The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (A Hunger Games Novel) (The Hunger Games)

Coriolanus stood stunned as the guards slapped him on the back, laughing. “I — I —”

“You’re the youngest person ever to pass the test.” The commander beamed. “Ordinarily, we’d train you here, but your scores recommend you for an elite program in District Two. We’ll be sorry to see you go.”

Oh, how he wished he could go! To District Two, which was not really that far from his home in the Capitol. To officers’ school, elite officers’ school, where he could distinguish himself and find a way back to a life worth living. This might be an even better road to power than the University had offered. But there was still a murder weapon with his name on it out there. His DNA would condemn him, just as it had on the handkerchief. Sadly, tragically, it was too dangerous to stay. It hurt to play along.

“What time do I leave?” he asked.

“There’s a hovercraft headed that way early tomorrow morning, and you’ll be on it. You’re off today, I think. Use the time to pack up and say your good-byes.” The commander shook his hand for the second time in two days. “We expect great things from you.”

Coriolanus thanked the commander and headed outside, where he stood a moment, weighing his options. It was no use. There were no options. Hating himself, and hating Sejanus Plinth even more, he walked toward the building that housed the generator, almost not caring if he was apprehended. What a bitter disappointment, to have a second chance at a bright future so irrevocably stripped away. He had to remind himself of the rope, and the gallows, and the jabberjays mimicking his last words to renew his focus. He was about to desert the Peacekeepers; he needed to snap out of it.

When he reached the building, he took a quick look over his shoulder, but the base still slept, and he slunk around to the back without witnesses. He examined the fence and could find no opening at first. He wound his fingers in the links and gave them a shake of frustration. Sure enough, the mesh pulled free of a supporting pole, leaving a break in the fence he could just squeeze through. Outside, his natural wariness reinstated itself. He skirted around the rear of the base and through a wooded area, eventually making his way to the road that led to the hanging tree. Once there, he simply followed the path the truck had taken on previous trips, walking briskly, but not so fast as to attract attention. There was precious little to attract anyway on a hot Sunday shortly after dawn. Most miners and Peacekeepers would not rise for hours.

After a few miles, he reached the depressing field and broke into a run for the hanging tree, eager to conceal himself in the woods. There was no sign of Lucy Gray, and as he passed under the branches, he wondered if in fact he’d misinterpreted her message and should have headed to the Seam instead. Then he caught a glimpse of orange and tracked it to a clearing. There she stood, unloading a stack of bundles from a small wagon, his scarf wound in a fetching manner around her head. She ran over and hugged him, and he responded even though it felt too hot for an embrace. The kiss that followed put him in a better mood.

His hand went to the orange scarf in her hair. “This seems very bright for fugitives.”

Lucy Gray smiled. “Well, I don’t want you to lose me. You still up for this?”

“I have no choice.” Realizing that sounded halfhearted, he added, “You’re all that matters to me now.”

“You, too. You’re my life now. Sitting here, waiting for you to show up, I realized I’d never really be brave enough to do this without you,” she admitted. “It’s not just how hard it will be. It’s too lonely. I might’ve made it for a few days, but then I’d have come home to the Covey.”

“I know. I didn’t even consider running until you brought it up. It’s so . . . daunting.” He ran a hand over her bundles. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t risk bringing anything much.”

“I didn’t think you could. I’ve been collecting all this, and I raided our storeroom, too. It’s okay. I left the Covey the rest of the money.” As if convincing herself, she said, “They’ll be okay.” She hoisted up a pack and threw it over her shoulder.

He gathered some of the supplies. “What will they do? I mean, the band. Without you.”

“Oh, they’ll get by. They can all carry a tune, and Maude Ivory’s just a few years from replacing me as lead singer anyway,” said Lucy Gray. “Besides, the way trouble seems to find me, I may be wearing out my welcome in District Twelve. Last night the commander told me not to sing ‘The Hanging Tree’ anymore. Too dark, he said. Too rebellious, more like it. I promised he’d never hear it from my lips again.”

“It’s a strange song,” offered Coriolanus.

