Chapter Forty-One
Clark sat in the last car at the rear of the train, watching the landscape flash by. After the train had left District 9, he had walked through it, looking for a place to sit and watch the world go by without using his X-ray vision. After making several Avoxes and a chef nervous by wandering into the kitchen car, then being unceremoniously expelled from a car carrying several Peacekeepers, none of whom he knew, he'd asked Marcius where he could go.
Marcius had looked at him oddly, evidently not understanding why Clark would rather stare at the winter landscape than take advantage of the collection of recent Capitol films or other entertainments, but had finally shown him to the observation car, which had windows that retracted into the ceiling. It hadn't taken Clark long to find the switches that opened the windows, though upon realizing how cold and windy it was with one of them open, he had closed it. He didn't want anyone wondering why he was sitting comfortably in the freezing wind.
An Avox had brought a beverage cart, offering him his choice of drinks, so he had selected a large mug of hot chocolate, though it reminded him bittersweetly of Becky. The front of the observation car had a music player with a small collection of music chips stored in slots below it, so he'd looked through it and found one containing Capitol versions of some of District 9's traditional songs.
Now, Clark settled more comfortably onto the backward-facing couch he was sitting on and took a sip of his drink, enjoying the brandy the Avox had added. Becky had never had access to alcohol, but as an adult victor, Clark had been offered the same privileges as his mentors, including his choice of alcoholic beverages. He had never tried brandy or any of the other things the Avox had offered to mix into his drink, but the brandy had smelled appealing, so he’d decided to try it. It wouldn’t have any effect on him anyway, so he wasn’t worried about doing or saying something he shouldn’t.
The train was traveling at about seventy miles an hour, much slower than its top speed. Clark had wondered why, but Marcius had explained that they were scheduled to arrive in District 12 at approximately six o’clock in the morning, so the train’s speed was adjusted accordingly.
In spite of his superior night vision, Clark still saw more clearly during the day, so now he was seeing things he’d never noticed during his nighttime flights around Panem. In the distance, he could see herds of animals — buffalo, wild horses and cattle, antelope — and sometimes predators stalking the herds, usually packs of wolves or wild dogs. Mockingjays hopped from branch to branch in the occasional copses of trees, sometimes picking up the sound of the train’s whistle and repeating it as it went by.
The train passed by and through the ruins of pre-Cataclysm towns and cities; some sturdy buildings made from concrete, brick, or stone were still standing. Jumbles of broken walls, pavement, and ancient vehicles made of metal and plastic were scattered in some places, long ago abandoned where they lay or dropped there indiscriminately by the powerful tornados that left wide swathes of destruction. At one point, a rusted sign stood alone in the middle of a snowy field, incongruously warning people to stay on the other side of a line that had long since vanished.
Every so often, the train slowed as it came to a juncture with another set of tracks, whistle blaring warningly, before picking up speed again. For the most part, there were no other trains, but occasionally Clark saw a freight train waiting while he and his train went by — apparently, the Victory Tour train had precedence over other trains — and once, a passenger train from the Capitol stopped to let his train go by, some people pointing from the windows and even waving when they caught sight of him. He waved back, wondering if people would think it was strange that he was sitting by himself in the observation car.
At sunset, Haver came looking for Clark. He stepped into the observation car, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering.
“Why don’t you have the heater on?” he asked Clark, who had turned from watching the sunset to look at him.
“It’s not that cold.” Clark hadn’t thought much about the temperature after he’d closed the window, and hoped he hadn’t given anything away.
“It’s freezing!”
“It’s no worse than back on the farm. In fact, it’s warmer than my bedroom there was.”
Haver looked at him skeptically. Even with warm clothing, the observation car was cold. The temperature was dropping as the sun went down, too, but Clark did not appear to be the slightest bit uncomfortable.
“Maybe I’ve been living in comfort too long,” he said, “because I don’t see how you can stand it here. What did you do, open the windows?”
“I opened one, but then it was too cold, so I closed it.”
Haver shook his head. “If the train had been moving much faster, you wouldn’t have been able to open the windows at all. Once the train reaches eighty-five miles an hour, the switches stop working and the windows go back up automatically if they’re open.
