We took turns supporting Joel's lifeless body as we journeyed across the barren land, a landscape that seemed to reflect the hopelessness of our situation. The weight of his unconscious form was a constant, unnerving reminder of the fragility of life in this new and unforgiving world.
Jamie, driven by a sense of urgency that seemed to consume him, rushed into the lagoon ahead of us. His actions, frantic yet focused, set the pace for our grim procession. When we finally arrived at the water's edge, Kain and I carefully helped to lower Joel into the cool embrace of the lagoon. "Make sure he is on his back," Glenda shouted, her voice cutting through the flurry of movement and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore.
Kain splashed into the lagoon, steadying Joel from opposite Jamie, his actions a clear demonstration of his readiness to dive into whatever tasks were necessary, literal or otherwise. I watched for a moment, caught up in the urgency of their movements, before deciding to take a pragmatic approach. Not wanting to get completely wet for the second time today, I bent down to untie my shoes, thinking to join in without soaking myself further.
"No," Jamie interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through my intentions. "Kain and I have got him covered," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument but also hinting at a depth of determination that I hadn't fully appreciated before.
I paused, my hands frozen on my shoelaces. "You sure?" I asked, skepticism laced with a hint of relief. The prospect of wading back into the water wasn't particularly appealing, but leaving the heavy lifting to Jamie and Kain felt equally troublesome.
"Certain," Jamie called back, his assurance ringing clear across the water as they began to slowly wade deeper from the shore, their movements deliberate and focused.
"Can you see?" Glenda's voice, tinged with concern, broke through my hesitation. She shifted her weight back and forth, straining for a better view.
"No," I admitted, giving up on my half-hearted attempt to join them. I retied my shoelace, resigning myself to the role of a spectator, steadying myself on my feet. "It would be nice if they didn't keep their backs to us. I can't see much at all." The frustration of being unable to witness what was happening, of being sidelined in this critical moment, gnawed at me, even as I understood the necessity of their positions.
Then, breaking the tense silence, there was a loud gasp for air—a sound so fraught with life and desperation that it momentarily stunned us all.
"What's happening?" Glenda shouted, her voice a mix of fear and hope.
Jamie turned to face us, his movements swift, a large smile spreading across his face that was as bright as it was unexpected. "He's breathing again," he yelled out, the joy in his voice echoing across the lagoon, bouncing off the water and reaching us with a clarity that was almost palpable.
Glenda exhaled loudly, her relief audible in the quiet that followed Jamie's announcement. The tension that had wound its way around my heart began to loosen, replaced by a burgeoning sense of wonder and disbelief. Joel's breathing again? The thought reverberated in my mind, a mixture of relief and a thousand questions. “How was this possible? What does this mean for Joel, for us?”
Glenda shrugged, her response tinged with uncertainty and awe. "I'm not sure, but it seems there is something about the lagoon that is keeping Joel alive," she replied, her voice reflecting the mystery that enveloped us.
I smiled, partly in relief, partly in wonder. I hadn't realised that I had spoken loud enough for her to hear. But then, my expression transformed as curiosity took hold. "You mean he wasn't actually dead when we first found him in the river?" The question hung between us, loaded with implications that neither of us were fully prepared to unpack.
Glenda paused, her face contorting in thought as she mulled over the possibilities. "I really don't know," she finally said, her admission highlighting the limits of our understanding.
Rubbing at my forehead, I felt the weight of our ignorance and the magnitude of the unknown pressing in.
"What's going on out there?" Glenda's voice pierced the heavy air once more, her concern palpable as she began to remove her shoes and socks, prepared to dive into the lagoon herself.
"It's okay," Jamie called back, his voice a mix of determination and reassurance. "We've got it under control."
"But I really should examine..." Glenda's insistence was cut short as I reached out, grabbing her arm with a gentle firmness. "Maybe we should just leave them be," I suggested, my words a plea for patience in the face of her scientific curiosity and professional concern.
Bewilderment washed over Glenda's features, her mind grappling with the conflicting desires to intervene and to observe.
I concealed a slight chuckle, the situation's irony not lost on me. This must be torture for her, I realised. On the verge of what must be the biggest health miracle of her lifetime, and she was being denied access to examine the fascinating specimen. "Just for a little while," I insisted softly, offering a compromise. "You can examine him when Jamie has calmed down," I added, hoping to soothe her frustration with the promise of future investigation.
"Fine," she acquiesced, her tone a mixture of resignation and impatience as she sank into the dust beside me. "But I'm not giving them too long."
"Fair enough," I agreed, recognising the futility in pushing her further. I should be grateful I had persuaded her this far.
