Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Panem (35/?)

Previously, in Panem:

Clark Kent survived the 66th Hunger Games and returned home to District 9, but at a great cost, and President Coriolanus Snow discovered Clark's powers and was determined to use them for his own purposes.

Two months after the Games, Snow came to District 9 to oversee Clark's punishment for a rule violation in the Games, though he refused to tell him what it was he'd done wrong. He exposed Clark to Kryptonite and had him flogged, and the strain of seeing his son hurt caused Jonathan Kent to have a fatal heart attack.

Clark had already been suffering from PTSD as a result of what had happened in the Games, so the flogging and his father's death served to push him even closer to the edge. Worried, Martha hid the Kryptonite from him and tried to get him to open up to her about the Games. He finally did, but flew off on his own soon after, wanting to get as far away from everyone as he could. While visiting the most isolated place he could reach, the moon, he learned some things that changed his view of the world he'd grown up on.

Armed with this new knowledge, and with new questions in his mind, he returned to Panem. Out in the desert, far from District 9, he thought about what he had learned and what had happened in his life since his name was drawn from the Reaping bowl, and finally began to come to terms with it.

And now:

Chapter Thirty-Five

Things improved for Clark after that night. His life wasn’t perfect, but it was better. There were fewer nightmares, and though he was still sometimes startled by things that wouldn’t have bothered him before the Games, he found it easier to bring himself back to reality.

Though he still didn’t want to work on a talent to display for the Capitolites, Clark decided to take up writing again. He’d kept a journal when he was in his early teens, writing down his thoughts and fears about the strange changes he was going through, as well as more typical teenage concerns, and it had helped him to put his thoughts in order and worry less about the things he couldn’t control.

Now, after purchasing a dozen notebooks and several pens, he started writing down what he saw in his nightmares and his thoughts about the Games. Much of what he wrote he had no intention of ever allowing anyone to read, and some of it he had no desire to re-read himself, but it was better to have those thoughts on paper than in his mind. Writing helped him put things in perspective.

A couple of days after his trip to the moon, Clark finally made up his mind about the farm. He still felt that the decision was ultimately his mother’s, but since she had given him a say in the matter, he had weighed it in his mind and decided that he agreed with her, and he’d thought of some ways to bring some of their old life to the house in Victor’s Village.

At breakfast that morning, Clark told Martha, “Mom, I’ve been thinking about what you said about the farm, and … I think you’re right. It’s better to sign the farm over to Pete and Lana — if they want it — than to take the chance that I won’t be able to help you enough to keep it productive. I really don’t want you to have to go through being evicted.”

Martha nodded. She’d had her own reservations about giving up the farm. It had been her home for more than twenty years, and like most people in District 9, she was attached to the place she had called home. Clark’s house in Victor’s Village was comfortable, but it wasn’t really home — at least not yet.

“I know it’s hard to give up your childhood home, Clark, which is why I gave you a say in it. I think it’s for the best, though. Pete and Lana should be able to keep the farm going.”

“I was also thinking about how we could bring some things from the farm here, to make this place more like home. When I was first being shown around, I told Marcius that I was going to plant a vegetable garden and fruit trees, much to his disgust. The yard is big enough that we could do that and keep about half the chickens and get a goat for milk — I already asked the groundskeeper if a goat could graze on the green, and he said it was okay as long as I clean up after her. We could board the horses in town so we’ll have them if we want to go somewhere — it makes more sense than getting a car or a truck. I don’t know what to do about the rest of the livestock, though. I could buy it from you and give it to Pete and Lana, but I don’t know if they’d accept it.”

“The animals are already half yours,” Martha told him. “You’ve fed them, cleaned up after them, milked the cows and collected the eggs, and helped deliver the calves. You’ve earned them, and if you were establishing a farm of your own, I’d give you enough livestock to get a start. As it is, though, you’re right about the lack of space. We can offer the animals to your friends, and maybe we could come up with a payment plan if they won’t accept them outright.”

Just as the Rasens had been reluctant to accept Clark’s financial help, Pete and Lana were unlikely to simply accept the gift of livestock. Taking over the farm was one thing, since it was technically the property of the Capitol and would only remain theirs if they could keep it productive, but the livestock was the property of the Kents. A gift given was a debt owed, even amongst friends, and few people would accept a gift they couldn’t return in kind.

“Why don’t you ride out to the Ross and Lang farms this morning and invite Pete and Lana to lunch?” Martha suggested. “We can discuss the matter with them then.”

Clark started to answer, then hesitated. He knew that his friends were unhappy with him for avoiding them since he came home from the Games, and that they wanted him to come to visit, but the longer he stayed away from them, the harder it was to renew their friendship. At times, his depressed mind had convinced him that they must hate him and that it would be best for all concerned if he never saw them again. In spite of the fact that he had been feeling better the past few days, it was sometimes hard to convince himself that things weren’t as bad as he imagined.

He had also avoided them for their own safety, both from the Capitol and from himself. A part of him hoped that he could protect them from Snow by staying away from them, though he knew better. Snow had threatened people Clark didn’t know in order to gain his obedience, and he wouldn’t hesitate to harm Clark’s childhood friends, even if the young victor stayed entirely away from them.

