Chapter Text
Jasmine Kale, District 14
District specialty: Weapons (Rebels)
District partner: Connor Kale
Quote from the Games: “She may be fire,” Jasmine said, “But I’m ice.”
Alliance: District 12
I reach up and grab onto the next limb, hoisting my body up. Then I pull my foot up and swing it over the branch. Light, fast, and reasonably strong, I don't have to worry about if most branches will hold me. I spot a really good branch to lookout from on the next tree over and up a little. I grab the branch above me, wrapping my hands around it. I start to swing back and forth, then when I've gathered enough momentum I swing all the way around the branch and launch off of it, flipping through the air to grasp the branch above my destination with my long fingers. Then I swing forward, let go of the branch, and land, cat-like, on my feet.
Snap. My hunter's ears pick up the sound of a boot snapping a twig cleanly in half. My eyes narrow at the sound. Something's wrong, I think. My rebels would never make that much noise. I climb down a few branches and then leap off, landing silently on the ground. I exchange a look with my twin brother Connor, the other co-leader of District 14's Rebel League #13.
I slide my throwing knives out of the sheaths hanging from my belt at my hips. At the same time Connor withdraws his longsword out of its scabbard, Kat, aka Temper, our explosives expert (real name Kathryn, but she will rig an explosive that can melt the skin, and just the skin, off your face if you call her Kathryn) pulls a couple of grenades out of her pocket, and Sage, aka the Doc, our medic, pulls out some syringes with some nasty looking needles on the ends. See? In District 14, even the medics are deadly.
I nod to Connor, my flaming red ponytail swinging around underneath an army green bandanna, and we form up into battle positions, the four of us in a square with our backs together. "Where are the others?" I hiss out of the side of my mouth to Connor, referring to the other eight members of our League that are out on patrol today.
"No idea," He murmurs back under his breath, his sky blue eyes scanning our surroundings (just like mine), "But I think we can trust Lief and Genesis to take care of it." That was said referring to the captains of the two other patrol groups in the League.
Snap. Again, closer this time. Any possibility of it being our friends vanishes. We all make mistakes once in awhile but two within the space of minutes? That never happens. "Be ready," I warn.
And then the Peacekeepers explode from the trees around us.
First casualty: As always, Peacekeeper. I stick a knife in his heart and he's down for the count. So in other words, he's dead. As the newly dead corpse falls and Connor runs another idiotic Peacekeeper through with his sword, the knife is twisted out of my hand to land under the body. Ugh. It's more of a nuisance than anything because I have more left, but it's an unnecessary nuisance at that. I quickly replace the knife with another and while I stick this one through the next idiot to try and cross me I notice that the Peacekeepers can't use their guns in this small a space or they'll risk hitting their own men. Ha. They should have really brought other weapons. I start to think about how stupid it is of the Peacekeepers to try and keep District 14 under control.
First of all, every citizen of the district joins the Academy at the age of four and when they graduate six years later at the age of ten, they know how to creep through the forest without making a sound, make fires, find safe food, kill animals, clean, and cook them, protect themselves, camouflage themselves, and make their own weapons in the case of an emergency and they can't reach the Smith's Hall. Oh yeah, and of course you' re trained until your skills shine in either a specific area of weapons expertise or in four weapons of your choosing.
Second of all, once you've graduated the Academy and now you are officially someone people shouldn't cross, the government puts you in a Rebel League according to your weapons specialty (so each League has a good mix of weapons).
Third of all, everyone knows that District 14 is free of Peacekeepers all year long except for the Reaping and that we citizens of District 14 are very proud of that fact, so it's very dangerous for a squadron of Peacekeepers to land and guaranteed suicide for a Peacekeeper to land by himself.
Fourth, we're deadly accurate, quick, flexible, and strong.
So in summary, WE KICK PEACEKEEPER BUTT.
But I digress.
So all of this is running through my head as I fight, dodging blows, landing some of my own, and keeping track of the numbers on both sides. I soon notice something. The Peacekeepers, unlike us rebels, aren't trying to kill the enemy. They're trying to encircle and surround us, not kill us. I groan and almost slap myself as I remember what tomorrow is: The Reaping. I should never have stayed where we are. I should have had us sneak away because even though the #1 Rebel Code is to never lose a chance to give the Peacekeepers what's coming to them, that Code has fine print: Disregard this if you want in the week before The Reaping. We all know the risks of being a rebel but I'm not supposed to purposefully lead us into being captured by the Peacekeepers because we all know what capture means…
Then, suddenly, all the fighting stops. I look up from a fight I was having on the ground with a Peacekeeper that I had just ended by sticking a throwing star in him to find a Peacekeeper holding Kat by her chestnut brown braid with a knife to her throat. I gasp and then swallow hard, my throat dry. "Drop your weapons," A deep, rough voice filters up through the helmet of the man holding Kat. My bow and quiver hit the ground next to the throwing star I was holding as it clangs against Connor's double- bladed axe (his long sword is stuck in a Peacekeeper a few yards away from us) and Sage's last syringe and his scalpels.
