The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

by Suzanne Collins

  Not until the late afternoon did the Hunger Games finally present the kind of action that people expected. The girl tribute from District 5, a rickety little thing who had been one of the unwashed herd to Coriolanus, made her way out onto the bleachers at the far end of the arena. Failing to find her name, Lucky just managed to connect her with her equally forgettable mentor, Iphigenia Moss, whose father oversaw the Agriculture Department, and thus the flow of food around Panem. Contrary to expectations, Iphigenia always seemed on the verge of mal-nutrition, often giving her school lunch to her classmates and even blacking out on occasion. Clemensia had once told Coriolanus it was the only revenge she could take on her father, but refused to give any more details.

  True to form, Iphigenia began to unload every bit of food she could on her tribute, but even as the drones made the long trek across the arena, Mizzen, Coral, and Tanner, who appeared to have formed some sort of pack after the previous night’s adventure, materialized from the tunnels and began their hunt. After a brief chase along the bleachers, the trio surrounded the girl, and Coral killed her with a trident to the throat.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Lucky, still unable to locate the tribute’s name. “What can her mentor tell us, Lepidus?”

  Iphigenia had already sought out Lepidus. “Her name was Sol, or maybe Sal. She had a funny accent. Not much more to tell.”

  Lepidus seemed inclined to agree. “Nice job getting her to the second half, Albina!”

  “Iphigenia,” said Iphigenia over her shoulder as she walked off the dais.

  “That’s right!” said Lepidus. “And this means there’s only eleven tributes left!”

  Which means ten between me and that prize, thought Coriolanus as he watched an Avox remove Iphigenia’s chair. He wished he could get food and water to Lucy Gray. What would happen if he sent it in without knowing her location? On-screen, the pack collected Sol’s, or Sal’s, food and moved back toward the tunnels, probably to get some rest before the night came. Should he risk it now?

  He discussed it in whispers with Lysistrata, who felt that it might be worth a try if they sent in drones together. “We don’t want them getting too weak and dehydrated. I don’t think Jessup’s gotten anything down in days. Let’s wait and see if they try and contact us. Let’s give them until the supper break.”

  But Lucy Gray made an entrance just as the student body was being released to go home. She darted out of a tunnel, running at full pitch, her hair loosening from her braids and flying free behind her.

  “Where’s Jessup?” said Lysistrata with a frown. “Why aren’t they together?”

  Before Coriolanus could venture a guess, Jessup staggered out of the same tunnel Lucy Gray had fled from. At first, Coriolanus thought he had been wounded, possibly while defending Lucy Gray. But then, what accounted for her flight? Were other tributes in pursuit? As the camera moved in on Jessup, it became apparent that he was ill, not hurt. Stiff-limbed and feverish with excitement, he swiped at the sun a few times before crouching down and springing almost immediately back to his feet for his first close-up.

  Coriolanus wondered if Lucy Gray had found a way to poison him, but that didn’t make sense. Jessup was too valuable as a protector, especially with the pack that had formed last night running around. What, then, ailed him?

  Any number of things could’ve sickened him, any range of maladies been suspected, if it hadn’t been for the telltale foam that began to bubble over his lips.

  “He’s rabid,” Lysistrata said softly.

  Rabies had made a comeback in the Capitol during the war. With doctors needed in the field, and facilities and supply lines compromised by the bombings, medical treatment had become sketchy for humans, like Coriolanus’s mother, and almost nonexistent for the pampered Capitol pets. Vaccinating your cat wasn’t on the list of priorities when you couldn’t scrape up enough money for bread. How it began remained a matter of debate — an infected coyote from the mountains? A nocturnal encounter with a bat? — but the dogs spread it. Most of them were starving, abandoned casualties of the war themselves. From dog to dog, and then to people. The virulent strain developed with unprecedented speed, killing over a dozen Capitol citizens before a vaccination program brought it under control.

  Coriolanus remembered the posters alerting people to the warning signs in animals and humans alike, adding just one more potential threat to his world. He thought of Jessup with his handkerchief pressed against his neck. “The rat bite?”