When he had been feeling so out-of-control, Clark had also avoided his friends to protect them from himself. He knew what he was capable of, and feared that he would hurt or kill them if he lost control.

Clark was quiet for so long that Martha started to become concerned. She looked at him and said, “Clark?”

Hearing Martha pulled Clark back. He shook his head to clear it, pushing those thoughts from his head. He was tired of isolating himself, tired of hiding away from life. His friends didn’t hate him, no matter how convinced he was that they did during his lowest, most depressed moments. No one in District 9 hated him, with the possible exception of Rachel, and probably not even her. His friends were confused by his lack of contact with them, but they didn’t hate him. If Pete and Lana hated him, they wouldn’t have stopped by to invite him to their wedding.

He wasn’t a threat to them, either. He could control himself. If he couldn’t, President Snow would already be dead, and so might a lot of other people. Even when he’d been startled over the past three months, flashing back to the arena, he hadn’t harmed anyone, and he might actually have saved a life when he’d killed the rattlesnake coiled in Wayne Irig’s path during the harvest.

Martha finally relaxed when he replied, “Sure. I’ll see if they’d like to come and visit.”

“I’ll go into town and get some groceries, then,” Martha said, “and we’ll see what they have to say.”

*****

A couple of hours later, Clark rode up to the Ross farm. It was quiet — the kids were all at school — but he heard the sound of someone pounding on metal in the barn, and his superhearing picked up the sound of knitting needles clicking in the house.

After securing the horse, Clark walked in the direction of the barn, deciding it was more likely that he would find Pete there than in the house. Knocking to announce his presence, he stepped inside and saw Pete’s father, Bill Ross, hammering the dents out of a piece of equipment.

“Mr. Ross?”

The man looked up, startled. He hadn’t heard Clark knock on the barn door. Setting his tools aside, he walked over to him.

“Clark! We haven’t seen you in a while — not since your dad’s funeral.”

Clark looked away. “I’ve been helping Mom with the farm,” he said. “There was a lot to do.”

Bill nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would keep you busy, though Pete mentioned the other day that he was surprised that you hadn’t visited since the harvest. You used to come over here all the time.”

Clark shrugged, not wanting to discuss his reasons for staying away. “I … ah … actually, Pete came by my house on Sunday, along with Lana, to invite Mom and me to the wedding on Sunday.”

“Are you coming?”

Clark gave him a surprised look. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“They delayed it because you were in the Games, you know, but after you came back, you didn’t seem very interested in your old friends.”

Clark crossed him arms over his chest, frowning. “It’s not that I didn’t want to see them; it’s just that … well, things just … got busy.”

“Not surprising, with your dad’s failing health and everything.”

Clark looked down, wondering if everyone had known about his father’s initial heart attack except him. Not wanting to continue that train of thought, he asked, “Mr. Ross, do you know where Pete is? There’s something I need to discuss with him.”

“He’s probably over at the old house near the boundary with the Lang farm. He and Lana have been working over there for the past couple of days, trying to get it into livable shape before Sunday. I don’t think they’ll succeed, but they’re trying. I don’t know what they’re thinking, getting married on such short notice, but they’re trying to make a go of it.”

Clark knew why Pete and Lana were getting married so soon, and he suspected that Mr. Ross knew why, too — a young couple’s parents usually did in such cases — but he didn’t say anything. Bill Ross was no fool, and if he didn’t know about his impending grandfatherhood, he would figure it out soon enough.

“Thanks. I’ll go look for them.” Clark turned and headed for the door.

To Clark’s retreating back, Bill said, “Clark, you’re always welcome here. You know that, right?”

Clark stopped, looking back at his friend’s father. “Yeah … the four of us used to act like all the farms were home.”

“That still stands. You can visit anytime.”

Clark nodded. “Sure. Thanks. I’ll try to drop by.” Feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation, he slipped out the door, heading for his horse.

Everything had changed for him since the Games, and sometimes it was easier just to avoid people. With that in mind, Clark mounted the horse and took off before anyone else could speak to him. He was trying to lead a more normal life, but sometimes, even small things liking talking to people he had once been completely comfortable with bothered him.

*****

Half an hour later, Clark arrived at the decrepit old house that Pete and Lana were trying to turn into a home. After securing the horse to an old piece of equipment that had been dragged out into the snow, he headed for the house, carefully making his way around the numerous pieces of old, rusty equipment and broken tools that had been pulled from the building and strewn around the yard.

Pete and Lana were inside, slowly dragging a stove made from a rusty steel barrel across the floor. Pieces of stovepipe, not quite enough to reach the ceiling, lay in a pile in the corner.

“Need some help?” Clark asked.

The soon-to-be married couple looked up, letting go of the stove. It almost fell over, but the gouges it had made in the rotting floor kept it upright.

“Sure,” Pete told him, while Lana gave Clark a grateful look and slipped outside to warm her hands over the small fire in the yard.

Pete was grateful for Clark’s assistance in moving the heavy stove — his friend was one of the strongest, if not the strongest, people he knew, and he very seldom seemed to have any problem lifting and carrying things.

