My feet ruffle leaves as I walk back and forth. Here I'm heading to the woods. To the oak tree. Turn. Back to the smoldering, smoking ruins of the hovercraft. Past the torn-out fuel packs. Turn. Back to the woods.

I know I should be trying to keep quiet, to come up with a decent plan, to make the best of the situation. But all my body wants to do is pace. And since I could never keep quiet like my sister, the late autumn leaves crackle under my heel and twigs snap as I spin around, my hair almost hitting me across the face.

"Prim. Calm down. You've been in worse fixes," I try to tell myself. But it's a bit of a joke, because in those other situations there were always people to run to. Katniss, mostly. Mother. Gale, if all else failed. Other children from school. Buttercup. Sweet, pitiable Buttercup who's now safe and sound in District Thirteen. While I, Primrose Everdeen , am stuck in the middle of nowhere with a ruined hovercraft and a few dead crew members. Tears begin to well up in my blue eyes, which were always out of place. No. You can't break down now. I mop up my face with my hair. Not when you have to get home alive.

I go off my now memorised back-and-forth pathway and climb back into the hovercraft, carefully avoiding the bodies. It was by pure luck that I survived the crash. Odds. Which seemed to never be in my favour before.

We were heading to Eight. They needed rebel medics there. And Katniss knew I was going. At least, I hope she did. If Haymitch remembered to inform her. Or wanted to. Katniss is always complaining about the earpieces she has to wear. I'd give anything to get in touch with someone from 13 right now. It's probably hopeless. The radio signals only go that far out. Now say he was here-

I scare myself as I start. Maybe not Haymitch. But if somewhere, there was a signal… my feet carry me across the hovercraft and suddenly I'm leaning over the controls. My heart sinks. "What are you thinking, Prim?' Thoughts face through my mind. "You can't manage these in a million years."

I run my fingers over the uneven surface formed by the thousands of knobs, controls and buttons. I'm not even sure if they work, why risk it?

Instead, I go back outside, detrmined to find out where I am. I might be a mile from Eight. Or two miles from home. I can't exactly recall how long the journey was until they shot us down. I rake every tree, every rock for some sign of placement. Katniss would be good at this. She knows different forests like her own five fingers. I walk on and on until I come to a stretch of fence. But this isn't the fence of twelve. It's huge, and I'm sure I could never climb even halfway up. The barbed wire coils mencingly. And towers every mile or so keep the fence under constant surveillance. I catch the white flash of a man in a Peackeeper uniform. How many are there here? I catch myself shuddering and holding on to a branch for support.

Then my eyes turn to the left. Something's on the fence. A dead body. No, Prim. You're just being paranoid.

I come closer to the large, cardboard sign, covered with some sort of waterproof and roent-proof oil. The sign looks like it's brand-new, although the letters have faded slightly and it's obvious this isn't novelty. The words on the sign scare me even more than if it was a corpse. Corpses I knew.

DISTRICT ELEVEN. TRESPASSING PUNISHABLE BY DEATH.