The Hunger Games Trilogy Read online

  And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him.

  In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

  The anthem’s playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There’s just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd’s confusion—whose head will he place it on?—until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta’s brow with a smile. He’s still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake’s.

  That’s when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I’m the instigator. I’m the one to be punished.

  Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice.

  Peeta and I are whisked to the president’s mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta’s hand.

  The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I’ll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door.

  “Why can’t I talk to him?” I ask.

  “Plenty of time for talk when we get home,” says Haymitch. “Go to bed, you’re on air at two.”

  Despite Haymitch’s running interference, I’m determined to see Peeta privately. After I toss and turn for a few hours, I slip into the hall. My first thought is to check the roof, but it’s empty. Even the city streets far below are deserted after the celebration last night. I go back to bed for a while and then decide to go directly to his room, but when I try to turn the knob, I find my own bedroom door has been locked from the outside. I suspect Haymitch initially, but then there’s a more insidious fear that the Capitol may be monitoring and confining me. I’ve been unable to escape since the Hunger Games began, but this feels different, much more personal. This feels like I’ve been imprisoned for a crime and I’m awaiting sentencing. I quickly get back in bed and pretend to sleep until Effie Trinket comes to alert me to the start of another “big, big, big day!”

  I have about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot grain and stew before the prep team descends. All I have to say is, “The crowd loved you!” and it’s unnecessary to speak for the next couple of hours. When Cinna comes in, he shoos them out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. We make idle chitchat, but I’m afraid to ask him anything of real importance because after the incident with the door, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched constantly.

  The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least.

  Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I come in. “Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?”

  “Fine. Nervous about the interview,” I say.

  “Don’t be. We’re going to have a fabulous time,” he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat.

  “I’m not good at talking about myself,” I say.

  “Nothing you say will be wrong,” he says.

  And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of “accident” for me as we speak.

  Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. “I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart.”

  Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, “Yes, he’s gotten very responsible lately.”

  “Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time,” says Peeta.

  I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there’s no time to analyze why, because they’re ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, “Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet.” So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him.

  Someone counts backward and just like that, we’re being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta.

  Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. “Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?” Caesar says.

  “From the moment I laid eyes on her,” says Peeta.

  “But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?” asks Caesar.

  “Oh, that’s a hard one…” I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help.

  “Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree,” says Caesar.

  Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. “Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed,” I say.

  “Why do you think that was?” urges Caesar.

  “Maybe…because for the first time…there was a chance I could keep him,” I say.

  Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

  I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

  For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it’s not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I’m on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his “new leg” is working out.

  “New leg?” I say, and I can’t help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta’s pants. “Oh, no,” I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

  “No one told you?” asks Caesar gently. I shake my head.

  “I haven’t had the chance,” says Peeta with a slight shrug.

  “It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

  “Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

  “He’s right,” says Caesar. “He’d have bled to death for sure without it.”

  I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face i
n Peeta’s shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it’s better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

  “Katniss, I know you’ve had a shock, but I’ve got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind…hm?” he says.

  I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can’t be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. “I don’t know, I just…couldn’t bear the thought of…being without him.”

  “Peeta? Anything to add?” asks Caesar.

  “No. I think that goes for both of us,” he says.

  Caesar signs off and it’s over. Everyone’s laughing and crying and hugging, but I’m still not sure until I reach Haymitch. “Okay?” I whisper.

  “Perfect,” he answers.

  I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there’s nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train’s waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we’ll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It’s the Capitol’s way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We’ll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us.

  The train begins moving and we’re plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta’s arm around my shoulders feels alien.

  When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

  Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can’t quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I’ve been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I’ve been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.

  “What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.

  “Nothing,” I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

  Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes.

  “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me.

  “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out.

  “What? What are you talking about?” he says.

  “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say.

  “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta.

  “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say.

  “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess…back in the arena…that was just some strategy you two worked out.”

  “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer.

  “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

  “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

  “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers.

  “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says.

  “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.

  “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

  I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappeared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.

  I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through?

  I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part.

  So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

  I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

  END OF BOOK ONE

  Catching Fire

  Suzanne Collins

  SCHOLASTIC PRESS / NEW YORK

  For my parents,

  Jane and Michael Collins,

  and my parents-in-law,

  Dixie and Charles Pryor

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PART I “THE SPARK”

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  PART II “THE QUELL”

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  PART III “THE ENEMY”

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  PART I

  “THE SPARK”

  1

  I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air. My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at this moment, the odds of
scaling a tree before they attacked are not in my favor. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rock beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can’t fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I’ve been dreading for months.

  By noon they will all be at my new house in the Victor’s Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she’ll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to my every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Cinna, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games.

  If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it is the Capitol’s way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol’s power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children I have killed…

  The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg has been asleep for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I’ve been in the woods three hours, but as I’ve made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. It doesn’t matter for my mother and little sister, Prim, anymore. They can afford to buy butcher meat in town, although none of us likes it any better than fresh game. But my best friend, Gale Hawthorne, and his family will be depending on today’s haul and I can’t let them down. I start the hour-and-a-half trek it will take to cover our snare line. Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the line and hunt and gather and still get back to trade in town. But now that Gale has gone to work in the coal mines—and I have nothing to do all day—I’ve taken over the job.