Lucy Gray laughed. “Well, Maude Ivory likes it. She says it has real authority.”

“Like my voice. When I sang the anthem in the Capitol,” Coriolanus remembered.

“That’s it,” said Lucy Gray. “You ready?”

They’d divided everything between them. It took him a moment to realize what was missing. “Your guitar. You’re not taking it?”

“I’m leaving it for Maude Ivory. That and my mama’s dresses.” She struggled to make light of it. “What will I need them for? Tam Amber thinks there’s still people in the north, but I’m not convinced. I think it’s just going to be us.”

For a moment, he realized that he wasn’t the only one leaving his dreams behind. “We’ll get new dreams out there,” Coriolanus promised, with more conviction than he felt. He pulled out his father’s compass, consulted it, and pointed. “North is this way.”

“I thought we’d head to the lake first. It’s mostly north. I’d kind of like to see it one more time,” she said.

It seemed as good a plan as any, so he didn’t object. Soon they’d just be adrift in the wilderness, never to return. Why not indulge her? He tucked in a bit of scarf that had come loose. “The lake it is.”

Lucy Gray gazed back at the town, although the only thing Coriolanus could make out was the gallows. “Good-bye, District Twelve. Good-bye, hanging tree and Hunger Games and Mayor Lipp. Someday something will kill me, but it won’t be you.” She turned and headed deeper into the woods.

“Not much to miss,” agreed Coriolanus.

“I’ll miss the music and my pretty birds,” said Lucy Gray with a catch in her voice. “I’m hoping one day they can follow me, though.”

“You know what I won’t miss? People,” Coriolanus replied. “Except for a handful. They’re mostly awful, if you think about it.”

“People aren’t so bad, really,” she said. “It’s what the world does to them. Like us, in the arena. We did things in there we’d never have considered if they’d just left us alone.”

“I don’t know. I killed Mayfair, and there was no arena in sight,” he said.

“But only to save me.” She thought it over. “I think there’s a natural goodness built into human beings. You know when you’ve stepped across the line into evil, and it’s your life’s challenge to try and stay on the right side of that line.”

“Sometimes there are tough decisions.” He’d been making them all summer.

“I know that. Of course, I do. I’m a victor,” she said ruefully. “It’d be nice, in my new life, not to have to kill anyone else.”

“I’m with you there. Three seems enough for one lifetime. And certainly enough for one summer.” A feral cry came from nearby, reminding him of his lack of a weapon. “I’m going to make a walking stick. Do you want one?”

She pulled up. “Sure. That could come in handy in more ways than one.”

They found a couple of stout branches, and she steadied them while he snapped off their limbs. “Who’s the third?”

“What?” She was giving him a funny look. His hand slipped, driving a piece of bark under his nail. “Ow.”

She ignored his injury. “Person you killed. You said you killed three people this summer.”

Coriolanus bit at the end of the splinter to pull it out with his teeth, buying a moment of time. Who, indeed? The answer was Sejanus, of course, but he couldn’t admit to that.

“Can you get this out?” He held out his hand, wiggling the compromised fingernail, hoping to distract her.

“Let me see.” She examined his splinter. “So, Bobbin, Mayfair . . . who’s the third?”

His mind raced for a plausible explanation. Could he have been involved in a freak accident? A training death? He was cleaning a weapon, and it went off by mistake? He decided it was best to make a joke of it. “Myself. I killed the old me so I could come with you.”

She plucked the splinter free. “There. Well, I hope old you doesn’t haunt new you. We’ve already got enough ghosts between us.”

The moment passed, but it had killed the conversation. Neither of them spoke again until the halfway point, where they stopped for a breather.

Lucy Gray unscrewed the plastic jug and offered it to him. “Will they miss you yet?”

“Probably not until dinner. You?” He took a deep drink of water.

“Only one up when I left was Tam Amber. I told him I was going to find out about a goat. We’ve been talking about building a herd. Sell the milk as a sideline,” she said. “I’ve probably got a few more hours before they start looking. Might be night before they think about the hanging tree and find the wagon. They’ll put it together.”

He handed her the jug. “Will they try to follow you?”

