"Duke! Jamie!" The sudden call from Luke shattered the tranquility of our serene moment by the lagoon. Duke's response was immediate; his excited barking pierced the calm, propelling me from the comfort of daydreams back into reality. My eyes snapped open, and I found myself instinctively sitting up, turning towards the source of the disturbance. There was Luke, a figure of frantic energy, his hands waving wildly as he made his way across the hilltop that framed our secluded spot. A mix of confusion and irritation swirled within me. What the heck is Luke running about like a lunatic for? I couldn't help but wonder, my mind struggling to piece together the urgency of his actions.
"Duke," Luke's voice carried a note of happiness as he finally came to a halt, his presence a stark contrast to the calm we had been enjoying.
Duke didn't hesitate. He scrambled up the hill, his small body navigating through the thick dust, a testament to his unwavering loyalty and perhaps, curiosity. My own reaction was less enthusiastic. The interruption, especially by Luke, pricked at my sense of peace. With a sigh, I grabbed my shirt, throwing it over my shoulder in a gesture of reluctant readiness, and followed after Duke, my mind still tethered to the tranquility of the lagoon.
"Good to see you're feeling better," Luke greeted me as I arrived, his attention briefly shifting to offer Duke a welcoming pat. The simple act, meant as a gesture of camaraderie, did little to ease the annoyance of being pulled from my rest.
Reaching the summit, I found myself panting, my breaths echoing Duke's laboured ones. "Yeah," I managed to say between breaths, a line of frustration creasing my forehead. The hill, not particularly steep, had somehow become a challenge, a fact that didn't sit well with me. Come on, Jamie, it wasn't that steep. "Duke and I had a nap in the sun. I seem to be feeling much better for it," I admitted, trying to brush off the irritation and focus on the positive outcome of our brief respite.
"A nap in the sun?" Luke repeated, amusement clear in his voice. "Duke looks like he is soaked."
I cast a glance down at Duke, realising that Luke's observation was spot on. Duke, far from being the dry, sunbathing companion I had left on the rock, appeared as though he'd indulged in another aquatic adventure. "You're a funny boy," I told Duke, a smile breaking through my earlier annoyance.
Luke's gaze lingered on my bare chest, a silent observation that felt as invasive as the sun's rays. "You really should keep your shirt on though," he advised, his voice carrying a hint of concern masked by practicality. "It's warm out."
The comment nudged me towards a realisation I hadn't fully embraced until that moment. "I've only had it off since it got wet by the lagoon," I explained, my voice trailing off as I drew a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. It was a warmth that felt different, lacking the harsh bite I had come to associate with prolonged exposure. "It's odd though," I ventured further, allowing my thoughts to find their voice.
"What is?" Luke's inquiry, genuine and tinged with curiosity, prompted me to delve deeper into the peculiarity of the situation.
"I don't feel like my skin is burning at all." The words hung between us, an acknowledgment of an anomaly that defied our expectations of the sun's effect on the skin.
"Hmm," Luke murmured, his response laced with interest. "I guess that would be a good thing." His casual acceptance of the situation sparked a blend of relief and curiosity within me.
"Perhaps the sun is different here," I pondered aloud, the theory forming as the words left my lips. The idea that we were dealing with a celestial body that behaved differently than what we were accustomed to on Earth seemed both fantastical and increasingly plausible.
"Perhaps," Luke echoed, his agreement serving as a tacit acknowledgment of the myriad mysteries that surrounded us. The conversation, brief as it was, left me contemplating the adaptability of the human body and the endless possibilities of this new environment. Could it be that we were slowly becoming attuned to this place, its sun gentler on our skin, or perhaps our bodies were adjusting in ways we had yet to understand? The thought was comforting and unsettling in equal measure, a reminder of the vast unknowns that lay ahead.
The tranquility of our conversation shattered instantly, replaced by a jolt of terror that coursed through me as a scream sliced through the air. It was a sound that froze my blood, a harbinger of dread that no one is ever truly prepared for. The fear mirrored in Luke's eyes amplified the chill that seized me, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of what that scream signified. Without hesitation, I turned, my body acting on a primal instinct to confront the source of our alarm.
"Luke," the words fell from my lips, icy and sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth that had just moments ago bathed us. My gaze locked onto Paul, who stood by the lagoon, a figure of shock and confusion, looming over what was an unmistakably human form sprawled on the sandbank. The sight ignited a fire of accusation within me. "What the hell have you done?" The question was a dagger thrown in desperation and disbelief.
"Oh fuck," Luke's response was a whisper of despair, a confession of utter bewilderment that mirrored my own turmoil. “I have no idea.”
Driven by a mixture of fear and urgency, I found myself navigating the treacherous descent towards the unfolding nightmare. The ground beneath my feet offered little resistance as I slid and stumbled down the slope, each step a battle against the pull of gravity and the dread that clawed at my chest.
"Jamie! Wait!" Luke's voice reached out, a futile attempt to slow my reckless advance. But the plea fell on deaf ears, my focus narrowed to the grim tableau unfolding at the water's edge.
"Shit, Luke! Who the fuck is that?" The question erupted from me, a desperate plea for some semblance of understanding. My breath came in laboured gasps, each one a testament to the shock that thundered through my veins.
