The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

by Suzanne Collins

“And if I can’t convince him to come?” Coriolanus asked.

  “We have no instructions on that.” The Peacekeeper shrugged. “I guess you stay until the mission is accomplished.”

  A cold sweat bathed Coriolanus’s body as the words registered. He would not be allowed back out without Sejanus. He looked through the turnstile to the end of the passage, where the barricade had been erected under the scoreboard. The one he’d seen Lamina, Circ, and Teslee scampering in and out of earlier in the Games. “What about that?”

  “That’s for show, really. It blocks the view of the lobby, of the street. Can’t put that on camera,” the Peacekeeper explained. “But you won’t have trouble getting through it.”

  Then neither would the tributes, Coriolanus thought. He ran his thumb over the slick surface of the token.

  “We’ve got you covered up to the barricade,” the Peacekeeper said.

  “So you’ll kill any tributes who attack me,” Coriolanus clarified.

  “Scare them off anyway,” said the Peacekeeper. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”

  “Excellent,” said Coriolanus, not at all convinced. He steeled himself and jammed the token in the slot, then he pushed the metal arms. “Enjoy the show!” the turnstile reminded him, sounding ten times louder in the stillness of the night. One of the Peacekeepers chuckled.

  Coriolanus made for the wall on the right and walked forward as swiftly and silently as he could. The red emergency lights, his only illumination, suffused the passageway with a soft, bloody glow. He pressed his lips tightly together, controlling his breathing through his nose. Right, left, right, left. Nothing, no one stirred. Perhaps, as Lucky had suggested, the tributes had all bedded down for the night?

  He paused for a moment at the barricade. Just as the Peacekeeper had said, it was a sham. Flimsy layers of barbed wire mounted on frames, rickety wooden structures and concrete slabs arranged to block the view, not imprison the tributes. Probably hadn’t been enough time for a real one, or perhaps it had been deemed unnecessary with the bars and Peacekeepers behind him. As it was, he had only to wind his way through the backdrop to find himself at the edge of the field. He hesitated behind a final stretch of barbed wire, surveying the scene.

  The moon had risen high in the sky, and in the pale, silvery light he could make out the figure of Sejanus, back toward him, still kneeling over Marcus’s body. Lamina hadn’t stirred. Other than that, the immediate area seemed deserted. Was it, though? The wreckage from the bombings provided ample hiding places. The other tributes could be concealed a few yards away and he’d never know it. In the chilly air, his sweat-soaked shirt felt clammy against his skin, and he wished for his jacket. He thought of Lucy Gray in her sleeveless dress. Had she curled up against Jessup for warmth? The image didn’t sit well with him, so he pushed it away. He could not think of her now, only of the present danger, and Sejanus, and how to get him to the other side of that turnstile.

  Coriolanus took a deep breath and stepped out onto the field. He padded across the dirt, channeling the circus wildcats he had seen here as a boy. Fearless, and powerful, and silent. He knew he must not spook Sejanus, but he needed to get close enough to converse.

  When he was ten feet behind him, he stopped and spoke in a hushed voice. “Sejanus? It’s me.”

  Sejanus stiffened, then his shoulders began to shake. At first, Coriolanus took it for sobbing, but it was quite the opposite. “You really can’t stop rescuing me, can you?”

  Coriolanus joined in the laughter under his breath. “Can’t do it.”

  “They sent you in to fish me out? What madness.” Sejanus’s laughter trailed off, and he rose to his feet. “Did you ever see a dead body?”

  “A lot. During the war.” He took it as an invitation to join Sejanus and closed in. There. He could grab his arm now, but what then? It was unlikely he could drag him from the arena. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead.

  “I haven’t so much. Not this close. At funerals, I guess. And at the zoo the other night, only those girls hadn’t been dead long enough to stiffen up,” Sejanus said. “I don’t know if I’d rather be burned or buried. Not that it matters, really.”

  “Well, you don’t have to decide now.” Coriolanus’s eyes swept the field. Was that a person in the shadows behind the broken wall?

  “Oh, it won’t be up to me,” said Sejanus. “I don’t know what’s taking the tributes so long to find me. I must have been in here awhile.” He looked at Coriolanus for the first time, and his brow wrinkled in concern. “You should go, you know.”

