Hand steady, I turn the throwing knife over once, twice. I press the blade between my thumb and forefinger, eyes fixated on the target yards ahead of me. I don't allow myself to over think it; I hurl the small, deadly knife with all my strength and watch it bury itself to the hilt in the ring furthest from the bullseye. I growl angrily and swear under my breath. I'm still irritated, and it's throwing my aim with a blade off even more than usual. I throw the blade in my other hand to the ground and stomp angrily into the adjoining weapons room to the one thing I never miss with- my bow.
I retrieve a navy blue bow from the rack along the wall. The steel is cold and solid in my hands; I grip it's familiar weight tightly. After pulling down the accompanying quiver of arrows and slinging them over my shoulder, I stride back across the training center, passing the knives station, and enter a large room. It's pitch black inside except for a small, glowing monitor; next to the monitor is a black helmet that completely covers your face. This is one of our newest technologies, and I have yet to try it with anything but my bow. I press a few buttons on the monitor to seal the room and activate the helmet before placing it on my head.
We call it a simulation. The screen inside the helmet shows a wooded area, and I feel as if I'm actually in the forest. I can hear birds chirping above me for a second or so before they go silent, leaves crunching around me as various animals scatter; my first warnings. Then I hear the low growl of a Hollow. I turn my body, and the view within my helmet swings with me as if I'm truly there.
My fingers run slowly along the length of the bow. I find the power button that transmits and connects with the headset and press it. Taking an arrow from the sheath across my back, I notch it into the bow and lift it, pulling the string taught alongside my cheek. I can see the bow in my sight on the screen within the helmet, and just as I have my bow in position a Hollow bursts through the trees in front of me. Though I know it's not real, that it's unable to hurt me, when he begins his horrible, ungainly walk towards me, I step back instinctively. I let the arrow fly and watch it pierce his head with enough force to send him sprawling onto his back. In real time, my arrow has lodged into the padded walls around the room; this is why we seal the room while engaged in a simulation.
It takes only seconds before I hear the terrible groaning again. I spin around instantly and this time there are two. This throws me off slightly; when I fire my next arrow it hits the first one of Hollows in the chest- not good enough. I begin retreating backwards and load another arrow as I move. This time it finds it's mark and the target hits the ground with a dull thud. The second creature is only feet in front of me now, but I'm quicker than he is with his uneven shuffle. My next arrow is already loaded and before he can take another step, he's dead.
I have no time to catch my breath before an onslaught of hissing hits my ears. I spin around quickly and find myself faced with three more of the creatures. They're already bearing down on me, nearly close enough to grab me if this were real. I withdraw quickly again, putting distance between us. I take a deep breath and reach for my arrows, and snap one into place.
Accuracy. I release the bowstring with a sharp twang and the arrow hits home. The Hollow falls.
Speed. My next arrow flies before the remaining two beasts can drag themselves forward another step.
Consistency. The third arrow buries itself deep inside the last creature's skull.
I lower my bow and breathe deep, closing my eyes. Just as I open my eyes, ready to continue, the simulation shuts off. Confused, I remove the helmet to find the room is bright with solar light. I turn to the door and see Special Agent Crane smiling at me; he must have deactivated the simulation from the outside. I frown slightly, but say nothing.
"As good as ever, I see," he compliments me.
I wipe sweat from my brow and set the helmet down, drape the bow over my back and cross the room to greet him.
"Agent Crane," I say as I reach out to shake his hand briefly.
"Miss Everdeen. I have orders to retrieve you," he replies concisely.
"What for?" I ask curiously, though I believe I already know the answer.
"Snow wants to meet with you," is his short response.
I consider trying to fish more information out of him, but decide against it. If my instincts are correct, and they usually are, this is about the rumored survivors outside the wall. I suspected Snow would send out another search and rescue party from the moment Prim gave me the news. Though I had hopes he would include me in this operation, I am still somewhat surprised. I am a brand new recruit, after all.
"Of course," I reply to Agent Crane.
We exit the simulation area and I replace my bow and quiver in the weapons room. Agent Crane and I then make our way to the elevators silently. Not a word is spoken between the two of us from then on. What is there to say when we both know what awaits me?
A block later I am following him inside the HQ building. Agent Crane walks me to the elevator here and I enter alone. It takes me to the top floor, and I exit into cool air; the room somehow manages to smell new, though the building itself was constructed years ago. I pull my braid across one shoulder and fiddle with it nervously as I walk to the long, very large marble desk in the center of the room. President Snow's secretary looks up at my approach.
"Miss Everdeen. The President is expecting you," she says kindly. Her tone is not enough to calm my nerves, however.
