators.
And she wasn't about to become prey.
That's the last of our train chapters!
I'm foregoing questions for this chapter as I think they've been a bit distracting in the past couple chapters, so I'm just hoping to hear everyone's thoughts about these characters so far and your feelings. Does anyone have any favorites so far? Any predictions? I love hearing those kinds of things!
Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter: Annabeth777, wiifan2002, CharmedMilliE- Karry Master, SakuraDragomir.
I hope everyone is having a great August!
~ Meghan