The journey from my parent's cabin to the central city of District 7 took much longer than I expected. I lived only on the things I could forage from the woods and a few squirrels I was able to trap. Finally, after endless hours of slicing my way through the dense forest, I arrive at the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night. I'm not worried because I know that the authorities won't be looking for me. My mother never trusted the police even after the new found freedom of the Revolution. Besides, after my seventeenth birthday a few weeks ago, there's no way that anyone could force me to go back anyway.
Finally, I emerge from the undergrowth into the artificially lit streets of the city. The entire population is asleep in their beds and no businesses are open. The journey has left me totally exhausted and starving. I was hoping to find a bite to eat when I arrived, but soon remember that I have no money anyway, so it doesn't matter.
Aimlessly, I wander the streets, having no idea what I will do or where I will go. Then, after an hour searching, I see one building with its lights still shining brightly. The sign above the door reads "United Districts of Panem Defense Forces Recruiting Station: District 7," and there is a large cardboard cutout of a soldier in full combat gear with the words "Not only for your future, but for Panem's" written across the figure's chest in big bold letters.
I am drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. It's as if some unseen force within me is telling me to enter. Slowly, I approach the doors. Just before I reach for the handle, I catch the reflection of myself in the glass.The truth is not pretty, but obvious: I look deranged. My clothes are dirty and torn, my hair is matted and in knots, and my face is covered with nicks and scratches from the branches and brush I've been running through for almost three days. However, the unseen force continues to push me forward and I step inside.
At first, I see no one. There is nothing but a desk and a few empty chairs. Patriotic signs and posters dot the walls. I look around at a stack of brochures listing the various jobs a new recruit can apply for. One of them catches my eye in particular. It is of a young soldier, leading a squad of other warriors to the top of hill. He looks back over his shoulder, rifle held high in the air, as he urges the others forward. Beneath the picture is one simple phrase:
"Join the Infantry and Lead the Way."
"Hello?" I finally call out hoping that someone hears me.
Suddenly, a staff sergeant in black fatigues appears from a back room. At first, his eyes grow wide as he sees the state I'm in. My first instinct when I see his reaction is to run right back out the door.
"He'll probably just call the police and have me hauled away," I think with trepidation, but still, I somehow hold firm. Then, the sergeant's face softens.
"When was the last time you had something to eat?" he asks in a kind tone that calms me down a little.
"Not in awhile…" I whisper back embarrassed.
"Sit down, please," he says motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. I'm still not entirely unconvinced that he won't call the police, but I do as he says before he disappears again into the back room.
He returns a few minutes later with a sandwich and a cup of water that he sets down in front of me. At first, I'm afraid to take the food, but then he orders me to.
"Please, eat," he says before he takes a seat across from me. He doesn't have to ask again. I reach forward and begin to devour it. He lets me finish my meal and take a few sips of water before speaking again. "So, what can I do for you?" To this day, I have no idea why I said what comes out of my mouth next.
"I want to join the Defense Forces." The military was never in my plans, but somehow, it just seems right…and I haven't regretted it since.
"Well, I can certainly help you with that," he says reaching into his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. "How old are you?" he asks.
"Seventeen," I reply.
"Do you have proof of that?"
"No…" I whisper a bit crestfallen.
"That's alright, we can help you get the documents you need."
"What's your name?"
"Olivia Sawbleyde."
"It's very nice to meet you, Olivia," he says reaching out his hand. Over the next hour, he helps me fill out the enlistment forms and arranges a place for me to stay. Somehow, I trust this man more than I do myself right now. He seems to have all the answers.
"Your first stop will be the in-processing center in District 6, and then you'll go straight to basic training. After ten weeks, you'll be a full soldier, and then receive orders for your first duty assignment."
"Thank you," is all I manage to say as he reaches out his hand again.
"It's my job, Olivia. You'll be fine…I see something special in you already." He goes over to a cabinet on the wall and pulls out a clean t-shirt with a Defense Forces logo on it and a small backpack. "You can have these. You can put whatever personal effects you have in the bag when you travel."
I reach into my jacket and pull out my hatchet.
"That won't be necessary," I say with a smile. "This is the only thing I have." The sergeant's eyes grow wide again but soon he just laughs and says
"I'm afraid you can't take that with you to basic."
I lean forward and stare right back at him.
"I won't give it up. I need this…it keeps me safe."
Instead of getting angry, he just plops back in his chair and pulls out a small card from his desk. He scribbles a name and address on it and then hands it to me.
"Let me hold on to it for you. When you reach for first assignment, call me and I'll make sure you get it back." Reluctantly, I had over my precious weapon into his waiting hands, but the kindness he has shown me so far is enough to earn my trust.