She rises from her seat and leads me to a door on her right, pressing a button on a keypad on the wall beside it that slides the door open; I enter and the door closes silently. I have only seen President Snow in person a few times. He makes announcements frequently that broadcast on monitors and billboards throughout the city, but rarely visits the training center where I spend the majority of my time. He is taller in person than he seems on screen but on his shirt is pinned the same white rose I always see him with. He looks up at my entrance and smiles at me almost kindly, but it doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk and I sit, perching just on the edge.
"Miss Everdeen, how nice to meet you," he says formally before waving his hand over the small, round projector on the desk in front of him. Instantly a hologram with my entire history is displayed before me.
There are my archery statistics in the left panel, every single recorded one from the training center. Records of my progress in emergency medical class are listed in the right, and videos of me training play at the center of the display. The top of the screen holds my personal information and a brief description of me. I raise my eyebrows, watching the screen curiously. He, too, pauses for a moment to review the file.
"You've recently turned sixteen, am I correct?" He asks with a small smile, as if he isn't aware of the fact.
"Yes, sir," I answer quietly, fighting the urge fidget or play with my hair.
"Excellent. You've remained at one of the highest ranks in your class throughout your training; excelling in use of the bow from our recordings, quite a rare talent these days. Is that also correct?" he asks.
I nod my affirmation, suddenly unable to find my voice. My fingers begin to tremble and I interlace them tightly, hoping he won't notice. I can feel anxiety bubbling inside; what about this man makes me drop my gaze, wish to be anywhere else, when our eyes meet? Is it because he is the highest in power in Verona? That with his white hair and pale, papery skin, he looks undead in his own way? Or is it simply that I am impatient to know where this meeting is leading? Whatever the cause, I take a deep breath and mentally command myself to relax.
"Good. As you know, sixteen is the age we begin sending soldiers into the field to rescue and bring humans trapped or lost in the wilderness here to safety. And, of course, to thin the Hollows population as much as possible. Our prime goal is, of course, the safety of our people," he tells me, looking at me intently.
I drink his words in hungrily, though I've heard this propaganda many times before. We all have. It's in all the training work books, we are told it repeatedly by our instructors, and the President always says something of the effect in his broadcasts; this is the general goal in which we all work together to achieve.
"Being that you are so highly ranked and remarkably skilled with the bow, you are as I'm sure you know a prime candidate to be selected now that you are of age," he continues, his gaze never wavering. There is something unnerving about his pale blue eyes.
I nod once again and force myself to speak before he begins to think there's something wrong with me.
"Of course, sir; I'm aware," I reply quietly.
He regards me in silence for the next few moments, long enough to make begin fidgeting again.
"Do you consider yourself capable of handling any situation or decision you may be forced to do or make outside our walls?" he asks me, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes me carefully.
"Absolutely," I answer readily. "I've trained my entire life for this; why wouldn't I?" This, at least, is easy to say. If nothing else, I am sure of this fact- I am ready to face the Hollows.
He is quiet again for a moment before speaking.
"It is not as I believe you imagine, Miss Everdeen. Once you are outside the walls, life as you know ceases to exist. Every second you spend outside the safety of our city is a threat to your life, and that is why we must save those stranded there.. Are you prepared to die, Miss Everdeen, to save someone you do not even know?" he asks me, and his unsettling stare and cryptic words send a chill through me.
The image of my father on the field, surrounded by Hollows, giving his life to defend the helpless and save what was left of civilization, flashes before my eyes. I know better than many the dangers of going beyond the wall, but something stirs inside me; a desire to finish what my father died doing.
After a quiet few minutes, I finally answer him in a small but serious voice.
"Believe me, I understand the risks of the field," I begin. "But if you give me the chance, I would give my life to save even a single person who needs my help," I finish, eyes holding his with a firm determination.
He nods at my reply, smiling slightly as he hands me a black, steel band; a micromic, but we call them micros for short. It's face is square and not much larger than my wrist. I unsnap the outer casing, and upon touching the screen, several options come up; communication, current time and location, a map, and many others. I raise my eyes again to Snow's; these are the bands they give when you leave on an OP so you can remain in contact with HQ and find your way home should you get separated from your squad or lost.
"Miss Everdeen, we have reason to believe there are three people just beyond the state border searching for safety. This is a dire situation, as are they all, but this one in particular. The woman amongst them is believed to be mentally unstable and in need of immediate medical attention. You along with select others will be departing tomorrow to find these lone survivors and escort them back to Verona. Their lives will be in your hands, Miss Everdeen. Remember that. You are responsible for them until they are within the safety of our walls," he tells me solemnly, and his words settle like a great weight upon my shoulders.
My hands tremble slightly as I strap the micro onto my wrist, but as I glance down at it again I cannot help the small smile that comes to my lips. I meet President Snow's eyes once more.
