Read Online Mockingjay (The Final Book of The Hunger Games) by Suzanne Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Collins
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure - General, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Social Issues, Survival Stories, Interpersonal relations, Survival, Survival skills, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Performing Arts, Television programs, Television & Radio, Contests, Fantasy (Young Adult), Insurgency
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answer. I don't want to say he had a complete mental meltdown.
“Concentration problems, eh?” Beetee smiles grimly. “If you knew what Finnick's been through the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little.” Distraction seems to be the last thing Finnick needs, but I promise to pass on the message.
Four soldiers guard the entrance to the hall marked Special Weaponry. Checking the schedules printed on our forearms is just a preliminary step. We also have fingerprint, retinal, and DNA scans, and have to step through special metal detectors. Beetee has to leave his wheelchair outside, although they provide him with another once we're through security. I find the whole thing bizarre because I can't imagine anyone raised in District 13 being a threat the government would have to guard against. Have these precautions been put in place because of the recent influx of immigrants?
At the door of the armory, we encounter a second round of identification checks--as if my DNA might have changed in the time it took to walk twenty yards down the hallway--and are finally allowed to enter the weapons collection. I have to admit the arsenal takes my breath away. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armored vehicles. “Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately,” Beetee tells us.
“Of course,” I say, as if this would be self-evident. I don't know where a simple bow and arrow could possibly find a place in all this high-tech equipment, but then we come upon a wall of deadly archery weapons. I've played with a lot of the Capitol's weapons in training, but none designed for military combat. I focus my attention on a lethal-looking bow so loaded down with scopes and gadgetry, I'm certain I can't even lift it, let alone shoot it.
“Gale, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these,” says Beetee.
“Seriously?” Gale asks.
“You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course. But if you appear as part of Katniss's team in the propos, one of these would look a little showier. I thought you might like to find one that suits you,” says Beetee.
“Yeah, I would.” Gale's hands close around the very bow that caught my attention a moment ago, and he hefts it onto his shoulder. He points it around the room, peering through the scope.
“That doesn't seem very fair to the deer,” I say.
“Wouldn't be using it on deer, would I?” he answers.
“I'll be right back,” says Beetee. He presses a code into a panel, and a small doorway opens. I watch until he's disappeared and the door's shut.
“So, it'd be easy for you? Using that on people?” I ask.
“I didn't say that.” Gale drops the bow to his side. “But if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped what I saw happen in Twelve...if I'd had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena...I'd have used it.”
“Me, too,” I admit. But I don't know what to tell him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
Beetee wheels back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and his shoulder. He comes to a halt and tilts it toward me. “For you.”
I set the case flat on the floor and undo the latches along one side. The top opens on silent hinges. Inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lies a stunning black bow. “Oh,” I whisper in admiration. I lift it carefully into the air to admire the exquisite balance, the elegant design, and the curve of the limbs that somehow suggests the wings of a bird extended in flight. There's something else. I have to hold very still to make sure I'm not imagining it. No, the bow is alive in my hands. I press it against my cheek and feel the slight hum travel through the bones of my face. “What's it doing?” I ask.
“Saying hello,” explains Beetee with a grin. “It heard your voice.”
“It recognizes
“Concentration problems, eh?” Beetee smiles grimly. “If you knew what Finnick's been through the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little.” Distraction seems to be the last thing Finnick needs, but I promise to pass on the message.
Four soldiers guard the entrance to the hall marked Special Weaponry. Checking the schedules printed on our forearms is just a preliminary step. We also have fingerprint, retinal, and DNA scans, and have to step through special metal detectors. Beetee has to leave his wheelchair outside, although they provide him with another once we're through security. I find the whole thing bizarre because I can't imagine anyone raised in District 13 being a threat the government would have to guard against. Have these precautions been put in place because of the recent influx of immigrants?
At the door of the armory, we encounter a second round of identification checks--as if my DNA might have changed in the time it took to walk twenty yards down the hallway--and are finally allowed to enter the weapons collection. I have to admit the arsenal takes my breath away. Row upon row of firearms, launchers, explosives, armored vehicles. “Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately,” Beetee tells us.
“Of course,” I say, as if this would be self-evident. I don't know where a simple bow and arrow could possibly find a place in all this high-tech equipment, but then we come upon a wall of deadly archery weapons. I've played with a lot of the Capitol's weapons in training, but none designed for military combat. I focus my attention on a lethal-looking bow so loaded down with scopes and gadgetry, I'm certain I can't even lift it, let alone shoot it.
“Gale, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these,” says Beetee.
“Seriously?” Gale asks.
“You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course. But if you appear as part of Katniss's team in the propos, one of these would look a little showier. I thought you might like to find one that suits you,” says Beetee.
“Yeah, I would.” Gale's hands close around the very bow that caught my attention a moment ago, and he hefts it onto his shoulder. He points it around the room, peering through the scope.
“That doesn't seem very fair to the deer,” I say.
“Wouldn't be using it on deer, would I?” he answers.
“I'll be right back,” says Beetee. He presses a code into a panel, and a small doorway opens. I watch until he's disappeared and the door's shut.
“So, it'd be easy for you? Using that on people?” I ask.
“I didn't say that.” Gale drops the bow to his side. “But if I'd had a weapon that could've stopped what I saw happen in Twelve...if I'd had a weapon that could have kept you out of the arena...I'd have used it.”
“Me, too,” I admit. But I don't know what to tell him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
Beetee wheels back in with a tall, black rectangular case awkwardly positioned between his footrest and his shoulder. He comes to a halt and tilts it toward me. “For you.”
I set the case flat on the floor and undo the latches along one side. The top opens on silent hinges. Inside the case, on a bed of crushed maroon velvet, lies a stunning black bow. “Oh,” I whisper in admiration. I lift it carefully into the air to admire the exquisite balance, the elegant design, and the curve of the limbs that somehow suggests the wings of a bird extended in flight. There's something else. I have to hold very still to make sure I'm not imagining it. No, the bow is alive in my hands. I press it against my cheek and feel the slight hum travel through the bones of my face. “What's it doing?” I ask.
“Saying hello,” explains Beetee with a grin. “It heard your voice.”
“It recognizes
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