Four months later, a newly minted Private Sawbleyde wrote to the address on the card. He kept his word and I've never been separated from that hatchet since…
I bolt awake and realize I'm no longer on the barren plain surrounded by hovercraft wreckage. Instead, I'm resting on the soft sand floor of a tent. The colored, earth-toned canvas walls bellow softly in the desert breeze and bright morning sunlight filters through the front door flap. The spinning in my head is gone, but I have no idea how long I've been unconscious. It could be only hours…or maybe it could be days.
Someone has carried me here and propped me against the wooden support beam in the center of the tent. My burned and shattered body armor has been stripped away and I'm dressed only in my black t-shirt, fatigue bottoms, and boots. Something isn't right. I desperately reach down to my belt. Then, my heart drops as I realize the dearest loss of all…my hatchet is gone.
My first thought is that I am a prisoner, however, my hands and feet remain unbound. A rush of hope passes through me as I realize that my communicuff is still firmly attached to my wrist, but soon even that disappears as I see that the crash has smashed it almost beyond recognition and the device is completely inoperative.
"Dammit," I mutter aloud as I realize my stay here could be much longer than I hoped for.
Suddenly, I feel eyes watching me. I spin around and see that I am not alone in here. A field of dark eyes gazes at me with a mix of fear and wonder. I cannot see their faces because every one of them is hidden behind a mutely colored veil. A dozen women clothed head to toe in loose robes that cover every inch of their body silently watch every move I make as I stare straight back at them. Instantly, I sense that they're not a threat. They seem far too meek and frightened for that, and if they meant me harm, they certainly already had the chance while I slept.
One woman who appears to be the head of this group steps forward. I can tell she's older and wiser just from the way she carries herself. Also, her eyes betray a measure of experience that can only be gained from long years of struggle. It is something that I recognize from the face of my mother.
The leader produces a small plate of lentils and a tiny loaf of bread. It is only then that I realize I also have no idea how long it's been since the last time I ate and my stomach is screaming for sustenance. With both grace and caution, I step forward and take the food from her hands. As I begin eat, I think that though no person in Panem today would ever call it a decent meal, these people are starving. To spare even the slightest of morsels to feed an enemy is an act of kindness that takes my breath away. Even though I'm afraid that someone outside the tent will hear that I'm awake, I cannot help but whisper
"Thank you." Even though she doesn't comprehend my words, the slight nod of her covered head and the look in her eyes says that she understands.
Sadly, I wish that these people were harsh and uncaring. I wish that I was tied up and mal-treated. It would make what I have to do now far easier. It is my duty to escape…by any means necessary.
Perhaps my act of taking the food has set the other women at ease. A few of them start to edge closer to me, but I motion for them to get back. Confused, one of them starts speaking to me in their language. I immediately raise my finger over my mouth, which quiets her. Then, I sneak to the door and carefully peek outside. The position of the sun in the sky tells me that it is mid-morning.
"So, I've been out at least twenty-four hours," I think to myself. "That's plenty of time for Bixby to organize a rescue operation…if he thinks there's still someone alive to rescue. Even if our reconnaissance found the debris field, it would be very easy for them to assume that everyone aboard the transport was lost. Plus, even if they did try to mount a rescue, they'll have no idea where I've been taken.
"Hell, even I don't know where I've been taken."
Quickly, I realize that making a break for the open desert is my best option. All I have to do is head north and I'll eventually hit the sea. Then, I can try to make some kind of signal. European intelligence regularly sends aerial patrols along the coastline.
Suddenly, a figure appears out of the corner of my eye. He is not dressed in the same fatigues that the other militia fighters were wearing and his headscarf doesn't hide his face, but he is still armed. I immediately notice the assault rifle he carries is an ancient antique. The bluing on the metal is almost completely worn off and the wooden stock and hand guards are pockmarked with the dings and scratches of many generations of battles. It's definitely antiquated and obsolete, but still dangerous all the same. I'm slowly calculating the best way to take him down when my eyes suddenly move to his waist. Tucked into his belt is my hatchet.
"Now, it's personal…"
He doesn't notice me observing him as he casually paces back and forth in front of my tent.
"Some guard this guy is," I whisper to myself.
The tent I'm in seems to be pitched in the middle of a large desert encampment. These people must be a bedouin tribe, moving to wherever they can find enough food and water to survive.
My guard suddenly stops and turns his back to me, and I see my chance. I charge forward into the daylight and deliver a swift side-kick across the back of his knees. They buckle instantly, sending him down to the ground in a heap. In one fluid sequence, I strike to his face, twist his head so that our gazes lock, and then grab my hatchet from his belt. I tower over him, and look my opponent straight in the face.
