The Last Panther

by Todd Mitchell

  “It’s a letter back!” she announced.

  “A letter back?” replied her da. “Who did you send a letter to?”

  Kiri opened the book and held it up for him to see. “The creature on the beach,” she said. “It’s a letter back. A letter back turt! You have to come down. You have to tell them what it is.”

  “Is that my guidebook?” Her da nearly dropped the orchid he’d been collecting. With one last tug, he separated the silver roots from the bark. Then he set the plant in a bucket attached to his harness, unstrapped the tree belt, and descended. “Kiri, you can’t bring that out here! You’re not even supposed to touch it. If those pages get wet—”

  “It’s in here, Da,” she said, jabbing the drawing with her finger. She didn’t care if he yelled at her or took her dinner away. At least now she had his attention. “I found it. It’s a letter back turt!”

  Her da dropped to the ground. His eyes looked stormy and his brow was knotted. He swept the book from her hands, being careful not to tear the pages like she’d done. “ ‘Leatherback turtle,’ ” he read, eyes widening. “This is on the beach?”

  “It’s huge,” said Kiri. “Charro stood on it. And it’s alive!”

  “That’s not possible. I thought you were talking about a spirit. Are you sure this is it?”

  “It looks like that, only bigger,” said Kiri.

  Her da started toward their house, but he was still tied to the tree. He unbuckled the harness and tossed the book, bucket, and other tools onto the grass. The ghost orchid he’d been collecting bounced out of the bucket but he didn’t pause. “Show me where.”

  “This way!” called Kiri, edging ahead of him. “I know a quick cut.”

  Kiri raced along the spit of land that led to their house, eager to get back to the beach before it was too late. Already the sun had fallen beneath the horizon and the orange glow of the sky had dimmed to purple.

  “Wait!” Her da suddenly turned and climbed the ladder to their house. Kiri watched him go, confused. When he came back down, he had the waller satphone and stun stick attached to his belt. Seeing them made Kiri’s stomach twist. Her da never wore the stun stick, so why was he taking it now?

  “Go!” he said, cutting through her daze. “Fast as you can!”

  Kiri took off across the swamp, jumping from log to rubble pile to root. She looked back a few times to make sure her da was with her. His pants dripped mud and his hat had fallen off, but he didn’t lag at all.

  After a while, Kiri stopped glancing back and focused on crossing the swamp. The muscles in her legs ached and her lungs burned, but she didn’t slow down. She wanted her da to see how fast she could run, leaping from root to log while dodging the clumps of cattails that grew in the deeper, snake-infested waters. They kept on for half an hour or so in silence.

  “Good work, Kiribati,” said her da when they finally reached the firmer ground of the ghost forest.

  Her chest swelled with pride, not just from her father’s praise but because he was with her. He’d talk to the villagers and tell them what the creature was. He’d stop them from fighting and make things okay.

  The wind from the shore carried the acrid smell of smoke, along with something else—a rich, savory scent that made Kiri’s mouth water. She heard music as they approached the beach. Drums, and voices singing.

  At last, they made it to a path that led through the sea-grape tunnels to the dunes. Martin raced ahead. Kiri chased after him until she saw the orange glow of torches and fires in the distance.

  The argument between Charro and Nessa had been settled.

  “Paulo!” called Kiri. She spotted the skinny silhouette of her friend standing next to Tae moments after she made it to the beach. They must have been waiting near the sea-grape tunnels for her. She looked for her da, but she couldn’t see him in the growing dark.

  “Nessa was right!” said Paulo. “Elder Tomas ruled it a catch!”

  “She wasn’t right,” countered Tae. “It’s salvage. That’s what Elder Tomas said.”

  “It’s both,” said Paulo. “Elder Tomas called it both, since our da couldn’t drag it to shore on his own. And he couldn’t take the whole thing to the boat people anyway.”

  “He could have. He just wanted to be generous.”

  Kiri edged past the brothers, unable to make sense of their excited chatter. “Where’s my da?”

  “Over there, by the fires.” Paulo nodded to the crowd on the beach.