“Maybe. But we’ll be too far gone.” She took a swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Will they hunt you?”

He doubted the Peacekeepers would be concerned anytime soon. Why would he desert with elite officers’ school waiting? If anyone even noticed he was missing, they’d probably think he’d gone into town with another Peacekeeper. Unless they found the gun, of course. He didn’t want to go into all the school stuff now while the wound was still fresh. “I don’t know. Even when they realize I’ve run, they won’t know where to look.”

They hiked on toward the lake, each lost in their own thoughts. It all seemed unreal to him, as if this were just a pleasure outing, as the one two Sundays ago had been. As if they were going for a picnic, and he must be sure to get back in time for fried baloney and curfew. But no. When they reached the lake, they’d move on into the wilderness, to a life consumed with the most basic type of survival. How would they eat? Where would they live? And what on earth would they do with themselves, when the challenges of obtaining food and shelter had been met? Her with no music. Him with no school, or military, or anything. Have a family? It seemed too bleak an existence to condemn a child to. Any child, let alone one of his own. What was there to aspire to once wealth, fame, and power had been eliminated? Was the goal of survival further survival and nothing more?

Preoccupied as he was with these questions, the second leg of the journey to the lake passed quickly. They set down their loads on the shore, and Lucy Gray went directly to find branches for fishing poles. “We don’t know what lies ahead, so we better fill up here,” she said. She showed him how to attach the heavy thread and hooks to their poles. Clawing through the soft mud for worms disgusted him, and he wondered if this would be a daily activity. It would, if they were hungry enough. They baited the hooks and sat silently on the bank, waiting for a strike as the birds chattered around them. She caught two. He caught nothing.

Heavy, dark clouds rolled in, providing some relief from the beating sun but adding to his oppression. This was his life now. Digging for worms and being at the mercy of the weather. Elemental. Like an animal. He knew this would be easier if he wasn’t such an exceptional person. The best and the brightest humanity had to offer. The youngest to pass the officer candidate test. If he’d been useless and stupid, the loss of civilization would not have hollowed out his insides in this manner. He’d have taken it in stride. Thick, cold raindrops began to plop down on him, leaving wet marks on his fatigues.

“Never be able to cook in this,” Lucy Gray said. “Better go inside. There’s a fireplace in there we can use.”

She could only mean the one lake house that still had a roof. Probably his last roof, until he built one himself. How did you build a roof anyway? It had not been a question on the officer candidate test.

After she’d quickly cleaned the fish and wrapped them in leaves, they gathered up their bundles and hurried to the house as the rain pelted them. It might’ve been fun, if it hadn’t been his real life. Just an adventure for a few hours, with a charming girl and a fulfilling future elsewhere. The door was jammed, but Lucy Gray bumped it with her hip and it swung open. They scrambled in out of the wet and dropped their belongings. It was only one room, with concrete walls, ceiling, and floor. There was no sign of electricity, but light came through the windows on four sides and the single door. His eyes lit on the fireplace, full of old ashes, with a neat pile of dried wood stacked beside it. At least they wouldn’t have to forage for that.

Lucy Gray crossed to the fireplace, laid the fish down on the little concrete hearth, and began to arrange layers of wood and twigs on an old metal grate. “We keep some wood in here so there’s always some dry.”

Coriolanus considered the possibility of just staying in the sturdy little house, with plenty of wood around and the lake to fish in. But no, it would be too dangerous to put down roots this close to District 12. If the Covey knew of this spot, surely other people did, too. He had to deny himself even this last shred of protection. Would he end up in a cave after all? He thought of the beautiful Snow penthouse, with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers. His home. His rightful home. The wind blew a splatter of rain in, peppering his pants with icy drops. He swung the door shut behind him and froze. The door had concealed something. A long burlap bag. From the opening poked the barrel of a shotgun.

It couldn’t be. Unable to breathe, he nudged the bag open with his boot, revealing the shotgun and a Peacekeeper’s rifle. A little more and he could recognize the grenade launcher. Beyond question, these were the black market guns Sejanus had bought in the shed. And among them the murder weapons.

