In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 7

Before moving on we decide to get some sleep. We arrive by the east wall, or where it once was. The entire structure has been destroyed now, blown apart and smashed to pieces. Only a low row of crumbling stone remains, but it's high enough to keep us hidden if we lie down. From here, during the day, we can see far off into the distance, over a large barren plain that was once a huge park, and beyond. The buildings no longer rise high, most of them are smaller houses, the outskirts of the city. Beyond that lies the long desert, stretching out in the heat for several miles, before the ground begins to rise into the mountains. Beyond that, I don't know. And beyond that...we can only hope the drunken soldier is right.

Markus and I lie parallel to the wall, hugging it closely, head to head, the back-pack our pillow. The air is fairly warm, the nights growing hotter as the summer sets in. I struggle to fall asleep even though I'm completely exhausted, drained of everything. There's just too much going on in my head; memories, thoughts of what lies ahead, screams and screams, tears and pain, death, loss, my mother, my father, up there in the stars now, waiting for me. I think of the dead soldier, who had scared me so much, not two days ago. Now all that seems insignificant, his cold blue eyes make me feel nothing compared to what's happened since. Finding that soldier was the beginning of the end. I should have known. I lie and think about the drunken soldier, his lack of care, his complete loss of hope and faith in anything good left in this world. I know I'm good, I know Markus is good, but if everything else is truly gone, maybe we don't have a chance either. Maybe we should give up too, let dogs devour us, soldiers shoot us or the heat drain us until we can move no more, think no more.

Markus is sleeping beside me, muttering and cursing to himself quietly, fighting his dreams. But at least he's asleep. I give up trying, sit up on the stump of the wall and stare off into the distance, to the east. The moon—the clawed finger—is frightening now and it seems weak; the power of the night—the power of the dark—defeating it. That's when I see it again. The black panther.

This time it's closer, on the other side of the old park just in front of me. My heartbeat starts to flurry as I watch it stalk in a circle, facing me the entire time. Suddenly the night doesn't seem so dark, as if the light within it has been awakened. The moon suddenly seems more powerful, the clawed finger burning brightly in the sky. I stand up on the wall and watch silently. This time I can make out the black panther's emerald eyes, staring unblinkingly at me. I feel its brightness, the warmth ignites my hope once more. I feel its strength again, surging through my veins and erupting through my pores. The panther lies down and curls itself up, just like a cat, and we sit there, in silence, staring at each other for a very long time.

I'm aware of so much so suddenly; things no longer look so bleak. The sea is out there, beyond where the panther sits, I feel sure of that now, though I can't explain why. I feel a purpose again, and above all I feel hope. I know we can make it. I can't explain any of this, it all just happens in my head, suddenly, while I stare at the panther, staring back at me.

**

I wake up covered in sweat and the sky is grey, brimmed with a golden blue, the sun ready to chase the last of the night away. I'm lying on the other side of the wall, outside the zoo. I'm confused but then I remember the panther, look up and find no sign of it. It may have been a dream. Only it can't have been, because I'm the other side of the wall. That and I'm feeling brave again, ready to carry on. I stand on the rubble and breathe the morning air in slowly. It's surprisingly fresh and cool. The black panther appeared to the east, twice now, always watching me, always from the east.

I don't wake Markus, I wait for him to rise on his own. It isn't long before he does, the sun still a small golden curve on the horizon. He's gloomy when he wakes. He doesn't say a lot and lethargically shuffles over to sit beside me. When I ask how he slept he shrugs, seems hollow. I can tell he's starting not to care, and I think of the drunk soldier, his hope depleted, and I know I need to help my big brother. He needs to feel the same strength I feel.