"You will be sent more information via your micromic. You are to be at the gate at dawn, 0600. I advise you as I do everyone to say your goodbyes tonight; not everyone returns from these OP's, as you well know, Miss Everdeen," he says to me before pressing a key on the large pad across his desk. I don't see it, but I know the door has slid open silently behind me and I have been dismissed.
"Thank you," I reply with some difficulty, as my mouth has gone dry.
Excited as I am at my first mission, the thought of not returning home leaves me with a hollow, numb feeling that I haven't experienced since the death of my father. The idea that this may be the last time I see my family is so incredulous, so impossible... and yet a very real reality. All the more reason to put up one hell of a fight out there, I suppose.
On my way home I consider going to speak to Gale again, but I'm still reeling from his earlier attitude. I feel as though I am not the one who need not apologize, for I did nothing wrong. Though, truthfully, had the situation been reversed I probably would not atone for it, and Gale knows this. "You're too stubborn," he always tells me. It is hypocritical of me to be angry at him, but I am nonetheless.
I ultimately decide against talking to Gale. I know that I will have my hands full just telling Prim and my mother. I feel only slightly guilty for not telling him that I'm leaving, but my confidence in the success of my OP coupled with my irritation from our argument earlier overshadows my guilt, and I pass by his building without pause.
It seems like mere moments before I am standing outside our door; I dread telling Prim and my mother. Though they knew this day would come, I know they were hoping for later rather than this soon. Biting my lip anxiously, I flash my tags over the sensor and walk inside.
I shut the door quietly behind me and enter the living room deciding it will be best to inform my mother first. She's seated on the couch, legs curled up beneath her and fingers clasping a steaming mug of coffee. The television is on and she's absorbed in the news. It is scant seconds later that I notice Snow's face on the screen.
"And following the safe return of our last squad and their group of survivors, we have been notified that they are remaining survivors seeking safety close to our borders. And so it is with a fierce determination to restore humanity that I announce the three highly skilled individuals tasked with bringing these citizens to safety," he intones in a grave voice.
Snow pauses as if for dramatic effect and glances down at a paper in front him; I feel my palms begin to sweat. My mother hasn't yet acknowledged my presence in the room. This is not going to plan. I definitely did not want Snow to break the news to her. He wasted no time in announcing this mission, though with the urgency of the situation, I suppose I understand. That does not mean I wanted my mother to find out like this, though.
"From the Lure class, specializing in speed, endurance, and snares: Finch Crossley," he announces the first of us.
On the screen flashes a brief video of a girl, possibly a few years older than me, with hair like bright flames dancing over her shoulder as she sprints full speed through a long obstacle course. I have seen her selected before, and she is becoming quite well-known. She weaves in and out of poles protruding from the floor with quick elegance; it looks almost like a dance to her. She never stumbles and her speed never falters. When she pulls to a stop the camera offers a closeup. Her face is narrow, her nose slim, and her eyes are bright blue. After a few moments, her face fades out and is replaced by Snow.
"Next, from the Raiders class, a veteran of our OP's who displays extraordinary axe handling, among other weapons, in combat: Johanna Mason," he reads the second name off his list.
This girl has short, dark hair, and you can tell just by looking at her that she is not to be fucked with. I know her, as we all do; she's one of the only female Raiders known to Verona, and one of the best at that. She's Raider royalty, as her grandfather was a great Raider, followed by her father as well. On the screen in front of me plays a clip of Johanna wielding her deadly battle axe during simulation training. We can see the targets surrounding her on all sides. She grips the axe tightly in one hand and begins swinging, levering her body around with the weight of the weapon, dealing blow after deadly blow to one target after another until only one is left standing. She then lifts the axe high above her head in both hands and throws it with all of her strength; the blade imbeds to the hilt in her targets face and it falls lifeless to the ground.
I swallow nervously as Snow's face appears once again. I know what's coming, know that I'm next, and there is no chance now to be the one to tell my mother. I'm thankful at least that Prim is not in the room with us. I lean forward, gripping the back of the couch tightly, and brace myself for impact.
"Lastly, from the LRM class, specializing in the rare, difficult to master talent of the bow: Katniss Everdeen," he says with a fate sealing finality.
And now it's my face on the screen. My dark hair is in it's usual tight braid, draped down over one shoulder. I see myself from a bystander's point of view for the first time as I watch the clip of me training in the hologram room. There are life size, orange holocasts meant to be Hollows, though their bodies are comprised of small, simulated squares. On the screen, I raise my favorite black bow and begin eliminating the holograms with cold, calculated accuracy. Each target explodes into a rain of small squares that disappear as they fall to the ground.
As quickly as it begins the clip is over and Snow has returned.