  Almost everyone from the village was gathered there, and the mood seemed celebratory. Several people were dancing and singing, but a dark feeling stirred within Kiri when she saw fires burning near where the enormous leatherback had been.

  She hurried toward the gathering, catching a glimpse of her father through the crowd. His face, lit by the orange glow of the torches, looked pale and drawn. Charro stood before him, fists clenched. Something was wrong. Kiri pushed through the crowd, fearing what might happen next.

  “What have you done?” she heard her father say.

  The singing stopped.

  “Da!” called Kiri, finally making it through the crowd to the center of the gathering. But her da didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground near the fires.

  “What. Have. You. Done?” he repeated. Although he sounded angry, his eyes appeared red and sad, as if he might cry.

  Kiri followed his gaze. Suddenly, she understood what had made him so upset.

  The enormous once-were creature lay in the sand near the fires. It wasn’t moving anymore. The sand around the creature looked dark and wet. Already, parts of it were gone, and the rest was being cut up. That’s why there were pots on the fires. Senek and Nessa were making soup with some of the meat, while larger slabs had been arranged around a cook fire. Charro stood shirtless nearby. His arms glistened in the firelight, wet from the work of butchering the meat.

  Kiri saw other things in the sand around the dead sea turtle—bones and small white orbs that the Witch Woman collected in a bucket.

  “What have you done?” said Martin, speaking the words a third time. Only this time his voice was quieter—more of a question than an accusation.

  “I fed the village. That’s what I’ve done,” said Charro. “That’s more than you’ve ever done. Now get out of my way.”

  Martin lifted his head to glare at the netter. “You had no right to do this.”

  “Who are you to speak of rights, Waller Man? You think this was yours? You think you had a right to this?” Charro scowled. “Typical waller. You think everything belongs to you.”

  “No. Not to me—”

  “Then to your rich waller friends,” finished Charro. “You’re just angry that you didn’t get to sell this to them.”

  Martin shook his head and blinked back tears. “You have no idea what it was worth.”

  “I’ll learn its worth soon enough when I take the head, shell, and bones to the boat people,” said Charro. He strode past Martin and filled a tin bowl with soup from one of the cook pots. “Here.” He held the bowl out to Martin. “I’m giving this to you, because it’s mine to give. And because fugees share what’s needed. Now eat and let us be.”

  Nessa filled a second bowl and offered it to Kiri.

  Kiri looked at the thick brown soup. She didn’t like that the sea turtle had been killed any more than her da did. The thought of its deep blue gaze made her chest clench. She wished it could have been released, even if it was old and would have died eventually. To see such a thing and to know it might still be out there somewhere would be enough for her.

  But she knew that wasn’t enough for the village. People were hungry, and they couldn’t pass up such a catch. That was the way of things. Fugees ate what the ocean gave them, and what they couldn’t eat they sold to the boat people. That’s how they survived, and there was no point making a fuss about it.

  Kiri took the bowl. “Thank you,” she said to Nessa.

  Her da continued to stare at the remains of the s
ea turtle, ignoring the bowl Charro held out to him.

  “Eat,” said Charro.

  Martin knocked the bowl aside. It tumbled to the sand, spilling soup and meat.

  The crowd gasped. Even Charro looked stunned. “Are you refusing hospitality, Waller Man?”

  The angry storm that had built up earlier seemed to shift to her da now. Kiri felt as if strangler fig vines were tightening around her. She looked to her da, hoping he’d apologize, but he didn’t appear to realize what it meant to refuse the soup. He just kept staring at the butchered remains of the leatherback.

  “He didn’t mean it,” said Kiri, edging between Charro and her da. “He doesn’t know.”

  “He knows,” grumbled Charro. “He knows enough to steal from us. Isn’t that right, Waller Man?” Charro swept something long and white off the ground and shook it in front of Martin. “You want to steal this, don’t you?”

  It took Kiri a moment to recognize what Charro held. Not a stick, but a bone—a sharp, splintered bone from the sea turtle.

  “Steal it like you stole Laria from us?” continued Charro.

