Filed To Story: Sunrise on the Reaping Book PDF Free
I don’t see President Snow all night. Or much of my team either. Proserpina and Vitus swing by to congratulate me, tipsy and pink-faced. Drusilla and Magno, who success seems to have reconciled, kiss and coo and briefly pose for photos with me. Magno can’t even remember my name and insists on calling me Hamwich, which makes me sound like a ham sandwich. The only person who keeps an eye on me is Effie Trinket. She mingles nearby, watchful, but careful not to take any credit for my success.
It’s not until the wee hours, as things are winding down, that Plutarch sidles up to my cage, seemingly focused on an uncooperative camera.
“What’s happening with my family? Lenore Dove?” I say under my breath.
“No word on your family. She’s still on the base,” he whispers.
“What? She said they were letting her go in the morning. Did they arrest her again?”
“No. They never released her.”
“What?”
He’s moved on, leaving me to dissect those horrible words.
Never released. That was a lie, theirs or possibly hers. A gift she gave me so I wouldn’t worry about her, only myself. And it worked. But now I know that she has been absolutely helpless, completely at their mercy, this whole time while I sabotaged their arena. Confined. Starved. Tortured. Raped. Murdered. I grip the golden bars, petrified, as the words I’ve been refusing to consider pound in my brain.
The woman with the cat ears appears, dangling a shrimp before me. My mouth opens automatically and I chew the delicacy while her friend takes our picture. I cannot quit now. Lenore Dove’s life is at stake.
When dawn finally breaks, I’m allowed to relieve myself in a pink marble bathroom with curlicues and rose-scented soap. I’m hoping to be sent to the train station, but instead I’m returned to the apartment. Fresh rolls and milk have been provided. Clean clothes. I’m not going home any time soon.
For the next ten days, I’m carted around the Capitol – to parties and interviews and fashion shoots – to publicly revel in my victory. No greater suck-up exists in the history of the Games. No humiliation is beneath me. I will bear anything to keep my loved ones alive.
Finally, after an all-night party at the Capitol zoo, the Peacekeepers transport me to the deserted train station, which is still hung with the propaganda banners.
NO PEACE, NO PROSPERITY! NO HUNGER GAMES, NO PEACE! And President’s Snow’s parting shot,
PANEM’S #1 PEACEKEEPER.
A doctor, who waits at the door of the train, deftly removes my pump, leaving oozy spots where the teeth secured it to my chest. I can’t pretend I’m sad to see it go, although within minutes the drugs wear off and my scar starts to hurt.
No bunk bed with the stiff quilt for me. Back in chains, I’m locked in the room Plutarch once freed me from. He’s nowhere to be seen now. I guess the show’s over for real. I wrap Great-Uncle Silius’s champagne bubble jacket tightly around my body and sit in the corner, feeling the pain blossom across my gut.
The Capitol’s got every reason to get rid of me, but the train refuses to budge. I have to get home. I have to know what has happened.
After a couple of hours, a Peacekeeper comes in with a roll and a carton of milk. Still on the Snow diet.
“Why aren’t we moving?” I ask.
“Been waiting for your friends,” he replies, with a nod to the window, then goes.
My friends? I have no friends here. Does he mean my team? I look out the window of my cell. Three carts are being rolled down the platform. Each carries a plain wooden box. After a momentary confusion, I put it together. They are coffins. Louella, Maysilee, and Wyatt will be riding home with me. I thought them long buried, peacefully resting in their family plots on the hill in District 12. Instead, we will finish this journey together.
I slide back down the wall, shaking uncontrollably. I think of the state their bodies must be in, violated by chariots and blades and birds. I imagine their families, weeping and waiting at the station, turning their backs on me or, worse, turning their faces to me for explanations. Does the Capitol always send the fallen back with the victor? Or is this a parting gift for me in particular?
I can hear the muffled thuds as they load the coffins onto the train. Quite close to me. The next car, I think. Doors slam shut. The train begins to roll. I curl up on the floor, my face against the wall, wishing I’d earned a coffin as well. But no, I have a homecoming to enjoy.
My thoughts turn to Lenore Dove. My Covey girl. What happened to Snow’s? The mysterious District 12 victor. She could be alive. He is. And yet she’s all but vanished from memory in District 12. Did President Snow have her killed? No, he would only have been a boy. Hardly older than me. He wouldn’t have been in power. Not like now. What plans does he have for my dove? I think of the Covey song, the one Maysilee’s mamaw used to quote when she was scared. . . .
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping. The arrogance of those bold words. You can take several things from me – my ma, my brother, my love – that are the only things worth keeping.
Another song surfaces unbidden. Also forbidden. Lenore Dove plays it for Burdock sometimes. . . .
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you
Coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here
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