  “Not a rat,” said Lysistrata, shock and sadness on her face. “Rats almost never spread rabies. Probably one of those mangy raccoons.”

  “Lucy Gray said he mentioned fur, so I’d assumed . . .” He trailed off. Not that it mattered what had bitten Jessup; it was a death sentence any way you sliced it. He must have been infected about two weeks ago. “It was fast, wasn’t it?”

  “Very fast. Because he was bit in the neck. The quicker it gets to the brain, the quicker you die,” Lysistrata explained. “And, of course, he’s half-starved and weak.”

  If she said so, it was probably true. This was just the sort of thing he imagined the Vickers family discussing over dinner, in their calm, clinical manner.

  “Poor Jessup,” said Lysistrata. “Even his death has to be horrible.”

  The recognition of Jessup’s illness put the audience on edge, setting off a wave of comments thick with fear and revulsion.

  “Rabies! How did he get that?”

  “Brought it from the districts, I’ll bet.”

  “Great, now he’ll infect the whole city!”

  All the students dropped back into their seats, not wanting to miss anything, dredging up childhood memories of the disease.

  Coriolanus stayed silent in solidarity with Lysistrata, but his concern grew as Jessup zigzagged across the arena in Lucy Gray’s direction. No telling what was going on in his mind. Under normal circumstances, Coriolanus was certain he’d protect her, but he’d clearly lost his reason if she’d run for her life.

  The cameras tracked Lucy Gray as she sprinted across the arena and began to scramble up the broken wall into the stands holding the main press box. Positioned midway in the arena, it occupied several rows and had somehow been spared in the bombing. She stopped a moment, panting, while she considered Jessup’s erratic pursuit, then she made for the debris of a nearby concession stand. The skeleton of the frame remained, but the center had been blasted into bits and the roof had been flung thirty feet away. Strewn with bricks and boards, the area presented a sort of obstacle course that she traversed until she planted herself at the top of the mess.

  The Gamemakers took advantage of her stillness and zoomed in for a close-up. Coriolanus took one look at her cracked lips and reached for his communicuff. She appeared to have had no access to water since she’d been left in the arena, and that had been a day and a half ago. He punched in the order for a bottle of water. The promptness of the drone delivery was improving with each request. Even if she had to keep running, they would be able to get the water to her if she stayed in the open. If she could escape Jessup, Coriolanus would load her up with both food and drink, for her own use and to lace with the rat poison. But that seemed like a long-term plan at the moment.

  Jessup had made his way across the arena and seemed confused by Lucy Gray’s rejection. He began to climb after her into the stands, but he had trouble keeping his balance. As he entered the field of debris, his coordination diminished further, and twice he fell with great force, opening gashes on his knee and temple. After the second wound, which generated a fair amount of blood, he sat, somewhat stunned, on a step, reaching out to her. His mouth moved while the foam began dripping from his chin.

  Lucy Gray remained motionless, watching Jessup with a pained expression. They created a strange tableau: rabid boy, trapped girl, bombed-out building. It suggested a tale that could only end in tragedy. Star-crossed lovers meeting t
heir fate. A revenge story turned in on itself. A war saga that took no prisoners.

  Please die, Coriolanus thought. What eventually killed you when you had rabies? You couldn’t breathe, or maybe your heart stopped? Whatever it was, the sooner it happened to Jessup, the better it was for everyone involved.

  A drone carrying a bottle of water flew into the arena, and Lucy Gray lifted her face to track its wobbly progress. Her tongue flicked across her lips as if in anticipation. However, as it passed over Jessup’s head, something registered and a shudder racked his body. He swung at it with a board, and the drone crashed into the stands. The water pooling out of the cracked bottle sent him into a state of heightened agitation. He backed away, tripping over the seats, and then made straight for Lucy Gray. She, in turn, began to climb even higher.

