The Hunger Pains (13 page)

“Oh, Archie!” I swoon. “You’re
wonderful
.”

“Get thothe dogth off of me!” He pushes me away with all the strength he can muster. “Uh … Pleathe do that for me, thweetheart?”

“Sure thing, baby.” I walk a few steps away from Archie. “Come here, puppies!” I beckon, clapping. “
Good
dogs!”

While Archie gasps for air and starts to recover, I play with the puppies, but I am distracted by Pita’s loud sobs.

“Suck it up, dough boy,” I tell him. “Archie is the complete package.”

“I’m just worried he will hurt your feelings,” Pita says, his voice wobbling. “And my feelings are hurt because I miss all the attention you gave me. I … I’m so hungry and I just want to go
home
.” He breaks into another fit of sobs, but I resist the urge to throw myself into his arms. I’m Archie’s girl now.

But Pita’s homesickness brings up a good point. Only two of us can make it out of here alive. There can only be two champions. If I don’t kill one of these heartthrobs, the Hunger Games will go on forever.
Unless
…

“Quick, Pita!” I say. “Give me those poison berries!”

He hands them to me and, one by one, I throw them at a nearby camera as hard as I can. “Take that! And …
that
!” I figure it’s only a matter of time before the Rainmakers will concede defeat. “And a little bit of
this
!”

I throw nearly all the poison berries with no result. The Rainmakers are playing hardball. As I pause to reconsider my strategy, I see that Archie, my true love, is standing up again.

“Hello, sweet thing,” I greet him. “Feeling better?”

He staggers toward me. When he is a few steps away, I lean in to kiss him. He takes out a plank of wood and lifts it above his head, but then drops it and brings his hand to his face to sneeze.

“Is there a dog nearby?” he manages.

“Oh, sorry!” I exclaim, taking Run the puppy from my pocket and placing her on the ground a few steps away from Archie. “What were you doing with that wooden plank, darling?”

“I, uh … wanted to give you a prethent, baby. Didn’t you mention thomthing about liking wooden plankth?”

“Oh, Archie,” I say, kissing him on the forehead as I admire how solidly constructed the wooden plank is, “I love it!” I have the most thoughtful boyfriend ever. But I am suddenly jolted out of my romantic reverie when I look over at Pita.

“Stop it!” I shout desperately. Pita is picking up one of the poison berries and is about to put it in his mouth. “Don’t kill yourself because I chose Archie over you!”

“Huh?” Pita says. “Oh, it’s not that. I’m just so
hungry
.”

“That’s too bad, Pita,” I say. “I don’t care how hungry you are, you can’t eat that—” I stop speaking. I have just had another brilliant idea. If Pita eats the berry and dies, then I can live in the woods forever with Archie and raise a family with him. The Rainmakers will make life hard for us by creating fires and tornados and things, sure. And there won’t be much for the kids to do when they grow up, but at least this way I will be able to stare into Archie’s harsh, unmerciful eyes to my heart’s content. “Er … never mind,” I finish my sentence.

Pita returns to his poison berry. He is just about to pop it in his mouth when he sneezes, blowing the berry into a puddle. This is the last straw. Pita sits down and cries softly. After a moment he picks up the berry from the puddle and prepares to eat it, but now I can’t let that happen. I can’t explain it, but seeing him sitting there, covered in snot, I feel a renewed sense of passion for Pita. I might be Archie’s girlfriend now, but I can’t just sit back and let such a sexy man die.

“Wait!” I say. I have just had another brilliant idea. “Gather round, guys,” I tell Archie and Pita. “You know how the Capital values the lives of the tributes so highly?” They both nod. “Well, if we threaten to kill ourselves by eating the poison berries, then they’ll do anything to save our lives. Sound like a plan?”

“Does it ever!” exclaims Pita excitedly.

“Let’s do it!” chimes in Archie.

“On the count of three, then,” I say, handing them both poison berries. I look directly in the camera and address the Capital. “Unless you want your gladiatorial event to end with the only three remaining tributes dying painful, climactic, awesome deaths, you’d better do what we say—” I am cut short by the beeping of a car’s horn.

BEEP! BEEP!
We look up to see a red convertible speeding through the clearing. In it are three tributes: two from District 4 and one from District 8.
Huh. I guess not all the other tributes are dead after all
. “We’re going to win the Hunger Games!” the driver from District 4 boasts, but he is so
distracted that he drives off a cliff. The car explodes in a burst of flames, leaving no survivors.

As the sad trombone sounds three times, Archie, Pita, and I return to our plan. “Are you ready?” I ask. They nod.

