Originally I was planning to wait until I had finished the whole story before posting. The main to remember is that I already know who in my mind is going to win the Games. Also, another writer on ff.net has already written an Animorphs/HG crossover called "The 54th" Hunger Games. So a quick bit of trivia; If you take all 54 of the regular Animorphs books, then add four Megamorphs, four Chronicles, two alternamorphs, the limited edition calendar, the unofficial biography of the Animorphs television show, the interview with the actors in Disney Adventures, plus the parody, Veggemorphs, you get the number 67.
Cheesy as heck, I know. But I wanted the distinctive title and this seemed like the way to do it.
Also, fair warning, the ratio is pretty much 25% Animorphs/75% Hunger Games. I'll leave it to you to figure out which aspects I'm using and leaving out.
Chapter One
My name is Jake. I don't think many people get a lot of sleep the night before the reaping. Parents worry that this could be the last day they see their kids alive and the children wonder if they will be chosen out of the hundreds of others. Last night I barely slept more than an hour. But I put on a good face for the sake of my parents as I stood in front of the mirror, buttoning the clean blue shirt that Dad bought for me. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame while I combed my hair, saying nothing. The tie was a bit much, so in spite of Mom's insistence, I left it draped over the mirror. It's not like I was getting married.
Just like last year, Mom made a huge breakfast. Eggs, toast, sausage, orange juice. There was a turkey slowly roasting in the oven and the whole house smelled of warm meat and vegetables. Homer, my dog, sat in the mudroom chewing on a bone from last night's dinner.
Every so often I would look up, pretending to be interested in what Homer was doing, but really only trying to see if Mom was still watching me eat. Each time I caught her and she would also silently look towards the dog, or sip her coffee, or find something else to focus on until I went back to eating.
It bothered me last year, but I understood better now. She just wanted to remember every detail. Just like Dad, silently watching me prepare for this day by trying to burn each moment into his memory, knowing full well that this could be the last day. I wish I could say that it didn't make me even more nervous, but really I was wondering if any of this food would come back up in the wave of nausea that threatened to break any moment.
“I should stop by and see Tom,” I said, breaking the silence at breakfast.
“It's up to you,” Dad said. As a doctor, he didn't put much weight in my superstitious belief that seeing Tom would somehow keep me safe. As if Tom were some mythical being from the fairy tales in the old days. In the hospital there was only the certainty that people would die or people would live. He would do his best to make sure that every man, woman or child brought to his table would be able to walk back out again, but there were no guarantees. Luck and miracles were for people who needed to believe that some intangible force was responsible for what went right and wrong in their lives.
Well, visiting Tom worked last year, but I didn't feel like pointing that out. Of course I only had my name in once then and this year it would be two times. So maybe Dad was right and all I was doing was trying to put myself at ease.
I helped Mom clean the dishes and gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving the house. Though I had taken Homer for his morning constitutional, I wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.
The morning shade of the mountain slowly moved across the valleys as we made our way through the residential part of District Two and to the stretch of grassland that formed a kind of border between the houses, the schools, and the factories and commerce areas. Usually by this time the district was alive with the echoes of sledgehammers and the bustle of men and women on the morning shift making their way to the quarries or the refineries. But all but the most essential places, like the hospital, the Peacekeepers and the Justice Building, were closed for business in celebration of the reaping. The hospital would be open, but the only people there would either be dead, dying, or attending to the above.
A few small children stopped to pet Homer. While it wasn't strictly forbidden to keep a dog as a pet, it was still very rare. Peacekeepers used dogs for sniffing out contraband and tracking suspected criminals into areas where the hovercraft couldn't go. But Homer was a rare breed known as a golden retriever. The mother had made her way down from the mountains and into the city, looking for food and water. Tom found her dead behind one of the refineries in the granite district while he was out on a patrol with his trainer. The litter was barely alive, but they hadn't opened their eyes yet. So he gathered the puppies and brought them to Lady Price, the cat breeder, who cleaned, domesticated, and trained them until they were old enough to be be sold. Tom got to keep a percentage of the very nice profit and let me pick out one from the litter as as a birthday present when I was eight.