“Matilda once tried to open the observation car windows on the way back from the Capitol, and tried to put her fist through the glass when they wouldn’t work. Fortunately, the glass is thick and very hard to break.” Haver frowned at the memory. “It was after the Games in 54, and she was distraught over the two dead kids in the baggage car. To make matters worse, Snow had assigned her an unwanted ‘client’ after the kids were killed and she was no longer needed as a mentor. The ‘client’ had given her an expensive necklace, which she desperately wanted to get rid of. She wanted to throw the necklace on the tracks for the next train to run over. Since she couldn’t, she threw it out her bedroom window when the train slowed at a junction. She hasn’t been in an observation car since.”
Clark shook his head sadly. He could empathize with Matilda, since he, too, had been dreading the time when he would have to escort the dead bodies of tributes back to their grieving families. Even under the best of circumstances, one family would be left to mourn — and more likely, it would be two.
Haver remembered why he was there and told Clark, “Marcius sent me to tell you that the Avoxes are about to serve dinner and you need to come to the dining car.”
Clark nodded, getting up and going to turn off the music player. Haver stopped him.
“I guess Marcius didn’t explain to you about remotes.”
“About what?”
Haver pushed a button in the arm of the couch. A panel opened, revealing the controls to the music player. He hit one button and the music came to a stop. Another button ejected the chip and an arm took it from the player and put it back into its storage slot.
“This will also display what music is on the chip. You can look through it yourself, but this is easiest.”
Clark looked slightly embarrassed at not knowing. “He didn’t tell me about that. He just said there was a music player and some music chips if I wanted to listen to some music.”
“You’d think after all these years he’d understand that things are different in District 9, but he never seems to learn. Of course, most tributes don’t spend much time around him, and you’re the first one he’s escorted on a Victory Tour, but still …”
“I think he finds us just as hard to understand, and if he were to help on a farm or in a factory, most people would be just as surprised if he didn’t know how to operate the machinery.”
“I can’t imagine Marcius being willing to do actual work, but you’re probably right.” Haver turned, gesturing for Clark to follow him. “We’d better get to dinner before Marcius becomes convinced you fell off the train and are lying in the snow somewhere being eaten by wolves.”
Clark made a face at the thought, but followed Haver in the direction of the dining car.
*****
Clark was up early the next morning. He’d managed to get some sleep, though not much, awakening frequently and checking to make sure he was still in his bed instead of on the ceiling. He’d tucked himself in tightly and had managed to stay still enough that he hadn’t kicked his way free, but he still feared having anyone find out that he could fly. He didn’t want to find out exactly what Snow had planned if anyone learned about Clark’s powers.
He had locked the door to his room and hung a fork and spoon he’d smuggled from the dining area to the door handle in hopes that the jangling sound would awaken him in time if anyone came in. It was better to have people look at him strangely for setting up an alarm of sorts than it was to get caught floating. The makeshift alarm could be explained away as the result of fear of being attacked while asleep, which was common amongst victors, while his powers couldn’t be.
Breakfast was not yet ready when Clark emerged from his bedroom, though an Avox pointed to various beverages that had been set out on a sideboard in the dining car and served him his choices of coffee and orange juice.
Clark sat down at the table, sipping his coffee and looking out the window. It was a far different environment from the one he’d left yesterday. Instead of the plains stretching out as far as the eye could see, this area was wooded and mountainous, though the mountains here were shorter and less steep than the ones surrounding the Capitol or the mountains in which his arena had been located. The sky was overcast, the clouds low and threatening to add more snow to the already deep drifts.
Marcius joined him a short time later, looking like he was still half-asleep. Without waiting for an Avox to serve him, he poured himself a large mug of black coffee and sat down at the table, looking at Clark in annoyance when he greeted him.
Finally, after finishing half of his coffee, Marcius picked up the clipboard he’d dropped on the table and looked at it, going over the day’s events.
“At least I don’t have to wake
you up,” he grumbled at Clark. “Everyone else is still asleep. We’re almost to District 12, it’s a big day, and they’re sleeping in.”
“Isn’t that normal for people from the Capitol?” Clark asked.
“Like I said, it’s a big day, and there’s far too much to do to waste a moment.” Marcius stood and picked up his mug as the Avoxes began bringing in plates and cutlery. “It seems like I have to do everything around here.” He left the room, mug in one hand and clipboard in the other, grumbling about having to keep everyone on schedule.
Clark glanced at the Avoxes who were waiting with platters of food. “It looks like you’re doing more work than he ever does,” he commented.
The Avox closest to him smirked, then quickly masked the expression, looking around nervously. Clark took a drink of his orange juice, pretending he hadn’t noticed.
