Standing on the riverbank behind the tent, I watched the last few drops of water from the freshly soaked bandage disappear into the lifeless dust below, each drop a fleeting testament to the transient nature of our current existence. The action, so mundane yet so laden with significance, served as a reminder of the delicate balance we now found ourselves trying to maintain.

Yesterday's conversation with Glenda echoed in my mind, her words casting long shadows over my thoughts. She was right: This is the perfect spot to build a bridge. As I gazed across the river, the vision of it began to take shape in my mind's eye, a simple yet sturdy wooden structure that arched gracefully from shore to shore. I could almost see the small wooden slats criss-crossing their way along the span, bound by the upper railing that would reach chest height, providing not just passage but a semblance of safety.

Turrets guarding the entrance on either side painted a picture of medieval fortifications, a simple layer of security that seemed both whimsical and desperately necessary. In this new world, where the unknown lurked at the edge of every decision, the thought of having a means to protect ourselves from an enemy seeking to cross, or offering us a route of escape across the river, felt both comforting and chilling.

As the vision of the bridge solidified in my mind, I realised that it represented more than just a physical crossing; it was a bridge between our past and our future, a tangible link between the world we had lost and the one we were striving to build.

"Yes!" I cried out, the idea crystallising in my mind with such clarity it felt like a revelation. "That's what we need."

"What is?" The sound of Glenda's voice, close behind me, jolted me from my thoughts.

I turned quickly to face her, the excitement still bubbling inside me. "I was just thinking about what you said yesterday, about building a bridge." The words tumbled out in a rush, my enthusiasm barely contained.

"Oh... and?" Glenda prompted, her interest piqued, her gaze steady and encouraging.

I gestured towards the river, my arm sweeping across the landscape as I shared the vision that had taken root in my mind. As I spoke, Glenda nodded, her expression thoughtful, absorbing every detail of the plan I laid out before her. Did she approve? The question lingered in my mind, a silent plea for her support.

"And if we make them tall enough, I can imagine those turrets would provide a spectacular view over the land," Glenda added, her voice tinged with a smile. Her words, an endorsement of the idea's potential, filled me with a sense of validation.

I grinned, buoyed by her response. "So, my simple idea has your approval then?" I joked, the tension of anticipation easing into a playful banter.

Glenda's laughter, light and genuine, was a sound of agreement and camaraderie. "I think it's the perfect combination of daring further exploration and security. A balance of beauty and practicality."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, a swell of pride and a newfound sense of ownership coursing through me as I envisioned the future we could build here. I smiled to myself, lost in the thought of my children enjoying the fruits of our labour. Little Rose would love playing in the reeds, her laughter mingling with the quacks of ducks and the serene sounds of swans gliding across the lagoon. And Mack, I could just see him, claiming one of the turrets as his own fortress, a king surveying his domain with the imaginative seriousness only a ten-year-old could muster.

"We have to make this work, Glenda," I found myself saying, the weight of my decision pressing down on me, tempering the brief flight of fancy. "We just have to." The determination in my voice was mirrored by the resolve in my heart. This wasn't just about survival anymore; it was about creating a space where hope could flourish, where my children could find joy and laughter.

Glenda's expression mirrored the truth of my words, her face growing serious. "I know," she replied, her voice firm, resolute. Yet, as I studied her face, I saw something more beneath the surface—a pain and sadness that ran deep, hints of stories untold, of burdens carried silently. It was a reminder that each of us brought our own ghosts to this place, our own wounds that needed healing.

With time, I hoped that Glenda would open up to me. The foundation of our small community had to be built on trust as much as on hope. If I was going to protect this community, there could be no secrets, no surprises lurking in the shadows of our collective future.

As if sensing the shift in my thoughts, Glenda's soft smile returned, a gentle push against the heaviness of our conversation. "Shall we get this next tent up then?" she suggested, gesturing to the vacant space beside the medical tent.