Lucy Gray lit the fire. “I brought along an old metal can thinking maybe we could carry live coals from place to place. I don’t have many matches, and it’s hard to get a fire going from flint.”

“Uh-huh,” said Coriolanus. “Good idea.” How had the weapons gotten here? It made sense, really. Billy Taupe could have brought Spruce to the lake, or maybe Spruce had simply known about it anyway. It would have been useful to the rebels during the war, to have as a hideout. And Spruce had been smart enough to know he couldn’t risk hiding the evidence in District 12.

“Hey, what’d you find there?” Lucy Gray joined him and leaned down, pulling the burlap from the weapons. “Oh. Are these the ones they had in the shed?”

“I think they must be,” he said. “Should we take the guns along?”

Lucy Gray drew back, rose to her feet, and considered them for a long moment. “Rather not. I don’t trust them. This will come in handy, though.” She pulled out a long knife, turning the blade over in her hand. “I think I’ll go dig up some katniss, since we got the fire going anyway. There’s a good patch by the lake.”

“I thought they weren’t ready,” he said.

“Two weeks can make a lot of difference,” she said.

“It’s still raining,” he objected. “You’ll get soaked.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m not made of sugar.”

In truth, he was happy for a minute alone to think. After she left, he lifted the bottom of the burlap bag, and the weapons slid out onto the floor. Kneeling beside the pile, he picked up the Peacekeeper’s rifle he’d killed Mayfair with and cradled it in his arms. Here it was. The murder weapon. Not in a Capitol forensic lab, but here, in his hands, in the middle of the wilderness, where it posed no threat at all. All he had to do was destroy it, and he would be free from the hangman’s noose. Free to go back to the base. Free to go forward to District 2. Free to rejoin the human race without fear. Tears of relief flooded his eyes, and he began to laugh out of sheer joy. How would he do it? Burn it in a bonfire? Disassemble it and scatter the parts to the four winds? Throw it into the lake? Once the gun was gone, there’d be nothing to connect him to the murders. Absolutely nothing.

No, wait. There would be one thing. Lucy Gray.

Well, no matter. She would never tell. She wouldn’t be thrilled, obviously, when he told her there’d been a change of plans. That he was returning to the Peacekeepers and heading to District 2 tomorrow at dawn, essentially leaving her to her fate. Still, she’d never rat him out. It wasn’t her style, and it would implicate her in the murders as well. It would mean she could wind up dead, and as the Hunger Games had shown, Lucy Gray possessed an extraordinary talent for self-preservation. Plus, she loved him. She’d said so last night in the song. Even more, she trusted him. Although, if he ditched her in the woods to claw out an existence alone, no doubt she would consider that a breach of faith. He had to think of just the right way to break the news. But what would that be? “I love you deeply, but I love officers’ school more?” That wasn’t going to go over well.

And he did love her! He did! It was just that, only a few hours into his new life in the wilderness, he knew he hated it. The heat, and the worms, and those birds yakking nonstop . . .

She was certainly taking a long time with those potatoes.

Coriolanus glanced out the window. The rain had diminished to a sprinkle.

She hadn’t wanted to go by herself. Too lonely. Her song said that she needed, loved, and trusted him, but would she forgive him? Even if he deserted her? Billy Taupe had crossed her, and he’d ended up dead. He could hear him now . . .

“Makes me sick how you’re playing the kids. Poor Lucy Gray. Poor lamb.”

. . . and see her sinking her teeth into his hand. He thought about how coolly she’d killed in the arena. First that frail little Wovey; that was a cold-blooded move if he’d ever seen one. Then the calculated way she’d taken out Treech, baiting him to attack her, really, so she could whip that snake out of her pocket. And she claimed that Reaper had rabies, that it was a mercy kill, but who knew?

No, Lucy Gray was no lamb. She was not made of sugar. She was a victor.

He checked to see that the Peacekeeper’s rifle was loaded, then opened the door wide. She was nowhere in sight. He walked down to the lake, trying to remember where Clerk Carmine had been digging before he brought them the katniss plant. It didn’t matter. The swampy area around the lake was deserted, and the bank undisturbed.

