Chapter Two
Within minutes of the end of the Reaping, a group of Peacekeepers escorted Clark and Becky into the Justice Building. Most of them concentrated on making sure Clark went where he was told, with only one prodding Becky along as she coughed and struggled not to cry.
Clark wondered what they would have done if they had known how impossible it would be to control him if he had refused to cooperate. He could escape so easily, take them all out before they knew what had hit them — but he wouldn’t. They were just doing their jobs, and didn’t deserve to die anymore than he or Becky did.
The tributes were placed in separate rooms for the last hour before they were to board the train to the Capitol, giving their families and friends a chance to visit them one last time. Clark could hear Becky crying in the next room as he waited for his parents and friends to arrive.
Jonathan and Martha were the first to arrive. Martha threw her arms around her son, her tears soaking into his shirt.
Clark hugged her back. “Mom, it’ll be okay,” he told her. “I can do this. You know I can.”
“You hope you can!” she replied angrily. “Clark, you’re not invincible. You can die. If there’s any of that horrible rock in the arena …”
“I know, Mom.” Clark hugged her tighter, looking over at his father. “I hope there won’t be.”
Clark was all too aware that there was a sizable chink in his invulnerability. The night he had arrived in his parents’ wheat field, the rocket had been accompanied by a meteor shower consisting in large part of glowing green stones. Chunks of it had fallen all over Panem, some of it embedding itself in the earth and other pieces lying on the surface of the ground. It had quickly become a popular item for jewelry amongst Capitolites and even the residents of the career districts.
The stone, quickly dubbed Neonite or Kryptonite by television commentators for the way it glowed like those gases, was harmless to normal people. Clark, unfortunately, wasn’t normal.
As a child, he had rarely been sick — except when exposed to the green stone. His father had found that shard of Kryptonite in the crater Clark had been found in. It had been years before the Kents realized the effect it had on their son — he had been temporarily exposed twice as a baby, once when the stone was found and once when his father had removed it from the base of the lantern where it had been stored, but neither of his parents had made the connection between his cries and the Kryptonite shard. Jonathan had buried it in the dirt floor of a seldom-used shed, fearing that if the Capitol officials came back, they would find it and ask more questions.
When Clark was twelve, Jonathan, who had long since forgotten about the piece of Kryptonite, had torn down the half-collapsed old shed. While removing the tools stored there, he had uncovered the stone and, remembering the night he had found it, had brought it into the house to show to his wife. They had reminisced about the night they found their son. He then set it on a shelf beside the lantern to show to Clark later.
When Clark had come home from school, he had begun to complain that he didn’t feel well. Since he was never sick, his parents had been concerned, but Clark had felt better when he went out to the barn to help his father take care of the animals. As a result, they hadn’t worried too much about it.
When he had returned to the house for dinner, Clark had once again begun complaining that he didn’t feel well. He hadn’t wanted to eat — though he had never refused food before — and had sat hunched over in his chair, holding his head. When Martha had placed a hand on his forehead, she had discovered that he was feverish. She had set his food aside and they both helped him to his bed.
Sometime later, Clark had been starting to feel better, since the Kryptonite was in another room. When Jonathan had gone to his room later to check on him, Clark told him that he was starting to feel better. Jonathan told him that he had something to show him and had returned with the piece of stone.
Clark had immediately curled up in pain, clutching his throbbing head and whimpering in agony. His father had hurried over to him, still holding the shard of Kryptonite. Clark had cringed away, instinctively trying to get away from the source of his pain. Then he threw up for the first time in his life and collapsed, barely conscious.
It was only then that Jonathan realized what the problem was. He quickly took the Kryptonite away, putting it in the lantern’s base to protect Clark from the radiation. He and Martha attended to Clark, fearing the worst, but within a short time, the boy was sitting up and feeling better.
That hadn’t been Clark’s last experience with Kryptonite, though. When he was sixteen, he had been plowing near the crater where he had been found when the plow had unearthed a sizable chunk of it. Two hours later, his parents found him lying unconscious in the dirt, the glowing rock only a few feet away. Jonathan carried him back to the house while Martha took the Kryptonite and buried it where it wasn’t likely to be disturbed.
The effects had been worse that time. Clark hadn’t awakened until well into the next day, and when he had, his head was pounding mercilessly and his stomach was churning. His strange abilities had disappeared and did not return for three days, during which time he had to learn all over again to be careful around hot or sharp objects, winding up with several minor burns and cuts before his skin toughened again and his strength returned.
After that, Clark had used his X-ray vision to check the fields before working in them, noting the location of several pieces of Kryptonite and allowing his parents to remove them before he went to work. Jonathan and Martha had buried the Kryptonite deep in the ground and told Clark where it was so he wouldn’t accidentally dig it up.
