Mocking Jay

The faint sound of the sirens cuts off sharply. Coin's voice comes over the district audio system, thanking
us all for an exemplary evacuation of the upper levels. She stresses that this is not a drill, as Peeta Mellark, the
District 12 victor, has possibly made a televised reference to an attack on 13 tonight.
That's when the first bomb hits. There's an initial sense of impact followed by an explosion that resonates in
my innermost parts, the lining of my intestines, the marrow of my bones, the roots of my teeth. We're all going to
die, I think. My eyes turn upward, expecting to see giant cracks race across the ceiling, massive chunks of stone
raining down on us, but the bunker itself gives only a slight shudder. The lights go out and I experience the
disorientation of total darkness. Speechless human sounds--spontaneous shrieks, ragged breaths, baby
whimpers, one musical bit of insane laughter--dance around in the charged air. Then there's a hum of a
generator, and a dim wavering glow replaces the stark lighting that is the norm in 13. It's closer to what we had in
our homes in 12, when the candles and fire burned low on a winter's night.
I reach for Prim in the twilight, clamp my hand on her leg, and pull myself over to her. Her voice remains
steady as she croons to Buttercup. "It's all right, baby, it's all right. We'll be okay down here."
My mother wraps her arms around us. I allow myself to feel young for a moment and rest my head on her
shoulder. "That was nothing like the bombs in Eight," I say.
"Probably a bunker missile," says Prim, keeping her voice soothing for the cat's sake. "We learned about
them during the orientation for new citizens. They're designed to penetrate deep in the ground before they go off.
Because there's no point in bombing Thirteen on the surface anymore."
"Nuclear?" I ask, feeling a chill run through me.
"Not necessarily," says Prim. "Some just have a lot of explosives in them. But...it could be either kind, I
guess."
The gloom makes it hard to see the heavy metal doors at the end of the bunker. Would they be any
protection against a nuclear attack? And even if they were one hundred percent effective at sealing out the
radiation, which is really unlikely, would we ever be able to leave this place? The thought of spending whatever
remains of my life in this stone vault horrifies me. I want to run madly for the door and demand to be released into
whatever lies above. It's pointless. They would never let me out, and I might start some kind of stampede.
"We're so far down, I'm sure we're safe," says my mother wanly. Is she thinking of my father's being blown
to nothingness in the mines? "It was a close call, though. Thank goodness Peeta had the wherewithal to warn
us."
The wherewithal. A general term that somehow includes everything that was needed for him to sound the
alarm. The knowledge, the opportunity, the courage. And something else I can't define. Peeta seemed to have
been waging a sort of battle in his mind, fighting to get the message out. Why? The ease with which he
manipulates words is his greatest talent. Was his difficulty a result of his torture? Something more? Like
madness?
Coin's voice, perhaps a shade grimmer, fills the bunker, the volume level flickering with the lights.
"Apparently, Peeta Mellark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate
the first missile was not nuclear, but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack,
citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified."
A soldier alerts my mother that she's needed in the first-aid station. She's reluctant to leave us, even though
she'll only be thirty yards away.
"We'll be fine, really," I tell her. "Do you think anything could get past him?" I point to Buttercup, who gives
me such a halfhearted hiss, we all have to laugh a little. Even I feel sorry for him. After my mother goes, I suggest,
"Why don't you climb in with him, Prim?"
"I know it's silly...but I'm afraid the bunk might collapse on us during the attack," she says.
If the bunks collapse, the whole bunker will have given way and buried us, but I decide this kind of logic
won't actually be helpful. Instead, I clean out the storage cube and make Buttercup a bed inside. Then I pull a
mattress in front of it for my sister and me to share.
We're given clearance in small groups to use the bathroom and brush our teeth, although showering has
been canceled for the day. I curl up with Prim on the mattress, double layering the blankets because the cavern
emits a dank chill. Buttercup, miserable even with Prim's constant attention, huddles in the cube and exhales cat
breath in my face.
Despite the disagreeable conditions, I'm glad to have time with my sister. My extreme preoccupation since
I came here--no, since the first Games, really--has left little attention for her. I haven't been watching over her the
way I should, the way I used to. After all, it was Gale who checked our compartment, not me. Something to make