“Lucy Gray?” The only response came from a lone mockingjay on a nearby branch, who made an effort to mimic his voice but failed, as his words were not particularly musical. “Give it up,” he muttered to the thing. “You’re no jabberjay.”

No question, she was hiding from him. But why? There could only be one answer. Because she’d figured it out. All of it. That destroying the guns would wash away all physical evidence of his connection to the murders. That he no longer wanted to run away. That she was the last witness to tie him to the crime. But they’d always had each other’s backs, so why would she suddenly think he might harm her? Why, when only yesterday, he’d been pure as the driven snow?

Sejanus. She must have figured out that Sejanus was the third person Coriolanus had killed. She wouldn’t have to know anything about the stunt with the jabberjays, only that he’d been Sejanus’s confidant, and that Sejanus was a rebel, while Coriolanus was a defender of the Capitol. Still, to think he’d kill her? He looked down at the loaded gun in his hands. Maybe he should’ve left it in the shed. It looked bad coming after her armed. As if he was hunting her. But he wasn’t really going to kill her. Just talk to her and make sure she saw sense.

Put down the gun, he told himself, but his hands refused to cooperate. All she has is a knife. A big knife. The best he could manage was to sling the gun onto his back. “Lucy Gray! Are you okay? You’re scaring me! Where are you?”

All she’d have to say was “I understand, I’ll go on alone, like I was planning to all along.” But just this morning she’d admitted she didn’t think she could make it on her own, that she’d return to the Covey after a few days. She knew he wouldn’t believe her.

“Lucy Gray, please, I just want to talk to you!” he shouted. What was her plan here? To hide until he grew tired and went back to the base? And then sneak back home tonight? That didn’t work for him. Even with the murder weapon gone, she’d still be dangerous. What if she went back to District 12 now and the mayor succeeded in getting her arrested? What if they interrogated or even tortured her? The story would come out. She hadn’t killed anyone. He had. His word against hers. Even if they didn’t believe her, his reputation would be destroyed. Their romance would be revealed, along with the details of how he’d cheated in the Hunger Games. Dean Highbottom might be brought in as a character witness. He couldn’t risk it.

Still no sign of her. She was giving him no choice but to hunt her down in the woods. The rain had stopped now, leaving the air humid and the earth muddy. He went back to the house and scanned the ground until he found the slight imprint of her shoes, then followed her tracks until he reached the brush where the woods began again in earnest and quietly made his way into the dripping trees.

Bird chatter filled his ears, and the overcast sky made visibility poor. The underbrush concealed her footprints, but somehow he felt he was on the right track. Adrenaline sharpened his senses, and he noticed a snapped branch here, a scuff mark in the moss there. He felt a bit guilty, frightening her this way. What was she doing, quivering in the bushes while she tried to suppress her sobs? The idea of life without him must be breaking her heart.

A patch of orange caught his eye, and he smiled. “I don’t want you to lose me,” she’d said. And he hadn’t. He pushed through the branches and into a small clearing canopied by trees. The orange scarf lay across some briars, where it had apparently blown loose and snagged as she fled. Oh, well. It confirmed he was on the right track. He went to retrieve it — maybe he’d keep it after all — when a faint rustle in the leaves pulled him up short. He’d just registered the snake when it struck, uncoiling like a spring and digging its teeth into the forearm extended toward the scarf.

“Aa!” he screamed in pain. It released him immediately and slithered into the brush before he even had a chance to get a good look at it. Panic set in as he stared at the red, arched bite mark on his forearm. Panic and disbelief. Lucy Gray had tried to kill him! This was no coincidence. The trailing scarf. The poised snake. Maude Ivory had said she always knew where to find them. This was a booby trap, and he’d walked straight into it! Poor lamb, indeed! He was beginning to sympathize with Billy Taupe.