Clark helped Pete set the stove atop the stones that made up a section of the floor. From the looks of it, the stones were the only reasonably intact part left to the house, which had been built just after the Dark Days had ended.

The pieces of stovepipe, which needed to be welded together, wouldn’t quite reach the ceiling, but there was little chance of flying sparks setting the roof on fire — because the ceiling over the stove had caved in during the storm, leaving it open to the sky.

A rat whose nest had been broken open by the gouges in the floor climbed out, startling Lana as she came back in with a cup of tea. She gave a faint shriek as it ran over her foot, slopping tea on it. The rat shook itself and ran out the door.

Clark shuddered at the sight, his thumb breaking through an almost rusted through spot on the stove. He quickly pulled his hand away.

“Are you okay?” he asked Lana.

Lana looked at him oddly. “Of course I’m okay,” she told him. “The tea wasn’t hot enough to burn me.”

“No … I mean … did the rat bite you?”

Lana shook her head. “It just startled me, is all. I think the rat was pretty startled at having tea splashed on it — which was a waste of good tea, if you ask me.”

“Are you okay?” Pete asked Clark. “You put your thumb through that rusty spot on the stove.”

“I’m fine,” Clark assured him. “I didn’t cut myself. It was just a weak spot.” A sound from the hole in the floor that the rat had escaped through caught his attention. Several more rats were climbing over each other, poking their heads out. They saw the three humans staring at them and quickly disappeared back under the floor.

Clark saw the confused, wary looks his friends were giving him and made an effort to pull himself together. They’re ordinary rats, he reminded himself. Disgusting, but not venomous, and definitely afraid of humans.

He looked around at the partially caved-in roof, the glassless windows, and the door hanging by a single hinge. The walls had severe termite damage, and the deep gouges in the rotten floor showed the tunnels that animals had made under the building. The rusty stove, which had had numerous holes even before Clark had put his thumb through it, was likely to send sparks flying and start fires in the house.

“Are you sure you want to live here?” he asked.

“We need a place of our own,” Pete told him defensively, though he looked uncertain, “and we don’t want to wait any longer to get married. If you want to help us get it fixed up, it would really help,” Pete added.

Clark looked around, but honestly didn’t think there was anything even he could do to make the house more livable, short of tearing it down and building a new house. The stone hearth on which the stove sat was in good condition, but everything else was more useful as firewood than anything else.

“Actually, that’s what I came to see you about,” he told them.

“Helping us out?” Lana asked. “Clark, that’s nice of you, but …”

“But the house is beyond help?”

“Well …” Lana looked at Pete guiltily. “We need a place of our own, but the more I look at this place, the less I think we can live here. It’s falling down.”

Pete shook his head. “I don’t want to have to live with either of our families. We’re about to be newlyweds, and we need a place of our own. Besides, both our families’ houses are crowded. They don’t have space for an extra adult, let alone another ba —“

“Shut up!” Lana hissed, glancing at Clark. Looking back at Pete, she said, “I was thinking that we could try to get jobs in one of the factories and live in an apartment in town until spring, when we might be able to build a new house or get a farm of our own from the Capitol.”

Pete shook his head. “I don’t want to live in town. Those apartment buildings aren’t healthy, and the factories barely pay enough to cover the rent, let alone eat.”

Clark shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying listening to his friends argue. They should have been planning for their new life together, not arguing over whether to spend the winter in a shack that was falling down or an apartment that was so grimy and poorly ventilated that sickness — possibly incurable sickness — was almost guaranteed, especially for people who weren’t used to life in such an environment. Neither situation was healthy for adults, let alone the babies he knew they would soon be bringing into the world.

“Mom and I might be able to help you,” he interrupted them. “Mom is going to give up the farm because she doesn’t think she can keep it productive alone, especially since I might have to spend a lot of time in the Capitol. We were thinking of signing it over to you once you were married. Then you wouldn’t have to wait until the Capitol assigns land in the spring.”

Both Pete and Lana turned to stare at Clark. “Your mom’s giving up the farm?” Lana asked, looking shocked. “But … that’s just …”

Clark nodded, understanding her astonishment. The four friends had treated each other’s homes and families as their own over the years, never considering that things might change.

“We’d rather it went to you than to anyone else. You’d still be close to your families, and I could come and help with the harvest if I was in District 9 during it.” Clark looked around at the broken roof, termite-eaten walls, and decaying floor. A quick look under the floor with his X-ray vision showed the number of tunnels and burrows under the house — the wildlife had found it a good place to nest over the years since anyone had lived there.

Looking outside at the small fire with a can converted to a pot hanging over it, Clark added, “We were hoping you would come to lunch so we could discuss it.”

Pete looked at Clark, then around the decaying building. He and Lana had wanted to provide for themselves and their upcoming baby, but he had to admit that Lana and Clark were probably right — the old house was unfixable. He didn’t want to live in town, and neither did Lana, though it would be a more practical solution than living in this old house.

“We were going to apply for a farm, anyway,” Lana reminded Pete. “The Kent farm is close to our families’ farms, and we know the lay of the land. I think we should at least discuss it.”

