In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 32

We strip the tyres off the truck and re-enforce our shoes again with the thick rubber, cutting larger pads this time, so that we stay on the surface of the sand should it grow deep as the desert rolls on. Markus struggles to his feet and grimaces as he takes a few steps.

He hits the ground and I sit beside him, grabbing two clubs from the back of the truck. I hack away at the wood till the handle comes free. I tie the two wooden pieces either side of Markus' calf, running down towards the foot, using shoe laces from a spare pair of boots found in the truck.

Markus stands up, surer on his feet with his new splint. But I can see in his eyes, he knows this is only temporary. If he walks his ankle will only swell further, ballooning with more pain.

I stand up, turn to the truck and begin cutting along the tarp that hides the back. I jump up onto to the wheel so I can reach the top, slicing all the way along the metal frame. I do this all the way around until the tarp comes off with one hard tug. Then I take a hammer and begin banging against the metal frame over which the tarp had clung. I hammer till sweat pours from my head, till the metal finally weakens and breaks away. I do the same on another bar, so I have two long pieces of thin metal.

I place the metal poles on the ground, parallel to one another. I cut a piece from the tarp, one I measure with my eyes, placing it in between the metal bars. I pierce through the material with a blade, threading a pole either side of the rectangular piece, reinforcing the bars with the other shoelace and thin strips of material I cut from the remainder of the tarp.

I hear the sound of metal on metal, and look up to see Markus on his knees, hacking off one of the other tyres. He pulls off the large piece of rubber and drags himself over to where I'm sitting. He tosses the tire fragment onto the dust in front of me, "We can use it to reinforce the bottom, give it a base. It can slide along the sand, like a sled."

I stare at the tyre, then up at Markus, shielding my eyes towards the sun. "Good idea," I tell him, taking the rubber.

It's like the old days, when we'd help our father patch up the water channels, repair shelters or build new ones. Markus and I know how to use tools and the stretcher we make is a nice example. We cut two pieces of tyre and fold them inside out, strapping one to each of the metal bars. We take the handle from the medical box and tie strings of tarp to it, wrapping the other ends tightly around the frame. The stretcher looks strong, though I hope we won't need it, at least not for a while.

"He'd be proud of us," Markus says.

I smile at him, nodding towards our creation. It'll be heavy but it could save Markus' life. He's my brother and I owe him everything. When I fell from the beam he saved my life. He's hurt because of that, so no matter how hard and how much it hurts, I'll do my best to save him too.

The sun is falling to the west, its fiery reign coming to an end, at least for the night.

"Soon we can move on. I can't wait for it to cool down," Markus says.

"We should finish the water now, rest up, then we'll go."

We take the last few swigs, savouring the liquid, wetting every gap between every tooth and enjoying the feeling that will soon seem like a dream. We take one last look around in the truck, but find nothing else. We pack the torch, some flares and some strips of tarp and bandages into the satchel. I pack away the empty flask too and tuck the matches into my pocket. I lift the rifle, hanging it over my shoulder. It's big and heavy, and I wonder if it's worth taking at all – it can't save us from the desert.

Markus picks up Farkas' machete, stares at the handle and runs his eyes up the blade. "We can't leave this here."

He plants it in the ground, using it for support like a crutch, and we move off across the sand. The sun is falling behind our backs, our shadows rolling out before us, reaching farther and farther. But we move slowly as Markus hobbles and groans. I drag the stretcher along, and it's heavy but watching Markus' struggle assures me he'll be on it before long. Then it will be up to me to fuel us on, dragging us from this sandy hell.

Weakly we stagger on, sweating in the late afternoon sun until finally it disappears, allowing the cool night to sink in. We take our hoodies from our faces once more and pull them down over our arms to wrap up in the grey cold. The moon doesn't rise and I search the sky, only to see the night's first stars. Only last night I'd finally seen it, and the sky is clear enough. It should be out above us now. If the moon is gone, the omen is bad, and I shudder at the thought. Maybe this is just that night, a night when the moon does not rise. Those nights happen every once in a while, it's all to do with science and space things I don't know much about. The moon was a slim curve last night so maybe it will return tomorrow, after one night of hiding. We can only hope.

We sit down, perched on the stretcher, back to back. I stare out to the east, Markus facing back the way we came. I look over my shoulder and the church is completely out of sight by darkness and distance. The deep blue night swallows us whole, and after a few minutes I help Markus up to his feet and we move on.

I walk beside my brother, supporting him with one arm and dragging the stretcher with the other. Markus limps along, still holding Farkas' machete, planting it firmly in the sand with each step and pushing off it.

As we travel on I can feel him weakening, the weight he places on my shoulder grows. Our pace slows. We take fewer steps and Markus' breathing is raspy and pained. The sand remains hard and the land rises at an angle, then falls again in sharp folds. We traverse them slowly, our feet dragging over the curved wrinkles in the dust, lit up only by the stars.

The night grows on and my head is shot with blasts of pain. My fingers begin to tremble and my knees shake. Markus grows heavier, the weight on my left shoulder is dragging me down. I move forward hunched low, now bearing the weight of myself and my big brother.

He whispers to me, a pained sound, too weak to utter anything more. "I can't," he tells me through short breaths. "I can't."