I take a deep breath and start counting. “Three post-Mississippi … two post-Mississippi … one post-Mississippi …”

Right when I am about to reach zero post-Mississippi, the loudspeaker crackles to life and Greg the Announcer frantically shouts, “Herzledewoog! Wahhammihmih! No-wooleybog!”

Greg’s supervisor intervenes. “All right! All three of you can win! Just don’t swallow the berries!” I throw my berry on the ground and pump my fist in celebration as Greg’s supervisor continues speaking, obviously thinking that his microphone is turned off. “Greg, I’m sorry. You know that nobody is a bigger supporter of our Jobs for Felons program than I am, but this just isn’t working out. Please clear your desk.”

“Mazzydagor!” Greg curses angrily, before the loudspeaker finally cuts out.

Whatever
, I think.
I just won the Hunger Games!
“Yippeee!” I exclaim, turning to Pita to celebrate. But Pita is sprawled out on the ground, bright orange juice dripping down his face.

“Pita!” I shout. “Pita, why are you ignoring me? Pita, you’re being a dick!”

“I was … so hungry,” he gasps, before closing his eyes and going silent.

A million different thoughts race through my head at once. I barely notice the loudspeaker as it blares on for the final time: “Ladies and Gentlemen, the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games: Kantkiss Neverclean and Archie Nemesis!”

A
pplause plays live over the speakers, followed by a slow
clap, which doesn’t catch on. When I hear Archie Nemesis speak, it seems like he is a million miles away.

“Woo hoo!” he’s saying. “I’d like to thank my mom and dad for pushing me to become a Varsity tribute since I was a little boy. I couldn’t ask for better parents! I’d like to thank my trainer, Adolf Evilman, for all his guidance in the arena. They said that a team of stock villains couldn’t win the Hunger Games, but we showed them, buddy! And of course, I couldn’t have done it without the big man upstairs.” He folds his hands in prayer. “Lord Bernette, our president and divine creator.”

I am leaning over Pita’s sensual, convulsing body. The sad trombone hasn’t sounded yet. There is still hope. A part of me wishes I had visited the antidote station when I was at the Training Center. But I ignore my regrets and resolve to push forward, just like I learned at the proactive attitude station.

An ambulance hovercraft lands on the ground and a team of doctors puts Pita on a stretcher and rushes him away.

“Wait!”
I yell, grabbing the hovercraft and trying to hold on as it takes off for the hospital. “Treat
my
injuries first!”

I only sulk for a moment before two more ambulance hovercrafts land. “Do you want to ride in my hovercraft, Archie?” I ask suggestively.

“Nope,” he says, grabbing a pretty nurse by the waist—I think she is his cousin—and leading her into the ambulance. I have never been this in love with anyone.

As I walk past the severed arm of some unlucky tribute, I am reminded of home. Even amid the death and decay of the Crack, there is beauty. For every rotting carcass, there are two poppies. This thought consoles me as I pick up Run the puppy and Archie’s amazing wooden plank. Then I get in the last hovercraft, ready to return to the Capital.

Gradually, I wake up from a deep sleep I don’t remember falling into. Everything is hazy. I dimly hear a voice—I think it belongs to Effu—saying, “Don’t resuscitate! Stop feedin’ dat girl intravenously!” I am in a white hospital room surrounded by nurses, doctors, and—sure enough—Effu Poorpeople. This part of the Hunger Games is never televised, and I feel privileged to get an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look.

Everybody falls silent when they see I have opened my
eyes. “She’s awake, mon,” Effu says after a moment. “It’s so good to see ya, darlin’!”

I brush aside her pleasantries. Only one thing is on my mind. “Archie!” I exclaim. “Has he texted me?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” replies Effu. “Perhaps his cell phone is outta batteries?”

“That must be it,” I say, thinking fondly of Archie.
What a good guy
. “How about Pita?” I inquire absentmindedly, my mind still fixated on that awesome wooden plank Archie gave me. “Did he survive?”

“The last time I checked, it was touch and go,” Effu says. “I’ve been busy overseeing ya medical care da past few hours.”

“Well,” I say, rising, “I should go say hi to people. I haven’t seen Circle in ages.”

“Naturally,” says Effu. “By da way, are ya goin’ to Colonel Srivatsa’s soiree tonight? He’s a horrid little weasel of a mon of course. Still, one feels obliged …”

I am taken aback. Aside from that do-not-resuscitate thing, Effu is being incredibly nice to me now that I have won the Hunger Games. It’s almost like …
I’m rich
! Holy crap! I am so rich! I can buy all the squirrel meat I want now! The thought fills me with joy and I excitedly jump out of bed.

“I can’t tonight,” I say, quickly adjusting to my new socioeconomic role. “I have a date with a large mouse steak. I’m going to eat it
all
myself. And afterward I am going to sleep on a bed … with
blankets
!”