"That's all of the weapons," I say, glaring at the Peacekeeper holding Kat, all the while feeling the weight of my nunchucks in a hidden pocket sewn into my pant leg and a slight nick as the throwing knife hidden up my sleeve presses against my forearm.
"I know you, District 14s!" The Peacekeeper roars, "You have more weapons, I know it! Get them all out or I'll kill her!" He presses his knife against her neck and a trickle of blood runs down her neck.
I drop my gaze from Kat's eyes, knowing she would rather die than for us to have to do you-know-what. I tilt my sleeve forward and let the knife slide out as I pull out my nunchuks with my other hand. Sage slides his pack off of his back and onto the ground and pulls a bunch of different kinds of sharp-ended medical instruments from pockets in his clothing and lets them fall onto the pile. Connor drops his darts and blowgun on the ground, then pulls his knives out of various places on his body and drops them to the ground where they join the rest of the weapons. The last knife slides through his fingers and digs itself point first into the ground, causing some of the Peacekeepers to jump back.
"What do you want?" I ask, a slightly desperate edge to my voice. Everyone knows a District 14er without her weapons feels weak. Or so that's the rumor we spread to the other districts. We're skilled in hand-to-hand combat as well as weaponry but the desperateness in my voice isn't fake. The Peacekeepers have guns, which still wouldn't bother me normally, but one false move and Kat's dead.
"You know what we want," The same Peacekeeper says, "Tomorrow's the Reaping..." He allows his voice to trail off, making the chuckling and laughing of the other Peacekeepers ominously loud.
I lock eyes with Connor and his eyes ask a silent question. I nod, and we step toward together. Then we speak the dreaded words, the oath that cannot be broken, something that just an hour ago I was sure I'd never have to say. "If you release the members of our League and promise not to do anything to them, we shall go into the Hunger Games as the tributes of District 14."
Then the Peacekeeper holding Kat's hair releases her. "You are bound to oblige by your oath. Congrats, you are now the tributes of District 14."
But as he turns away to head back to the Peacekeepers' hovercraft, his body language dismissive, I catch a glimpse of his eyes through his mask. They look at Connor and me apologetically, as if wanting our forgiveness.
I'm shocked, but only for a moment as I'm engulfed by the enormity of our situation. I'm going into the Hunger Games. Technically, there's a possibility that someone might volunteer for me, but let's face it. In District 14, we're convinced that the Gamemakers set the Hunger Games up exactly so the odds are specifically not in our favor, so no one will volunteer. Call us paranoid, but in the country of Panem, you have to be to survive. Connor and I are definitely going to be tributes in this year's Hunger Games. And we're gonna be dead by the end of the second day.
The Peacekeepers are gone. Overwhelmed by shock and despair, I fall to my knees, my face cupped in my hands, and for the first time since my parents died ten years ago I cry, hot fat tears welling up in my eyes, falling fast and in huge waves down my cheeks.
Hedge Calloway, District 10
District specialty: Livestock
District partner: Shale Halifax
Alliance: No one, then later District 14
I open my eyes groggily. I peel off my threadbare sheet, a heavy feeling weighing down my stomach. Today is the Reaping, a day dreaded by all the people between the ages of twelve and eighteen in the districts of Panem. And now that fearful and worried crowd includes me as my birthday was a week ago. A stab of panic hits me, then starts to fade away as I take a deep breath and let it out. My name is only in there once; I should be more worried for my older sister Delina, she's seventeen and takes the tesserae for her, our mother, our little eight-year-old brother Basil, and me. She has her name in there about twenty-five times by my estimation.
I change quickly into a white (well, it was white when we got it) collared shirt and black pants. They're the nicest clothes I have but they're still plain and faded. Oh well, they'll have to do for my first year. I look over at her. As usual, she's climbed into bed with Basil, who has horrible nightmares and wakes up crying and screaming. The Peacekeepers don't take kindly to all the noise so she calms him down and lays with him until he falls asleep. Normally she's so exhausted she ends up falling asleep next to him. I lean over and give them each a quick kiss on the cheek, then stand up again and gaze at them, comforted by how peaceful they look.
My sister's beautiful, even in her sleep. She's tall, but not too tall, and slender, but not so skinny that she looks like a skeleton, with rich, unmarked, dark brown skin and pretty features. She has high cheekbones, an artfully shaped nose, and long, black eyelashes framing her eyes that bring attention to her sparkling gold irises when she blinks. Her long, straight hair, dark as the starless sky, fans out around her head, free from its braid. Sometimes I still can't believe we're related; how she could be so beautiful and I stuck looking like this, fair-skinned like our father and short like our mother, with wide-set hazel eyes, crazily curly black hair, and a wide-ish nose. At least Basil looks more like Delina (but not in a girlish way).