  “I’d like to,” Coriolanus said carefully. “I really would. Only there’s the matter of your ma. She’s waiting out front. Pretty upset. I promised I’d bring you to her.”

  Sejanus’s expression turned indescribably sad. “Poor Ma. Poor old Ma. She never wanted any of this, you know. Not the money, not the move, not the fancy clothes or the driver. She just wanted to stay in Two. But my father . . . Bet he isn’t here, is he? No, he’ll keep his distance until this is settled. Then let the buying begin!”

  “Buying what?” The breeze ruffled Coriolanus’s hair and made hollow, echoing sounds in the arena. This was taking too long, and Sejanus was making no effort to speak softly.

  “Buying everything! He bought our way here, bought my schooling, bought my mentorship, and he goes nuts because he can’t buy me,” said Sejanus. “He’ll buy you if you let him. Or at least compensate you for trying to help me.”

  Buy away, thought Coriolanus, thinking of next year’s tuition. He only said, “You’re my friend. He doesn’t need to pay me to help you.”

  Sejanus laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the only reason I’ve lasted this long, Coriolanus. I need to stop causing you trouble.”

  “I didn’t realize how bad this was for you. I should have traded tributes when you asked,” he answered.

  Sejanus sighed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does, really.”

  “Of course it matters,” Coriolanus insisted. They were coming now, he could feel it. The sense of a pack closing in on him. “Come out with me.”

  “No. There’s no point,” said Sejanus. “There’s nothing left to do but die.”

  Coriolanus pressed him. “That’s it? That’s your only choice?”

  “It’s the only way I might possibly make a statement. Let the world see me die in protest,” Sejanus concluded. “Even if I’m not truly Capitol, I’m not district either. Like Lucy Gray, but without the talent.”

  “Do you really think they’ll show this? They’ll quietly remove your body and say you died of the flu.” Coriolanus stopped, wondering if he’d said too much, if it pointed too directly at Clemensia’s fate. But it wasn’t as if Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom could hear him. “They’ve all but blacked out the screen now.”

  Sejanus’s face clouded over. “They won’t show it?”

  “Not in a million years. You’ll be dead for nothing, and you’ll have wasted your chance to make things better.” A cough, small and muffled, but definitely a cough. Coming from the stands to his right. Coriolanus had not imagined it.

  “What chance?” asked Sejanus.

  “You have money. Maybe not now, but one day you’ll have a fortune. Money has a lot of uses. Look how it changed your world. Maybe you could make changes, too. Good ones. Maybe if you don’t, a lot more people will suffer.” Coriolanus’s right hand tightened around his pepper spray, then flitted to his flash unit. Which would actually help if he was attacked?

  “What makes you think I could do that?” said Sejanus.

  “You’re the only one who had the guts to stand up to Dr. Gaul,” said Coriolanus. He hated giving that to him, but it was true. He was the sole member of the class who’d defied her.

  “Thank you.” Sejanus sounded tired but a bit saner. “Thank you for that.”

  Coriolanus put his free hand
on Sejanus’s arm, as if comforting him, but really to grip his shirt if he decided to run. “We’re being surrounded. I’m going. Come with me.” He could see Sejanus starting to cave. “Please. What do you want to do, fight the tributes or fight for them? Don’t give Dr. Gaul the satisfaction of beating you. Don’t give up.”

  Sejanus stared down at Marcus for a long moment, weighing his options. “You’re right,” he said finally. “If I believe what I say, it’s my responsibility to take her down. To end this whole atrocity somehow.” He lifted his head, as if suddenly realizing their situation. His eyes turned to the stands, where Coriolanus had heard the cough. “But I won’t leave Marcus.”

  Coriolanus made a snap judgment. “I’ll get his feet.” The legs were stiff and heavy, reeking of blood and filth, but he crooked the knees in his arms as best he could and hoisted Marcus’s lower half. Sejanus encircled his chest with his arms, and they began to move, half carrying, half dragging the body toward the barricade. Ten yards, five yards, not far now. Once they’d cleared it, the Peacekeepers should provide some cover.