None of this would have been a problem were it not for the fact that Kryptonite had been present in the arena during three of the last four Hunger Games. Two years earlier, it had been the deciding factor for the winner of the Games — not because the radiation was dangerous to humans, but because Kryptonite could be chipped like flint into a knife as sharp as any made of metal. The winner of the 64th Hunger Games had made a Kryptonite dagger and used it to cut the throat of her final opponent.
It was this knowledge that made Martha fear for Clark’s life. Without Kryptonite, he was unstoppable. With it, he was as vulnerable as anyone else — perhaps even more, because it made him so sick. None of them was entirely certain if the substance could kill him outright — though they suspected it could — but in the arena, that wouldn’t matter. If Kryptonite was present and he couldn’t get away from it, another tribute could kill him easily.
Jonathan wrapped one arm around his crying wife and the other around his son. “Don’t try to be a hero, Clark. When the gong sounds, run. Get as far away from everyone else as you can.” Fearing that the room was bugged, he leaned closer, whispering so quietly that only Clark’s superhearing could pick up his words. “You can go longer without food and water and rest than the others. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone see what you can do. When you rest, be sure to secure yourself so you don’t float. There are cameras everywhere in the arena, and the last thing you need is to be seen floating.”
“I will, Dad,” Clark assured him. “I’ll do everything I can to come home alive and safe.”
It wasn’t just Clark’s physical safety that his parents feared for. Their son was a gentle soul — he hated causing pain to others. His parents had taught him kindness and compassion, reinforcing those lessons when it became apparent that he would be very strong and could be extremely dangerous if he chose to be.
The lessons had worked. Clark had only lost his temper to the point of hurting someone once when, at age thirteen, he had struck back at a bully and broken the other boy’s arm. He’d felt terrible about it, apologizing to the boy and sticking up for him when other kids had started taunting him, and after that had refused to fight with anyone, no matter what the provocation.
In the arena, though, there was no place for kindness or compassion, and Jonathan and Martha feared what would happen to their son if he was forced to kill another tribute.
Clark wrapped his arms around both of his parents. They stood that way for a few minutes, offering each other silent support, until the Peacekeepers let Clark’s friends in.
Lana was crying and Pete looked devastated. Rachel stood back, comforting Lana and waiting for a moment to talk to Clark alone.
Pete went up to Clark first. “Clark … damn! I’m sorry … I should have volunteered to take your place —“
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Clark interrupted him. “Volunteering for the Games is suicide … that’s why no one does it. You have too much to live for here to throw your life away. You’re going to marry Lana and —“
“I’m not even sure if she’ll say yes,” Pete confessed.
“I think she will,” Clark told him, not mentioning that he had overheard a conversation between Lana and Rachel just before the Reaping had begun in which Lana had told Rachel that if Pete didn’t ask to marry her, she would ask him. “And when I get back, I expect to be invited to the wedding.”
Pete gulped, ducking his head. He didn’t want to speculate on the odds of Clark ever returning.
“Sure … if you make it back …”
“Don’t say that, Pete!” Lana remonstrated from across the room. “Clark’s strong. He might have a chance.” She and Rachel walked over to them, Rachel catching Clark’s eye and nodding at a corner of the room to indicate she wanted to talk to him alone.
“Clark …” Rachel began when he had followed her a little way away from the others. “I …” She bit her lip.
“I’m sorry, Rachel.”
“For what? You didn’t choose to be Reaped!”
“No, but …” Clark fell silent, not sure what he really meant. Was he sorry that he hadn’t tried harder to see where their relationship might have gone? Sorry that he’d hid so many things from her — and his other friends — over the years? Sorry that his Reaping into the Hunger Games might spell the deaths of all them? He didn’t know.
“Clark … thank you for being such a good friend all these years. Thank you for taking me to the dance. If … if you come back —“ She suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, quickly pulling back. “— I’ll be waiting.” She turned and hurried away.
Several Peacekeepers came in, indicating that Clark’s family and friends should leave. Clark hugged each of them quickly as the Peacekeepers grew increasingly impatient.
He was surprised when his father pressed something into his hand. Holding it up, he realized that it was a small, framed photo of himself and his parents — one of the few pictures that had ever been taken of them. Jonathan carried it every Reaping Day for luck.
“You’re allowed to carry a token from your district into the arena with you,” Jonathan told him. “Keep this with you—and remember what you’re fighting for.”
Nodding, Clark hugged his father one last time before the Peacekeepers surrounded him, escorting him in the direction of the train.
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