In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 23

We run hard and fast and the sand is dense under our feet. Nobody follows us. Either they don't care that we're gone or they've given up. It doesn't matter which, I'm just happy to be free of their grip; but we're alone again, Markus and I.

I try not to think about my father, sitting there dying. I try to focus on our escape, on getting across the sandy plain by day break, when they may send patrols again, trucks and cars that will thunder over the sand at speed and catch us in no time.

Something dark looms in the distance, black jagged shapes spiked high towards the moonless sky. The sun is close, its power starting to fight over the craggy fingers on the horizon. The hot brim is dead ahead and I know that means we're heading east again. I've heard it from my father too, now. The sea is there—he said it. We're not just following the words of a soldier. We're following the words of our father, the greatest man I know. My feet plod heavily and sand seeps into my socks. My father is the greatest man I know. The thought won't leave me, and I know Markus and I will be back one day. Back to save him, no matter what it takes. Bandi; man warrior. It's in my name, and I'll kill them all if I have to.

My lungs heave and finally we have to stop. We bend over, hands on our knees, panting and coughing in the grey. The tall and jagged figures are close now; trees, black and burnt by fires years ago. I picture the flames that must have cloaked the land here, smoke leaping up towards the sky and blocking out the sun. Fumes thick and poisonous, that then came raining down after, killing all that was left.

I'd never seen a forest before, but I knew what they once were; green and lush, filled with birds and flowers, more colours than I've ever seen. Markus says that in the time before, we lived near a forest just like this. Our parents would take us for long walks on Sundays. Markus would collect leaves and give them to me. I'd run them between my fingers as I sat in my pram, laughing under twisted branches.

It all feels more distant than a dream. Those are days I can't remember, can't understand how they ever could have been. It seems like a myth, a fantasy. Seeing the charred skeletal remains makes it even more so. How could something so dark—so dead—have ever been something beautiful?

I rise up and Markus takes a few strides forward.

"At least the trees will give us cover," he says.

I nod. "I can't believe it's a forest."

Markus shakes his head, "Was a forest. I don't know what to call this."

I stare at the black branches, cracked and broken. As we move forward the ground softens, black and white sand grows lumpy and thick. It smells like burn, bitter and earthy. The air around us feels empty, as if we're walking through a ghost. It grows colder as the sun rises, a strange sensation.

"It's ash," Markus whispers.

I bend down to sniff the ground and run the soft grains through my fingers. Markus is right. We're not trekking over sand anymore. A thick layer of ash covers the ground, flaky and light. As we step we kick small piles into the air. I watch the clumps break apart and float up and swirl between the tree trunks. The trunks are wider than any trees I'd ever imagined. They rise up as high as some of our city's tallest buildings. Above them the sky has turned silver, blackening the trees further, as they delve down towards us, deep into the ash-sealed earth.

"Something doesn't feel right," I say.

Markus looks at me, glances over his left shoulder and shrugs.

I force a smile, and on we go; no Death yet, our father's words still fuelling us forth. I have a strange feeling that our journey is coming to an end, though I don't know what that means.