In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 10

We walk on side by side, hunched over, constantly spinning in circles as our eyes dart across the suburban ruins, more alert than ever. The single strap of my bag is diagonally across my chest, over one shoulder, and it slows me down. But that's a small price to pay for the water we've collected.

I remember seeing vehicles on occasion when I was small. I remember the sound they made, the rumble. But we thought fuel was all gone. Neither of us have seen a working car or truck in years. But the soldiers have fuel from somewhere, and their increased power is frightening. They could rip across the wastelands now. They could beat us to the sea.

"What do you think it means? How can they have fuel?" I ask.

Markus shakes his head, "I don't know. But we have to be extra careful not to be seen."

There's a tall round building on the corner where we finally turn east. I rush ahead, spotting a carcass in the road. But it's been stripped of edible meat. What remains is black, full of maggots, rotting, the stench thick and gluey.

I can't be near it so I enter the round building which seems to be an old office block. There are pictures of houses everywhere, and I figure it must be a place they used to design homes. Some of them are huge, beautiful. I can't even imagine what I'd do with all that space. Markus comes up behind me a minute or so later, heading straight towards the back of the building where a spiral staircase leads up.

As we climb I can see that each level of the building was used for something else. The third floor is filled with model cars and the top looks like it was once a place where food was cooked and prepared. The stairs are solid all the way up. On the top floor we look out through empty windows towards the east. Ahead, chimneys and warehouses rise high. Small figures scatter the surrounding roads and alleys; the silhouettes of soldiers.

"Maybe the north would be safer, hang-a-thon or not," Markus says. "We don't even know what that means. There can't be this many soldiers there."

"Maybe, but we don't know," I say. "But from here we can see the path ahead, we can plan our way through."

He looks exhausted; tired from no food, tired from having to hide and search the horizon every second of each day. I lower my brows and hope that my determination will ignite something in him to.

Through the window I follow the road with my gaze. It carries on to the east and curves south before ending in a road block, where at least five or six soldiers are stationed. The factories are on all sides of the road. The car parks are lined with built up walls of debris, a maze of trenches and barracks. Smoke rises from open fires and torches. The sun is lowering in the sky, almost mid-afternoon and I know that by the time we reach the factory district the night will have dropped. But I can see a way through, and the darkness will only help us. Before the road curves to the south, there's a long low building that runs on uninterrupted for a several hundred metres. There seems to be no activity the north side of it. From there it's through the lion's den, but in the darkness I know we can make it. The maze won't be an obstacle but an aid—our passage through the shadows.

Markus is also studying the road ahead. "Have you found a safe path through?" he asks me.

"Of course I have," I tell him, and we leave the window, head down to the road again.

The sun barely brims the sky as we reach the long building I'd spotted from high. We hug the wall and move round to the north facing wall, beginning our long trek alongside it. We move slowly, without a sound. I lead the way and Markus follows. We can hear voices inside, soldiers talking; murmurs and mutterings drift out through the empty window frames. So we stay low, backs to the wall, moving sideways one step at a time.