A horn sounds, loud and booming. My sister stirs, blinking open her eyes. Our eyes lock on each other."Time to get ready," I say, sinking into my role as the man of the household (the role I've occupied since our dad and uncle died in a stampede a year ago) "You know what today is."
She nods. Even though she's five years older than me, she still listens to/respects me as the man of the household (most of the time, at least). "The Reaping," She says, her voice as usual slightly musical.
I nod, then turn and go across the room to where our mother sleeps behind a sheet hanging from the ceiling. I'm going to check to see if she's awake.
"Name."
"Hedge Calloway," I reply to the Peacekeeper.
He checks my name off of a list. He points toward a section of the crowd full of boys my age, some of them neighbors and classmates. "That way," he says. I follow his finger to stand next to Buzz, a friend from school. He has the same trademark Districts 10 and 11 dark brown skin as Delina does, but the hazel eyes of the merchants like me.
"Hey, Buzz," I whisper out of the side of my mouth, searching for my sister. Ah, there she is! Well, I think I can see her dark head in the older girls' section. Basil and our mother should be in the back with all the mothers and younger kids.
Buzz has just enough time to say, "Hi, Hedge," before the murmur of the crowd ceases as Gretha, the Capitol woman who 'reaps' the names comes through the huge Town Hall main doors with four Peacekeepers in tow. As they station themselves around the platform, I take in her appearance.
Gretha has on a silver dress with a tight top, poofy sleeves, and a skirt that looks like a cloud that's been dyed silver. She has skin with just a small tint of pink to it so it looks like her whole body is blushing and she is wearing a pair of red sequined high heels. She has a fluffy light pink wig on and a pair of HUGE dangly silver-and-red-stones (I think they're called rubies) earrings that reach her shoulders. I wrinkle up my nose at the her appearance, a expression of disgust twisting my lips. The dress she wears would, just by it self, feed my family, Buzz's family, and probably three other families for a month. And don't even get me started on those earrings…
"Hello, everyone!" She says, her voice layered with one of those ridiculous high-pitched Capitol accent. To our credit, we just stare at her, not responding. She clears her throat. "Now we have a video so generously given to us by our wonderful Capitol!" She turns to one of the gigantic screens displaying the Capitol's insignia. A video plays, talking about how wonderful the Hunger Games and the Capitol are, etc., etc., etc. It makes me want to throw up, how sick and twisted it all is.
Then it ends (thank goodness) and Gretha, smiling like she's just seen the best thing in the world, says into the microphone, "Oh, I love that video!" When she's greeted by nothing but hostile stares, she swallows and says, "Okay, it's time to pick the tributes. And remember, may the odds be ever your favor! Ladies first!" She pauses before walking over to the globe holding the girls' names, glancing at the crowd as if wanting a reaction. She receives none.
Gretha stops at the globe, reaches in, and plucks out a slip of paper. She unfolds it, her bright red fingernails clearly visible on the close-up shown on screen that displayed the Capitol video. Then she walks over to the microphone and unfolds the slip of paper. "Shale Halifax!" She announces loudly. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. Not Delina, I think, thank goodness. I feel slightly guilty for thinking that. It was someone else's sister chosen, someone's daughter.
A medium-sized girl steps out of the seventeen-year-old section of the crowd of girls. Her face is stone-like, a mask. You can hear a pin drop, the only movement the breeze that tosses around her loose black curls and faded blue dress. I can't really see what color her eyes are from here but I can see their glint against her dark brown skin. She walks solemnly up to the platform to stand next to Gretha.
"Congratulations!" Gretha says. The girl, Shale is her name, gives Gretha a jerky nod. For just a moment Gretha purses her lips and then bursts back into her impossibly wide, blindingly white smile. "Boys next!" She calls into the microphone, then walks over and reaches into the globe full of boys' names. I clench and unclench my teeth, letting out a long, slow breath.
Gretha plucks out a folded slip of paper and walks over to the microphone. She unfolds the paper and clears her throat. Then she says the words I've been dreading, but have been sure would never be uttered by her lips.
"Hedge Calloway!"
My head feels like it is full of cotton balls, I taste bile in my throat, and where is that ringing I hear coming from? Buzz and the boys around me take a step back as if I have some kind of contagious disease. As I turn towards the boys leading to the center aisle and start to walk they separate to two sides, giving me a clear pathway to the center. I reach the center aisle and turn towards the platform, staring straight ahead, not allowing myself to betray emotion. I do not look in Delina's direction because I know I will not be able to contain my tears if I see her face.
I reach the steps to the platform and grip the railing, every step I take moving me toward my certain demise. I reach the platform and trudge up to stand opposite Shale on Gretha's other side. "Congratulations!" Gretha says to us, "Now shake hands, you guys!"
I stare into Shale's intelligent stormy gray eyes. I might have to kill you in a few days, I think, why should I shake hands with you? Yet I still bring up my hand to shake, and as I stare into her gray eyes, I get the feeling that if one of us is going to kill the other, it will be my unseeing body lying on ground afterward.