“The house is in good shape,” Clark added, “and so is the barn.” Glancing at the rusty barrel stove, he said, “So is the stove.”

Pete and Lana looked at each other. This old house on the Ross farm was unfixable, loath as Pete was to admit it. If they took factory jobs, they could live in an apartment in town, but the cost of the rent would take most of their meager wages — and because of their lack of factory experience, they would have to take the jobs usually taken by children, which paid less than the ones usually worked by experienced teenagers and adults. While they were used to long hours and hard work, they weren’t accustomed to the crowded, poorly ventilated environment of the factories — and it might be especially hard on Lana, because of her pregnancy. There was no way Lana could go without working, though — it would take both of them to earn enough to survive. And if one or both of them got sick …

“The Capitol will probably assign us a farm in the spring,” Lana pointed out, “but there’s no telling where. It could be in one of the outer regions of District 9.”

“We’ve applied for land close to town,” Pete said. “We might not be too far away.”

“Dad told me about how he applied for a farm close to Mom’s family when they were first married, because Mom missed her family. They wound up farther from them than they would have liked, though — closer to them than where the other Kents’ farms are in the eastern section of the district, but still a good ten miles away from the Stams. If you two took over the farm from Mom and me, you’d be less than two miles from each of your families.”

Pete sighed. “Clark, tell me the truth — is your mom giving up the farm for us?”

Clark shook his head. “She’s giving it up because she doesn’t want to go through being evicted. Whether you agree to take it or not, she’s still moving permanently to Victor’s Village. She’d rather you have it than anyone else, though — you two are practically family.”

Pete took one last look around the crumbling old building, then looked at Lana, who had unconsciously placed her hands on her still-flat middle.

“I think we should take them up on the offer,” Lana told him. “It’s better than living here or in town, and it would still be close to our families. If we’re careful, our tesserae rations and the parcels should give us enough food to make it through the winter, and we’ll have our families’ help in the spring with the planting.”

Pete still looked reluctant, but the sight of three more rats climbing out of the hole in the floor made up his mind. “All right,” he told Clark and Lana, kicking at the rats and sending them scurrying back into the hole. “We’ll discuss it, anyway.”

Lana gave Pete a hug. “Let’s finish off the tea,” she said, “then join Clark and Mrs. Kent for lunch. We can bring the bread we were going to eat by ourselves, and the cheese and apples, too.”

A few minutes later, as Clark helped Pete kick snow over the small fire, he realized that he had managed to hold himself together in spite of being startled by Lana’s reaction to the rat. True, he had put his thumb through the rusty spot on the stove, but it had already had a small hole in it, and the metal had been so rusty that Pete or Lana could easily have done the same thing, though unlike him, they probably would have cut themselves. He hadn’t lost control, and though his friends had been uneasy, the moment had passed.

Though it was a small thing, for Clark it meant a lot. Things were slowly getting easier, and it was a step in the right direction.

Swallowing the last of the tea his friends had shared with him, Clark looked toward the house, seeing the rat that Lana had spilled tea on shivering as it made its way back to the hole in the floor. It was an ordinary rat, trying to stay alive like any other creature, and in a quick moment of compassion, Clark lowered his glasses and aimed his heat vision at the creature, just enough to dry its damp fur.

Surprised by the sudden warmth, the rat stood on its hind legs, looking around and sniffing the air, before running toward its nest, disappearing beneath the floor as Clark turned and followed his friends.

*****

Half an hour later, the three young people were sitting at the kitchen table with Martha. The food that Pete and Lana had brought had been carefully divided amongst the four of them — Clark’s friends wouldn’t have had it any other way — and the soup and sandwiches that Martha had prepared had been served.

Lana ate ravenously — unlike some women, pregnancy had increased her appetite, and it wasn’t often that so much food was available. Even with a good harvest and the food provided on Parcel Day, the Langs didn’t often have enough that she could eat as much as she wanted, especially since she was still trying to conceal her pregnancy from her parents and didn’t want her family to see the change in her appetite.

After Martha had served Lana another bowl of soup, they got down to the business at hand. “Clark told us that you’re giving up the farm,” Pete said.

Martha nodded. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it productive enough on my own to satisfy the Capitol and Clark may have to spend a lot of time there, so he won’t be able to help. I’d rather not be evicted, and this way, I can decide who gets the farm. As Clark probably told you, I was hoping to sign it over to you two after you’re married.”

Lana nodded. “Clark did tell us. I’m willing to accept the offer — we’ve already applied for a farm, but this would put us in a familiar place and we’d be near our families. Pete seems to be more reluctant, though — he wanted us to fix up the house on the edge of the Ross farm.”

Martha looked at Pete. “That place is beyond help. I clearly remember the day, ten years ago, when Clark came home one summer afternoon and told us about the nest of rattlesnakes the four of you had found. It doesn’t seem like it could have improved any.”

“There aren’t any rattlesnakes now,” Pete said, “judging from the number of rats living under the building, but you’re right. The building is falling down, and part of the roof caved in during the last storm.”

“You can’t live there,” Martha told him firmly, using the same tone of voice that she’d used many times over the years when Clark or one of his friends wanted to try something foolish.