"May as well," I agreed, the pragmatic part of me taking over once again.

"God, I can't believe we're almost done!" The words burst from me in a mix of relief and disbelief as I surveyed our progress. The tent, a symbol of both shelter and practicality, stood nearly complete before us. "Glenda, you are an expert with tents!" I called out, my voice carrying across the tent to where she worked meticulously.

"I've had plenty of practice," came her modest reply, a hint of a smile in her voice that spoke volumes of her experiences.

"Really?" My curiosity was piqued. The ease with which she handled the tent, her calm amidst my struggle, hinted at a backstory I was eager to hear.

"These are a lot simpler than the large medical tents we used in Borneo." Her casual mention of Borneo, as if it were a routine part of her life, only added layers to the mystery that surrounded her.

"Borneo? What were you doing there?" I couldn't help but ask, my interest now fully captured by the snippets of her past she had let slip.

"Oh," Glenda chuckled, the sound rich with memories. "That's a very long story. Perhaps we save it for the campfire sometime," she suggested, her voice carrying a promise of stories to come.

"Fair enough," I replied, intrigued but willing to wait for the tale. My attention turned back to the task at hand, the tent that was our immediate challenge. In my distraction, the tent wobbled ominously the moment I released the unstable pole.

"Aargh!" Glenda's cry of frustration cut through the air, pulling me back from my thoughts.

"Glenda! You alright?" Concern laced my words as I rushed to her side of the tent, ready to assist.

"Yeah," she said, her voice muffled as she extricated herself from under the fabric. "I just can't get this darn pole to stay right."

"Here, let me try," I offered, reaching under the fabric to find where Glenda's hand gripped the pole. Together, we navigated the awkward angles and the stubbornness of inanimate objects.

"It should just..." I murmured, trying to solve the puzzle of the pole and fabric.

"Am I losing my mind?" Kain's voice, tinged with confusion and disbelief, suddenly entered the camp.

Both Glenda and I attempted to turn our heads, seeking out Kain.

"I don't understand any of this," he said, his voice a blend of bewilderment and frustration as he shook his head slowly.

Glenda pushed her head further away from the edge of the tent, a manoeuvre that gave her just enough space to articulate her thoughts without the fabric muzzling her words. "Just give yourself a few days to adjust," she huffed, the effort of wrangling the tent not diminishing the firmness in her voice. "It'll all start to make sense in a few weeks."

"It will?" My skepticism was barely veiled, my head poking out from underneath the sagging fabric in search of some assurance, some hint that the bewildering reality we found ourselves in would indeed become more manageable with time.

"Sure," Glenda affirmed, though her quick retreat back into the task at hand did little to bolster my confidence.

My gaze shifted to Kain, who stood by the remnants of the cold campfire, his posture betraying a similar skepticism. "So, how is Joel doing anyway?" I asked, hoping for some sliver of good news regarding his situation.

Kain paused, the question seeming to weigh heavily on him. "He's... umm... he's alive, I guess." His hesitation, the uncertainty in his voice, spoke volumes.

"That's great..." My attempt at optimism felt hollow, even to my own ears.

Glenda, ever alert, seized an opportunity to redirect the conversation. "Hey, Kain," she called out with a purpose that seemed too convenient to be coincidental, "It looks as though we've left the tent pegs for the next tent back at the Drop Zone. Would you go have a look, please?"

"Sure," Kain replied, his nonchalant shrug masking any thoughts he might have had about the timing of Glenda's request.

"Thanks. It's probably a small, rectangular box." Glenda's instructions floated after Kain as he walked away, leaving us in a bubble of temporary privacy.

Waiting until Kain was safely out of earshot, I couldn't help but express my incredulity. "Really?" I shot at Glenda, my tone laden with disbelief. "You want to tell me what that was really about?"

"What?" Glenda's response was the picture of innocence, her face betraying nothing that might suggest an ulterior motive. "I remembered I left them on top of one of the larger boxes. I meant to go back for it."