Peacekeepers are our second major export next to masonry. Because we provide Panem with the bulk of it's security force, we have the Capitol's favor and very few families are ever so bad off that they need to apply for tessera. But people could still fall on hard times. Someone might get injured in the refinery and their family would be stuck with the hospital bills. In order to feed their family, or to earn their keep at the community homes and orphanages, the children might have to apply for the meager year's supply of grain and oil in exchange for placing their name in the reaping bowl one extra time for themselves and each member of their families, thus increasing their chances of being selected as the tribute for District Two.
Because my family was relatively well off, some people naturally resented us. There were even more than a few unfounded rumors (whispered in places where people thought they were safe to talk about such things) that somehow the children in my family were exempt from the reaping since our parents were so important in the community. But that definitely wasn't true.
I stopped at the gate. There was a sign that clearly said no dogs allowed. And though I had brought Homer to see Tom many times before, the laws would be even more strictly enforced on Reaping day. And if anyone believed I was given any special privileges for being the brother and nephew of a Peacekeeper, those rumors would be quickly squashed if I got myself whipped outside the Justice Building for insubordination.
“Sorry Homer,” I said, tying the leash to the gate. “But I need you to stay here.”
Homer whined, but he sat down obediently and I praised him. The gate was unlocked. People would stop by throughout the day, visiting with loved ones, or just enjoying the day off with a little exercise in a nice part of the district.
Rows of monuments made of tough weathered granite, or brilliant and reflective marble lined the various sections of the land. Entire families were buried here. Some sections were devoted exclusively to those who died in the service of the Capitol, defending the people in the Rebellion. Some stones were beautifully carved, with unique designs or images and others graves were simply marked with a nice picket sign, depending on how wealthy the family was or whether or not someone was well liked enough by their friends, family or fellow workers.
At the top of the hill, over looking a limestone quarry were two mausoleums. Both of them were almost a showcase of the talents of District Two's masons and craftsmen. Beautiful columns lined the entrance and the doors were made from intricately designed wrought iron, with stained glass carvings of the Seal of Panem. One was for past victors of the Hunger Games and the other was for the tributes who died in the arena.
Tom was just a Peacekeeper trainee until his eighteenth birthday, the last year of eligibility for the reapings. His name was only in the bowl for the usual amount, but the odds were not in his favor that day. When Joeseph Robert Fenestre called out his name in that sickeningly cheerful tone, no one volunteered to take Tom's place as the male tribute, which was unusual for District Two.
The door was heavy and made a loud creaking noise as I opened it just enough to slip inside. Although it was perfectly legal to be here, there was always creeping sense of paranoia about being caught. As if Cardiff, the groundskeeper might see me up here and report me for whatever trumped up reason came to his drug addled brain.
Tom's name was on a flat marble marker at the back of the crypt. Next to it was the number indicating what Games he had died in. Like I needed anything to remind me of the images broadcast for the world to see. A projector was built into the marker. My parents, along with Tom's fellow trainees all chipped in to have it installed. I pressed the button and a small holographic image of Tom stood, suspended in thin air.
The image was from a year before the reaping. Standing tall and proud, in full uniform, he had a trademark grin that told you this wasn't an official photo, but one taken during a family gathering.
“How's it going, bro?” I asked. “What do you think?”
I took a step back, held up my arms and turned around slowly.
Do I look like I'm about to be thrown to the wolves? There were probably recording devices installed here, so I was careful about what I said out loud, even when no one else was there.
After I said goodbye to Tom, I brought Homer back to the house and tied him outback. The house was empty. Dad would be at the hospital doing routine check-ups. Mom worked at the Justice Building. When she wasn't accepting applications for tessera she was usually one of the workers taking the headcount at the reaping. If a child didn't show up, she would report it to the Peacekeepers who would then launch a district wide search, and it would not end well for anyone thought to be harboring a fugitive. Not that it ever happened here. There were news reports from places like District 3, or 12 where someone thought they could escape their fate and only wound up as an example to the rest.
I would definitely see mom later. Dad, if he didn't have an emergency to tend to, would be watching the reaping on television in his office, or with the other staff members who also had children present.