  He tripped on a rock and went down, driving his knee into something sharp and piercing, but sprang back up, heaving Marcus’s body with him. Almost there. Almost —

  The footsteps came from behind him. Quick and light. Speeding from the barricade, where the tribute had lain in wait. Coriolanus reflexively dropped Marcus and spun around just in time to see Bobbin bring down his knife.

  The blade glanced off his body armor and sliced his left upper arm. As Coriolanus leaped backward, he swung at Bobbin but only encountered air. He landed in a pile of debris, old boards, and plaster as his hand searched for some kind of defense. Bobbin sprang at him again, aiming the knife at his face. Coriolanus’s fingers closed around a two-by-four, and he brought it up, catching Bobbin in the temple hard, sending him to his knees. And then he was on his feet, using the board like a club, bringing it down again and again without being sure where it made contact.

  “We have to go!” Sejanus shouted.

  Coriolanus could hear catcalls now, and feet pounding down the bleachers. Confused, he made a move toward Marcus’s body, but Sejanus yanked him away. “No! Leave him! Run!”

  Needing no persuasion, Coriolanus sprinted for the barricade. Pain shot from his elbow to his shoulder, but he ignored it, pumping his arms as hard as he could, the way Professor Sickle had taught them. When he reached the barricade, barbed wire bit into his shirt, and as he turned to pull it free, he saw them. The two tributes from District 4, Coral and Mizzen, and Tanner — the slaughterhouse kid — making straight for him, armed to the teeth. Mizzen drew his arm back to throw a trident. The fabric on Coriolanus’s sleeve ripped wide as he yanked it from the barbed wire and dove out of the line of fire, with Sejanus right behind him.

  Only a few weak rays of moonlight penetrated the layers of the barricade, and Coriolanus found himself crashing into wood and fencing like a wild bird in a cage, surely alerting any tribute who’d somehow missed his presence. He ran facefirst into a concrete slab, and Sejanus plowed into him from behind, smacking his forehead into the unrelenting surface a second time. When he pushed back, it was as if the concussion had never left. His head throbbed, and a cloud of confusion descended.

  The tributes started up a whooping sound, rattling their weapons against the barricade as they tracked the mentors through the labyrinth. Which direction to go? The tributes seemed to be all around them. Sejanus grabbed his arm and began to pull him, and he stumbled blindly along behind, wounded and terrified. Was this it, then? Was this how he died? The fury at the injustice of it all, the mockery it made of his existence, sent a surge of energy through him, and he crashed past Sejanus, finding himself on his hands and knees in a cloud of soft, red light. The passageway! Up ahead he could make out the turnstiles, where the Peacekeepers were clustered at the temporary bars. He ran for his life.

  The passageway wasn’t long, but it seemed interminable. His legs rose and fell as if he were waist-high in glue, and black specks dotted his vision. Sejanus stayed steady at his elbow, but he could hear the tributes gaining. Something heavy and unyielding — a brick? — clipped the side of his neck. Another object punctured his vest and stuck, bobbing behind him until it fell with a clank. Where was the cover? The protective gunfire from the Peacekeepers? There was nothing, nothing at all, and the bars still stood flush with the floor. He wanted to scream for them to kill the tributes, shoot them dead in their tracks, but his breath was in too short supply.

  Someone heavy-footed shrank his lead to a few yards, but once again remembering Professor Sickle’s training, he didn’t dare waste a second looking back to see who it was. Before him, the Peacekeepers finally managed to tilt the unit of bars inward, achieving a gap of about twelve inches at the ground. Coriolanus dove, sanding several layers of skin off his chin on the rough floor and just getting his hands beneath the bars, where the Peacekeepers latched on to him and gave a great yank. Lacking time to turn his head, the rest of his face scraped against the filthy surface until he reached safety.

  The guards dumped him immediately to retrieve Sejanus, who gave a sharp cry as Tanner’s knife cut open the back of his calf before he slid out of range. The bars were slammed into place, and bolts locked down the unit, but the tributes were undeterred. Tanner, Mizzen, and Coral jabbed their weapons through the bars at Coriolanus and Sejanus, spewing hate-filled taunts while the Peacekeepers banged on the turnstiles with their batons. Not a shot was fired. Not even a shot of pepper spray. Coriolanus realized that they must have been under orders to leave the tributes untouched.