"This is the brave trio that have been carefully selected to venture beyond our city's safety and rescue the known survivors. To you, we give our support; may the odds be ever in your favor," he says with the same cool smile he greeted me with, that never quite reaches his eyes.
The screen goes black. After a few seconds, I summon the courage to look down at my mother. She's still facing the television and hasn't glanced up at me. I round the couch and sit down next to her, placing my hands in my lap. I turn my head to face her. It takes her a few moments, but she finally meets my gaze, though her eyes seem slightly unfocused. The air is suddenly thick with tension, and the two feet of space between us feels like an ocean.
"I knew this day would come," she whispers hoarsely. "And I thought I would be prepared... but I'm not," her voice breaks with her last words.
I can see her eyes even in the dim light of the room begin to fill with tears. Somewhere inside me lies an instinct that drives me to do whatever possible to take pain the pain away from her, and my hand quivers; my natural reaction is to take hers, to pull her close and promise her everything will be okay. But every time I look at her I see the woman who abandoned me. The woman who then chose Prim over me, who couldn't even look at me for weeks, the time when I needed her the most, and broke a bond between us that could never be fully repaired.
I keep my hands folded in my lap as I reply.
"I'm prepared- know that," I tell her softly, as gently as I am capable of with her.
"Of course you are," she mutters quietly. "You are exactly like your father, Katniss, and that is why I fear for you so much," she says, and now bitterness laces her tone slightly. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I exhale.
"Don't worry, Mother. Everything is going to be fine. But-"
"No 'buts', Katniss. I can't handle that," she cuts me off sternly.
"No, you listen," I can argue just as fiercely. "Should anything happen, anything at all, don't you dare turn your back on Prim, not even for even a second. Do you understand me? You have to take care of her no matter what happens," I demand this of her; nothing else will do.
She's quiet. I know the guilt from her actions eats at her every day; devouring her. Like old times, she looks away from me. After a few moments I realize she's crying and trying to hide it. Natural instinct takes way and this time I give in to it, sliding across the couch and putting my arm around her shoulders. Because I'm not like her; I am more like my father, and I can't sit back and watch my family hurt and do nothing.
"Mom," I say more gently this time, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze. "Please, don't cry. I'll be okay. I will, honestly," I say to her.
"Promise me," she says, turning her already red rimmed eyes to mine. "Whatever happens, no matter where you find yourself, please; find your way home. I can't lose you too, Katniss. I just can't," she is sobbing again now, and my heart constricts in my chest at her fear.
"Nothing could keep me from you and Prim. I promise," I swear to her solemnly.
"You promise what?" Prim's voice interrupts from the doorway.
She notices our mother crying and rushes around the couch, dropping to her knees before us. Her eyes are wide and fearful as she looks back and forth between mother and me.
"Prim, come here," I say, motioning her to sit next to me. She does so reluctantly, and I put my free arm around her shoulders as I begin to speak.
"Snow received the same information you told me earlier, about the stranded survivors; he's decided to include me in the rescue squad being sent for them," I tell her firmly.
"But you just turned sixteen! Tell them no!" she shouts, visibly upset. "Make them send someone else!" she continues, eyes begging this of me, this one thing I can't give her.
"I've already accepted the orders, Prim. I can't turn them down now," I reply, hating to hurt her, but I have no other choice.
She covers her face with her hands and falls back against the couch. She, unlike our mother, doesn't begin crying. She knew and accepted that this day would come from an early age. I think, too, she knew that I've been waiting eagerly to be sent out.
"It's so soon, though," she whispers, and I know that though she accepts it, she still wishes deep in her heart for another option.
"I've finished training. Will it really matter if I leave tomorrow or next year?" I say to her, leaning forward to brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
"Tomorrow?" she exclaims in shock.
"At dawn," I respond quietly.
We're all silent now. I know what they're thinking; it's not lack of trust in my ability, it's simply fear of the unknown; never knowing when a Hollow may appear, or how many. And it takes so little to lose your life; just a scratch and it's all over. The threat is great, but the reward is greater; it will take a perfect balance of intelligence, skill, and determination.
After only a few moments our silence is broken by a muffled beeping. I remove my arm from around my mother's shoulders and glance down at the micro on my wrist. I flip the cover up, and on the screen is a message for Finch, Johanna and I. It's a list and description of the three survivors we will be searching for. I read the list, the excitement finally beginning to set in. Tomorrow, it begins.
Anticipated Survivors
Cresta, Annie
(mentally unstable, at high risk)
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 121 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Brown
Odair, Finnick
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 157 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Bronze
Mellark, Peeta
Height: Approx. 6'0"
Weight: Approx. 180 lbs
Eye Color: N/A
Hair Color: Dark blond/brown