Trying to put it all out of my head, I made sure Homer had plenty of food and water and headed down to Rachel's house just four blocks from home. Their house was simpler than ours. One floor, three bedrooms, with a huge backyard. The best a Peacekeeper could afford and not as bad as some had to settle for. Astrid, my aunt and Rachel's mother was the one who recruited Tom when he applied to join the Peacekeepers at sixteen. Her dad worked in District 6 and we rarely saw him more than once or twice a year.
As I got closer to the house, I could hear the usual sounds of movement in the backyard; Something heavy striking a stationary object, followed by a string of angry curse words or a shout of triumph; which was usually still a curse word depending on the kind of day Rachel had.
“Where are the girls?” I asked, announcing my presence long before I had even come around the house. The last time I startled her while she was working out, she nearly fertilized the ground with my brains.
Calm, if annoyed at the interruption, Rachel turned around. Dressed in a tight black leotard, with her hair tied back in a single braid that fell below her shoulders, Rachel held a sledgehammer in her hands. Behind her, hanging from a tree, was a frighteningly realistic looking dummy swinging back and forth from the momentum of the beating. Rachel was a few inches taller than me despite being a year younger, and the long hours of swinging a hammer and carrying it to and from the quarry was showing in her wide, muscular frame, and her skin had an almost deathlike pallor from chiseling away at the limestone.
Rachel wasn't technically old enough to be working in the quarries. But somewhere along the line she fell in love with the workers who lived close by. Not romantically in love with any one person, exactly. But in love with the idea of being so strong and practically able to knock down a wall with just your fists as a result of something as simple as swinging a hammer, or a pickaxe and chipping away at the raw stone. Astrid used her influence as a Peacekeeper to get Rachel in for part time work, and Rachel used the money to help support the family.
“Amber and Garnet are with Grandma,” she answered. “They're going to be at the Justice Building watching from the crowds.”
Now that she knew I was there, Rachel turned back to the dummy and went back to her practice swings. The yard was littered with targets, broken piles of brick, and pieces of lumber that had once been made to look like stick figures of people. On some of the “people” were numbers, or fragments of numbers. It didn't take a genius to realize that these were supposed to represent tributes from the other districts.
Rachel swung and this time, the dummy had enough. It wasn't until the body fell from the neck and dirt spilled all over the ground that I saw the shimmery red wig that had decorated the head. This dummy had been made to look like someone we both knew very well. From the way Rachel seethed, I could tell she had been working her way up to this moment, using the very thought of this person to get herself angry enough to strike out and “kill” her.
“So what do you want?”
“I thought you might want to walk to the Justice Building together.” I said.
Rachel laughed.
“Oh, because I need big strong maaaaan to take me to the reaping.”
I shrugged and returned the mocking tone.
“Actually I was hoping they'd realize how ugly you were and take pity on me when I get reaped. Maybe if I win I can afford to get you a face job in the Capitol.”
Rachel faked a swing with the hammer, but the grin on her face told me I was safe. She leaned the hammer against the tree and went into the house to get ready while I sat in the living room, watching the interview between Pop Grigarena and the Head Game Maker, Ketran Crayak. Clips of the previous Games and their victors played across the screen. Were Districts One, Two and Four twice as likely to win because of their dedication to perfecting their tributes? Or would an underdog district like Nine or Twelve take home the crown this year? What was Crayak's crowning moment of achievement, or was that yet to come?
“Well Pop, that's a tough one-”
A series of clips from the Ketran's time as Head Game Maker played across the screen as he spoke, including an image of the 47th Games. Tom's Games. The male tribute from Six was locked in a vicious struggle on a rocky shore with the girl from Two, as some strange squid-like creature lashed out from a large body of water trying to drag them in.
“-and honestly, I think it's my creatures that have been the real stars of these Games-”
Another image from an earlier Games included the last four tributes running from some six-foot tall humanoid creature with charcoal black skin and veins of glowing orange... well it looked like magma and it was creepy no matter what it was. A shrill howling sound seemed to paralyze one of the tributes as the creatures caught up to him. Thankfully they cut back to Pop and Ketran before we could see the goriest parts of that moment.