A female Avox carrying two heavy platters stumbled as the train slowed, the food on the platters tilting and starting to spill on the floor. Clark jumped up, taking the platters from her and putting them on the table as she looked at the spilled items in alarm.
Clark took a napkin from the holder on the sideboard and bent to clean up the mess. She was beside him in an instant, taking it from him and shaking her head, looking toward the kitchen apprehensively.
“If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it’s my fault,” Clark whispered to her. “I should have waited until you set the platters down to try to take anything from them.”
She gave him a grateful look, scooping up the spilled fruit slices and pancakes and depositing them in a trash can.
Clark frowned, looking at the trash. He thought the fruit could have been rinsed off and served anyway, but everything had gone in the garbage. Such waste would never have been tolerated when he was growing up — dropped food was picked up, cleaned off, and eaten anyway. Food was too precious to be simply thrown away.
He was distracted from his thoughts when the train slowed further and someone in the Peacekeeper car announced, “District 12!”
Clark went back to the window, looking outside as the train stopped at the gates to Panem’s smallest district.
The chain link fence, topped with barbed wire, was rusty and broken in spots, and the electricity didn’t sound like it was on. The gates were equally rusted, one of them hanging by a hinge. The other started to open, then stalled. A Peacekeeper, his white uniform grayish with coal dust, opened the gate the rest of the way, confirming what Clark had thought — the fence wasn’t electrified.
A few minutes later, the train slowly pulled up to the station. It, too, was gray with coal dust, as was the snow and ice on the roof and ground.
Clark shook his head as he looked around. He was familiar with coal dust — coal had been the main source of fuel for the stove when he was growing up — but he’d never seen so much of it. Absently, he wondered what would happen if a fire broke out.
“Have you eaten yet?!” Marcius demanded, marching back into the dining car with Clark’s prep team and mentors in tow. “Stop staring out the window and sit down! You don’t have time for that!”
“Stop yelling,” Matilda complained. “It’s too early.”
Marcius ignored her, pointing to an Avox. “Prepare a plate for Belarius and take it to him. He’s making sure Clark’s clothes are ready for today. Take him a cup of tea, too. Hurry up!”
“Quit yelling at them,” Clark told Marcius. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Sit down and eat,” Marcius said, ignoring Clark’s words. “Don’t argue with me. We’d never get anywhere if I didn’t keep an eye on you.”
Clark opened his mouth to argue with Marcius, but closed it when Haver shook his head and looked at him seriously. “Don’t start. This is his first Victory Tour and he’s under a lot of pressure.”
Marcius nodded approvingly, then frowned when Matilda grumbled at him, “You don’t need to take it out on us.” Looking at an Avox, she said, “Coffee. Black. Lots of it, and keep it coming.”
“It’s
my job to make sure Clark’s Victory Tour goes smoothly. I’m the one who made arrangements for the speeches, the gifts, the parties … and what thanks do I get for that? None. None of you are making the slightest effort to cooperate.”
Clark almost laughed at the sullen expression on Marcius’s face, but restrained himself when both Haver and Matilda gave him looks that told him, in no uncertain terms, to keep his mouth shut.
“Sorry, Marcius,” Clark said. “You’re right — this wouldn’t be much of a Victory Tour without you.”
Marcius looked only mildly appeased. “This tour, more than anything else, determines your future status as a victor. You don’t want to mess up.”
Clark was afraid that Marcius was right about his Victory Tour determining his future — but not because of the speeches and parties. When he reached the Capitol, he would find out what it was that Snow wanted — and Clark wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.
The sound of footsteps and whispering made Clark turn around. Half a dozen young faces peered through the window of the dining car, staring wide-eyed at the food on the table. Small fingers scrabbled at the windowsill as others tried to pull themselves high enough to look in.
“Pick me up! I wanna see!”
“What are they eating? Can anybody smell it?”
“Look at all those oranges!”
“I’d volunteer for the Games if I got food like that.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’d die.”
“Little beggars!” Proteus sneered, getting up and closing the blinds on the children. “This is my third Victory Tour, and it’s the same every time in the outer districts. You’d think their parents didn’t feed them enough.”
“They probably can’t afford to feed them enough,” Clark said quietly. Haver and Matilda nodded in agreement.
Proteus rolled his eyes and went back to eating, pushing aside a piece of meat he deemed too tough and picking through his fruit salad for the parts he liked, leaving the rest behind.
