Slowly, I opened my eyes to a world transformed by the morning light filtering through the fabric of the large tent. As awareness crept back to me, I found myself lying near the centre, the cold, plastic base beneath me an uncomfortable reminder of our makeshift living conditions. A lingering sense of dread hovered at the edge of my consciousness, the remnants of the previous night's terror still palpable in the air. The sensation of being held, of strong arms wrapped securely around me, remained vivid, a fleeting comfort amidst the chaos.
"Rose!" The name burst from me as the memories of the night's events began to crystallise with sudden clarity. Sitting upright in a rush, the blanket that had been my only cover slid from my body, its movement across my skin igniting a trail of fire that seemed to consume me. I shivered, not from cold but from the pain that flared with each movement, a harsh reminder of the ordeal I had endured.
"Ouch!" The exclamation was involuntary as I attempted to stand, my right foot protesting the weight with a sharp, piercing pain. Instinctively, my hand flew to the source of the discomfort, and I found myself wobbling, unsteady and disoriented, before landing back on the tent floor with a heavy thud. The impact sent another jolt of pain through me, drawing tears to my eyes not just from the physical hurt but from the emotional turmoil that churned within.
My body ached, each bruise and abrasion a testament to the night's struggles, but it was the memory of Rose's voice, calling out to me in the darkness, that cut the deepest. The physical pain, intense as it was, paled in comparison to the ache in my heart. The thought of my daughter, real or imagined, reaching out to me in a moment of fear, and my inability to protect her, to reassure her, weighed heavily on me. It was a burden that the morning light could not dispel, a shadow that clung to me despite the new day.
Crawling across the ground felt both humbling and necessary, the blanket clutched in my grasp a makeshift shield against the chill of the morning. As I navigated my way through the tent's open flap, the act of standing was a cautious negotiation, my right foot a traitor that threatened to buckle under any semblance of pressure.
With the blanket wrapped securely around my waist, I limped towards the edge of our temporary shelter, the canopy's farthest reach offering a vantage point into the vast unknown of Clivilius. "Rose!" My voice, fuelled by a mixture of hope and desperation, cut through the silence. "Where are you?" The absence of an answer, save for the echo of my own voice, was a weight upon my heart.
A voice, firm and grounding, reached out to me from the left. "You had a nightmare, Paul," it informed me, a statement that carried with it a mix of relief and disbelief. "Rose isn't here." The words were meant to reassure, yet they sowed seeds of confusion in their wake.
I shook my head, struggling to align this reality with the vividness of my nightmare. "I don't understand," I admitted, my gaze finding Jamie sitting at the edge of the river, a solitary figure against the backdrop of tranquility. His invitation to sit beside him felt like an anchor, a point of stability in the shifting sands of my understanding.
Hesitation gripped me as I took in the scene around us. The tent's left wing had succumbed to the night's fury. The ground, once marred by the evidence of our presence, now bore a fresh layer of dust, as if Clivilius itself sought to erase our footprint, to render us ghosts upon its surface. The sight of Jamie, seemingly at peace by the water's edge, offered a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.
Approaching him, the disparity between the calm exterior and the storm of emotions within me was palpable. Jamie's feet, idly kicking at the water, seemed to mock the intensity of the night's events, a reminder of the fine line between reality and the nightmares that haunted us. In this moment, on the cusp between the known and the unknown, the physical and the psychological scars we bore were a testament to the fragility of our existence in Clivilius, a world that offered no easy answers, only the relentless passage of time and the slow, steady erasure of what had come before.
"The water will help soothe your foot," Jamie's suggestion came as a gentle encouragement, his voice carrying the warmth of concern. With a hesitant motion, I swept the blanket aside and looked down at my feet, the sight greeting me was one of discomfort—both feet were an angry red, the sting palpable even without any contact. Maybe Jamie's right, I found myself conceding silently. The thought of the cool river water against my skin offered a sliver of relief in my mind.
As I made my way to the river's edge, I couldn't help but notice the similar marks of distress on Jamie's skin. His arms, exposed and vulnerable, bore the telltale signs of our ordeal. Settling myself gingerly beside him, I took extra care with the blanket, a barrier against the elements and a shield for my modesty.
The moment my foot touched the water, a sigh of relief escaped me, unbidden but deeply felt. "That does feel good," I admitted, the sensation of coolness against the heat of my burns bringing an immediate, though temporary, respite. A newfound sense of self-consciousness washed over me, and I found myself adjusting the blanket around my waist, ensuring I remained covered.
Allowing my eyes to close, I surrendered to the sensation of the water enveloping my feet, the occasional sharp pang of pain serving as a reminder of the night's events. Despite the discomfort, the water was a balm, its gentle flow offering a moment of peace amid the turmoil of memories and confusion.
The events of the last night lingered at the edge of my consciousness, fragmented and disorienting. The sound of Rose's voice, so clear and so desperate, haunted me still. It had felt so real, so undeniable in the moment. Maybe Jamie can help me understand, I found myself thinking, the need to piece together the events, to make sense of the nightmare, growing more pressing. The possibility that Jamie might shed some light on the situation, might help reconcile the dissonance between what I had experienced and the reality we faced, was a small beacon of hope in the fog of confusion.