Pete looked at her in surprise. His parents had given them permission to try to fix it up, but had been none-too-subtly suggesting that spending the winter in town might be a better prospect.

“You’re not giving the farm up just for us, are you?” he asked. “I don’t want to put you out of your home.”

“I already told you —“ Clark began.

“Pete, Clark told us —“ Lana interrupted.

“I just want to be sure,” Pete told them both.

“I want you to have the farm,” Martha assured him. “It’s a good piece of land, with a good house and barn. But even if you don’t take it, I’m still giving it up. I’ve known enough people who were evicted from their farms to know that I don’t want to go through that.”

There were nods of agreement. All of them had known families who were evicted from their farms. Though Martha would be better off than most, with a house in Victor’s Village to go to, it wouldn’t stop the Peacekeepers from taking whatever they wanted of her possessions, nor would it stop them from roughing her up if they were so inclined.

Martha had another reason for wanting to avoid eviction — she didn’t want Clark to get into trouble defending her. She didn’t quite trust him not to go too far. He had been calmer lately, but she didn’t know if that would last.

Pete looked at Lana, who nodded in agreement. As strange as it would be to take over the Kent farm, it was better than any other option they had, and they would grow used to it.

“We’ll take it,” Lana told Clark and Martha.

Martha smiled. “I already filed the paperwork at the Justice Building this morning, with the stipulation that the farm go to you if you wanted it. After the wedding, you two can fill out your portion and the farm will be yours.”

“The house and barn — and even the chicken coop — are in good shape,” Clark told his friends. “Dad and I kept things repaired. There’s plenty of hay for the animals, too.”

“Our families will probably give us a few animals next year,” Pete said, “after the calves, colts, and piglets grow up enough to be taken from their mothers. We might use some of the hay for fuel before that, though, if we can’t afford enough coal.”

“Actually, about the animals …” Martha started. “There’s no way we can keep much livestock here — there simply isn’t enough space. We’ll bring about half of the chickens here and we can board the horses in town, plus Clark is planning to buy a goat for milking in the spring. We can’t keep the cows here, though, or the rest of the chickens. We still have the pig, too.”

“What are you going to do with the extra animals?” Lana asked, looking from the Kents to Pete. There had been a good harvest that year, and as adult members of their families, she and Pete had each received a small portion of the money the Capitol had paid for their families’ crops, but she didn’t know if it would be enough to buy a large, full-grown animal.

As though reading her mind, Pete said, “We each have a little money from the harvest. We might be able to buy your extra chickens if there aren’t too many.”

Martha had a good idea of how much money her son’s friends had earned from the harvest, since she and Jonathan had offered Clark his share of the proceeds from their harvest, only to have him insist that they keep it for themselves, because as a victor he already had more money than he needed. The amount his friends had earned would be similar.

“There are six,” Martha told Pete, “three hens who should start laying eggs in the spring, two hens that are past egg laying but should make a good stew, and a rooster. We’ll sell them to you for a dollar and a half each.”

“That’s less than they’re worth …” Lana pointed out hesitantly. It was a tempting offer, but she and Pete both knew that the chickens, especially the laying hens, were worth several dollars more.

“It’ll keep us from having to transport them anywhere,” Clark pointed out, “and it’ll be several months before you get eggs and chicks from them. Anything can happen between now and spring, so if you lose them, you won’t be out much.”

Pete and Lana leaned towards each other, whispering quietly enough that only Clark picked up on what they were saying. Finally, Pete looked back at the Kents.

“We’ll buy them from you for that price,” he said, “but as soon as we have enough eggs, we’ll bring them to you to make up the difference until the debt is paid off.”

Martha nodded; that sounded fair, though they probably wouldn’t need the eggs if the chickens they brought from the farm survived the winter. It was strange not having to worry about food, though, and in spite of having plenty, she couldn’t quite shake the urge to stock up. The habits learned over a lifetime of poverty weren’t quickly forgotten.

“About the rest of the animals …” Martha began.

Lana shook her head. “We can’t afford them — not if we want to have enough money to last until the next harvest. We can take the chickens, but the rest …”

As if Lana hadn’t even spoken, Martha continued, “The pig hasn’t been slaughtered yet, but if you two do that and the work of butchering and preserving the meat, that’s worth something. If you’ll do that for us, we’ll give you a third of the meat from it.”

“We could do that,” Pete agreed, “but … why haven’t you done that yet? It’s been cold enough for a while.”

“We just never got around to it,” Clark said quickly, not wanting his friends to ask questions about why they still had the pig. Most families slaughtered their pigs as soon as the weather grew cold enough to kill off the flies and help keep the meat from spoiling before they could process it. Unless the pigs were being kept for breeding, they were slaughtered in the fall, providing people with a valuable source of food and keeping them from having to feed the animals during the leanest months of the year.

The real reason the Kents hadn’t slaughtered their pig was Clark’s distress at the idea of killing anything. The already minimal enthusiasm he had displayed for the necessary activities of hunting grooslings before they could devour the crop and killing rattlesnakes before they could bite anyone had disappeared completely after the day he was flogged — and this was altogether different, not only because the animal wasn’t a threat, but also because he had helped raise it.