Effu scoffs. “New money …”

As I leave the room, I feel weird. There is something weighing me down, making it difficult for me to walk upright. I gasp when I see my reflection in a mirror: my boobs are gigantic!

“Oh yes,” Effu begins to explain, “Buttitch and I tried to stop da doctors from doing dat when dey healed you, but—”

I stop her midsentence. “I
love
them, Effu.” Not many seventeen-year-olds in the Crack can compete with these bazookas. What an awesome day. I walk down the hallway to see if Pita is still alive and find Buttitch in the first room I enter.

“Buttitch!” I greet him warmly. “How’s it hanging?”

“Uh … good, good!” he says, hurriedly draping a sheet over his desk. “Congratulations on winning the Games.”

“What do you have under that sheet there, buddy?” I ask.

“Just some boring old paperwork,” he says. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something very important.”

“Go ahead,” I say, pulling up a chair next to Buttitch’s desk of bulky paperwork.

“Would you like some coffee?” Buttitch asks me.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say. He hands me a cup and I take a big, long sip.

“This may come as a surprise to you,” Buttitch begins. I sip even more coffee. “But when you threatened the Capital on live television and made them change the rules to their own game, they weren’t too pleased.”

Psssshh
. I spit out all my coffee. “Wha?”

“President Bernette is watching you very closely,” Buttitch continues, “and if he thinks that you are a threat, he will have you executed.”

“But … but … President Bernette is a merciful and benevolent ruler! Everybody knows that!” I protest, sitting up in disbelief. I still haven’t adjusted to the weight of my modified chest, and I flop forward onto the desk, pulling the sheet off in the process. “Buttitch!” I declare when I look up. “This isn’t paperwork.”

Buttitch’s desk is full of strange items of all shapes and sizes. There are several vials of medicine, a wide assortment of weapons, some camouflage gear, and every type of food and drink you could imagine. Next to one pistol I spot a note saying “Make sure she gets this before sunset,” from Mark Zuckerberg XXIX.

A rough-looking man wearing a leather jacket walks into the room. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for the stolen camouflage suit,” he announces. “And that’s my final offer.” Buttitch frantically shoos him away and then turns to me.

“Oh right. Sorry, by paperwork I meant birthday present. This is all a birthday present for my, uh, mother,” Buttitch says, hastily putting the sheet back on.

“Buttitch,” I say, taken aback. “That is
very
thoughtful of you!”

“Yeah, anyway,” he continues, “I’ve got a plan to keep you alive. Just renounce your title and declare Dogface the official winner of the Hunger Games. That way all the heat
will be on her, and she can take that heat because she’s dead.”

“But how will that change what I did with the berries?” I ask.

Buttitch doesn’t seem to hear me. “She was a sure thing!” he explodes. “Seven-to-three odds looked like easy money! And then she had to go and eat those damned rocks!” He pounds the desk with his fist, then composes himself. “Trust me, Kantkiss,” he says after a while, “declaring Dogface the winner of the Hunger Games will solve all our problems.”

“I’ll think about it,” I promise. “By the way, do you know what happened to Pita?”

Buttitch lowers his head solemnly. “He didn’t make it.”

I fight back tears. “But surely with their technology, the Capital could have found an antidote for the poison!”

“Oh, yeah,” Buttitch says, “the doctors treated that easily. No, the trouble came when they gave Pita cosmetic breast reduction surgery. There were complications and he died on the operating table. It was too bad, I had two hundred bucks on him surviving.”

I rush out of the room, furious at the whole world. Why would a kind, loving Bernette let such a sexy man die? Does Bernette even exist?
Of course he does
, I reason, brushing aside my atheistic doubts,
I saw him give a speech a few weeks ago.
Still, I haven’t been this sad since my dad died, or at least since my father figure returned to his backpack. I wonder if I will ever experience happiness again, like that time I won the Hunger Games.
That was sick.

I run back into my room and collapse on my bed, crying harder than I have cried in years. I just wanted to live the District 12ian dream: hunt squirrels, avoid getting executed, repeat. How did things get so messed up? I always thought I might kill teenagers, but I wanted it to be on my terms. I never wanted to be a pawn in the Capital’s stupid game. And now Pita’s dead! If he had stayed in District 12, he could have lived another ten, maybe fifteen years. I cry and cry and cry.

I look up and notice a figure sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. She must have been here the whole time.

“Dry ya tears, girl,” the figure says in the strange, affected accent of the Capital. “Ya learning about da big woman tings now.” It’s Effu.

The last thing I expect from Effu is a sympathetic ear, but she walks over to my bed and strokes my hair tenderly. Effu is really nice to rich people.

