Tribute: Three
The van smells like lemon disinfectant and deodorant. It surprises Kenna. Sandwiched between two suits in a dark van, she thought it would smell like sweat. The sanitary scent does nothing to soothe her. They were still taking her to die. If anything it only made the situation more surreal.
She didn't think it would happen to her. She had prepared for it, prepared for what might happen if her sister was the one, but she hadn't thought Rosalyn's name would actually be called. But it was, and here Kenna sits between two armed government agents.
The reporter stares at the door of the van like he's looking out a window. Unlike the stone-faced suits, he's obviously disturbed. For him, not looking at her is an effort. Kenna feels like she should be relieved that she's not just cattle to someone, but she doesn't. Instead she wonders what they said to make him do this. She wonders if he has kids of his own and if they're holding them hostage somewhere. Maybe a little sibling. Or maybe they just put a gun to his head. Or maybe they paid him off and he's just feeling guilty.
Whatever it was, it doesn't really matter, but it helps keep her mind off the confining van and the fact that she's going to die.
The van rolls on, the rushing sound of the highway filling the silence. Kenna wonders where they're headed. The Tribute Trials aren't always held in the same place so as to prevent protesters or worse from finding out where they are. Rumor had it that the luxurious stage and studios the pre-shows were broadcasted from were in a bunker in the middle of nowhere. None of the victors spoke about it. Kenna suspected they probably had to sign something telling them not to despite what they said on camera.
An hour into the drive, the male suit points to a cooler between the camera man and the reporter. The camera man responds by opening the cooler to hand out cold sandwiches and water bottles. The reporter takes his with a quiet, "Thank you." The camera man waves a sandwich at Kenna.
Kenna stares at it, too numb to have an appetite. Should she wave it away, or accept it? She's not sure.
"Eat," the male suit says.
She reaches out, the wax paper around the sandwich clammy under her fingertips. The paper crinkles as she unwraps it, deafening in the silence. She barely tastes her first bite. It's like chewing wet paper to her. Kenna knows she can't trust her senses right now, but it disappoints her. She's always had a fondness for food in any form since she so enjoyed the act of eating itself. Now chewing is mechanical, an act she has to tell herself to do. First step, insert sandwich. Second, masticate. Third, swallow. Fourth, repeat.
When done, the camera man collects all the trash and puts it back in the cooler, leaving Kenna with her still full water bottle. The female suit is staring at her as if urging her to drink the whole thing. Kenna does, albeit over time, but only because the bulge stabbing her in the side reminds her to listen.
More time passes, the van turns down other roads. She can see a little through the windshield, but it's vague, obscured by the metal grate. The area begins to open up and the van slows further. She sees the outline of a small plane. It disappears as the van turns. Then it rolls to a stop.
The sliding door opens and the suit gets out. Kenna doesn't move until he turns around and stares at her, indicating with a quick sideways jerk of his head that she needs to follow him. She rises and climbs out. The sun is blinding, and she holds her hand up to shield her eyes. The female suit steps out, but Kenna is distracted by the hurried clack of heels.
"Is this her?" a female voice says once the clacking stops.
Kenna uncovers her eyes and turns toward the voice. She is taken aback by a blonde woman in patent hot pink stiletto sandals. The shirt under her black silk jacket is the same blinding pink, and so are her lipstick and nail polish. She clutches a tablet with hands that haven't seen manual work ever, or her manicurist was just that good. Kenna can't see her eyes behind the bug-eyed sunglasses she's wearing, but she's pretty sure her eye makeup would look just as sleek and outrageous as the rest of her.
The woman holds out her hand. "Evy Tanner. I'll be your manager until the Trials."
Kenna takes her hand and shakes it tentatively.
Evy smiles. "Well, aren't you an improvement. Last year, my contestant tried to crawl back in the van." A sigh. "Let's get you to the plane. We're on a tight schedule. Tomorrow is the stage introduction and interview of all the contestants, and we want to make sure you're rested up."
The world finally seems to catch up with Kenna, the surrealism falling away. She always knew this was messed up, all wrong on every conceivable level, and this woman was smiling. Kenna scowls. "And what if I don't want to do the interview?"
Evy's smile shrinks, but doesn't completely fall away. She taps at something on her tablet. When she turns it around, Kenna sees a black car, the same one she saw before getting in the van, sitting in front of a house that she can only guess is her mother's. Evy doesn't have to say anything, the threat is implied. If Kenna doesn't do what they want, her family will suffer.
Evy sweeps her arm toward the private plane parked on the tarmac. "This way please."
Kenna doesn't need to be told twice. She follows the arm toward the plane, Evy clacking along beside her. Evy's heels almost drown out the sound of the suits' even steps behind her.
The plane is as sleek ask Evy, but nowhere near as eye catching. It's a glossy white with dark blue pinstripes, its implied luxury came from its shape.
Kenna climbs the steps into the plane after Evy. The plane's interior is just as she expected. Cream leather seats and dark wood paneling where it isn't upholstered.
Evy turns to her once they're roughly in the center of the plane. "I need to take some measurements before we take off. So, please hold out your arms."
Kenna does.