  As the Peacekeepers helped him to his feet, he spat out in rage, “Thanks for having our backs!”

  “Just following orders. Don’t blame us if Gaul thinks you’re expendable, boy,” said the old Peacekeeper who’d promised him cover.

  Someone tried to steady him but he shoved them off. “I can walk! I can walk, no thanks to you!” Then he listed sideways, almost hitting the floor before they hoisted him up again and made their way back through the lobby. Coriolanus babbled a long string of profanities, which made no impression, and hung in their grip like deadweight until they dropped him, unceremoniously, just outside the arena. After a minute they deposited Sejanus beside him. They both lay panting on the tiles that graced the front of the arena.

  “I’m so sorry, Coryo,” said Sejanus. “I’m so sorry.”

  Coryo was a nickname for old friends. For family. For people Coriolanus loved. And this was the moment Sejanus decided to try it out? If he’d had the energy, Coriolanus would have reached over and strangled him.

  No one paid them any attention. Ma had vanished. Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom debated audio levels as they watched the feeds in the van. The Peacekeepers stood in loose clumps, waiting for instructions. Five minutes passed before an ambulance drove up and popped open its back doors. The boys were loaded in without so much as a glance from the authorities.

  The medic gave Coriolanus a pad to hold against his arm wound while she dealt with the more pressing issue of Sejanus’s calf, which was producing quite a bit of blood. Coriolanus dreaded returning to the hospital and that untrustworthy Dr. Wane, until he saw through the small pane of glass that they’d arrived at the Citadel, which seemed twice as scary. Unloaded onto gurneys, they were swiftly transported deep down to the lab where Clemensia had been attacked, leaving Coriolanus to wonder just what modifications they had in store for him.

  Accidents must’ve been frequent in the lab, as a small medical clinic awaited them. It had lacked the sophistication for Clemensia’s resurrection yet seemed adequate to patch up the boys. A white curtain divided their two hospital beds, but Coriolanus could hear Sejanus giving one-word answers to the doctors’ inquiries. He gave little more himself as they stitched his arm and cleaned his raw face. His head ached, but he didn’t dare tell them about the rebound of his concussion for fear he’d end up being admitted to the
hospital for an indefinite stay. All he wanted was to get away from these people. Despite his protests, they stuck an IV in his arm to rehydrate him and deliver some cocktail of drugs, and he lay rigid on the bed, willing himself not to flee. Although he’d done Dr. Gaul’s bidding, although he’d succeeded, he felt more vulnerable than ever. And here he lay, wounded and trapped, hidden away in her lair.

  The pain eased in his arm, but he did not feel the velvet curtain of morphling draw around him. Some alternative drug must have been administered, because, if anything, his mind felt a heightened sharpness, and he noticed everything, from the weave of the bedsheet, to the tug of the tape on his raw skin, to the bitter taste the metal cup of water left on his tongue. Peacekeeper boots approached and withdrew, taking a limping Sejanus with them. Deep in the lab, a round of squeals heralded some creature’s feeding time, and the faint scent of fish reached him. After that, a relative hush fell over the place for a long time. He considered trying to slip away but knew in his heart he was expected to wait. To wait for the soft slipper tread that inevitably made its way to his cubicle.

  When Dr. Gaul pulled back the curtain, the twilight of the nocturnal lab gave Coriolanus the strange impression that she stood on the edge of a cliff, that if he were to give her even the smallest shove, she would topple backward into some great chasm, never to be heard from again. If only, he thought. If only. Instead she moved forward and placed two fingers on his wrist, checking his pulse. He flinched at the feel of her cool, papery fingers.

  “I started out as a medical doctor, you know,” she said. “Obstetrics.”

  How awful, Coriolanus thought. To have you be the first person in the world a baby sees.

  “Wasn’t really for me,” said Dr. Gaul. “Parents always want reassurances you can’t give. About the futures their children face. How could I possibly know what they’d encounter? Like you, tonight. Who would’ve imagined Crassus Snow’s darling baby boy fighting for his life in the Capitol Arena? Not him, for one.”