In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 4

We head towards the surface as soon as we can. We know if the adults notice we're gone they'll try looking for us, on the tracks and in the tunnels, so we climb for the surface the first chance we get. I lead the way and Markus is right on my heels. We scale the ladder, hanging off the metal rungs. I push the drain cover up and slide it along. It's very heavy but I'm used to it.

Outside, everything looks the same. We emerge on a street corner; it's deserted—like everywhere— and silent. Only the dust blows and swirls over the rubble, over the debris and down the streets, as if looking for life to blow upon, finding none but us. Two thorns in the dust.

I look up at the sky and it's stormy and hot, but the air is dry as ever.

Markus stands beside me. "You ready?" he asks.

"Of course," I say, before charging off at speed.

Markus runs after me as quickly as he can, but I'm faster. I look back and I can see him struggling to keep up. He's smiling but his face is red and I notice I'm also starting to sweat in the morning heat. I forget all about everything for a few minutes, the lack of food and water, the missing salvaging group, the wrinkled man, even the dead soldier and the black panther. For a few minutes I run and the breeze blows through my hair and I close my eyes. I feel like I could take off. When we were younger we'd spread our arms out at our sides. We'd pretend to fly, swooping low and flapping our arms like wings and squawking like the seagulls that lived by the sea. Markus showed me the sound they make. He remembers it from before.

He catches up now and I glance at my brother who worries so much, and the smile on his face only pulls mine wider. But Markus stops. Momentum carries me on but he grabs my shoulder and yanks me back, holds me still.

"Shhh," he puts his finger to his lips, "didn't you hear that?"

He looks worried—afraid even. I shake my head and try to listen.

A rumbling scream rattles the air and we both drop to the ground. We lie on our stomachs and crawl to the side of the road where we hide under an old bus. Another scream rises, filled with pain, a man's scream. I look at Markus. His eyes are a little wet, neither of us can move. There's no movement in the distance, no one and nothing. I'm too low to the ground.

Without saying a word I start to slide myself out from under the bus. Markus grabs at my leg.

I turn to look at him, "I'm climbing this bus. Maybe I can see from up there," I whisper.

He looks more afraid than I've ever seen him. Maybe the stories of the soldiers' new ways have really gotten to him.

"Wait here," I say. "I'll be right back."

There's an old car on its side just behind the bus, so I use the parts underneath as a climbing wall. The metal is hot so I move quickly and pull myself up and perch on the door, careful of the broken glass. I crawl slowly forward and a fallen streetlight bridges the gap onto the bus' roof. It's steep and narrow but seems quite sturdy; the bus, the car and the street lamp have almost welded into one over the years. I grip the metal pole tightly, wrapping my legs and arms around it. My jeans slide nicely along the metal and the rubber soles of my shoes grip well, allowing me to push myself along with my feet. I hoist myself up onto the bus' roof and stop for a second to catch my breath. The metal moans as I rise up, but it feels strong enough. Shielding my eyes, I stare into the distance and I can see the old square up ahead, just down the road we're on. There's a large group of soldiers in a circle, a dark shape on the ground in the middle. It's a man laying in a heap—a large man. I can hear him crying and wailing, the wind carrying the pained sounds towards me.