We sat in silence, the lagoon's gentle waves lapping at the shore providing a serene backdrop to our tumultuous thoughts. My attention, however, was split. While part of me remained concerned for Joel and curious about the mysterious properties of the lagoon, another part was captivated by Glenda's struggle. Watching her wrestle with her professional instincts versus the situation's demands was unexpectedly compelling. The dynamics at play—between science and the supernatural, between action and observation—underscored the complexity of our predicament. In this moment, it wasn't just about Joel's recovery but about how each of us was navigating this uncharted territory, balancing our roles, our knowledge, and our emotions against the backdrop of the unknown.
"Why don't we head back to camp for a bit," I suggested, pushing myself to my feet with a sense of purpose. I tried to mask the underlying concern for my arm with a casual tone. "Jamie's got a loud voice; he'll yell out if he needs us." I gave Glenda's elbow a gentle tug, signalling it was time to leave the water's edge. At first, she resisted, her body tensed with a mix of professional duty and personal interest in the unfolding situation by the lagoon. Despite her initial reluctance, we eventually started our quiet walk back to camp, each step taking us away from the immediate tension but not from the undercurrent of unease that seemed to permeate the air.
We hadn't gone far when Glenda stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed on my arm. "What's wrong with your arm?" she inquired, her tone shifting from curiosity to concern, her head nodding toward the limb in question.
Reacting instinctively, I whisked my arm away from her view, a feeble attempt to deflect her attention. "Oh, it's nothing," I replied, hoping my voice sounded more convincing than I felt.
Glenda, however, was not to be deterred. She reached across my body with determination, her fingers wrapping around my arm with a firmness that demanded compliance. "This doesn't look like nothing," she stated, her voice carrying a weight of seriousness that made my heart sink. "Tell me what happened."
Feeling the tremble begin in my lower lip, I bit down hard, trying to steady myself against the surge of emotions her question unleashed. The flesh around the three small holes had darkened further since the incident, a visual testament to the bizarre and frightening encounter with Joel. "Joel dug his fingernails into my arm when he first… woke up," I managed to say, the words feeling inadequate to describe the surreal nature of the event. I hesitated at "woke up," unsure if that term truly captured the essence of what had transpired.
"That was when you screamed?" Glenda pieced together, her memory connecting my reaction to the moment of Joel's unexpected resurgence.
My face flushed with embarrassment, the heat rising as I nodded in confirmation. "Yeah."
The shift in Glenda's expression was immediate, her professional curiosity now marred by a deeper, more contemplative concern. Her face turned serious with thought, reflecting the unusualness of the situation and the potential implications of my injury.
"Is it bad?" I asked, my voice laced with a caution that betrayed my fear of the answer. I didn't really want her to respond, hoping perhaps that my question could remain rhetorical, unanswered.
"Well, it's not bloody good," Glenda replied, her bluntness slicing through my thin veil of hope like a sharp knife.
I chuckled nervously, a sound more of discomfort than amusement. Glenda certainly knows how to put things bluntly, I thought, her straightforwardness a grounding force in the midst of our surreal circumstances.
"Come," she instructed, a tone of authority mixed with a hint of an idea sparking in her voice. I found myself following her, driven by a mix of curiosity and trust.
We quickly made our way back to camp, the urgency of her stride compelling me to match her pace. "Wait here," she instructed before disappearing into the supply tent. Left to my own devices, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, the nervous anticipation building. What did Glenda have in mind? But then again, she did save Jamie's life, so I don't have any reason not to trust her, I reminded myself, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety.
When Glenda emerged, bandages in hand, her determination was palpable. "We need to go back to the lagoon," she announced, already moving away.
"Glenda, wait!" The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. "It's only a minor wound. I'm not sure we need the lagoon." My protest was half-hearted, a part of me still clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, we could handle this without returning to that place of mystery and fear.
Glenda stopped and eyed me cautiously, her gaze probing. "Go on," she encouraged, sensing there was more I hadn't shared.
"Well," I began, dragging out the word as I tried to marshal my thoughts. "I've already washed it in the river by the lagoon and the flesh seemed to return to normal within a few minutes. So..."
"And then without the water it turned grey again," Glenda finished my sentence, her mind working quickly to piece together the implications. "Interesting. Let's try this river water then," she said, nodding toward the river running behind the tents, her decision made with a characteristic blend of curiosity and decisiveness.
"It can't hurt. Can it?" The question was more to myself than to Glenda, a verbal manifestation of my lingering doubts.