Clark stared at Proteus for a moment, his superhearing picking up on the growling stomachs of the kids outside. Turning to Marcius, he asked, “What happens to the leftover food? Do the Avoxes eat it?”
“The Avoxes have their own rations. They’re not allowed to eat leftovers.”
“Then what happens to it? There’s more here than we can eat.”
“It goes in the trash.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s trash.” Marcius looked at Clark like he’d lost his mind.
“But it’s perfectly good …”
“It’s cold and stale.”
“It’s not that stale, and cold food can be heated up. Why don’t we give it to the kids out there?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Would you eat cold, stale food?”
“When it’s only a few hours old and hasn’t had time to go bad, yes.”
“This isn’t a charity, Clark, and if they need more food, they can sign up for tesserae.”
“There’s a limit to how much you can sign up for, and it makes it more likely you’ll get Reaped into the Games.”
“All the more chances for glory.”
“It’s
not —“ Clark realized that he was squeezing his fork so hard he was bending it. He quickly set it down, covering it with a napkin until he could sneak it away and get rid of it. Returning to the original subject, he asked, “Why can’t they have it? If it’s just going to be thrown away anyway …”
“Because they can’t, that’s why.”
“You didn’t answer my question!”
“Clark!” Matilda kicked him lightly under the table. “Could you come with me, please? Just for a minute?” When Clark didn’t move, she added, “Now.”
Marcius gave Matilda a rare look of approval. Haver raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly she was up to. Reluctantly, Clark got up and followed her out of the dining car.
“Don’t bother arguing with Marcius,” Matilda told him as soon as the door slid shut behind them. “You might as well argue with a brick wall, except the wall would listen better. He’s not going to change his mind.”
“But those kids out there … they’re hungry. Didn’t you see how thin they are?”
“I saw … but you can’t just invite them in to eat — or hand the food out at the door,” she added when Clark opened his mouth to object. “Even if Marcius would allow it, the Peacekeepers wouldn’t. There is a way you can get the food to them, though.”
“How?”
“Tell the Avoxes to wrap the food up separately from the rest of the trash so it isn’t contaminated, then have them put it on top of everything else in the bins. The kids can take it from there.”
“That just seems wrong.”
“I know, but it’s the only thing you can do. Clark, my brother and I spent a year in the community home in District 9. There was never enough to eat, so a lot of us scavenged in the trash bins for food. We especially liked to scavenge in the trash by the train station when a Capitol train came through, because they threw the most food away, and it was usually the best food, too. Some of the food from the trash was contaminated by other garbage, and kids who ate it sometimes got sick, but if it was wrapped up separately from everything else, it was usually good. Twelve is the poorest district, so believe me, the kids know how to scavenge.”
Clark sighed. It still seemed wrong to him to throw away good food, but if there was a way to get it to the people who needed it, he’d give it a try.
Forty-five minutes later, Clark slipped into the kitchen car. The chef eyed him warily, obviously not happy at having him in her kitchen, but when he merely nodded to her and went to give instructions to the Avoxes, she left him alone and only gave him occasional suspicious glances.
After the food had been deposited in the trash bins, the handful of children who had remained nearby after the blinds were closed edged closer, looking hopefully at the bins. Just as a few of them were about to run up to them, though, a Peacekeeper emerged from the train, looking at the kids sternly.
“This is not your home!” he told them, pointing away from the train station. Most of the kids ran away in fright, but a few of the bolder ones lingered, still hoping to go through the trash bins before they were emptied.
When the Peacekeeper casually put his hand on the butt of his gun, the remaining kids ran off. One trio didn’t go far, though, before the oldest one, a boy of about ten, crouched behind a snowbank and detached the two younger boys who were clinging to him.
“Go home!” he ordered them. “I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
“But, Gale —“
“Get out of here! Vick, do what Rory tells you … or I’ll never bring you here again!”
The two younger boys ran off, occasionally looking back at their older brother, who was moving slowly and cautiously back in the direction of the train.
Clark had been watching from the window, listening to the boys’ conversation with his superhearing. When Gale started back in the direction of the train, Clark stepped out onto the platform, looking for a way to distract the Peacekeeper.
He quickly found it. The platform was slippery with ice, and the wooden rail used to keep people from falling onto the ground below was splintered and ready to break. The snow that had been cleared from the steps and platform had been dumped nearby, making for a sizable pile.