When it had come time to slaughter the pig, Clark had tried to convince himself to do the unpleasant task he had helped with many times before, but the sound of the animal’s frightened heartbeat and squeals had been too much for him, so he’d flung the knife aside with sufficient force to embed it in the ground and rushed off at superspeed. Martha had finally found him sitting in the hayloft, staring out the window and murmuring his mantra to himself. She had eventually gotten him to come down, but he refused to say a word about the incident.

Martha could have killed the pig herself, but because of its size she would have needed Clark’s help with butchering it, and she knew that would have upset him. They wouldn’t go hungry without the meat, and they could afford to feed the pig, so she had left it alone.

Now, three weeks later, the question of what to do with the animal had come up again. The pig was fatter than ever, but there was no way they could keep it in the yard in Victor’s Village, and Clark still wanted no part in slaughtering the animal.

Pete started to ask another question, but the look on Clark’s face was enough to make him stop. Instead, he said, “We can take care of the butchering for you. It’ll give us something to eat besides our tesserae rations.”

“Those will run out in February, anyway, when we turn nineteen,” Lana said. To Clark and Martha, she explained, “My parents didn’t want me to take the tesserae last winter, but after that hailstorm the summer before that wiped out so much of the crop, there wasn’t much choice. Pete’s parents didn’t want him to take it, either, but without all of us old enough for it taking it, we might not have made it through the winter. We were so close to being done with the Reaping that our parents didn’t want us to take any chances, but we wouldn’t have had enough food if we hadn’t.”

Clark nodded. The violent late-summer storm had brought the tornado that had wiped out most of the Kents’ corn crop, necessitating him signing up for tesserae that winter against his parents’ objections. When it came to a choice between starvation and possibly being chosen for the Hunger Games, the need for food won out. It was a gamble that had worked for his friends, but might have resulted in his being selected for the Games. It was impossible to tell which of Clark’s sixteen slips had been the one drawn, though, so he would never know for sure.

Clark’s tesserae rations had been cut off when he was Reaped, though it had wound up not mattering for his family. Pete and Lana’s rations, however, were still available until their nineteenth birthdays. It was one of the things that was trumpeted by Capitol propagandists as an indication of the Capitol’s generosity, though it didn’t escape people’s notice that the grain rations given to eighteen-year-olds past their final Reaping were staler than those given to younger children, the oil more rancid, and both items more likely to be contaminated.

“You’ll get a food parcel of your own, too,” Clark reminded them, “once you’re married and living in your own home.”

“The cows are still giving milk, too,” Martha told Pete and Lana, “and before you tell me you can’t afford them, I’m pretty sure the younger cow is half the property of the Langs, since she was born about nine months after the bull got loose. You have a right to her.”

Lana sighed. “We still don’t know how many calves were born after he got loose. Dad was sure mad when Broken Horn found that weak spot in the fence and ran off. He lost a lot of money that year because no one needed to bring their cows for breeding.”

Few families in District 9 kept bulls. The animals were large, ate a lot, and could be dangerously aggressive. Most male calves were neutered when they were old enough and raised for meat, but a few of the strongest, healthiest ones were kept for breeding. Because of their scarcity, families who owned bulls could earn a fair amount of money or trade goods from neighboring farmers who brought their cows to be bred.

Broken Horn, as the bull came to be known after his adventure, was popular for breeding because his calves were so often strong and healthy. When he’d escaped three years earlier, he’d made the rounds of the neighboring farms and their cows, much to the delight of the farmers who hadn’t had to pay for the bull’s services.

Despite the fact that the farmers welcomed the bull’s visits and the cows seldom objected, the bull’s aggressiveness had almost been his undoing. After he charged several people on the road to town, someone complained to the Peacekeepers, who threatened to shoot the animal if the Langs didn’t recapture him. When their efforts at bringing him back proved unsuccessful, Clark decided to help.

At fifteen, Clark had been strong, fast, and invulnerable, traits he thought would make it easy to catch the bull and bring him back to the Langs. He’d slipped out of the house after his parents were asleep and went looking for the animal, soon finding him and putting a rope around his neck. He had started to lead the bull back to the Lang farm.

That was when Clark had discovered that capturing large animals required caution, no matter how strong and invulnerable one was. The bull had charged him, and because Clark hadn’t reacted quickly enough, he’d been struck in the back with one horn and knocked flat.

Clark hadn’t been injured in the slightest, though his shirt had been torn and the bull had broken off half of the horn he’d tried to gore the boy with. To add insult to injury, as the saying went, the bull had also run over him, stomping on him several times as he lay face down in the mud.

Clark may have been strong, fast, and invulnerable, but at fifteen he had also been lanky, awkward, and somewhat clumsy, and his pride, if nothing else, had been wounded by his being knocked down in the mud. He’d quickly caught up to Broken Horn and tried to pick him up, but the bull was considerably larger than him and struggled mightily, making the animal too unwieldy to easily carry.

Clark had finally grabbed the rope and firmly but gently led the bull home, paying close attention to the animal’s speed so that Broken Horn could neither charge him nor be dragged by him. When he had finally gotten the animal back to its corral, he had repaired the fence at superspeed, then disappeared into the night before anyone was the wiser.