"Good." Evy backs away slightly, her tablet out between her and Kenna. She taps it some more. "Now I need you to turn around a complete three sixty."
Kenna suspects she means slowly, so she rotates slowly, feeling incredibly awkward. Once she faces Evy and her tablet again, Evy smiles.
"Fabulous. I got a good reading on the first try. You certainly are better than last year." A glowing smile.
Kenna twitches the corner of her lip up. She hopes it looks wry instead of like she's constipated.
"You may sit now." Evy waves her hand at a plush chair behind the fixed table Kenna's been standing next to. "And don't forget to buckle in. You know, safety first."
A laugh threatens to bubble up from Kenna's belly at the irony. Of course they wanted her safe. She was their grand entertainment. She was as important as a lamb going to slaughter for a wicked god. They couldn't have their goods damaged in transit. That would be bad for business.
Kenna clamps down on the laugh, and slides into her seat. She buckles herself in as Evy sits across from her. At the front of the plane, the suits take seats on a wall bench. Sealed in a plane, Kenna thought they would relax, but they sat just as stiffly as in the van.
Evy removes her sunglasses and folds them closed. Kenna was right, her make-up was just as sleek and outrageous. Evy's eye-shadow was at least four different subdued colors of pink, but her electric pink eye-liner really made it pop. Kenna didn't think it possible to be blinded by a color, but the abundance of electric pink made her think it was entirely possible.
Evy slides her sunglasses into her jacket interior. "Now, let us go over your itinerary."
"I get paraded across stage, and then I die. What more is there?"
Evy's smile tightens, but she doesn't drop it. "Well, there is a sight more than that. There is the initial introduction tomorrow evening. And then interviews. And then a week where you are taught basic survival techniques, maybe some weapon skills if you're so inclined. And then the trial of course. It's all very important."
Kenna hears the whir of the engines increasing as the plane taxis. They'll be in the air soon. "Why is it important? Why don't they just dump us off in the middle of nowhere once we arrive at our destination, and let us fight to the death there? Why put all this effort in?"
Evy clears her throat demurely. "You want the best possible chance during the trials, don't you? People can donate money to support their favorite contestants. They need to know who you are so they can. Just throwing you out with nothing but the clothes on your back would make that all but impossible to accomplish. We're trying to add a bit of civility to the proceedings."
Right. As if there was any civility to what they were doing. Kenna still remembers the way crushed brains look when one contestant inevitably uses a rock to bash in the skull of another. They always keep going, until the victim's head looks less than hamburger meat. The worst part, the camera never waivers. They want you to watch. They want you to know they can take your children away to die at the hands of another child.
She also wonders how much of that money goes to supporting the contestants, and how much the government keeps for itself.
The plane is in the air now. Evy still watches her with that smile, despite Kenna's pointed silence. Kenna takes a deep breath. "How long have you been doing this?"
Evy's smile broadens. "This will be my fifth year managing a contestant. But you are my first from Scientific Studies." She looks back down at her tablet. "It says here that you're an intern at your local police station." Her smile broadens further, something Kenna didn't think was possible. "And you have your first firearms qualifications. Lovely. I also see hunting licences. In fact, it looks like you went out just this morning."
Evy sounds like a kid who woke up to find everything they ever wanted waiting under the Christmas tree. It is then Kenna realizes that she might be one of the better trained contestants for what they want her to do, hunt down the other teenagers. She might very well have a chance to survive, but the cost was now staggering. Would she really kill to live? She thought she would. That could very well change when on the field.
"Kenna, dear. You look a little nauseous. Would you like some ginger ale?"
She absently rubs her stomach. She does feel sick. Was it the recognition she might have to slaughter other humans? Was it the flying? She'd never flown before. Could be the flying. "Sure," she says, her voice distant and soft.
Evy raises her hand and a flight attendant approaches for their order. "Are you hungry? I'm sure you're hungry."
Kenna nods absently.
Evy orders something. Kenna doesn't pay attention. She stares out the window as the world speeds by. Down there, somewhere, she would be sent to die. Would she fight to get back to Rosalyn? Really fight? Or would she sit there and let them kill her?
She swallows and sets her face. She will try. She doesn't have to kill twenty three teenagers. She could always wait. That is what happened last year. The winner just waited. Maybe she could do the same. Maybe she could go home if she's patient, if she plays be the rules.
The flight attendant arrives with their order some time later, and the smell pulls Kenna from the window. The attendant sets a glass plate with perfectly cooked salmon in front of her. It's plated next to a salad of vegetables she doesn't recognize, and small pile of thin noodles. It's joined by gleaming silverware, a cream cloth napkin, and a glass of ginger ale slick with condensation. Kenna's never had salmon before. She's always wanted to try it, but they could never afford it living in an Appalachian mining town.
Kenna stares at the plate. It's like a death row inmate's final meal. The hysterical laugh returns, but she doesn't bite it back. It rolls out from the deepest recesses of her body. It brings tears to her eyes. She doesn't stop just because Evy stares at her like she's cracked, for all Kenna knows she has, or because of the startled flight attendant.
She lets it roll on, because it's better than feeling like the world has ended.
<TWO / FOUR>