Chapter Forty-Four
In the days that followed, Clark did his best to keep from calling attention to himself. He refrained from arguing with Marcius, no matter how much the man aggravated him — something that both pleased the District 9 escort and made him somewhat suspicious. Marcius was used to Clark challenging him about everything.
Clark also refrained from trying to give away the leftover food, though in almost every district, hungry children peered through the windows of the dining car at mealtimes, and several times he caught sight of those same children descending upon the garbage bins as the train pulled away. He still thought that the extra food should be given to them in a cleaner manner, but he had no say in the matter, and knew that trying to interfere would just make things worse.
Clark reminded himself repeatedly not to ask questions, but he was naturally curious and was seeing things he’d never had a chance to examine up close before. Sometimes, the questions would slip out before he thought about it.
Marcius invariably gave him a warning look when he asked something, but Haver and Matilda were more forthcoming, answering Clark’s questions about things like the strange machines pumping something from the ground in District 10, the presence of fishing boats on the cold, wild coast of District 7, and the horse farms and orchards between the densely populated, crumbling cities of District 6.
Clark kept his eyes and ears open as he visited each district, trying to learn as much as he could without asking questions. Soon, he realized that much of what he’d learned in school about Panem was wrong.
The districts didn’t have the single industries that he’d been taught that they had — most had at least one secondary industry, often supplementing the industries of other districts. The long distances that they sometimes traveled, crisscrossing the continent, told him that the district numbers didn’t always refer to their locations. Many victors wouldn’t have noticed, but Clark’s ability to fly had allowed him to see the lights of the population centers around Panem, so he knew where districts were located, if not which districts they were. These revelations, combined with his discovery that there was land besides North America above water, led him to wonder what else the Capitol had lied about.
Clark used his supersenses to learn more about the places he visited — no one knew that he was using them as long as he didn’t react to things he shouldn’t have been able to perceive. He learned a lot that way without aggravating Marcius by asking questions, but there were times that he wished he hadn’t.
In District 10, the odors of factory farms and the huge lagoons of animal waste smelled far worse than a District 9 barn on a hot day. It was almost enough to make him gag in spite of his strong stomach. The fact that Marcius laughed at him didn’t help matters. Matilda pointed out that this was where the vast quantities of fertilizer used in Districts 9 and 11 came from, but the manure was so well-rotted by then that the odor wasn’t nearly as offensive.
In District 8, Clark’s superhearing picked up on something he wished he hadn’t found out — the family of the male tribute, Taylor Weaver, blamed him for the boy’s death, believing that Clark had deliberately driven him toward the force field. It was hard for Clark not to react to that, especially when Taylor’s sister brought him the obligatory plaque, staring at him accusingly the whole time. He wanted more than anything to apologize, to explain that he had tried to keep Taylor away from the force field, but there was no reason for him to know why she was so angry with him.
Day after day passed, each one bringing brief glimpses of a different district and long journeys through the wilderness. Clark tried to focus on each one, to block out thoughts of what the future held. Each day brought him closer to District 3 and meeting Lois’s family, something that he dreaded more than anything else the tour might bring. Even the knowledge that he would have to face President Snow in the Capitol didn’t make him as anxious as the prospect of facing the Lanes. No matter what they thought of him and the “love story” that had so enamored the Capitolites, he could never admit to what he’d actually done in that brief moment after he’d covered the camera, and that knowledge bothered him most of all.
*****
On the morning of March ninth, the day of the tour of District 4, Clark awoke with his nose pressed firmly against the ceiling of his train compartment. He blinked in surprise for a moment, then slowly floated back down to the floor, landing silently.
He hadn’t tried to tuck himself in tightly since the night they’d left District 8, when he’d fought his way free of his covers in his sleep, tearing the bedding to pieces as he did so. The Avox who cleaned his compartment each day had stared wide-eyed at the ruined sheets and blankets, then given him a very wide berth, not wanting to know exactly how or why he’d damaged them so badly.
Two nights before, Clark had fallen while sleep-floating and landed hard enough to awaken Haver in the next compartment. His mentor had knocked on the door until Clark had gotten up and opened it, wanting to know if he was okay. Clark had told him that he’d had a nightmare and fallen out of bed, but didn’t try to explain how it was that he’d fallen hard enough wake Haver and yet remained uninjured.
Clark looked out the window. The sky was overcast, but it wasn’t raining as the train moved southwest in the direction of the Pacific Ocean and District 4. The ocean wasn’t visible yet, but the faint scent coming through the vents told him that they would arrive soon.
