Somehow, I manage to fall asleep on the hovercraft; it's only the sharp bump of the landing that wakes me from my slumber. I look around me, and see all of the remaining survivors undoing their seatbelts or gathering their meagre possessions. My few things are stored in a worn old backpack I scavenged from the charity bins at the relief centre – a change of clothes, my sister's sketch and a few battered books. Using an old rag, I have buffed my parent's wedding rings as best I can and have strung them around my neck on a thin leather cord.
Another Peacekeeper appears to lead us off of the hovercraft; as I step onto solid land I notice the pale, weak sun above and soft green grass underfoot. Huge mountains lie not too far in the distance, though many large boulders and a few scraggly trees surround us. The structure that dominates the landscape is a huge, grey shed surrounded by a barb-wire fence that must be at least four metres high; it's only when we are surrounded by a team of Peacekeepers that I realise this shed is to be our home, our prison, at least for tonight.
***
We are marched towards the shed, every one of us walking slowly, carefully; the spears, swords and knives carried by the Peacekeepers are very visible and quite ominous. As soon as we are inside the confines of the fence, the gate is shut and locked tight. I look at the girl next to me, a pretty little thing with green eyes and ash-blonde hair; she can't be more than 14 years old. She's shaking like a leaf and her fingers twist the thin silver necklace around her neck.
"Don't worry," I say to her kindly, "We'll only be here a night or two and then we'll be off to our new homes in the Districts. I shouldn't wonder that a pretty young girl such as you gets sent somewhere nice, like District One or Two."
She remains silent, though her eyes widen in horror. Such a shame that my words of comfort have no effect on her; it's clear that even she knows that life in Panem is far different and possibly far worse than life at home.
The huge double-doors to the shed are flung open by two burly Peacekeepers and we are led inside; though the light is dim I can see row upon row of camp beds with small metal lockers next to them. Parts of the shed have been partitioned off and contain unknown things – perhaps restrooms, offices or the Peacekeepers' quarters. A dark-haired Peacekeeper with a ridiculous handlebar moustache marches to the very head of the group and begins speaking in brisk tones.
"Welcome, former Asalians to the prospering nation of Panem; though a land brought to waste lies behind you, may you find new successes here. You are at the National Panem Refugee Allocation Camp, where you will be housed until you are dispatched to a District suited to your abilities. Each of you is to be allocated one of these beds and a locker; later in the day you will be fitted for two new changes of clothing. You will also find in your locker an information package about the nation of Panem, so that you may familiarise yourself with your new country. Any personal items you wish to keep with you must be submitted to our Review Board for approval, with all of your old clothing and such to be destroyed. If you have any questions, you should report to the Refugee Assistance Office, located at the very end of this centre."
His accent is very strange – the vowels sound odd and clipped, the sentences ending as if they were questions – not at all like Asalian speech, with its slightly drawling, twangy sounds. After allowing us a brief moment, he begins calling out our names, to a nametag and be allocated to a bed.
"Emma Wattle…Samuel Harris…Rosa Jacobs…" he says, his ridiculous-sounding accent making their names sound strange. My mind begins to wander, as I watch a lone fly buzz its way around the giant shed we're to call home.
"Zarah la Mer," the Peacekeeper calls, and$ upon I am snapped from my reverie. I wander up to the Peacekeeper, collect my tag and clip it to my tattered jumper, then head to bed number 18, as per the writing on my tag. As I sit down on the flimsy foam mattress, I put my head in my hands and wonder what is to become of me.