I eyed her suspiciously, my mind racing through the possibilities. What more can I do? If Kain returns with a box of tent pegs, I'll know Glenda was genuine. Either that or she's very good at spontaneity. The thought lingered, an unsolved puzzle. "You're a woman of great mystery, Glenda, I'll give you that," I conceded, the honesty in my words reflecting both my frustration and my growing respect for her. Glenda's ability to navigate the unfamiliar with such poise and foresight was as baffling as it was admirable.

In Kain's absence, Glenda and I had managed to complete the third tent and made significant progress on the fourth, despite the complication of missing pegs. It was a testament to our growing proficiency and perhaps, to a certain degree of determination that seemed to fuel our actions in this new, challenging world.

I paused in my efforts, glancing up at the sky where the sun hung low, casting long shadows and bathing the landscape in a warm, golden hue. The mountains in the far distance seemed to cradle the light, holding onto the day for as long as possible. "There can't be more than an hour or so left of daylight," I called out to Glenda, my voice carrying a note of urgency. "I'm going to check on Jamie and Joel," I announced, feeling a need to ensure their well-being

"Alright," Glenda replied, her voice steady and focused. "I'll get the fire started."

Taking the gentle hills with steady strides, I approached the top of the highest peak before the lagoon. My anticipation grew with each step, a mix of concern and curiosity driving me forward. As I neared the crest, my breath caught in my throat, a sudden constriction that forced me to cough lightly several times as I struggled to regain my composure. My eyes scanned the scene below, searching for signs of Jamie and Joel.

Are my eyes deceiving me? The sight that greeted me was both unexpected and heartening. Two figures were making their way up the hill with slow and steady steps.

"Jamie!" I called out, my voice tinged with surprise and relief. "Is that Joel?" The question, rhetorical as it might have been, was driven by a need for confirmation, for reassurance that what I was seeing was indeed real.

"Come and help us," Jamie called back, his free arm beckoning me. His tone, a mix of exhaustion and determination, spurred me into action.

Carefully, I jogged down the dusty incline, my steps cautious as I approached. The sight of Joel, up and moving, was a welcome one, yet I couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. As I slid underneath his free arm to support his weight, I tried not to stare. The rough stitching that held his neck together was hard to ignore.

"Thought I'd better get him back to camp before dark," Jamie's voice broke through my contemplation, urging us into motion with a sense of urgency that was palpable in the dimming light.

"Good idea," I echoed, agreeing without hesitation. The practicality of his suggestion was undeniable; navigating the uneven terrain with Joel in his current state would only grow more challenging as night fell.

The journey back was arduous, each step a testament to our collective will to persevere. The grunts and strained breaths that accompanied our efforts blurred, making it hard to distinguish who was struggling more with the burden. Curiosity, however, got the better of me. "Hurt your foot?" I couldn't help but inquire, noting the particular heaviness in Jamie's steps.

"Yeah," Jamie grunted in confirmation, his voice strained with the effort of moving forward. "The hill where you found us was a bit rough," he added, his explanation terse but laden with the unspoken hardships they must have endured.

"Has he spoken yet?" The question lingered in the air, my curiosity for Joel's condition growing with every laboured step we took.

"Not really," came Jamie's reply, his words painting a picture of the uncertainty that still clouded Joel's recovery.

Turning my attention to Joel, I sought to offer a gesture of comfort, a connection in the midst of the turmoil that surrounded us. His wide, beautiful eyes met mine, a silent communication that transcended words. "You've got your father's eyes," I told him tenderly, hoping to ground him in the familiarity of family, of belonging. "Let's get you home."

Jamie's quiet scoff at my words was almost lost in the shuffle of our movement, but its significance wasn't lost on me. I knew all too well the skepticism, the underlying tension that it represented. Yet, I was in no mood to argue, not now. The priority was getting Joel safely back to camp, to the semblance of security and care that awaited him there.