Fifteen minutes later, Clark was dressed and ready for the day. He walked toward the dining car, looking through the windows along the way as the coast came into view, searching for any sign of damage.
He didn’t know exactly where he’d been when he’d accidentally created that wave back in November, but he knew that it had to be somewhere along this coast. He knew that it hadn’t been in District 7, because he’d turned south to avoid a mountain peak after leaving the Capitol. That left Districts 3 and 4.
There was no sign of recent damage to structures outside of District 4 — what few buildings and roads remained were ancient, collapsing, and overgrown after centuries of abandonment. Clark couldn’t tell if any of the variations in the shoreline and the cliffs were recent, either — he didn’t know enough about the coast to tell what had happened naturally and what hadn’t.
The train slowed, then came to a stop at the northern entrance to District 4. This fence was different from the ones Clark had seen when entering other districts — it was made of concrete, rather than metal, and wasn’t electrified, though there were coils of barbed and razor wire on top.
He watched as the heavy gates swung open. Two bored-looking Peacekeepers secured them, then watched as the train slowly moved down the track.
As the train continued south, Clark saw one spot where it looked as though a tree might have been uprooted, but it was impossible to say for sure. There was a small fishing village a couple of miles beyond that, but it showed no signs of damage.
The train finally pulled into the station in the middle of one of District 4’s two main cities. Clark lingered at the window a moment longer, but realized that he wasn’t going to find out whether or not he’d caused any damage, though he wondered if he might be able to casually inquire about waves later when he met the victors of District 4.
As Clark walked into the dining car, two of the Avoxes who had been getting the room ready for breakfast froze in fear, trying to hide the cups of coffee they’d been drinking. Luxuries like coffee were forbidden to Avoxes, but as the train had crisscrossed the continent, going back and forth between numerous time zones, it had become increasingly hard for them to wake up at the required time, which often varied from day to day, so several of them had begun sneaking coffee.
Clark was aware that the differing sunrise times made it difficult to get up and be alert at a particular time, but the victors and Capitolites on the tour had the luxury of sleeping later than the Avoxes, making it a little easier on them. He wasn’t bothered by the almost daily changes, but he needed far less sleep than the others.
The Avoxes who had been drinking the coffee looked at Clark in open fear — the penalty for eating or drinking anything beyond their rations was severe.
Clark knew the rules, but he had no intention of turning the Avoxes in. They were nice to him and were quick to get him anything he asked for, or even to anticipate what he might want, and he saw no reason for them to be punished over something as minor as drinking coffee.
He shook his head, making a gesture of running his fingers over his lips that meant he wasn’t going to say a word. In spite of Marcius’s assertion that Avoxes were voiceless and unable to communicate, Clark had observed them using gestures to talk, and his superhearing had picked up on the sounds they made when they thought they weren’t being observed. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out what some of the gestures and sounds meant.
The Avoxes looked at each other, relaxing slightly. None of them would do more than required for Marcius and the other Capitolites, but Clark had always been kind to them, saying please and thank you and not making excessive demands. They weren’t sure what to make of the fact that he’d picked up some of their sign language, but they weren’t going to try to question him about it.
Nevertheless, no matter how nice Clark was to them, he was still a victor, and they were still Avoxes. He had the power to destroy them with a few words, and even as they prepared his coffee and poured his orange juice, they glanced at each other in unspoken agreement. They would have to be careful around him.
Clark saw them looking at each other, but didn’t comprehend the meaning of the looks. He was still a new victor and didn’t understand the power structure of the Capitol, or the fact that the Avoxes were so powerless that any unusual attention from anyone made them uneasy. They liked him, but he was still a victor, and a troubled one if his occasionally destructive behavior was anything to go by.
Clark wasn’t oblivious to the way Avoxes were treated — Marcius had made his opinion of them clear enough — but he didn’t realize that his friendliness also made them uneasy. He had other things on his mind — like his fear that he’d harmed people here with his tantrum the previous November, meeting the Lanes, and Snow’s unknown demands — and he didn’t realize that he might be playing with fire by learning their language and trying to communicate with them.
*****
Early that evening, Clark stood inside a room with tall windows overlooking the beach with the rest of the tour group, District 4’s officials and high-ranking citizens, and the District 4 victors.
There had been six victors in District 4 in the last sixty-six years, all still living. The number was fewer than Clark had expected for a Career district, though, and most were fairly young. There were only two older victors, Mags Flanagan, who had won in 11 and was now in her early seventies, and Muscida Selkirk, who had won in 29 and was in her fifties.