Coriolanus knew nothing about snakes, other than the rainbow ones in the arena. Feet rooted to the ground, heart racing, he expected to die on the spot, but while the wound hurt, he was still standing. He didn’t know how long he might have, but by all things Snow, she was going to pay for this. Should he tie off the arm with a tourniquet? Suck out the venom? They hadn’t done survival training yet. Afraid his first aid treatments might only spread the poison more swiftly through his system, he yanked his sleeve down over his forearm, pulled his rifle off his shoulder, and started after her. If he’d felt better, he’d have laughed at the irony of how quickly their relationship had deteriorated into their own private Hunger Games.

She wasn’t so easy to track now, and he realized the earlier clues had been left to lead him directly to the snake. But she couldn’t be that far away. She’d want to know if the thing killed him, or if she should form another plan of attack. Maybe she hoped he’d pass out so she could cut his throat with the long knife. Trying to quiet his panting, he moved deeper into the woods, gently pushing the branches back with the nose of his rifle, but it was impossible to discern her whereabouts.

Think, he told himself. Where would she go? The answer hit him like a ton of bricks. She would not want to battle him, armed with a rifle, when she had only a knife. She’d return to the lake house to get a gun herself. Perhaps she’d circled around him and was headed there right now. He strained his ears and yes. Yes! He thought he could hear someone moving off to his right, retreating to the lake. He started running toward the sound and then stopped abruptly. Sure enough, having heard him, she was flying through the underbrush, realizing what he had realized, no longer caring if he heard her. He estimated her to be about ten yards away, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and released a spray of bullets in her direction. A flock of birds squawked as they took to the air, and he heard a faint cry. Got you, he thought. He crashed through the woods after her, branches and thorns catching his clothes and scratching his face, ignoring all of it until he came to the spot where he’d guessed her to be. There was no trace of her. No matter. She would have to move again, and when she moved, he’d find her.

“Lucy Gray,” he said in his normal voice. “Lucy Gray. It’s not too late to work something out.” Of course, it was, but he owed her nothing. Certainly not the truth. “Lucy Gray, won’t you talk to me?”

Her voice surprised him, lifting suddenly and sweetly into the air.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Yes, I get it, he thought. You know about Sejanus. “Necklace of rope” and all that.

He took a step in her direction just as a mockingjay picked up her song. Then a second. Then a third. The woods came alive with their melody as dozens joined in. He dove through the trees and then opened fire on the spot the voice had come from. Had he hit her? He couldn’t tell, because the birdsong filled his ears, disorienting him. Little black specks swam in his field of vision, and his arm began to throb. “Lucy Gray!” he bellowed in frustration. Clever, devious, deadly girl. She knew they’d cover for her. He lifted the rifle and machine-gunned the trees, trying to wipe out the birds. Many fluttered into the sky, but the song had spread, and the woods were alive with it. “Lucy Gray! Lucy Gray!” Furious, he turned this way and that and finally blasted the woods in a full circle, going around and around until his bullets were spent. He collapsed on the ground, dizzy and nauseous, as the woods exploded, every bird of every kind screaming its head off while the mockingjays continued their rendition of “The Hanging Tree.” Nature gone mad. Genes gone bad. Chaos.

He had to get out of there. His arm had begun to swell. He had to get back to the base. Forcing himself to his feet, he tramped back to the lake. Everything in the house remained as he had left it. At least he’d prevented her from getting back. Using a pair of his socks as gloves, he wiped off the murder weapon, crammed all the weapons back in the burlap bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and ran to the lake. Judging it heavy enough to sink without being weighted down with rocks, he plunged into the lake and towed it out into deeper water. He submerged the bag and watched it spiral slowly down into the gloom.

An alarming tingling enveloped his arm. A clumsy dog paddle carried him back to shore, and he staggered back to the house. What of the supplies? Should he drown those as well? No point. Either she was dead and the Covey would find them, or she was alive and she would hopefully use them to escape. He threw the fish into the fire to burn and left, closing the door tightly behind him.

The rain began again, a real downpour. He expected it would wash away any trace of his visit. The guns were gone. The supplies were Lucy Gray’s. The only thing that remained were his footprints, and those were melting before his eyes. The clouds seemed to be infiltrating his brain. He struggled to think. Get back. You must get back to base. But where was it? He pulled his father’s compass from his pocket, amazed it still worked after the dunking in the lake. Crassus Snow was still out there somewhere, still protecting him.

