In the Panther's Wake

Chapter 35

We explore the passages that lead from one well to another, all spread out under the sand. It's dark. All the wells are blocked from the surface, hidden and covered in tightly packed sand. There's an entire network of water channels dug deep so many long years ago, when a village once sat here on the sands; nomads, tribesman. Markus has read about them.

As the day wears on we fall asleep, lying down on our backs in the water. When the sun reaches its peak we crawl into the passages, out of reach from the deadly rays. I watch the water glisten as I drift into a deep slumber, peaceful at last; no soldiers, just an empty rest and a chance for my body to recover, my mind at ease.

**

When I wake up it's dark and Markus is still asleep at my feet. I crawl out into the first well and stare up at the sky. I smile at the moon, a slim bone in the sky, hooked upon the vast black above. Not gone. Stil very much alive.

It's cold now; my clothes are wet and there is nowhere dry to hide. The water flows through all of the underground. I huddle down beside Markus who sleeps peacefully, his eyelids still and dreamless. Beside him I warm up enough to fall asleep again, waking only to the sun glancing off the stream and into my face.

It's almost noon when we rise. My headache has faded, leaving a fuzzy feeling behind. We spend the rest of the day drinking, keeping refreshed and discussing what to do next.

"We should stay here for another day or so, keep drinking and growing stronger."

"It will give my ankle time to heal."

I nod at Markus, thinking of what lies ahead, envisioning the endless sands that stretch on as far as I could see. We're far from safe, but I can't help but feel we've almost made it. I can almost sniff something in the air.

**

Day erupts into a furious night as the wind picks up above, whistling as it swirls down the well and skims over the streams. We sit by flarelight and look up at the hazy skies. When the storm picks up even more we block out the tumbling sand with the tarp, digging the corners into the clay walls on all sides. Underneath it we sit, bare foot, soaking our aching toes and our scabbed soles.

"Tomorrow evening we'll leave, heading straight east. We don't stop till we find food or shelter, or till we die in the sand. Either way, we give it one last push."

His eyes are lit, no longer smeared with guilt and pain. Hearing him speak like that only fuels the emerald flames inside me, and they grow just a little more. A smile slowly spreads over my face and my big brother smiles back. He's finally back—here with me—all of him. I know nothing can stop us now, we're so very close, edging towards the end of our greatest adventure. An adventure that nearly killed us, again and again. But still we sit, still we smile, still we move on for at least another day.

The storm above subsides and the flare goes out. We settle down beside one another and I close my eyes.

"Do you think we'll ever go back? To the city?"

I stare up at the tarp, imagining the dark skies beyond, the moon out once again, maybe a little fuller and fatter than before. "I think we will."

"If we ever make it over this desert," Markus adds.

I close my eyes. "We will, big brother."

"I hope you're right."

Hope—Markus holds it again. I go over our entire journey in my head as we fall asleep, from the moment the black panther first came to us. It feels a lifetime ago. I think about all the people we've met, those poor souls at the train yard, Farkas, Garth, the drunk soldier at the zoo—how he let us go and helped us when our journey could have ended before it even began. I'm surprised to find myself thinking about him, hoping he's alright. Maybe it's because he gave us kindness from where we least expected it to come. I wonder about what awaits us and who lies before us. I hope to see my father and my mother again. I picture their warm faces, knowing they are proud, wherever they may be. But something tells me neither of them are dead, but out there somewhere, in this dry and dusty world, waiting to be saved—waiting for their sons to return.

I think about the men inside the church, trapped by the mad priest and unable to escape. They were from somewhere else, I know it. Maybe soldiers, but good. I hope that we find them, I hope that we can return home one day and destroy the masked soldiers once and for all. Then maybe the world won't end, maybe it can live on. I wish Farkas would be here to see that, but he died fighting, fighting for another day that will come, again and again, as long as we move on and as long as we hope, stick together and watch over each other. The panther showed us the way, brought us this far. Now it's up to us to finish it, to make it to where we need to be. I picture the waves in my mind, wonder how big they'll be, whether the water will taste salty like Markus says.

I fall asleep, remembering and wondering. I fall asleep even more at ease than the night before. I feel strong, my body cleansed of aches and shakes, pure water flowing through me again. My stomach rumbles still and I know the water's strength won't carry us for long, but on we will march in darkness, till we either live or die.

**

I wake to the sound of Markus pulling down the tarp, revealing a high, midday sun. The day seems to drag on forever as we slowly prepare. Eventually the sky turns pink above, slathered in a wispy haze, and we ready ourselves to head out. We rebuild the harness and fill the canteen with water, even removing the batteries from the torch and filling that up too. We need all the water we can take, but don't have enough ways to carry it.

I climb first, with the satchel and rifle over my shoulder, stabbing the clay walls with our daggers, moving up one thrust at a time until the well narrows at the top and I can use my knees and feet to climb as well. The harness rope is tied around my waist and when I reach the top I lower the harness down as far as I can.

I call to Markus. "Dropping it now."

Even in the late coolness my sweat pours. My chest is heaving from the climb and I rest for just a second. Holding the daggers over the edge of the well, I wait a few moments for Markus to move out of the way. I drop the daggers, hearing them land on the well's bed. Below me, Markus struggles to crawl into view, then staggers to his feet with the daggers in hand. He begins to climb up using the blades as I did, with Farkas' machete on his back. He reaches the harness and I begin to pull. My arms grow weak, but thankfully Markus is stronger now, able to plant his knees and crawl up the final few metres. We both lie panting on the surface but know we must move on. We take a tiny sip of water, just to wet our dry mouths and off we go, the sun nipping at our backs till it slinks away.

**

We trudge on in the dark, the moon curling joyously across the sky between metallic shields of cloud. Before long, Markus has to use the rifle and machete as crutches. His ankle is completely swollen again. Our pace slows and we drink, moving on, growing weary quickly, our muscles still starved of energy. The aches set in soon, and Markus and I groan as we stumble towards morning. We rest often, taking small sips, first from the torch that leaks as we walk. After a while the wind picks up, blasting us in the dawn. We quickly cover our faces, tearing our hoodies from our bodies. I unwrap the tarp and pull it over us, and there we lie, battered by walls of needles, the sand charging over us relentlessly. I close my eyes and think of the panther, feeling its eyes running through my veins, lit up like fire and refusing to fizzle out.

After hours the winds finally die and we can move on. The sun emerges and starts to fry us, a little at a time. We try not to stop, to keep moving at all times, as the sand turns white beneath our feet. Markus drags his leg and before long is on his knees, holding his body up by leaning on the rifle butt. I pick him up and walk with his arm over my shoulder, bearing both of us on my tired legs.

We both tumble and fall, kicking up a puff of dust. I land sprawled, my mouth open. The sand touches my tongue and I taste the grit. I lift up my head quickly and look straight ahead because the sand—it tastes salty.

Markus coughs beside me, his chest heaving, but the rest of the desert is dead of sound. Then a squawk sounds high in the sky. A sound I've only heard from Markus, from my father and my mother.

I look straight up and the sun blinds me for a moment. I shield my face and peer out between my fingers at the smooth blue above. There I see it, circling up high, a flash of white in the sky.