Haver greeted Muscida with a hug. She had become victor only two years before him and was a year older, and they’d been friends for a long time. Matilda nodded tersely at the victor closest in age to her, Librae Ogilvy, who had won two years before Matilda did and was District 4’s first male victor.
The other three victors were under the age of thirty. Kani Wallace had won in 57 and was the second victor for whom Rosaline had been a prep team member. She had mentioned him to Clark after he had become a victor, commenting that she’d helped find a way to make the prosthetic fingers on Kani’s right hand look real after he’d lost several of his own fingers in the Games.
Maya Sandoval, District 4’s last female victor, had won in 59. She was from the southernmost end of District 4 and spoke with an accent so heavy that Clark could barely understand a word she said — though from the stern look Mags, who had a similar but more understandable accent, had given her, Clark thought that she might be teasing him.
The youngest victor was Finnick Odair, who had just turned sixteen and was the one closest in age to Clark. Clark looked at him curiously, wondering how a fourteen-year-old from a Career district had ended up in the arena.
Clark’s victory speech had been presented in a large outdoor area that morning, rather than a town square, which couldn’t have held the large population of the district. The families of the deceased tributes had been sad, but not angry — their children had known what they were getting into when they volunteered.
Turning away from the others, Clark looked out the window at the sun slowly disappearing over the horizon. Though he’d grown up on the Great Plains, where a person could seemingly see forever, the sunsets still couldn’t compare with the sight of the ball of light disappearing into the sea. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought that the sea had swallowed the sun.
The dinner was being held on the second floor of the building, affording the diners a view of the beach and the ocean that wouldn’t have been possible on the first floor, as the building was separated from the sand by a garden protected by a six-foot concrete wall. Though the day had been warm, the evening was cool, and a low fire burned in the fireplace. Some of the older victors were standing near the fire, most of them with drinks in their hands.
Clark watched the waves crashing on the sand, the water level slowly rising. He had only been to the shore twice before in his life — first the previous November, and then briefly when he visited District 7 on the Victory Tour — and he had never stayed long enough to witness this phenomenon before. Frowning, he wondered if something was wrong, and if it was safe to stay so close to the rising water.
“What’s wrong?” Finnick’s voice pulled Clark from his thoughts.
“The water is rising. I don’t know if it’s safe to be here.”
“The water? Oh, that’s just the tide coming in. It shouldn’t get too high. Even when there are storms, the tide hardly ever gets higher than the wall, and it’s calm today.”
The ocean didn’t look particularly calm to Clark, but then, he wasn’t terribly familiar with it. He did recall, though, that the two times he’d seen the ocean before, the waves had also been far higher and stronger than anything he’d seen in District 9.
Still, he wasn’t entirely convinced that the rising water wasn’t a threat. “What’s the tide?” Clark asked Finnick.
Finnick looked confused for a moment, as though he couldn’t understand why Clark was unfamiliar with the term. Then he nodded, understanding. “District 9 doesn’t have much water, does it?”
“There’s creeks and rivers and small lakes, but nothing like this.”
“And they don’t have a tide?”
Clark shook his head. “If they do, I’ve never seen one. They get bigger when there’s a lot of rain or during the spring melt, though.”
“The tide is where the ocean rises and falls about twice every day. Some days it gets higher than others, but it won’t get very high tonight. The tides aren’t as extreme during the quarter moon phases.”
“What does the moon have to do with it?” Clark thought about his visit to the moon. He’d seen it closer than anyone else, but he realized that there was still a lot that he didn’t know.
“The moon’s gravity pulls the water back and forth.”
“Interesting.” More and more, Clark was realizing how much his education in District 9 had left out.
It dawned on him then how he might find out if the wave he’d created had caused damage without admitting to knowing that it had happened. He was almost certain that the spot where a tree had been torn from the top of a cliff was where he’d caused the wave — he’d seen it from the water while riding on a fishing boat earlier in the day, and the rocky beach seemed to match what he remembered. There was no reason for him to know that anything had happened, though, and he’d been at a loss as to how to ask without revealing that he knew more than he should.
“What if there was a storm? How high would the water get? Would it cause damage?”
Finnick was a little confused as to why Clark was so focused on the water, but thought that it was probably because he wasn’t used to it. “A really big storm can cause high waves, but they’re mostly held back by the wall. A tsunami might cause some serious damage, but they don’t happen too often.”
