In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 1

A thorn will lie buried beneath ash and rust, life hidden below decay. I am that thorn. Awake I sit, eyes open wide. But I'm not alone – my brother Markus is beside me. Two thorns in the pale light, not ready to die yet.

A group of soldiers walk by and we watch from our hiding place under a rusty car wreck. When they pass I emerge, sliding out and pushing myself to my feet.

Markus grabs my ankle, whispers, "Not yet, Bandi. Wait."

I hug the ground, press my fingers onto the tarmac.

"Count to ten," Markus says.

I begin counting in my head, look up at the muddy sky. It's almost dark but we have just enough time. Ten seconds pass and Markus slips out from under the car. He nods, and side by side we creep over to the carcass in the middle of the road, squat down beside it. I avoid looking into the dead horse's eyes. Its chestnut tail is matted with dark red. Markus sets down his back-pack as we both pull small knives from our belts. There is a large saddle bag beside it and we search that first. There are a couple of flares and some matches, a knife and a bag of cornmeal but not much else, not worth taking anyway. We pack the few useful items away and turn our attention to the horse. The carcass has been carved bare but we take what we can, slicing off strips of bloody horsemeat and wrapping them in cloth, before placing them into the back-pack. Flies buzz, they won't leave us alone and I feel itchy, sticky.

We cut quickly so we can move on as soon as possible, shredding the flesh, our hands and wrists wet. Footsteps sound out just ahead and we freeze, lay low to the ground. A soldier appears from around the corner and spots us. He watches us from the roadside ahead for a few minutes, standing there holding his rifle down at his side. There's a large blade on his back and he's smoking, his gas mask pushed up onto his forehead. The cherry glows in the fading light. After a few minutes he moves on and I sigh. Markus has finished stripping the carcass and stands up, putting his bag on his shoulders. It's still not full enough, still light.

"We need to keep looking," he says.

"But it's almost dark."

"I know. But it's been days since we found anything good."

I glance around, I know he's right.

"We came all this way. We need to make it worthwhile," he says.

"Ok."

"Down this road here. Use the cars for cover. Come on."

Markus starts walking quickly in the direction we'd seen the soldier. I run to catch up and carry on past him, quietly hopping onto the hood of a car and climbing onto its roof. I squint and search the road ahead with my eyes. There's smoke rising in the distance but there always is. The sky is brooding, as if ready for a storm but I know it won't rain. It hasn't in almost a year.

Ahead of me, behind me, any way I glance, everything is dry and hot, everything is dying. Most of the buildings are ruins; walls missing, windows shattered, bullet holes strewn over the concrete. It's quiet other than the sound of the wind that comes charging down from the desert hills just outside the city. It roars between the buildings, whistling ominously. Markus moves forwards, down the road into my field of vision. He walks carefully, his wavy hair blowing this way and that. There are dark shapes straight ahead of him, in shadow, unidentifiable from my present distance.

I hiss, two sharp bursts. Markus looks up at me as I point towards the suspect objects in his path; suspect only because anything unknows could be a threat. I can only hope they objects are animal carcasses, more food for all of us.