"Last night was a fucking disaster," Jamie's words cut through the calm brought on by the river, snapping me back to a harsher reality.
I found myself at a loss for words, the events of the night still a jumbled mess in my mind. "I guess," I murmured, my gaze drifting across the river, seeking something in its flow that might make sense of the confusion. "What happened to my foot?" The question hung between us, a tangible reminder of the physical consequences of the night's madness.
"You don't remember?" Jamie's incredulity was palpable, a mirror to my own confusion.
My face contorted as I strained to piece together the fragments of memory, but they slipped away, elusive and fragmented. I shrugged, an admission of defeat.
"You went running out of the tent in pitch blackness, in the middle of a fucking dust storm and trod on hot coals from last night's campfire," Jamie recounted, the words painting a vivid picture of my panic-driven folly. "And all for a voice that wasn't real."
Burning anger flared up, a visceral response to his dismissal of my experience. "How do you know it wasn't real?" I found myself demanding, the conviction in my own recollection clashing with his skepticism. "I heard Rose as clear as I can see this water right now."
Jamie's heavy sigh served as a prelude to his words, delivered with a slow, deliberate calm. "Pure blackness can make the mind go crazy," he suggested, a theory that offered little comfort but couldn't be easily dismissed.
My initial resistance softened, giving way to contemplation. Is Jamie right? The question wormed its way through my defences, planting seeds of doubt. Is my mind going crazy already? The thought was unsettling, a possibility that threatened the very foundation of my sense of self.
Daddy, the voice echoed again in my mind, a haunting reminder of what had driven me into the night. Despite Jamie's logical explanations, the emotional pull of that moment was undeniable. And with it came a renewed determination, a resolve that felt both desperate and essential. If I'm going to be trapped in Clivilius forever, the thought solidified with a clarity that brooked no argument, I need my kids here with me. The realisation was a beacon, guiding my next steps. Making the settlement thrive, ensuring our survival, became more than just a necessity—it was a mission, a way to forge a semblance of home in the vast unknown, driven by the love for my children and the unyielding desire to reunite with them, against all odds.
"I'm going to go fix the tent," Jamie announced, his voice carrying a pragmatic resolve that momentarily lifted the veil of uncertainty that had settled over me. "And this sun is feeling very warm already. You'd better get some clothes on. I hate to say it, but we may be spending a lot of time in the tent until we can get more shelter." The advice, though practical, served as a stark reminder of our precarious situation, exposed to the elements with limited resources at our disposal.
As Jamie walked away, his figure a blend of determination and resignation, I turned back to the river, seeking a moment of solace in its cool embrace. Lifting my burnt foot from the water, I noted with a mixture of relief and concern that the redness persisted, though the pain had ebbed. The thought of treating it properly crossed my mind, accompanied by the realisation of our limited medical supplies. “Shit!” The exclamation burst from me as the reality of our circumstances once again came into sharp focus. I’ll have to get Luke to bring some cream first! The notion was a reminder of our reliance on Luke for supplies, a dependency that chafed against my desire for autonomy.
With a cautious effort, I got to my feet, the action more deliberate than graceful, and limped over to Jamie. "Have you seen Luke yet this morning?" The question was as much about gauging Luke's whereabouts as it was an attempt to reconnect with Jamie.
"Nope," Jamie replied, his tone laced with a bitterness that seemed to go deeper than the immediate frustrations of our situation. "Luke seems to be working to his own fucking agenda." The harshness of his words, the underlying resentment, struck a chord within me, a dissonance that resonated with my own feelings of isolation and helplessness.
I frowned. "Do you really have to be so negative? And do you have to swear every second sentence?" I asked, the irritation evident in my voice.
"Yes," Jamie answered defiantly, a spark of rebellion in his eyes. "Yes, I fucking do." The response, so sharp and unyielding, was a reminder of the raw edges that our circumstances were exposing in each of us, the ways in which this unsettled environment was stripping away the veneers of civility and exposing the raw nerves beneath.
If the darkness and the unknown threats of Clivilius weren't enough to send my mind into a frenzy, Jamie's demeanour threatened to push me over the edge. With a mix of resignation and resolve, I pushed my way back inside the tent. I may as well get dressed. That's something I can actually do.
"Hey, Jamie?" My voice was casual, an attempt to bridge the gap that had formed between us with a question that now seemed trivial, even misguided, in the vast context of our current situation.
Jamie, his back to me, paused in the act of pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head, a soft gasp marking his surprise at the question. There was a moment of adjustment, a physical settling into the new garment before he responded. "Yeah?" His voice carried a hint of curiosity, a willingness to engage despite the suddenness of my inquiry.
"What did you like least about life back on Earth?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. The question, intended to spark a meaningful conversation, felt flat and poorly considered in the moment.
"Hmm," Jamie mused, his reply coming after a brief pause. "Not sure. Life is pretty good." His answer took me by surprise, contradicting the impression I had formed based on Luke's descriptions over the years. I had been led to believe Jamie found little joy in life, yet here he was, offering a perspective that challenged my assumptions.
