In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 31

We go on like that, in first gear, rolling loudly over silent sand. We try to move into second gear at one point, but the whole truck just chugs off and skids to a halt. The engine won't start straight away, so we make the decision not to try shifting up a gear again, carry on at twenty kilometres per hour, which is fast enough to get us far away from the soldiers.

As I look out over the dashboard, I see the sand stretch out till it fades to sky—nothing. The needle on the fuel dial is sinking fast, maybe through a leak or a bullet hole. But I just keep my foot down—we'll take this ride as far as we can and see what comes our way.

It grows hotter than I've ever felt, and the sky is clean, a pale blue; wisps of fog and a pink dust scatter the atmosphere. The sun climbs high ahead of us, moving up over the truck as noon passes.

"Just hold the wheel straight," Markus says. "I'll check the back."

Markus struggles round in his seat, grimacing as he knocks his ankle. He cuts the tarp that covers the back, so that he can see inside.

"There's guns, clubs, some knives..." Markus goes quiet.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I just thought... don't worry."

I know he's seen something back there. "What is it?" I ask again, trying to turn my head to look back, but I'm all the way on the edge of my seat, perched rather than sitting. I look hard at Markus, searching his face for answers. He's rattled, more than usual, and tears form in his eyes.

"What is..."

I don't finish my words; we hit something and the truck slides off to the right, spinning around. I'm bounced against the steering wheel and thrown into the door, hitting the window. Then all is silent.

I open my eyes; Markus is leaning forward on the dashboard. He lifts his head and looks at me, his forehead is cut open and bleeding. A flume of smoke rushes from the engine. I lean forward, looking for the door handle and blood drips onto my hand. I can feel it on my head, hot and wet. I cover the gash with one hand, jerk the door handle with the other and fall out of the truck on to the hot sand.

I land on my knees and the ground appears redder; it's been darkening as we've moved east. My ear drips with blood and I cup it, watching the splashes fall onto the sand. I lean onto my palms but have to rip them from the surface—hot as a cooking pot on a fire. I stagger to my feet and dazedly limp around to the other side of the truck, to where Markus is struggling to get out.

Bullet holes are strewn across the metal. It's a wonder they didn't hit us. I pull on the handle and Markus leans on to one of my shoulders as I ease him down onto his one good leg.

"You alright?"

He nods.

"Let's get in the back, see what's there and get out of the sun."

"Hold on," he says, but I'm already climbing back into the truck.

I lean across onto the driver's seat and turn the key in the ignition. But there isn't a sound. I close my eyes and twist a few more times. It's dead. Here the truck will stay forever in the baking sun.

I lead Markus around to the back and we unzip the cover. We climb up and begin looking over the weapons, searching for things we can salvage.

"Hang on," Markus says, more harshly this time.

I wonder what the hell his problem is, but spot a flask and pick it up. It's heavy, full. I turn and toss it to Markus, who's looking very worried for some reason. When he catches the flask he holds it up and smiles. He unscrews it, sniffs the contents and smiles even wider. He takes a big gulp and passes it to me. As I swallow days worth of dust and sand are eroded off the inside of my throat by the warm water. I pass it back to Markus and we take it in turns like that for a while.