Walking the Ruins

A kettle, a bottle, and a knife

The explosion has reduced our camp to burning debris. The walls of the building have collapsed, and the wooden beams of its roof feed a smoky fire. Rubble is scattered over the once peaceful clearing.

Anna stares into the sky. "There," she says, pointing upwards.

My eyes follow her gesture and I see the drone hovering to one side of the rising smoke. The craft slowly loses height, then it starts to fly around the fire in a stately circle, in a strangely triumphant motion.

"He's looking for us," Anna says. "For our bodies."

I nod. He wants to make sure he got us.

"How long can this thing stay aloft?" I ask, my voice a whisper, even though I doubt that the drone could hear us.

Anna looks at me, confusion in her face.

"How long can it fly?" I repeat, assuming that she's not used to things aloft.

She shrugs.

The diameter of the drone's inquisitive circles grows larger. We retreat further into the shrubs and trees.

Suddenly, the machine's whirring noise increases to a whine, and it starts to rise. Then it turns and flies upvalley, away from us. It gains speed quickly. Moments later, it disappears.

What remains is the crackling of the fire that the drone left behind.

The tension in my muscles recedes, abandoning my body to utter exhaustion. "That was close," I say.

Anna smiles tightly, the pain of her wound still written over her face. "Yes," she answers. "We've escaped. Barely. But I'm sorry for your stuff."

My stuff! The thought of my equipment wrenches me from the comfortable drowsiness that has just started to embrace me.

"Come," I say. I move down the slope, running, not waiting for Anna.

Hours later, my throat is sore and my eyes are running from the smoke.

I blink at the remains of my backpack. It is one of a small number of things I've managed to drag from the rubble and flames. The heat has destroyed its shoulder straps, and much of its fabric is melted or burned. It wasn't in good shape before, but now it's useless.

The few provisions that I retrieved from the fire are charred and inedible. The wood of my bow is black and brittle, its string torn. The zipper is all that remains of my sleeping bag.

The lighter that I placed beside my own fire has disappeared without a trace.

The spear I carried during my disastrous mission of yesterday is somewhere in the bunker, confiscated by Jan, and so is my jacket.

The only equipment that I still have are the clothes I'm wearing, my steel kettle, a water bottle and a knife with a charred handle.

I think of the nights that can still be quite cold in this time of the year. I think of Anna's wound that's in dire need of cleansing. And I think of our bellies that require feeding.

"We should get away from here," Anna says.

Her words interrupt my black train of thoughts. I look at her, bewildered, grappling my way back to reality.

"I think that Jan and his people will come here. He'll want to take a closer look," she says, apparently realizing that my mind has been wandering. "He is thorough, and stubborn. We should move away from here."

I nod. She's right. We have to hide. But then, what? How do we keep ourselves warm? I am without my jacket, and Anna wears something that suspiciously looks like pyjamas, or long underwear.