"I think this belongs to me," I say as he stares up at me in shocked terror. As I raise my weapon over my head to deliver the death blow, I hear a terrible sound behind me…it is the sound of an assault rifle bolt cocking.
I freeze, knowing that my escape attempt has come to quick and abrupt end. I wince as I prepare for the hail of bullets that will end my life, but nothing comes. Instead, I only hear a desperate plea
"Please, do not harm him."
Without releasing my captive, I slowly turn around. Standing before me is a striking man who looks to be about my age, but with dark bronzed skin and a long wild beard. He appears to be a person of some importance because his flowing robes are bright white rather than the muted, plain colors of the other individuals I have seen.
I still hold my hatchet over the guard's head ready to strike at any moment, but now that it seems I have found someone I can actually talk to, I decide I have nothing to lose.
"Why shouldn't I harm him? You attacked me after all."
"We did not attack you," the man in white says to me. "We saved you."
"Then who the hell shot down my hovercraft?" I shout angrily.
"The same band of thieves and braggarts who hold my people hostage and attempt to conquer us by stealing every bit of food from our children's mouths. The same murderers who killed my father as he valiantly attempted to win our freedom, forcing me to take over the tribe before it was my time…and the same pirates who you have been sent to eradicate. I give you my solemn word, that you and I are not enemies." As a gesture of faith, he lowers his rifle down to his side. "Now please, let Abdul go. As I said, he never meant you any harm."
"Then why was he guarding me?" I ask still very skeptical.
"I ordered him to make sure no one bothered you while you recovered from your injuries. You seem to be the only thing that people here are speaking of, and some think it is too dangerous to keep you here. However, I am Sheik and I have final say in the matter. You are under our protection for as long as needed.
We placed you in the women's tent so that you could rest. My mother promised to care for you."
Suddenly, I realize who the wise woman was that gave me the food: the widow of the fallen chief and mother of the current tribal leader. I look down at the man in my grip still frozen with terror. I finally decide to let him go. Still trembling, he immediately gets to his feet and runs behind his leader for safety. They exchange a few words in their native language before Abdul disappears between two tents with his tail between his legs.
"What is your name?" I ask firmly.
"Ibn Mufaz Ibn Mustafa Ibn Hanbal Ibn Al-Khalid," the man in white responds proudly. The look on my face must tip him off that I am not used to such grandiose titles. He immediately adds, "However, you can call me Khalid."
"Well Khalid," I say still keeping my guard up. "Mind telling me how you learned English? Doesn't seem to be of much use out here."
"Before this time of troubles, we were a tribe of merchants, transporting wares from deep within the continent northward to the coast. We sold to many customers, including those who spoke your language. It was, in fact, very useful."
"I stand corrected then….In that case, I just have one more question."
"And that is?"
"Why did you try to save me?"
"A scouting party of mine was keeping an eye on the pirates near the refugee camp. We can never be sure when they could come to raid us. After you were shot from the sky, they saw you were still alive and that the fighters were coming to capture you."
"Why would they want to capture me?" I ask, almost too afraid to find out the answer.
"The pirates trade in many things. When they saw you were a female and so different from our own women, they realized they could fetch a very high price for you…or just keep you for their own leaders' pleasure. If you resisted, they would have killed you.
It is our sacred duty to protect helpless women, even those whom we have never met. It is the Code of Honor our tribe lives by."
"I can take care of myself!" I shout back angrily at the insinuation that I somehow require their protection, but I immediately realize how ridiculous it must sound considering the state they found me in.
"As you wish…" he says trailing off. "You are not a captive to us. If you desire to fend for yourself in the desert, we will not stop you, but you must understand that danger is everywhere."
"I'm used to danger," I say with stone-cold resolve. He looks at me with his dark, piercing eyes. There is a nobility in him that I have never seen before, and even though I have no reason to trust him, I immediately do. I guess I'm just a sucker for people who show me kindness.
"Then may I ask the name of the woman who has so little fear?" he replies. Somehow after everything he has done for me, exchanging formalities just wouldn't seem right.
"You can call me Hatchet."
"I have never heard this name before," Khalid says somewhat surprised.
"That's because it belongs to me." Somehow, I think that my spirit is starting to win him over.
"Very well, Hatchet," he says with a grin. "Go with God and may he keep you safe on your travels…"
At that moment, machine gun fire echoes through the entire camp. Other men appear from inside their tents with weapons, but the guns are as old and obsolete as the ones that Abdul and Khalid possess. From inside the shelters, I hear terrified screams of dozens of other women and children.
I look out into the desert and see a cloud of dust fast approaching. Khalid sees it as well, but stands with a stoic bravery that adds to my growing respect.
"Who's shooting at us?" I ask already knowing the answer.
"Those are the ones who attacked you."