  Coriolanus panicked. While the strategy of putting the wreckage between herself and Jessup had some merit, she was in danger of being cut off from the field. The virus may have compromised Jessup’s movement, but it also loaned a manic speed to his powerful body, and nothing distracted him from Lucy Gray. Except that moment with the water, he thought. The water. A word surfaced in his brain. A word from the poster that had papered the Capitol for a time. Hydrophobia. A fear of water. The inability to swallow made rabies victims go wild at the sight of it.

  His fingers began to work his communicuff, to order bottles of water. Perhaps enough of them would frighten Jessup away. He would drain his bank if he had to.

  Lysistrata placed her hand on his, stopping him. “No, let me. He’s my tribute, after all.” She began to order bottle after bottle. Sending in the water to drive Jessup over the brink. Her face registered little emotion, but a single tear slid down her cheek, just kissing the edge of her mouth before she brushed it away.

  “Lyssie . . .” He hadn’t called her that since they were tiny. “You don’t have to.”

  “If Jessup can’t win, I want Lucy Gray to. That’s what he’d want. And she can’t win if he kills her,” she said. “Which might happen anyway.”

  On-screen, Coriolanus could see that Lucy Gray had indeed worked herself into a tough spot. To her left stood the high back wall of the arena, to her right the thick glass side of the press box. As Jessup continued his pursuit, she made several attempts to escape him, but he kept correcting his course to block her. When he came within twenty feet, she began to talk to him, putting her hand out in a soothing manner. It stopped him, but only momentarily, and he made for her again.

  Far across the arena, the first bottle of Lysistrata’s water, or perhaps the replacement for the one that had crashed, began its flight toward the tributes. This machine seemed steadier and truer in course, as did the small fleet that followed it. The moment Lucy Gray spied the drones she stopped her retreat. Coriolanus saw her hand pat the ruffles of her skirt over the pocket with the silver compact, and he took it as a sign that she had grasped the significance of the water. She pointed over at the drones, beginning to shout, and succeeded in getting Jessup to turn his head.

  Jessup froze, and his eyes bulged with fear. As the drones closed in on him, he pawed at them but failed to connect. When they started releasing the bottles of water, he lost all control. Explosive devices could not have elicited a stronger response, and the impact of the bottles smacking into the seats whipped him into a frenzy. The contents of one splattered his hand, and he recoiled as if it were acid. He gained the aisle and bounded down toward the field, but another dozen drones arrived and bombarded him. Since they were directed to deliver right to the tribute, there was no escaping them. As he flew down toward the front-row seats his foot caught, and he tripped forward, hurtling over the arena wall and onto the field.

  The sound of snapping bones that accompanied his landing surprised the audience, as Jessup had landed in a rare pocket of the arena with good audio. He lay on his back, motionless except for the heaving in his chest. The remaining bottles rained down on him while his lips curled back and his eyes stared unblinkingly at the bright sun glinting off the water.

  Lucy Gray darted down the steps and hung over the railing. “Jessup!” The most he could do was shift his gaze to her face.

  Coriolanus could barely hear Lysistrata whisper, “Oh, don’t let him die alone.”

  Weighing the danger, Lucy Gray took a moment to assess the empty arena before she picked her way down the broken wall to his side. Coriolanus wanted to groan — she needed to get out of there — but he couldn’t do it with Lysistrata beside him. “She won’t,” he reassured Lysistrata, thinking of how Lucy Gray had dragged the burning beam from his body. “It’s not her style.”

  “I’ve got some money left,” said Lysistrata, wiping her eyes. “I’ll send some food.”

  Jessup followed Lucy Gray with his eyes as she jumped the last yard to the field, but he seemed unable to move. Was he paralyzed by the fall? She approached him with caution and knelt just out of reach of his long arms. Trying to smile, she said, “You go to sleep now, you hear, Jessup? You go on, it’s my turn to stand guard.” Something seemed to register, her voice or perhaps the repetition of words she’d spoken to him over the past two weeks. The rigidity eased in his face, and his eyelids fluttered. “That’s right. Let yourself go. How are you going to dream if you don’t go to sleep?” Lucy Gray scooted forward and laid a hand on his head. “It’s okay. I’ll watch over you. I’m right here. I’m staying right here.” Jessup stared at her fixedly as the life slowly ebbed out of his body and his chest became still.

