In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 19

After what feels like hours and hours of darkness and silence, I drag myself to my feet.

"We should get out of here, Markus."

My brother stands up beside me and I pull a torch from my pocket. This is one of the rare instances when we really have to use it.

The cave lights up and the beam is still fairly strong, a good amount of power left in the batteries. I hope that it's enough to see us out of these tunnels. I shine the light down the direction we'd been heading before Garth had attacked us. I try not to look at the body as we pass, but it's hard not to. The black and beady eyes drill into me, still open, but lifeless now.

Markus picks up the gun and checks the cartridge and it's empty, sure enough. He packs it into his bag; it's worth holding on to, in case we happen to come across any more ammo, though I know that's almost impossible. Bullets and ammunition are rarer and more valuable than diamonds once were.

I feel terribly weak, in every sense. All the awful things that have happened over the last week, that were locked away, hidden because of our need to survive, seem to all implode within me at the same time. There's been so much death, so much fear, desperation. I feel as though it's finally too much, my murder of Garth the last nail in my spirit's coffin. I think of the fire, the poppies in flames, and I wonder whether it really was us that caused it. If it was, then Garth's death really is our fault. He was fine until we came along.

It didn't really matter that he was an addict. He was all alone in the dark—what else was there for him to do? And he believed it gave him power, and who are we to know? All we know is our home in the city, salvaging, surviving. This journey itself is a new world in our eyes, but it's still here, on this planet, the same one we were born into and have always lived on. The panther is proof in itself of something more, a power greater than our lives, greater than simple 'being.' Maybe Garth was better than us. He was a part of something beyond what we can see and comprehend. And I killed him. But I guess Markus is right—in the end it was him or us.

The soldier's melting face walking through the fire is an image I can't shake, and though it seems that it may not have been real, it haunts my every step. The poppy fumes were sweet, intoxicating, yet look what they did to my mind and to Markus. He hasn't been the same since, barely saying a word.

We stumble on through the tunnel and it leads only one way, through darkness, walls of stone. There are no drawings on the walls here, and I drop my torch when the thought hits me. It rolls along the stone and comes to a rest against the wall. I shudder, almost vomit from the strong sense of eerie that rises in me when I remember Garth's final drawing.

He drew himself dead, as if he knew what was going to happen. How could he have? It's not possible. He spoke of another side, hidden power. Markus says he's mad, nothing more, but Garth knew what was coming. He painted it on the wall.

"What is it?"Markus asks.

"The drawing. He knew what was going to happen. Explain that."

I can barely make out Markus' eyes. There's a faint sparkle of wet.

"He can't have," he says. "Don't even think about that."

I pick up the torch and keep walking, but Markus is wrong. If Garth truly knew what was going to happen then maybe he really did have some power. Maybe there really was some truth to his mad mutterings and ramblings. The black panther is still out there, guiding us to where we need to be, the solitary ghost. If Garth could predict his own death, then maybe the panther truly is our guardian, leading us out of danger.

As my spirits lighten, so does the dark. The black fades to a bluish grey and I start to run, Markus on my heels. I run fast across the dust and stone, leaving the misery of the poppies, the death and foul images behind. I charge around the corner and the opening is before me, daylight on the other side. It's a narrow crack in the thick cave wall but I climb up the rocks, squeeze myself between the stones. Markus passes his backpack to me though the crack, then slides through the gap by wriggling on his stomach. The daylight is bright and we squint on the cliffside. We're on the edge of a mountain and the sun is out, setting behind us. We're facing east.

I grab Markus by the arm and we both smile and pat each other on the back, so glad to be out of the nightmare that hung over us in the gloom of the caves.

The cliff drops steeply before us, levelling out into a barren plain. Beyond that I can see paths and dips carved into the earth, wire fences and mounds. Markus sees it all too and we both drop down in order to remain hidden. Our joy doesn't last. I roll onto my back and close my eyes, want to cry in frustration. There's no end in sight, just danger following danger, an endless chain of threat. I know what lies ahead; it's trenches, as far as we can see, an old battlefield. And I know that means there will be soldiers nearby. There always are.

"They're everywhere," Markus says.

I roll back onto my front, lie beside him, peering down as the sun disappears. The haze in the sky immediately seems to thicken and the familiar dusty horizon appears and begins to dim. Markus washes the wound on his arm. Garth's teeth marks are deep in his skin, a chunk gnawed clean off. It looks sore, still seeping. I help Markus bandage it up with some cloth from his bag and then we both take a drink, eat the last of our pigeon meat. It's old and tastes funny but we're confident it will be ok. Our stomachs are strong.

Markus lies back on his bag and closes his eyes. We decide to rest until dark, begin our descent then. I watch the horizon, looking out for shapes moving below but can't see any. There are no birds in the sky, no sign of anything living. There's a thick dusty smell in the air but it's just the haze, I've grown used to it. It's sour and unpleasant but a refreshing welcome after that heady, sweet smoke. I feel a headache brewing just thinking about it.

My head is a weighty stone, my bones like lead. It feels as though Markus and I have been travelling forever, but it's only been about a week. One week since I saw my parents, one week since they all died. I ache for another night in my metro station shack, with a relaxed and happy Markus at my side, my mother and father in the next room. Never again. Any of it. Never ever again. And now I'm a killer. No better than the soldiers I fear so much.

The light dims further and that's when I see it again, coming to welcome the night, as Garth had said. It's a long way away, across the trenches, on the fringes of my gaze, over the old battlefield. I can feel its eyes again, burning bright within me, taking the weight off my bones, lifting my heart and mind.

I turn excitedly, want to wake Markus right away. But he's fast asleep, finally at peace. I know he needs the rest, to heal his wounds. He'll see it when he's ready to.

I turn back and the panther is still there, its fiery, emerald eyes burning as if they were inches from mine.

I leave it all there on the mountain, in the caves. The terror, the pain, I leave it all there, ready myself to move on without it. Something magical is happening to me, something amazing. In the face of everything—all the pain and hurt, the death and danger, the constant terror in which Markus and I must live—there is magic. There's always a hope, a glimmer, and the panther is ours. It's going to lead us, guide us to where we need to be. It's not over yet.