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10<br />
The scream begins in my lower back and works its way up through my body only to jam in my throat. I am<br />
Avox mute, choking on my grief. Even if I could release the muscles in my neck, let the sound tear into space,<br />
would anyone notice it? The room's in an uproar. Questions and demands ring out as they try to decipher<br />
Peeta's words. "And you...in Thirteen...dead by morning!" Yet no one is asking about the messenger whose<br />
blood has been replaced by static.<br />
A voice calls the others to attention. "Shut up!" Every pair of eyes falls on Haymitch. "It's not some big<br />
mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."<br />
"How would he have that information?"<br />
"Why should we trust him?"<br />
"How do you know?"<br />
Haymitch gives a growl of frustration. "They're beating him bloody while we speak. What more do you<br />
need? Katniss, help me out here!"<br />
I have to give myself a shake to free my words. "Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta got the<br />
information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're--" I can't say aloud what Snow's doing to him.<br />
"You don't know him," Haymitch says to Coin. "We do. Get your people ready."<br />
The president doesn't seem alarmed, only somewhat perplexed, by this turn in events. She mulls over the<br />
words, tapping one finger lightly on the rim of the control board in front of her. When she speaks, she addresses<br />
Haymitch in an even voice. "Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario. Although we have decades of<br />
support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol's<br />
cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results.<br />
Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we know they hope to regain. And, of<br />
course, they invite a counterstrike. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be<br />
viewed as acceptable risks."<br />
"You think so?" says Haymitch. It's a shade too sincere, but the subtleties of irony are often wasted in 13.<br />
"I do. At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill," says Coin. "Let's proceed with the<br />
lockdown." She begins to type rapidly on her keyboard, authorizing her decision. The moment she raises her<br />
head, it begins.<br />
There have been two low-level drills since I arrived in 13. I don't remember much about the first. I was in<br />
intensive care in the hospital and I think the patients were exempted, as the complications of removing us for a<br />
practice drill outweighed the benefits. I was vaguely aware of a mechanical voice instructing people to<br />
congregate in yellow zones. During the second, a Level Two drill meant for minor crises--such as a temporary<br />
quarantine while citizens were tested for contagion during a flu outbreak--we were supposed to return to our<br />
living quarters. I stayed behind a pipe in the laundry room, ignored the pulsating beeps coming over the audio<br />
system, and watched a spider construct a web. Neither experience has prepared me for the wordless, eardrumpiercing,<br />
fear-inducing sirens that now permeate 13. There would be no disregarding this sound, which seems<br />
designed to throw the whole population into a frenzy. But this is 13 and that doesn't happen.<br />
Boggs guides Finnick and me out of Command, along the hall to a doorway, and onto a wide stairway.<br />
Streams of people are converging to form a river that flows only downward. No one shrieks or tries to push<br />
ahead. Even the children don't resist. We descend, flight after flight, speechless, because no word could be<br />
heard above this sound. I look for my mother and Prim, but it's impossible to see anyone but those immediately<br />
around me. They're both working in the hospital tonight, though, so there's no way they can miss the drill.<br />
My ears pop and my eyes feel heavy. We are coal-mine deep. The only plus is that the farther we retreat<br />
into the earth, the less shrill the sirens become. It's as if they were meant to physically drive us away from the<br />
surface, which I suppose they are. Groups of people begin to peel off into marked doorways and still Boggs<br />
directs me downward, until finally the stairs end at the edge of an enormous cavern. I start to walk straight in and<br />
Boggs stops me, shows me that I must wave my schedule in front of a scanner so that I'm accounted for. No<br />
doubt the information's going to some computer somewhere to make sure no one's gone astray.