  Lucy Gray smoothed his bangs and sat back on her heels. She heaved a deep sigh, and Coriolanus could feel her exhaustion. She shook her head as if to wake herself, then grabbed the nearest bottle of water, twisting off the top and draining it in a few gulps. A second followed, then a third, before she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood up and examined Jessup, then opened another bottle and poured it over his face, washing away the foam and spittle. From her pocket she took the white linen napkin that had lined the picnic box Coriolanus brought her the final night. She leaned down and used the edge to gently shut his eyelids, then shook out the cloth and covered his face to hide it from the audience.

  The food parcels from Lysistrata thumping down around her seemed to bring Lucy Gray back to the moment, and she quickly scooped up the pieces of bread and cheese and stuffed them in her pockets. She gathered the bottles of water in her skirt, but pulled up short as Reaper appeared at the far end of the arena. Lucy Gray lost no time in vanishing into the nearest tunnel with her gifts. Reaper let her go but walked over to collect the last few water bottles in the fading light, taking note of Jessup but leaving his body alone.

  Coriolanus thought it might bode well for later. If the tributes kept making a habit of scavenging the gifts of the fallen, they’d play right into the poisoning plan. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as Lepidus arrived to claim Lysistrata.

  “Whoa!” Lepidus said. “That was unexpected! Did you know about the rabies?”

  “Of course not. I would’ve alerted the authorities so they could test the raccoons in the zoo,” she said.

  “What? You mean he didn’t bring it from the districts?” said Lepidus.

  Lysistrata was firm. “No, he was bitten here in the Capitol.”

  “At the zoo?” Lepidus looked worried. “A lot of us have been spending time at the zoo. A raccoon was over by my equipment, you know, scratching around with those weird little hands and —”

  “You don’t have rabies,” Lysistrata said flatly.

  Lepidus made a clawing motion with his fingers. “It was touching my things.”

  “Did you have any questions about Jessup?” she asked.

  “Jessup? No, I never got near him. Oh, um, you meant . . . Did you have any thoughts?” he asked.

  “I do.” She took a deep breath. “What I’d like people to know about Jessup is that he was a good person. He threw his body over mine
to protect me when the bombs started going off in the arena. It wasn’t even conscious. He did it reflexively. That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.”

  “Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.”

  “No, not like a dog. Like a human being,” said Lysistrata.

  Lepidus eyed her, trying to decipher whether she was joking. “Huh. Lucky, any thoughts from headquarters?”

  The camera caught Lucky gnawing on a stubborn hangnail. “Oh, what? Hey! Nothing upstairs at present. Let’s peek back at that arena, shall we?”

  With the cameras averted, Lysistrata began to collect her things.

  “Don’t go yet. Stay for dinner with us,” Coriolanus said.

  “Oh, no. I just want to go home. But thanks for being there, Coryo. You’re a good ally,” she said.

  He hugged her. “You are. I know that wasn’t easy.”

  She sighed. “Well, at least I’m out of it.”

  The other mentors gathered around her, saying good job and whatever, before she left the hall without waiting for the rest of the student body to head out. That was soon to follow, and within a few minutes the ten remaining mentors were all that was left behind. They examined one another with new eyes now that the Plinth Prize was in play, each hoping not just to have a victor but to be a victor in the Games.

  The same thought must have occurred to the Gamemakers, because Lucky reclaimed the screen to do a rundown of the remaining tributes and their mentors. A split screen showed photos of the pairings side by side, accompanied by his voice-over. Some of the mentors groaned when they realized their unflattering student ID photos had been downloaded, but Coriolanus felt relieved that they weren’t highlighting his current scabby face. The tributes, who had no official photographs, showed up in random shots taken since the reaping.