  Kiri stiffened at the mention of her mother’s name. No one in the village ever talked about her ma. It was bad luck to speak of the dead.

  “Go home, Kiribati,” said her da. His hand moved to the stun stick clipped to his belt. “I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

  “Da, no…,” said Kiri.

  But her father seemed too upset to listen. He stepped closer to Charro until the air between them practically crackled with tension.

  “Enough sour talk,” interrupted Elder Tomas. The crowd parted to let the gruff leader pass.

  Relief poured through Kiri at the sight of Elder Tomas’s bald head and bushy gray beard. If anyone could keep Charro and her da from fighting, it was him. He limped toward the two men, jabbing his staff into the ground with each step. A golden python decorated the end of the polished wood. In meetings, Elder Tomas raised the staff to signal for silence, and it had become as much a symbol of leadership as his shiny head.

  “This is a feast,” announced Elder Tomas. “We’re here to celebrate our good fortune and friendship. Right, Charro? Waller Man dropped his bowl. When a guest drops a bowl, we offer him another.” Elder Tomas’s gaze lingered on the spot of darkened sand where the bowl Martin had knocked out of Charro’s hand lay.

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Paulo stepped forward, picked up the bowl, and held it out to Nessa to fill again.

  Elder Tomas nodded. “Such is our way. Eat and be welcome.” He eased into a chair a fugee placed for him.

  Paulo had a ridiculous, missing-tooth grin on his face as he offered the bowl of soup to Martin. Kiri couldn’t keep herself from smiling back at her friend. Maybe things would be okay after all.

  But her da still didn’t take the bowl.

  The strangler-fig vines cinched tighter, choking Kiri. Why was her da doing this? Why couldn’t he just eat the soup like everyone else? Why did he always have to be different?

  “Take it,” she said, nudging her da. If he ate the soup he’d be a guest, and guests were protected. Charro wouldn’t be able to fight him then. “Please. Eat the soup.”

  Martin looked at her with a perplexed, distant expression. “We won’t be part of this, Kiribati.”

  He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the ghost forest. Soup slopped out of her bowl.

  Charro sneered. “See? He doesn’t respect us. He just wants to take what’s ours and tell us what to do. He takes and takes and doesn’t give back, like he took Laria….”

  Martin turned and glared at Charro.

  “Like he took her and killed her,” said Charro.

  Something in Kiri’s da snapped. He stepped toward Charro, and Charro shoved him. Soon the two men were grappling near the fire, each struggling for advantage. Their faces wrinkled and orange light reflected off their eyes.

  The storm had finally broken, and a hungry bloodlust took hold of the villagers. Fugees shouted, while Elder Tomas sat mute, permitting the fight to continue—all because her da had refused the soup.

  “Stop!” yelled Kiri. She lunged between Charro and her da to break up the fight.

  An elbow jostled her shoulder and a hand tried to push her out of the way. Then something scratched her cheek. It all happened too quickly, like being tumbled by a rogue wave. Kiri fell back on the sand. Her face stung and her vision blurred. She blinked several times, rubbing her eyes, and her fingers came away sticky with blood. It took her a moment to figure out why. The bone Charro held, with its sharp, splintered end, must have cut her.

  Charro looked down at her in bewilderment.

  “Kiribati?” said her da. He knelt next to her.

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed, doing her best not to cry in front of everyone. “It’s just a scratch.”

  Her da brushed her wild hair back from her face. “You’re bleeding.”

  “That child is always in the way,” grumbled Charro.

  Martin whirled to his feet. “Get away from her!”

  “Or what?” challenged Charro. “This is your fault, Waller Man.”

  Martin slid the stun stick from the holster on his belt. It made a high, angry buzz as it powered up.

  “Enough!” shouted Elder Tomas.

  The enraged leader’s gaze swept the crowd. “You!” He pointed the end of his staff at Kiri and her da. “Leave. You wallers aren’t welcome here anymore.”

  Kiri was too shocked to move. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d brought her da to the village to help. He was supposed to stop a fight, not start one.

  Her da lifted her to her feet, but she squirmed out of his hands. She refused to let him carry her.