Jamie's gaze met mine, a cautious evaluation that slowly morphed into a slight grin, as if he sensed the dissonance between my expectations and his response. "Were you expecting something different?" he prodded, the amusement in his voice clear.
Embarrassment flushed my face, a tangible sign of my discomfort. "I... uh… that's not what I meant," I stammered, struggling to articulate my thoughts amid the unexpected turn of the conversation.
"Really?" Jamie pressed, his interest piqued. "Then what did you mean?" His question, straightforward yet laden with the potential for deeper exploration, prompted a pause. I realised the importance of my next words, the need to carefully construct my reply if I hoped to subtly guide Jamie towards understanding the significance of creating a space that could welcome my children—a goal that remained unspoken between us.
"I mean—" I started, halting mid-sentence as I sought the right approach. The pause was pregnant with possibilities, a moment of recalibration as I navigated the delicate balance of revealing my true intentions without making them explicit.
"Hmm," Jamie teased, the lightness in his tone offering a reprieve from the tension. He seated himself beside me on the mattress, the physical proximity a reminder of our shared reality, of the need to work together despite the undercurrents of misunderstanding and unspoken plans that lay between us. The moment was a crossroads, an opportunity to bridge the gap with honesty and shared purpose, even as I sought the right words to mask the true depth of my intentions.
My mind raced, teetering on the edge of persuasion and honesty. The excitement in my voice was genuine as I envisioned the possibilities, yet it masked the underlying challenge of conveying the full breadth of my hopes without revealing too much. "We get to leave all of the dramas of earth life behind and start fresh." The words hung between us, a loaded statement that invited scrutiny. I paused, watching Jamie closely for any sign of agreement or skepticism.
Jamie's eyebrow arched, a silent, visual prompt that urged me to elaborate. "Go on," he said, his interest piqued or perhaps merely amused by my tentative optimism.
Encouraged, I plunged ahead. "Think about it. We don't have to go to work. I mean, yeah, we may need to work here so that we don't die, but it's not the same thing as having set hours to be working for someone else." The distinction felt important, a key selling point to this unorthodox freedom we'd been thrust into.
"And?" Jamie prompted.
"And," I continued, my thoughts gathering momentum. "And we get to leave all the annoying, stupid people behind. All the politics. All the dumb rules." The words spilled out, a mixture of frustration with our old lives and a burgeoning hope for what lay ahead. It was an appeal to the part of us that yearned for simplicity, for a life unencumbered by the societal norms we'd unknowingly chafed against.
"And family?" Jamie's question sliced through the optimism, pinpointing the heart of my internal conflict with surgical precision.
His insight into my greatest vulnerability didn't surprise me, but it steeled my resolve. "Not necessarily," I countered, my voice a blend of defiance and wishful thinking. The implication hung in the air, a delicate balance between the desire to escape and the bonds that tethered us to our previous lives.
"How so?" Jamie wasn't letting me off easy. His question demanded an explanation, a justification for the hope I clung to despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
"What if we created a new civilisation here? One where we could bring only the family we wanted? Only the people who would participate and contribute productively to the society?" The words tumbled out of me, a mix of hope and desperation, as I laid bare the vision that had begun to form in my mind. It was a bold proposition, one that sought to reimagine our grim circumstances as an opportunity, however far-fetched it might seem.
I watched Jamie closely, searching for any sign of agreement or at least, intrigue, in his response. His face was a study in contemplation, the gears turning behind his eyes as he weighed the possibilities I'd presented.
"Don't you think that's even just a little exciting?" I pressed, eager to ignite in him the spark of optimism that was slowly kindling within me. "Don't you get it? We can create our own rules. Our own culture. Our own society." The words felt powerful, transformative, even if they were born from a place of sheer necessity.
Jamie's gaze met mine, a moment of unspoken communication that seemed to stretch between us. "After last night, do you really believe any of that is true?" His question was a bucket of cold water, a reminder of the harsh reality we'd endured and the monumental challenges that lay ahead.
"I do," I replied, the words firm, imbued with all the conviction I could muster. I had to believe in the possibility of a better future, not just for my sake, but for the sake of my children, for the sanity that teetered on the edge of despair. The alternative was unthinkable.
But Jamie's skepticism remained apparent. "As soon as Luke returns, I'm going to try and leave Clivilius again," he declared, his decision a clear indication of his doubts about our chances of making a life here. With a resigned gesture, he let himself fall back onto the mattress, closing his eyes and resting his arms behind his head, a physical withdrawal into his own thoughts and uncertainties.
I was left to sit in silence, contemplating the enormity of the task ahead. Persuading Jamie, convincing myself of the feasibility of this nascent dream, seemed like daunting obstacles on a path fraught with uncertainty. A sudden pain shot through my foot as I accidentally shifted my weight onto the burn, a sharp reminder of the immediate physical realities that compounded our existential plight. The river's cool embrace called to me, a temporary relief from the physical and emotional turmoil that defined our existence in Clivilius. It was a small comfort, yet in that moment, it was everything.