Rachel came out of her room. Her hair was still braided, but her face was now cleaner, with a natural, shinier tone to her skin. The black leotard was replaced with a sky blue blouse and matching skirt, with a thin brown belt around her waist.
“Wow,” I said. It was like seeing an angel where the corpse had once been, though my sense of self preservation kept me from using those exact words. What I went with was, “You look nice.”
“Mom got these for me,” Rachel replied, clearly unimpressed with the compliment. “She spent almost half a day's pay.”
I was about to say more, but the city bell rang. We had an hour to be at the Justice Building.
On the way, Rachel got more than a few blank stares from the neighbors and other passerby. She responded either with indifference, annoyance, and to one person out right rudeness.
“What are you looking at?” She snapped.
When the poor old woman who had tried to compliment Rachel was long out of earshot, I whispered,
“You know it's the pretty and friendly people who get the sponsors.”
“I don't need sponsors,” she said, not caring who heard. “I just need a good sword or a water bottle and I'm set.”
The way she said it almost made me believe her. Of course it was no use pointing out to her that a sword was useless if you didn't know how to use it. And a water bottle was great, if you found a clean source of water, or had some iodine handy. One year a ton of tributes died contracting dysentery from a polluted well in the middle of a village setting. And then there was that boy who cut himself showing off with a heavy sword, and wound up slowly bleeding to death while bets were made as to how long he would live.
Like the stones in the cemetery, the Justice Building was a showcase of the talent and craftsmanship of District Two's citizens. A combination of brick, steel, and glass gave the impression of being clean and untouched by time. The sidewalk and pavement all around the building had been redone for the occasion so that everything had the smell of freshly laid concrete and tar. Not that it helped the nausea that some of us were no doubt feeling, but it was certainly pretty looking.
Huge flat television screens were actually embedded into the walls on either side of the archway that made up the entrance and you could see the crowds, the Justice Building, and areal shots of District Two from at various angles alternating angles provided by the camera crews from the rooftops on the adjacent buildings and surrounding the area.
Tall columns of marble glistened in the sunlight and banners of green, purple and gold wafted in the breeze between them alternating between the Seal of Panem and the flag of District Two. A stage was built in front of the Justice Building, and there you could see two large glass bowls filled with the names of every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen written on little white cards. Another flat screen television was situated above the podium and this showed the area where the children eligible for Reaping were being corralled.
Rachel and I separated once we checked in at the desk as we were ushered to our respective places. From my place among the thirteens, I tried to see Rachel among the twelves on the girl's side but the crowd was too thick. Then I tried to find a familiar face among the Peacekeepers, but they were all wearing the same uniform with their helmets and visors making it difficult to tell one from the other. Aunt Naomi might even have been with the team responsible for checking the homes and possible hiding places for anyone not present at the Justice Building. After all, my mother wasn't there when I gave a sample of my blood to the census taker.
Mayor Rook Chapman took the podium and the crowds went silent. He launched into the traditional speech detailing the history of Panem. How we rose from the ashes of a once powerful nation known as North America. He listed the various disasters that destroyed ninety percent of the world's landmass as well as the population. Then came the history of the rebellion against the Capitol, which ended in defeat and with the destruction of District Thirteen, and forced the remaining twelve districts to sign the Treaty of Treason.
“Each year the districts send one boy and one girl to compete in the annual Hunger Games. The lone winner and their family is given wealth, fame and glory and brings honor and privilege to their district for one whole year, to remind us of the Capitol's mercy.”
Cheers erupted from all around me, mostly from the group affectionately known as Careers. Boys and girls who spent their whole lives in preparation for this moment, training for whatever challenges the Game Makers might throw at them, and hoping for the chance to prove their worth in the arena.
Was I weak for not being so enthusiastic? There were certainly plenty of kids in this crowd who didn't want to be in the Games. But even if they got chosen, there were plenty of eager boys and girls among us who would gladly volunteer in their place. Admittedly, I was not one of them. Was I really just a selfish kid from a well off family, who never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from and therefore didn't see the need to fight for my family's sake? Tom's reaping played itself out in my mind over and over again. Did he really have to die?