“Dis world is nutten but trouble,” she reflects. “Ya gotta obey da politicians or else ya get trown in da prison. Ya gotta look after da younguns and put ’em in da Hunger Games, but you know dey gonna get blown to bits. Dat poor boy with da jiggly man bits, Pita, I thought he was gonna make it. I shoulda known betta. All dese tings add up and make ya real sad sometimes.” She pauses for a second but then perks up. “But when ya feel dat way, ya just gotta rememba: don’t worry about a ting, ’cuz every little ting’s gonna be all right.”

She stays by my bed for a while, stroking my hair, and I start to feel better. Then a nurse carries Run the puppy into
my room. Somebody gave her a puppy sweater that is way too big for her, and it slips off as she chases her little tail around. I start feeling downright awesome.

“Dat’s a real cute puppy,” Effu says.

I play with Run the puppy until Cinnabon enters my room and pushes everybody else out. He is here to dress me for my post-Games interview with Jaesar Lenoman, which is my big chance to prove to everybody that I am on the Capital’s side. I can’t wait!

“Where’s your team?” I ask. It is unusual to be dressed by Cinnabon before meeting with Flabbiest and Venereal first.

“In jail, thank God!” he says. “Kantkiss, I am so sorry about how they ‘prepped’ you. If I had any idea, I would never have hired them. It makes me sick to the stomach!”

“Huh,” I say. “So what dress do you have for me this time?”

“Say what?” Cinnabon asks, his expression blank for a moment. Then he explodes in frustration. “Oh
dammit
!”

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “I’m, uh … still upset about what happened to Pita, that’s all. Close your eyes and I’ll go get your dress.”

I do as he says. I hear somebody leave my room and close the door. Then, after a very long time, the door opens again and footsteps hurriedly enter my room. I hear somebody shout, “Hey! That belongs to the optometry department!” from the hallway, before the door is slammed shut and locked.

“There,” Cinnabon says at last. “You can look now.”

I open my eyes, but something is different. I have a narrow range of vision on my left side, and my depth perception is way off. When I look in the mirror, I see I am wearing an eye patch. No. Way.
Cinnabon has transformed me into a lady pirate!

“Oh, Cinnabon,” I gasp, “you’ve outdone yourself!” Ghosts and warrior mummies are scary, but a lady pirate is something else. A lady pirate is … is … adventurous, and cunning, and …
“Beautiful!”
I mouth, my eyes still glued to the mirror.

“Yeah, uh, since you have, uh, steered the ship of … er, the Hunger Games, now you are a, uh, pirate,” Cinnabon orates. This blows my mind.
Cinnabon is a genius.

“Aye, aye,” I agree. Now I am ready for anything the Capital throws at me.

It is time for the post-Games interview. A hovercraft takes me to the studio, and I mentally prepare myself for what is to come: Jaesar Lenoman jokes. I can hear him warming up the audience from backstage. “So get this. I was watching the end of the Hunger Games, and a telemarketer called. He just wanted to celebrate!” I grit my teeth, wishing I had died in the Hunger Games.

My name is finally called, and I walk onstage. Archie Nemesis emerges from the other curtain.
I love that dude!
“Let’s get out of here,” I say to him, but he keeps walking to the love seat next to Jaesar Lenoman, and I join him, cuddling up close. He gets up and sits in another chair.

After a few more torturous jokes, Jaesar introduces this year’s highlight reel. Given the amount of footage from which to choose, it’s up to whoever puts the reel together to determine what tale to tell. One year, the footage told the story of a small group of freedom fighters who roam the far reaches of the galaxy in hopes of destroying an evil empire, and another year the film took the form of a homage to silent cinema, with all the tributes replaced by title cards.

This year the highlight reel has an upbeat tone, much like a circus picture. As the opening credits fade out, the sound of a piano and tenor saxophone fill the room. “Yakety Sax.” What a beautiful theme to watch my competitors die to.

With the song playing, footage of Pita, Archie, and the others getting attacked by the LSBees comes on the screen.
Pita
, I muse as he appears on the screen, swatting away a particularly nasty-looking bug.
Will he make it out alive? I hope so.
Soon after, the camera finds a girl Varsity tribute who slips on honey. The noise of a whoopee cushion accompanies her error. The audience laughs, and I can’t help laughing myself. That girl was a bitch.

After the LSBees incident, more blooper footage occupies the screen. A boy from District 2 pees himself as Smash approaches with a blood-rusted hammer. A girl from District 6 slips out of a tree and onto a remote mine. It’s a good time.

Then Jaesar Lenoman begins the interview. “As we all know, every year the Hunger Games can be won by finding a flag hidden somewhere around the Cornucrapia, resulting
in the release of all tributes. But you two have survived this year’s competition by finding a flag hidden in each other. Kantkiss, when did you know Archie was the one?”