Clark took a few casual steps in the direction of the main entrance to the train, deliberately slipping on the ice and crashing into the railing. As he’d expected, the splintered, termite-eaten thing broke and he fell into the snow beside the platform.
“Ow!” Clark sat up slowly and put his glasses back on, pretending to be startled and in pain. As he’d hoped, the Peacekeeper gave up guarding the trash bins and went to help him.
As soon as the Peacekeeper’s back was turned, Gale sprinted across the remaining space and up the platform steps, opening the bins and grabbing the bundles of food. The Peacekeeper heard the lids of the bins clattering shut and turned, but even as he shouted at the boy, Gale took off, running for all he was worth.
By this time, word had spread about Clark’s accident, and Marcius, Haver, and Matilda had hurried out onto the platform, moving carefully over the ice to avoid falling.
“What happened?!” Marcius demanded.
“I think I slipped on the ice,” Clark said. He took the Peacekeeper’s proffered hand and stood up slowly, pretending that he was a little sore from the fall.
Marcius looked at the spot Clark had fallen from suspiciously. “What were you doing over there?”
“I … uh … I thought I’d take a shortcut back to the main entrance so I could get back to my room faster.”
“And what, may I ask, were you doing in the kitchen?”
“Um … grabbing one more bite to eat.” It was even true — Clark had taken a piece of bread that had been dropped behind the food bundles and eaten it before it could be thrown away.
Marcius looked at him warningly, not buying his excuse. “When I tell you not to do something, you don’t do it. And stay out of the kitchen! Do you understand?!”
“But —“
Marcius grabbed Clark’s arm. “I said,
do you understand?!”
Clark pulled his arm away. “Yes! I’ll stay out of the kitchen!”
Next time, I’ll talk to the Avoxes in the dining room. He turned and walked carefully up the steps, Marcius following him.
When they were inside the train, Marcius pulled Clark aside, motioning for Haver and Matilda to follow them.
“What?!” Clark demanded.
“I know you mean well,” Marcius told him, “but trying to give that food away is going to get someone killed.”
“I wasn’t —“
“Yes, you were. I don’t know what
she told you —“ Marcius turned to glare at Matilda. “— but don’t try it again. The Peacekeepers are not going to put up with people coming up to the Victory Tour train to go through the trash.” Marcius put a hand up when Clark started to protest. “Yes, I saw the boy take the food, and he might have been shot if you hadn’t fallen. The Peacekeepers don’t have a sense of humor about these things.”
Matilda spoke up in Clark’s defense. “I told him to have the Avoxes wrap the food up so it wouldn’t be contaminated. When I lived in the community home in District 9, I’d scavenge for extra food, and the best food came from Capitol trains. No one
cared about the
garbage as long as we didn’t
make a mess!”
“Well, I don’t know how you got away with it in District 9, but it won’t work on this tour.”
“We mostly did our scavenging when no one was looking,” Matilda admitted, “because it was embarrassing. People make fun of you for that — but they don’t
shoot you!”
“And were the Capitol trains still there when you went through the trash?” Marcius asked.
“No. But I don’t see why anyone would care — it’s just
garbage!”
“Well, the Peacekeepers do care —
so don’t tempt people!”
“They’re going to be tempted anyway!” Matilda argued.
“And I suppose what they do with the trash after the train is gone is their business — but not before then!”
“The kids are probably the most desperate here,” Haver interjected. “This is the poorest and hungriest place in Panem. The kids in the other districts may look into the dining car, but they probably won’t take the risks they do here. Starvation can make a person do foolish things.”
“What if the food trash was put out just as the train was leaving?” Clark asked. “Then it wouldn’t be a problem —“
“What part of
no do you not understand?!” Marcius snapped. “Enough about the food! Now, how are you feeling? That wasn’t a long fall, but it was enough to make me concerned. There’s no doctor in District 12, but there are healers.”
“I’m fine!” Clark snapped.
“Really? You were complaining enough.” Marcius looked at him skeptically.
“I got a few bruises is all. Mostly, I just injured my pride.” Clark gave him a sullen look.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“No, I didn’t hit my head — and my arms and legs work just fine! Nothing feels broken! I’m fine! Leave me alone!” Clark stalked off towards his room.
“Don’t sulk too long!” Marcius called to his retreating back. “You’re meeting District 12’s sole living victor in an hour, and then you have a tour of the coal mine …”
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