The effeminate voice of Fenestre, the District Two escort snapped me out of my thoughts as the crowd quieted down. Fenestre wore his trademark sparkling green trench coat with the gold buttons, and his face had a smooth, childlike quality that glistened as much as the coat.
“It is such an honor to be here, as always,” he went on. “You know, you kids with your unbridled enthusiasm really make this a great district to visit every year. You embody the human spirit and you remind us all that the Hunger Games are no longer a punishment, but a chance to rise above the rest and prove to the world what we are truly worth.”
And the ones who die are chopped liver, I imagined him saying. The Careers were drawing enough attention to themselves that I didn't have to work too hard to appear enthusiastic, but I didn't dare take the chance of showing how much I hated being here.
“May the odds be ever in your favor!” The crowd went silent once again, as Fenestre went to girl's bowl first. A quick glance and I could see the hopefuls among the boys and girls while Fenestre made a show of fishing through the pieces of paper.
“Rachel Berenson!”
My heart fell into my stomach. Of course Rachel had prepared for this as rigorously as any Career, and I knew she wanted this. But the odds of getting chosen first on your first year in the Games were so incredibly high, even in places like District 5 where the population was considerably smaller. I knew she hadn't applied for tesserae because Mom would have said something. And what shocked me even more than hearing her name was hearing... nothing.
Nothing from the girl's side anyway. There was the usual cheering and applause, but no one shouting out their name, or putting up their hand, or trying to fight their way to the aisle to be the first to volunteer. Rachel proudly stepped out of line and I watched as she made her way to the stage.
Fenestre seemed to find it odd too, because he just had to ask, “Are you girls simply stunned by this young woman's beauty?”
Not a word, except for a few light chuckles.
As Rachel climbed onto the stage Fenestre seemed to shrug it off and greeted her warmly, even going so far as to peck her on the cheek. I tensed for a moment, remembering the way she broke a boy's finger for copping a feel at a school assembly. Fortunately, Rachel had the sense not to haul off and mortally injure our district escort on live television.
After what felt like a century, Fenestre finally went into the boy's bowl.
Before he even drew a name, I shouted, “I volunteer!”
This caused a bit more of a fuss as all eyes turned to me. Some of them were nasty, promising to kill me out right for speaking out of turn. Others looked confused. But the chaos started as the Careers spoke up, shouting their own names out. One boy from the fourteens tried to brush past me as Mayor Chapman tried to get everything under control. Fenestre just seemed to look on in a kind of sickly amused fascination.
“My name is Jake Berenson!” All of the cameras were on me now as I pushed my way through the crowd. Some gave me a wide birth while the Careers made more of an effort to keep me from stepping into the aisle. Two Peacekeepers approached, weapons at the ready but I refused to back down. So what if my aunt was a Peacekeeper? Tom was training to be one and that didn't stop them from reaping him. “My name is Jake Berenson and I volunteer as the male tribute for District Two!”
“Hold on, hold on!”
That voice was different. It was from a woman with long dark hair, who sat beside Mayor Chapman. She and the man who sat next to her were victors from before my time but Katarine was by far one of the most popular of the District Two victors alive today. Careers always watched recordings from previous games as a part of their training, and as one of the most the most recent victors for District Two, it was she and the male victor who also sat beside her that was responsible for preparing new tributes and trying to keep them alive in the arena.
“Let him through!” She shouted.
Katarine was also frequent patient at our hospital. This was one of the few times I had seen her walking upright and sober. The other victor was Mycal and he barely showed any sign of emotion as he sized me up.
“We have our male volunteer!” At the sound of Fenestre's voice, the Peacekeepers stopped trying to block me. I made my way to the stage, standing upright and proud as felt the eyes of the Careers burning into me. The ones who would be too old to be eligible for next year's Games were definitely sore, but I didn't care now.
Fenstre continued praising District Two and congratulating us on being selected, and the mayor recited the treaty of treason. The whole time I was trying to lock gazes with Rachel. I wanted her to know that I wasn't going to let her face this alone. But she didn't look at me again until we were ushered into the Justice Building and lead to separate rooms where we would get a chance to say goodbye to any family and friends before leaving for the Capitol.
The look she gave me was not one of gratitude. It was resentment.