It had been a valuable lesson for Clark about handling large animals, and had taught him how to pay close attention to the speed of a pursuer so he could match it — something that had proven very useful in the Games.

Lana’s father, Lewis, had been astonished to see the bull back in his pen, but though he had asked many people about it, including Clark, he had never found out just how the animal had come home, nor how he had broken his horn or who had mended the fence. It was one of a number of mysteries that had arisen during Clark’s teen years and never been satisfactorily resolved.

Pete was growing increasingly uncomfortable with how much the Kents were giving them and how little they seemed to want in return. He had never been fond of taking charity, even when it was needed, and it seemed that Martha and Clark were giving them far too much.

Before he could say anything, though, Lana spoke up. “We’ll take the younger cow,” she said, then glanced at Pete before adding, “but not the older one. We can’t afford her, and you can get a lot of money for her.”

“From who?” Clark asked. Few people could afford to buy a full-grown, producing dairy cow. “You know,” he went on, “it’ll be spring before I can get a goat, maybe even early summer. We won’t have any source of milk or butter until then, so if you want to make a trade, you can give us her milk until it’s time to let her go dry before her next calf is born.”

“It’s too much,” Pete told Clark and Martha. “You’re giving us the farm, your animals … we can’t possibly repay you.”

“Technically, the Capitol is giving you the farm,” Martha pointed out, “and if not you, then someone else. The younger cow — who is also expecting a calf — is half the property of the Langs, so it isn’t charity to give her to Lana. It just means that your families will have to part with fewer animals next summer, since you’ll already have them. You’re buying the chickens, who you’ll have to keep alive through the winter before they produce anything. You’re trading your labor for a portion of the meat from the pig. We can’t keep a cow here — there just isn’t enough space — but you can give us her milk in trade.”

“A few months of milk won’t pay for her,” Lana said, shaking her head.

Clark looked at his friends in frustration. “We’ve always helped each other out before. This is no different.”

Pete looked back at Clark. “When we helped each other before, we always knew there would be a chance to return the favor. It’s different now. You have everything you could need or want. What could we possibly give back to you?!”

“You’re still my friends!” Clark retorted, adding under his breath, “I hope so, anyway.” Out loud, he said, “I have more than I could possibly need — or want. Why shouldn’t I share it?”

“It’s too much!” Pete told him. “I don’t want to be beholden to you — or anyone else.”

“You won’t be. I don’t expect anything back. I just want to help you out!” Clark glared at his lifelong friend.

Lana nudged Pete with her foot. When he looked at her, she said, “Pete, could I talk to you a moment?” Nodding to the door, she added, “Alone?”

When his friends stepped out into the hall, Clark got up and started clearing the table, trying to resist the desire to eavesdrop on them. Despite his best efforts, his superhearing picked up their every word, so he gave up trying to ignore them and listened.

“What is wrong with you?!” Lana hissed. “You know we can’t live in that old house, and you’ve said yourself that you don’t want to live in town. Mrs. Kent will give up the farm whether we take it or not!”

“I know that, and we agreed to take it. It’s the rest that’s the problem!”

“They offered us a good price on the chickens and a fair trade on the pork. I’m sure the younger cow is Broken Horn’s daughter, since she has a black spot over her left eye just like he does, and she was born the year after he got out. You’re right that we can’t afford the other cow, but maybe we could keep her for the Kents and bring them the milk, since they can’t keep her here.”

“Next summer, our families will give us animals if they can spare any. We don’t need the Kents’ charity!”

“If they can spare any! They need them, too, and even if they can give us a young heifer, it’ll still be a couple of years before we have milk. If we accept the Kents’ offer, we’ll have a head start on things. Pete, we need something to live on. Our tesserae will run out in February, and unless there’s another victor next year, the parcels will run out in August.”

“And we’ll take in our first harvest right after that.”

“If things go well. Some years they don’t!”

“Our families will help us.”

“They can barely support everyone as it is! They’ll have an easier time once we’re out of their houses! And it isn’t just ourselves we have to feed!”

“I know that, Lana! There’s the baby.”

“Babies, actually. I saw Adra yesterday, and she thinks it’ll be twins. I was going to tell you after the wedding.”

Pete was silent for a moment, and though Clark carefully avoided using his X-ray vision, he could imagine the expression on his friend’s face. Finally, Pete swore under his breath. “Now what do we do?”

“We accept the Kents’ offer. We got ourselves into this mess, but they’ve offered us a way to handle it, even if they don’t know it. It’s a fair offer, even if they don’t especially need what we can give back.”

When Pete still hesitated, Lana started tapping her foot in irritation. “We would have helped Mr. and Mrs. Kent if Clark hadn’t come back. Now Mrs. Kent and Clark are helping us. That’s what friends do. We’ve always helped each other, and there’s no reason to reject their help. Clark may be rich now, but money can’t solve everything, and he’ll let us help him if he ever needs it.

“I think I know what this is about,” Lana went on. “You’re still feeling guilty because you didn’t volunteer in his place — even though you don’t have to be, because Clark came home alive and well. He’s fine!”