“A what?” Clark frowned.
“A tsunami. It’s a huge wave caused by an earthquake. If the earthquake is here, we feel it and know to look out, but if it’s far away to the west, it’s harder to predict. If you see the water suddenly retreating, head for higher ground as fast as you can. You might get advance notice from the animals — they can hear better than us, and sometimes run for safety before we know there’s anything wrong — but not always. Tsunamis are most dangerous if they happen at night while everyone is asleep, because people won’t see them coming until it’s too late. There was a small one back in November, but luckily it mostly hit the coast near the district border. A bunch of fish washed up on the beach near one village, but nobody was hurt. In fact, when people went out to see if there was any damage, they collected the fish and prepared them before they could spoil. The Capitol doesn’t want fish that washed up, so the people in the village ate them.”
Clark felt an immense wave of relief at the knowledge that he hadn’t harmed anyone — and had, in fact, helped by beaching the fish, however accidental it had been. It wasn’t an action he intended to repeat, but he wasn’t sorry that something good had come of it.
People were drifting in the direction of the buffet that had been set up on tables along one wall. Clark and Finnick joined them, filling plates with the finest delicacies District 4 produced before taking seats at the victors’ table.
Clark sat next to Finnick, thinking about what he’d said about earthquakes. Was it possible that the people of District 4 were also aware that there was land outside of Panem?
“How can there be earthquakes to the west?” Clark asked. “Do they come all the way around the world from the other side of Panem?”
“They can happen underwater,” Finnick told him. “There’s also earthquakes on land in this part of Panem. I don’t think tsunamis could come all the way around the world, though. They’d wash up —” Finnick stopped suddenly, realizing that he might have said too much.
“Wash up where?”
“There’s a few tiny islands out there from volcanoes,” Finnick said quickly. “We mostly avoid them — they’re too dangerous to go near.”
Clark frowned, thinking. The bit of land he’d seen wasn’t a small island — of that he was certain. It was also far from Panem, judging from the map he’d seen on the moon. Finnick’s response, however, had made him think that there might be land closer — like the continent south of North America that was supposedly underwater. Clark had never gone that far south when flying around Panem, but now that the idea was in his mind, he intended to take a look once the Victory Tour was over.
Seeing how nervous Finnick had become, Clark decided not to pursue the subject of land outside of Panem any further. He picked up a salty, oily green fruit and put it in his mouth, crunching through the hard pit before he realized it was there.
“Careful,” Finnick told him. “You can break your teeth on those olive pits.”
Clark pretended to spit the pit into a napkin, though he’d already swallowed it. His teeth were fine, but chewing the rock hard seeds might raise suspicion. “Thanks. Where do these come from, anyway? I don’t remember eating them anywhere else.”
“They’re grown here. All of Panem’s olives come from District 4, and most of the avocados, too.” Finnick pointed to a thick green dip in a bowl on the table. “They’re the main ingredient in guacamole.”
“I tried that before the Games last year,” Clark said, “but I didn’t know what it was made of or that it came from here. I thought District 4 just provided fish and seafood.”
“One of the many things the Capitol doesn’t tell us,” Finnick replied. “After all, if people found out they might be comfortable in other districts, they might try to leave their homes, and then what would happen?” His last words held more than a trace of irony.
“We’d be less hungry?” Clark suggested, shaking his head. “Is that why the Capitol lets some districts train for the Games — so people won’t leave?”
“Train?” Finnick asked, raising an eyebrow. “You mean you don’t believe we have so many victors because we’re good at fishing?”
“Well, everybody knows that Districts 1, 2, and 4 are Career districts …” Clark trailed off. “Is that one of those things we’re not supposed to acknowledge?” he asked quietly.
“Officially, no one trains. Unofficially, you’re right. Those three districts have academies where kids train for the Games.”
“I understand District 2, because that’s where Peacekeepers come from —“
“Who told you about District 2?” Finnick asked, surprised. “Up until I visited 2 on my Victory Tour, I thought all the Peacekeepers came from the Capitol.”
Clark looked at Finnick in confusion. He’d thought everyone knew that most of the Peacekeepers came from District 2. “District 9’s Head Peacekeeper, Julius Gunn, is from Two. His brother is a victor.”
“Brutus’s brother is a Head Peacekeeper?” Finnick frowned. “Actually, that makes sense. Trainees from Two who don’t go into the Games usually become Peacekeepers, and being related to a victor would give a Peacekeeper a better chance of rising in the ranks.”