After what felt like an eternity of torturous silence, punctuated only by the sound of our steady breathing and the uneven thud of our footsteps, the camp finally came into view. A wave of relief washed over me, so intense it was almost tangible. Supporting most of Joel's weight had drained me more than I had realised.

"Glenda!" I called out, my voice cracking slightly with the effort.

Jamie let out a heavy sigh beside me, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. It was a mirror of my own relief but tinged with an underlying exhaustion.

Glenda and Luke hurried over as we approached, their faces etched with concern. The sight of us, bedraggled and weary, must have been a shock.

"He's bleeding!" Glenda's cry cut through the air, her medical instincts kicking in immediately. "Luke, get me some tissue from the medical tent," she directed, her tone brooking no argument.

Luke, however, stood frozen, as if momentarily overwhelmed by the situation.

"I got it!" Kain's voice, strong and sure, broke through the hesitation. He emerged from the medical tent with a sense of purpose, rushing over to hand the tissues to Glenda.

"Ta," she replied, a simple acknowledgment as she took the tissues and immediately pressed a wad of them up to Joel's dripping nose. "Let's get him sitting," she instructed, her focus entirely on Joel's well-being.

Together, Jamie and I guided Joel to sit on a large log by the campfire, the warmth of the flames a stark contrast to the chill of the evening air. Kain followed, silently ready to assist further if needed.

"Not too close," Glenda insisted, her attention divided between treating Joel and ensuring his safety from the campfire's heat. "Is it just his nose?"

"I think so," Jamie responded, his voice low and filled with an unspoken concern that mirrored my own.

"I didn't even notice it was bleeding," I admitted, guilt mingling with surprise at my oversight. In the midst of everything, it was easy to miss the small details, even when they were as glaring as a bleeding nose.

Glenda knelt in front of the drooping Joel, who was still being supported on either side by me and Jamie. Her voice carried a mix of concern and bafflement. "I don't understand how," she murmured, her gaze fixed on Joel, searching for an explanation that seemed to elude her.

Jamie shook his head, a gesture of disbelief or perhaps resignation. "I didn't give him any, but he seems to have plenty of it now." His words were cryptic, sparking a flicker of confusion within me.

Plenty of what? I found myself wondering, my head tilting slightly as I tried to piece together the puzzle. The conversation felt like a riddle, each word adding layers to the mystery rather than clarity.

"Yes," Glenda agreed, her attention never wavering from Joel. I watched, fascinated and a little apprehensive, as she poked Joel's arms and legs in several places. "There is definitely blood in his veins now," she announced, her tone suggesting that this was both unexpected and significant.

I released my breath, the pieces of the conversation finally clicking into place in my mind. Of course! What else would they have meant? The realisation that Joel's recovery, or at least part of it, involved his blood, something so fundamentally essential yet so bafflingly restored, was a moment of clarity amidst the confusion.

"It's a medical anomaly!" Glenda declared, her voice carrying a mix of excitement and wonder as she rose to her feet, accepting the whiskey bottle Luke offered to her. "You had better lie him down again once the bleeding stops," she advised, her professional opinion mingled with the practical steps that followed such a discovery. Then, without hesitation, she took a swig from the bottle, perhaps seeking solace in its contents from the day's surreal developments.

Luke's laughter, loud and clear, broke through the tension, a reminder of the camaraderie that bound us together in these strange times.

I glanced up at the dimming sky, noting the encroaching darkness that signalled the end of another day. "Nightfall can't be too far away now," I observed aloud, already turning my thoughts towards the practical needs of our group. "I'll prepare us some food," I announced, ensuring that Joel was sufficiently supported by Jamie before I moved away, ready to contribute in the way I knew best.

"I'll help you," Kain quickly chimed in, his offer a reminder of the solidarity that had become our greatest strength.