“He’s not fine, Lana! Didn’t you see his reaction when that rat startled you, or how jumpy he was during the harvest?”

“If you’d taken his place, he’d be either mourning your death or wondering why you’d changed. He told you that he didn’t blame you when we went to say good-bye to him after the Reaping. In spite of the Games, he’s still our friend — and you need to act like it.”

Clark had given up all pretense of not eavesdropping. Astonished at what Lana had said, he lowered his glasses and looked through the wall at his friends. Lana had stopped tapping her foot and was staring at Pete with an expression that showed that she was determined to win this argument. Pete was staring back at her, but Clark could tell from his expression that Lana was about to win.

It had never occurred to Clark that Pete still felt guilty about not volunteering in his place. Once Clark had been declared victor, he had wondered how his friends and family would view him, but had thought about it only in terms of his own actions in the arena. Now he wondered if the reason Pete and Lana had left so quickly after greeting him when he got back to District 9 was Pete’s feeling of guilt over what Clark had been through.

Clark didn’t blame Pete in the slightest for not volunteering in his place. If Pete had taken his place, he would almost certainly be dead now. Indeed, Clark knew that there were several times in the arena when he would have died if not for his powers, an advantage that Pete didn’t have. Even if Pete had survived, he would now have to live with the memories of the arena, and the twins that Lana would give birth to in the summer would be guaranteed a place in the Games. It was better for all concerned that he had not volunteered.

Clark wanted to tell Pete that he didn’t blame him for not volunteering, that he was glad he hadn’t volunteered, but realized that he couldn’t do so now without revealing that he’d been listening in on a private — and very quiet — conversation. As it was, his mother was looking at him disapprovingly, knowing that he was listening in on a conversation that was none of his business.

When Pete and Lana returned to the kitchen a couple of minutes later, Clark had stacked the lunch dishes in the sink for washing and was helping Martha serve pie and coffee. He gave no indication that he had heard what his friends were saying, though he knew exactly what their response would be.

“We’ve decided to take you up on the offer for the animals — except for the older cow,” Lana said.

“We just can’t afford her,” Pete added, “and her milk won’t pay for her. We’ll keep her for you, though, if you want, and bring you the milk.”

“That will work,” Clark said quickly, before Martha could try to convince them again to take the cow for themselves. She looked at him sharply, but said nothing. “I can come to you to get the milk, though — I don’t have much to do, and it’ll give me an excuse to visit you.”

*****

Half an hour later, Clark walked his friends out to the gate, Pete leading the horse he and Lana had left in the shelter in Clark’s backyard. Lana hung back as Pete and Clark led the animal through the gate, wanting to give them a moment to talk.

“Clark,” Pete said quietly, “I … ah … I just want to say thank you. I didn’t want to accept your help at first, but … Lana convinced me that I was too stubborn for my own good. You know how she is when she makes up her mind.”

Clark nodded. Lana was very strong-willed, and when she wanted something, she almost invariably got her way, steamrolling over people’s objections. Had she wound up in the Games, her stubbornness and unwillingness to compromise would either have gotten her killed quickly after she stood up to the wrong person or made her the victor because of her refusal to give in.

“The animals … they’re going to help a lot,” Pete continued. “I’d hoped we could make a go of it on our own, but … things happened.” Looking back to make sure Lana was out of earshot, he whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“Lana’s pregnant. The midwife thinks it’ll be twins.”

Clark pretended to be surprised. “No wonder Lana didn’t want to live in that old house. It’s not a place for babies.”

“If it had just been the two of us, we could have waited until spring to get married, but as it is …”

“You’ll have a farm near your families and enough food now,” Clark told him. “You two are my friends, and I want you to have the animals and the farm. Mom gave me a say in whether to sign the farm over to you because it would have eventually been mine if I hadn’t been Reaped. The animals are half mine, too, because of the work I’ve done — and I’d rather they go to you than be sold to the butcher. The cow and chickens have a several good years left if you take care of them, and they’ll have young that you can either keep or sell.

“You know,” Clark went on, seeing an opportunity to let Pete know that he didn’t blame him for not volunteering in his place, while at the same time keeping his knowledge of the conversation he’d eavesdropped on a secret, “it’s a good thing you didn’t take my place in the Games, because the Capitol loves legacy tributes. If you’d taken my place and come back alive, your kids would be guaranteed a place in the Games — and you’d have to escort them. I hope I never have to escort any of your children to the Games, but the odds of them not being chosen are much better than if you were a victor.” He gestured to the large house. “All this may look nice, but the price — I don’t wish it on anyone, especially not my friends. I’m glad you didn’t take my place — you’re alive and you and Lana have a normal life ahead of you.”

Pete looked at him a bit oddly, making Clark wonder if he might have said too much, but he just nodded as Lana came up to them.

“Clark … thanks,” Lana said, allowing Pete to help her up on the horse. “You don’t know how much you’ve helped us. Pete’s thankful, too, even if he has a hard time showing it.”

“He told me,” Clark assured her. “Everything will be ready by the time you sign the paperwork on Sunday.”

Clark waved as his friends rode off. It was another big change in his life, but this was one he could feel good about.

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