“But what about Districts 1 and 4?” Clark asked. “Why are they allowed to train?”
“I’m not sure.” Finnick shook his head. “District 1 makes luxuries, so maybe the Capitol likes them enough to give their kids a better chance at surviving the Hunger Games. As for District 4 — I never really thought about it. Maybe it makes us better at fishing? District 4 didn’t have a training academy until after Snow became president, which is why most of our victors are young.”
“They let you into the arena young, too,” Clark said. He immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut when he saw Finnick’s expression.
“The other academies don’t let trainees into the Games until they’re at least sixteen, more often seventeen or eighteen. Here … winning the Games isn’t such a matter of pride for most tributes. They all want to live, and their families want them to live, but life at sea is dangerous enough that most trainees aren’t there for the ‘thrill’ of danger — a lot of them are actually enrolled there because the academy provides a home for orphans and good meals twice a day for everyone training there. Last year’s male tribute, Tiberon Valdez, was an exception. He wanted to be in the Games, and he was supposed to volunteer in 65, but my name was called, and since I was enrolled in the academy, I got to go instead.
“In District 4, anyone who is enrolled in the academy who is Reaped goes into the Games instead of the approved volunteer. Tiberon was angry that he didn’t get to volunteer, but he was only seventeen and had another year to go, so he didn’t fight over the privilege. Then, last year, another trainee was Reaped, and Tiberon couldn’t stand losing his chance to be in the Games. He fought with Shad, whose name had been called, and volunteered before any of the trainers could stop him. No one was really surprised — Tiberon always liked a good fight, and went for the biggest and most dangerous fish when he was out at sea. His mama was sorry to lose him, but she’d known right from the time he was born what he was like, and named him appropriately.”
“What does Tiberon mean?” Clark asked. He wasn’t familiar with the word and hadn’t given it a second thought when he’d heard it during the recaps of the Reapings.
“It means shark,” Finnick told him. “Sharks are powerful fish with sharp teeth that will eat your catch if you don’t pull it in quickly enough, and they follow the fishing boats in order to eat the entrails that get thrown overboard. You don’t want to fall overboard when sharks are around.”
“I’ve heard of them. Weren’t some tributes killed by them in the Games a few years ago?”
“That was the year Maya won. Those were muttations, though — they could actually go up on land to kill tributes who thought they were safe. Maya won because she knew how to kill them and was bold enough to cook and eat them when other tributes were afraid they might be poisonous, so she had plenty to eat.”
“You won because you knew how to use a trident and make nets.”
“Yeah, some people in the Capitol decided they liked me. That trident was expensive, especially late in the Game. It cost over a million dollars.”
“A million dollars!” Clark tried to imagine that much money and couldn’t quite do it. As a victor, he was one of the wealthiest people in District 9, but his winnings weren’t anywhere close to that.
“A few Capitolites pooled some money to buy the trident. Of course, they expected their money’s worth.”
“You gave them a … a good show.”
“And then some. Winning young wasn’t so bad. I got to go home and spend a couple of years back in District 4 before I was invited to the Capitol for my sixteenth birthday.”
Clark shook his head. The age of consent in Panem was sixteen, and he had a good idea of why Finnick had been “invited” to spend his sixteenth birthday in the Capitol.
“So, you had to …”
“Had to what? Celebrate my sixteenth birthday with a huge, expensive party thrown by the wealthiest and most beautiful Capitolites, who saved my life in the Games by sending me a weapon I’m an expert with? Who wouldn’t want to spend his sixteenth birthday that way?” Finnick grinned, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Someone who had no choice in the matter,” Clark replied, not fooled for a moment by Finnick’s joviality.
Finnick’s smile faded slightly, but he refused to concede the point. “Wine, women, and song … that’s the life of a victor. Everyone knows that.”
“And if you forget it, Snow reminds you by killing someone you love.” Clark was well-aware of how Snow ensured the cooperation of victors.
Clark hoped that his lack of sponsors in the Games would make it less likely that Snow would expect him to pay anyone back. He couldn’t be sure, though. No one could physically hold Clark down and make him do anything, but his desire to protect those he cared about made him vulnerable to Snow’s demands. Snow’s knowledge of Clark’s powers — and his knowledge that Kryptonite could take those powers away — made him even more dangerous to the young victor.
Clark didn’t know how far he would go to keep his family and friends safe. He had vowed never to kill again, to find another way if killing was demanded of him, but he didn’t know what he might do to keep that vow, or if the time would come when he would consider a sacrifice too great.
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