Coriolanus clung to the compass, a lifeline in the storm, as he headed south. He stumbled through the woods, terrified and alone but feeling his father’s presence beside him. Crassus might not have thought much of him, but he’d have wanted his legacy to live on, and perhaps Coriolanus had redeemed himself somewhat today? None of it would matter if the venom killed him. He stopped to vomit, wishing he’d brought along the jug of water. He vaguely realized that his DNA would be on that, too, but who cared? The jug was not a murder weapon. It didn’t matter. He was safe. If the Covey found Lucy Gray’s body, they wouldn’t report it. They wouldn’t want the attention it brought. It might connect them to the rebels or reveal their hideout. If there was a body. He could not even confirm he’d hit her.

Coriolanus made it back. Not to the hanging tree, exactly, but to District 12, wandering out of a stretch of trees into a clump of miners’ hovels and somehow finding the road. The ground shook with thunder, and lightning slashed the sky as he reached the town square. He saw no one as he made it to the base and climbed back through the fence. He went straight to the clinic, claiming he’d stopped to tie his shoe on his way to the gym, when a snake had appeared out of nowhere to bite him.

The doctor nodded. “The rain brings them out.”

“Does it?” Coriolanus thought his story would have been challenged, or at least met with skepticism.

The doctor did not seem suspicious. “Did you get a look at it?”

“Not really. It was raining, and it moved fast,” he answered. “Am I going to die?”

“Hardly,” the doctor chuckled. “It wasn’t even venomous. See the teeth marks? No fangs. Going to be sore for a few days, though.”

“Are you sure? I threw up, and I couldn’t think straight,” he said.

“Well, panic can do that.” She cleaned the wound. “Probably leave a scar.”

Good, thought Coriolanus. It will remind me to be more careful.

She gave him several shots and a bottle of pills. “Come by tomorrow, and we’ll check it again.”

“Tomorrow I’m being reassigned to District Two,” replied Coriolanus.

“Visit the clinic there, then,” she said. “Good luck, soldier.”

Coriolanus went back to his room, shocked to find it was only midafternoon. Between the booze and the rain, his bunkmates had never even risen. He went to the bathroom and emptied his pockets. The lake water had reduced his mother’s rose-scented powder to a nasty paste, and he threw the whole thing in the trash. The photos stuck together and shredded when he tried to separate them, so they went the way of the powder. Only the compass had survived the outing. He peeled off his clothes and scrubbed off the last bits of the lake. When he’d dressed, he took down his duffel and began to pack, returning the compass to his box of personal items and stowing it deep in the bag. On reflection, he opened Sejanus’s locker and took his box as well. When he got to District 2, he’d mail it to the Plinths with a note of condolence. That would be appropriate as Sejanus’s best friend. And who knew? Maybe the cookies would keep coming.

The following morning, after a tearful good-bye from his bunkmates, he boarded the hovercraft for District Two. Things improved immediately. The plush seat. The attendant. The beverage selection. Not luxurious, by any means, but a far cry from the recruit train. Comforted by comfort, he leaned his temple against the window, hoping to get in a nap. All night, while the rain had drummed on the barrack’s roof, he’d wondered where Lucy Gray was. Dead in the rain? Curled up by the fire in the lake house? If she’d survived, surely she’d abandoned the idea of returning to District 12. He dozed off with the melody to “The Hanging Tree” humming in his brain, and awoke hours later as the hovercraft touched down.

“Welcome to the Capitol,” the attendant said.

Coriolanus’s eyes popped open. “What? No. Did I miss my stop? I have to report to District Two.”

“This craft goes on to Two, but we have orders to drop you here,” said the attendant, checking a list. “I’m afraid you need to disembark. We have a schedule to keep.”