  “Come on, Kiribati,” he said.

  He took her hand and guided her back toward the sea-grape tunnels. Kiri stumbled a few times. The air felt too thick to breathe and the sting of her scratched cheek made her eyes water. Her da kept his arm under hers to catch her if she fell.

  “We’ll go home and take care of that cut,” he said. “You’ll be okay. You did good, coming to get me. If only I’d gotten here sooner.” He shook his head and sighed. “It was a female,” he added, as if explaining could somehow make things better. “They’re supposed to be extinct. It’s probably been at sea for decades looking for a mate. They only come to shore to nest. You understand? It might have been the last, and after all these years it was coming here to nest….”

  They’d nearly reached the sea-grape tunnels when Kiri looked back. No one, other than her da, was talking. The crowd gathered by the fires had become crushingly silent. No music, drumming, or singing. It was the suffocating silence of two hundred people who hated them now.

  Kiri wanted to tell them she wasn’t a waller. Not like her da. She was a fugee like them. How could things have gone so wrong?

  Paulo’s skinny form stood by the edge of the group, silhouetted by the distant firelight. He gave her a feeble wave—the sort of wave people gave to netters who headed off when the sky turned gray and no one else was foolish enough to paddle out.

  Kiri couldn’t bring herself to wave back.

  “You’ll probably have a scar,” said her da as he cleaned the cut on Kiri’s cheek. “Good thing Charro missed your eye.”

  Each dab of peroxide hurt worse than a dozen fire-ant stings, but Kiri didn’t cry. She wanted her da to see that she wasn’t a child anymore. She was old enough to make her own decisions, and she wouldn’t mess things up like he did.

  Of course, he didn’t see this. Just like he didn’t see why he should have eaten the soup, or the looks of contempt on the fugees’ faces when they’d walked away. There were so many things, she now realized, that he didn’t see.

  “Sea turtles always return to the beach where they were born to nest,” her da said, still talking about his work. “They can be gone for decades. Then, one day, they’ll come back to lay their eggs in the sand. But now it’s gone. Maybe all of them are.” He clenched his jaw, looking
pained, until he seemed to remember that Kiri was the one who’d been hurt. “Perhaps,” he continued, “if I collect the right specimens, I’ll be able to take you to a clinic in the city. They have stims that can erase a scar, and then it’ll be like this whole thing never happened. How’s that sound?”

  Kiri glared at him. She didn’t care about the stupid scar. What did a scar matter if she couldn’t go to the village anymore? Besides, it wasn’t like he’d be able to take her to a fancy waller clinic anyway. The wallers wouldn’t let her through the city gates—not without a waller mark on her arm like he had. And the only way to get a waller mark was to be born in the city in the first place, which she had not been.

  “Get some sleep,” he said, dabbing the cut on her cheek one last time. “Tomorrow things will…” His voice trailed off. They both knew things wouldn’t be better. The once-were creature was dead, and most of the villagers were angry at them.

  “You’ll heal,” he finally said. He kissed her forehead and sent her up the ladder to the sleeping loft.

  For a long time, Kiri lay awake, watching the blades of the cooling fan spin while the whir of gears in the hand generator filtered up from the room below. After a few minutes, her da stopped cranking the generator and turned on the music player. Kiri heard the muted notes of the strange, voiceless waller music he preferred. It sounded like thousands of different-sized stones falling on metal ruins. The tiny, unnatural notes chased each other up and down in cascading patterns. He’d told her once that it was old music, from a time before the storms and walled-off cities, which made Kiri wonder what people had been like back then, and why they’d make music that you couldn’t sing or dance to.

  Snowflake hopped across the blanket. His whiskers tickled as he sniffed her wound. When he started licking it with his tiny, rough tongue, she jerked her head away, frightening him.

  “Sorry, Snowflake,” whispered Kiri. She knew he was only trying to help.

  The little rat groomed his fur instead. If you don’t want me to clean you, I’ll clean myself, he seemed to say. He worked from his ears down to the tip of his nose, but there was a spot at the back of his neck that he couldn’t reach.