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I swear it happens in slow-motion and yet so fast that it's far too late to do anything about it. The pain is immediate, sharp and bright-hot and biting, and I pull back from the machine, clutching by hand to my chest like holding it tighter will make it stop.

Funny thing is, it's actually not the worst I've ever felt. Not by a long shot. No, that honor goes to the Capitol and their fucking electric wands or whatever the hell they are. This is nothing, really.

Except for the blood. There really is a lot of blood.

And with that comes a whole lot of memories I spend most of my time trying to forget. Forcing every grizzly image out of my mind, I pull my shirt off and wrap it tight around my hand before grabbing my keys to the bike off the stool in the corner. Driving the thing with one hand is an interesting experience and, eventually, I have to just force myself to ignore the pain or risk making shit a whole lot worse.

Needless to say, I'm pretty fucking irritated with everything by the time I make it to the hospital, my hand clutched crosswise against my chest as I storm down the hall.

"Hey, you got a doctor here?" I ask, stepping directly into the path of the nearest nurse I find.

It's a dumb question, I know it's a dumb question, but my shirt is soaked in blood and I'm really just not thinking too clearly at the moment.

The woman looks me over with narrowed eyes. Says, "We have many of them, miss. Is this an emergency?"

I guess it's nice to know I'm not the only one asking stupid questions.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I laugh, waving my bloody arm in her face. "No, I'm just here for a pre-natal check-up!"

There isn't a hell of a lot to do in this town, I've noticed. I've passed the time collecting clothes and weapons and food from the stores, stocked my apartment with alcohol that I barely ever touch and I have a great collection of blades that I keep sharp. But it's been nearly two months and all the days bleed into each other anymore.

I've actually taken up reading. Not that I didn't back in the Capitol, but what with the Quell and the rebellion, it's been awhile.

And that's what I'm doing in the park when the weird sirens start.

It's a weird, haunting sound that seems to come from everywhere, starting low and then slipping high before dying away again. Just a few times. Like it's heralding something.

Like a warning.

And then it starts getting darker.

"What the hell?"

Closing the book, I get to my feet and grab the axe from my back pocket. Slowly, the tree I've been sitting under seems to shrivel, the leaves not falling but curling inward on themselves or turning to ash, crumbling to the ground until there's nothing left but trunk and branches. The grass beneath my feet turns to dust, scorched, decayed earth.

I have no idea what the hell is going on, but my survival instinct kicks in fast and I'm running. My bike is only a few yards away, parked just off the path and I'm on it in seconds, shoving the key in the ignition and revving it to life.

Or trying.

It sputters beneath me, the headlight flickering.

"Fuck, seriously?" I ask outloud, giving it another hard crank. "Come on. Come on come on come on."

It wheezes and whines as I try amping the gas like Jason showed me. The light flickers again and it's trying, I can see that it's trying, but-

A sound from behind me makes me stop cold, an icy shiver running down my spine. I can hear what sounds like breathing. Muttering. Inhuman shrieks and whispers and the shuffling of feet. Tightening my grip on my axe, I turn just in time to see a sickening, thin arm reaching for me. It's holding a scalpel.

It's been hours now and I'm still no closer to figuring out what this place is or why I'm here. I don't like it, I know that much. Even if I am just high on morphling and this is all in my head, I don't like it.

And not just because I'm walking barefoot down a vacant street in a hospital gown, dragging a fucking drip pole behind me.

Everything about this place is off. The fact that I can actually see the sky and breathe fresh air means it isn't District 13. And it's not home. Which means it's probably a Capitol trick. Not another Game though - that wouldn't make sense.

But they're definitely up to something.

I've already met a few people here, but I haven't seen anyone since I left the train station. I got some kind of packet on the platform, an envelope with my name on it containing a map, a phone, keys and a piece of paper with an address on it. I guess it's supposed to be my own house or something, but damned if I'm going there armed only with a metal pole and a bag of morphling.

The pole does do a good job of shattering glass, though, which comes in useful. The store is clearly closed, nothing but darkness inside despite it being early afternoon. I end up cutting the inside of my forearm as I fumble at the lock and tip-toeing through the shards of glass scattered at my feet is a serious pain in the ass, but it's worth it when I see the racks and racks of clothing sprawled before me. According to the sign hanging from the ceiling a few yards away, I should be able to find food, too.

For the first time since I got here, I actually smile.

And then I start hunting.

Hey. I'm not here. Leave a message.

Johanna's Mailbox

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Johanna Mason

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DAY ONE

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July 2012

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