Filed To Story: Sunrise on the Reaping Book PDF Free
Mags returns, troubled. “I put her to bed. There’s some sort of device attached to her chest, pumping a drug into her, I think. I was afraid to remove it. That might kill her. I’ve seen something similar before.”
“Why did you ask if she was from Eleven?” says Maysilee.
“The roll she chose. With the seeds. It’s theirs.”
The arrival of Lou Lou has steamrolled the boost we got from joining the Newcomers. A couple of hours ago we had a clear direction, but Snow’s gift has reminded us of our frailty and the futility of opposing him. I can’t remember what our feeble plan was, or why it mattered. We eat supper in silence, each occupied with our own dreary thoughts.
Dreary. Lenore Dove taught me that word. It’s in the first line of her song. What I wouldn’t give to see her one more time.
There was a moment, when Snow said he had a gift for me, that I thought he meant Lenore Dove. The way he was going on about the flint striker and the Covey. Glad it wasn’t, though. She’s much safer in that “ghastly wilderness” around 12.
Mags and Wiress try to get us back on track. After supper, we gather in the living room and talk through our day. Mags seems pleased with the alliance and encourages us to pursue it. I feel better about teaming up with Wyatt and Maysilee as well. Wyatt’s more honorable than he has any right to be, given his family, and Maysilee won a lot of points by helping the other tributes with their tokens.
Wiress asks if there are any clues about the arena we might have picked up in training.
“Tarps,” says Wyatt, without missing a beat.
“Like . . . sheets of plastic?” I ask.
“Yeah. Did you see that one lady’s booth? All she did was show you different things to do with a tarp. Make a poncho, collect rainwater, turn it into a pack. Made me think it was going to be wet in there. Because in the mines, we use them to keep things dry.”
“I think you may be onto something,” says Wiress. “What about you, Maysilee?”
“I didn’t get to many booths. I was too busy making tokens. Trying to complement people’s outfits. But you know how we’re all in different colors? They’re the same colors we were wearing last night in the chariots. Red for Ten, peach for Eight. And if they end up dressing us like that in the arena, which they might do to help the audience keep us straight, then being in black could be a real plus. Especially at night. We may be able to move about to gather food or whatever, while other districts have to hide.”
“Also very good,” says Wiress. “Haymitch, did you notice anything?”
“Well, right about now I’m noticing how good Wyatt and Maysilee are at noticing things. I need to pay more attention. But there’s this.” I tell them about Beetee and the potato, fudging the science part. “All I can glean from that is it could be dark and root vegetables might come in handy.”
“If it’s wet, like Wyatt thinks, then there may be no dry wood and building a fire for light won’t be an option, so we’ll have to plug into potatoes,” says Maysilee.
Wyatt considers this. “Or maybe we’ll have to dig for food.”
“That’s an interesting connection,” says Mags.
He shrugs. “It’s no great shakes. I dig for a living.”
At bedtime, we stand outside the girls’ room, watching Lou Lou sleep, unsure what to do.
“I can take your bed,” I tell Maysilee.
“No,” she says. “It’s okay.”
“We could come sleep on your floor,” offers Wyatt. “Probably closer to what the arena will be like anyway.”
So that’s what we do. Mags helps Wyatt and me haul our bedclothes and some sofa cushions in and we make up pallets on the floor.
“Do you think we should practice being on watch?” asks Maysilee when we’re all ready for lights-out.
“Good idea. I’ll go first.” I settle in cross-legged with a blanket over my lap.
Mags checks on Lou Lou one last time, tells us good night, and turns out the lights as she closes the door behind her.
After a time, Wyatt falls asleep and starts up the chain saw. Maysilee’s so buried in her covers I can’t tell her status. My ribs ache and I lean back on Lou Lou’s bed, stretching out my arms and letting her mattress take their weight.
Lou Lou stirs fitfully, and I hear her murmuring something but can’t make out the words. Don’t really want to know. It won’t be good. Dog-tired, I start to doze off but startle at the feel of frigid little fingers clutching mine. In her sleep, Lou Lou’s rolled over onto her side. She holds on to my hand for dear life, her pulse beating fast like a baby bird’s heart.
I remember Louella’s hand taking mine on the train, and resist the impulse to pull away. “It’s okay, Lou Lou,” I whisper, sort of patting her side. “No one here will hurt you.”
I could try a lullaby to soothe her, but I don’t want to wake the others. Not much of a singer anyway, and I’m supposed to be practicing keeping watch for the arena. I think how Lenore Dove sings to me sometimes. Lonely for her, I close my eyes for a moment and let her voice find me. . . .
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door –
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door –
“Only this and nothing more.”
I jerk awake. Was that a tapping? Or did I dream it?
The strip of light under the door, the numbers on the bed-table clock, even the blinking green light of the device on the wall – a camera? A smoke detector? A temperature controller? – have all vanished. Only the faint glow of the Capitol city lights through the window blinds keeps the dark at bay. The humming of the apartment has been stilled; no purring machines or soft currents break the silence. Far away, a car honks. Then nothing. Under my blanket, I sweat. The warm, stagnant air smells like the inside of the cistern and stale supper.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.