Glenda shrugged, a gesture that encapsulated her uncertainty. "We shall see." Her response, while noncommittal, carried an undercurrent of hope, a willingness to explore all possibilities in the face of the unknown.
As we made our way to the river, the juxtaposition of hope against the backdrop of uncertainty, of seeking answers in the same waters that both threatened and offered salvation, was not lost on me. In this new world, where the line between life and death seemed as mutable as the waters of the lagoon, every decision carried weight, every action a potential ripple in the pond of our survival. And as we prepared to test the healing properties of the river water, I couldn't help but wonder what other secrets this land held, and whether we would be prepared to face them.
"Go," Glenda prompted, her voice firm as she pointed at the clear, flowing water just a few inches below where we knelt along the riverbank. The seriousness in her tone, combined with the urgency of our situation, left no room for hesitation.
I submerged my arm into the water, bracing myself for the familiar, comforting tingling sensation I had come to associate with the healing properties of these mysterious waters. Instead, a strong, unexpected burning sensation surged through my arm, catching me completely off guard. Instinctively, I began to retract my arm, the pain overwhelming, but Glenda's hand shot out, grasping my arm with surprising strength. "That wasn't long enough," she said, her determination evident as she thrust my arm back under the water's surface.
"It's burning!" I shouted, panic edging into my voice as I struggled against her firm grip. The sensation was unlike anything I had anticipated, a fierce, consuming fire that seemed to gnaw at my flesh.
"Wash your arm," Glenda instructed, her tone brooking no argument, even as she acknowledged my discomfort with a brief, sympathetic glance. "I don't think I should touch it." Her words, though confusing at first, began to make sense as I considered the potential risks of contamination—both to me and to her.
My heart raced, shock and a burgeoning sense of betrayal mingling as I wrestled with Glenda's unexpected assertiveness. Yet, as I forced myself to focus on the wound submerged just below the surface of the water, a grudging realisation dawned on me. She was right. With a resigned sigh, I ceased my struggles and began to gently swirl the water around my arm, watching with a mixture of awe and disbelief as the skin gradually began to return to its normal colour. The intense burning that had initially seized me slowly ebbed away, replaced by a dull ache that seemed almost welcome in comparison.
The transformation was mesmerising, a tangible sign of hope in a situation fraught with uncertainty and fear. As the minutes passed, the pain and the initial panic gave way to a profound sense of relief. Glenda's unyielding stance, though jarring, had guided me through the pain to a semblance of healing, a reminder that sometimes, the path to recovery requires us to endure discomfort, to trust in the process, even when every instinct cries out against it.
Sitting back on my heels, I lifted my arm from the water, noting with a mixture of relief and astonishment that the evidence of the trauma had faded significantly from my skin.
"Give me your arm," Glenda ordered, her voice carrying a sense of urgency that snapped me back to the present.
As I extended my dripping arm toward her, Glenda began to wrap the wound tightly with the bandages she had prepared. Suddenly, she stopped, her hands pausing mid-motion, which immediately sent a wave of panic through me. "What's wrong?" I asked, my voice tinged with the anxiety that Glenda's hesitation had sparked.
"I'm not sure if it will make any difference, but it's worth a try," she murmured, more to herself than to me. Her words, cryptic and laden with uncertainty, did little to ease the growing sense of unease within me.
"What is?" I pressed, desperate for any sliver of understanding.
Without answering, Glenda carefully unwrapped the bandage from around my arm and submerged it in the river. Watching her, a realisation dawned on me—a glimmer of understanding amidst the fog of uncertainty. Ahh, I thought. Now I understand. Even if it makes no difference, it's a genius idea to try.
Glenda looked up, catching my gaze with a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. "It might help to keep the properties of the water on the wound for longer. If we can change the dressing whenever it completely dries out, with a bit of luck, your wound should heal fully," she explained, her smile reflecting a blend of hope and determination.
I shrugged, the gesture a silent concession to her plan. "Go for it."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Glenda wrapped the soaked bandage around my wound once more. Yet, as she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration, a clear sign that her mind was already racing ahead to the next challenge.
The return of her concentration face reignited the nerves I had briefly managed to quell. I was quickly learning that Glenda's focused expression was a harbinger of concern, a visual cue that more obstacles lay ahead.
"The sun is too hot," she observed, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "I'll have to find something to protect it, try to keep it moist for longer." She rubbed her temples, a gesture of deep thought, as she murmured, "But what?" The question, though whispered, echoed loudly in the silence that followed.
Closing my eyes, I allowed myself a moment of raw honesty. This place is a fucking disaster, I thought, the words a silent acknowledgment of the overwhelming challenges we faced.