He found himself on the tarmac of a small, unfamiliar airport. A Peacekeepers’ truck pulled up, and he was ordered into the back. As he rattled along, unable to get any information from the driver, dread seeped into him. There had been a mistake. Or had there? What if they had somehow linked him to the murders? Maybe Lucy Gray had returned and accused him, and they needed to question him? Would they drag the lake for the weapons? His heart gave a little jump as they turned onto Scholars Road and drove past the Academy, quiet and still on a summer afternoon. There was the park where they’d sometimes hung out at after school. And the bakery with those cupcakes he loved. At least he’d been granted one more glimpse of his hometown. Nostalgia faded as the truck made a sharp turn and he realized they were heading up the drive to the Citadel.

Inside, the guards waved him right through to the elevator. “She’s expecting you in the lab.”

He held on to the thin hope that “she” meant Dr. Kay, not Dr. Gaul, but his old nemesis waved to him from across the lab as he stepped off the elevator. Why was he here? Was he going to end up in one of her cages? As he crossed to her, he saw her drop a live baby mouse into a tank of golden snakes.

“So the victor returns. Here, hold these.” Dr. Gaul pushed a metal bowl filled with squirming, pink rodents into his hands.

Coriolanus suppressed a gag. “Hello, Dr. Gaul.”

“I got your letter,” she said. “And your jabberjay. Too bad about young Plinth. Although, is it, really? Anyway, I was pleased to see you were continuing your studies in Twelve. Developing your worldview.”

He felt himself pulled right back into the old tutorial with her, as if nothing had happened. “Yes, it was eye-opening. I thought about all the things we’d discussed. Chaos, control, the contract. The three C’s.”

“Did you think about the Hunger Games?” she asked. “The day we met, Casca asked you what their purpose was, and you gave the stock answer. To punish the districts. Would you change that now?”

Coriolanus remembered the conversation he’d had with Sejanus as they’d unpacked his duffel. “I’d elaborate on it. They’re not just to punish the districts, they’re part of the eternal war. Each one is its own battle. One we can hold in the palm of our hand, instead of waging a real war that could get out of our control.”

“Hm.” She swung a mouse away from a gaping mouth. “You there, don’t be greedy.”

“And they’re a reminder of what we did to each other, what we have the potential to do again, because of who we are,” he continued.

“And who are we, did you determine?” she asked.

“Creatures who need the Capitol to survive.” He couldn’t help getting in a dig. “It’s all pointless, though, you know. The Hunger Games. No one in Twelve even watches it. Except for the reaping. We didn’t even have a working television on base.”

“While that could be a problem in the future, it’s a blessing this year, given that I’ve had to erase the whole mess,” said Dr. Gaul. “It was a mistake getting the students mixed up in it. Especially when they started dropping like flies. Presented the Capitol as far too vulnerable.”

“You erased it?” he asked.

“Every last copy gone, never to be aired again.” She grinned. “I’ve a master in the vault, of course, but that’s just for my own amusement.”

He was glad about the erasure. It was just one more way to eliminate Lucy Gray from the world. The Capitol would forget her, the districts barely knew her, and District 12 had never accepted her as one of their own. In a few years, there would be a vague memory that a girl had once sung in the arena. And then that would be forgotten, too. Good-bye, Lucy Gray, we hardly knew you.

“Not a total loss. I think we’ll bring Flickerman back next year. And your idea about the betting is a keeper,” she said.

“You need to somehow make the viewing mandatory. No one in Twelve will tune in to something that depressing by choice,” he told her. “They spend what little free time they have drinking to forget the rest of their lives.”

Dr. Gaul chuckled. “It seems you’ve learned a lot on your summer vacation, Mr. Snow.”

“Vacation?” he said, perplexed.

“Well, what were you going to do here? Laze around the Capitol, combing out your curls? I thought a summer with the Peacekeepers would be far more educational.” She took in the confusion on his face. “You don’t think I’ve invested all this time in you to hand you off to those imbeciles in the districts, do you?”

“I don’t understand, I was told —” he began.

She cut him off. “I’ve ordered you an honorable discharge, effective immediately. You’re to study under me at the University.”

“The University? Here in the Capitol?” he said in surprise.

She dropped one last mouse into the tank. “Classes start Thursday.”