Across the lagoon, Paul's movements were frantic. He scrambled towards the opposite of the lagoon, his actions a chaotic dance of panic and urgency.
"Holy fuck!" My scream tore through the silence that had once again settled over the lagoon, a silence that now felt ominous. "What the fuck is Joel doing here?" The name slipped from my lips, a realisation that deepened the mystery and horror of the moment.
Luke was rendered speechless, his struggle for words a visible representation of our collective disbelief. The situation unfolded like a nightmarish tableau, each of us caught in the grip of a reality that was as incomprehensible as it was terrifying.
As I rushed forward, every fibre of my being was taut with urgency, the reality of the situation unfolding before me slicing through any lingering disbelief. Kneeling beside the young man, whose body lay eerily still on the sandbar, a wave of emotion crashed over me. Tears began to form, stinging my eyes with a salty burn, a physical manifestation of the shock and denial swirling within me. It was a moment suspended in time, where hope and despair mingled in the harsh light of day.
Leaning in closer, desperate for any sign of life, I found it. "He's still breathing!" The words burst from me, a lifeline thrown into the abyss of fear that had momentarily engulfed me. Relief, sharp and potent, cut through the fog of panic as I prepared to act.
Positioning myself behind Joel's head, I reached forward, my hands finding the solid, unresponsive mass of his shoulders. The intention was clear: to drag him from the perilous grasp of the water, to bring him back to the safety of solid ground.
But then, unexpectedly, firm hands clasped around me, pulling with a force that spoke of urgency and fear. The suddenness of the action caught me off guard, my grip slipping as I lost my balance, the ground rising to meet me with a jarring thud. Dust billowed around me, a gritty cloud marking my fall.
Fury ignited within me as I scrambled to my knees, confusion and anger intertwining into a volatile mix. My hand, clenched into a fist, flew towards Luke's face, full of my bewildered rage. He dodged, his movements reflexive, a dance of survival honed by instinct.
"What the fuck did you do that for?" The words tore from my throat, a raw expression of betrayal and hurt. My voice was a weapon, sharpened by fear and frustration, spitting out the question like a challenge.
"Take a look at his throat," Luke's response cut through the tension, a directive that carried with it the weight of unseen truths.
Turning back to Joel, the world seemed to narrow to the horrific sight before me. Each blink was a futile attempt to clear the tears that scorched my eyes, each one a testament to the disbelief and despair gripping my heart. Crouching over him, time seemed to stand still as I confronted the reality of the deep gash across his throat—a wound so severe, so final, that my mind rebelled against its implications. Surely the arteries have been severed. This isn't real. It just can't be. Desperation clawed at the edges of my consciousness, a frantic wish for escape from this nightmare that refused to release its hold. Rage surged from the depths of my being, a tidal wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm my senses.
"What the fuck!" The outcry was a raw explosion of grief and confusion, my hands acting on instinct as I attempted to pull Joel away from the mocking serenity of the lagoon's waters. His body, so familiar and yet rendered so alien by this brutal act, seemed an anchor dragging me further into despair.
"Jamie, stop!" Luke's voice was a distant call, attempting to pierce the fog of my fury.
"Jamie!" Another voice, young and familiar, cut across the lagoon, momentarily halting the chaos within me.
"What the fuck have you done, Luke?" The accusation tore from me, a desperate attempt to find a target for the maelstrom of emotions that battered my psyche. My footing lost, I tumbled to the ground, the impact a cruel reminder of the physical reality of our situation. Tears blurred my vision, each one a tribute to the incomprehensible loss laid bare beside me—the lifeless body of my son, a truth too cruel to bear.
"Help me take him back to camp," I croaked, the plea a ragged whisper of hopelessness. The impossibility of acceptance, of understanding, clawed at me, even as I sought the assistance of those around me to carry Joel back to the semblance of civilisation we had in our camp. It was a task born of necessity, a final act of care in the face of an unspeakable tragedy.
"Wait," Glenda's voice cut through. “Let me check him first.” Her intervention, authoritative yet gentle, brought a momentary pause to the nightmare unfolding around me.
I watched, my heart caught in my throat, as Glenda squatted beside Joel with the precision and care of a seasoned professional. She took her time, her examination thorough, her demeanour calm amidst the storm of emotions raging around her. When she let out a surprised gasp, my heart skipped a beat, hope flaring in the darkness. Her hand moved with a tenderness that belied the gravity of the situation, sliding under Joel's shirt to rest on his stomach. It was a gesture of discovery, of connection, a bridge between despair and the faintest whisper of hope.
"He's breathing," she announced, her words slicing through the thick air like a lifeline thrown into tumultuous waters.
"Joel," I whispered, my voice barely audible, as I placed my palm lightly on my son's forehead. The reality of her words, the fact that Joel was breathing, ignited a flicker of hope within me, fragile and desperate.
"But barely," Glenda continued, grounding us in the harsh reality of Joel's condition. "I think he may actually be alive. But I don't understand how that is possible." Her professional analysis, stark and bewildering, laid bare the miracle and mystery of his survival. "His colour suggests he has lost so much blood that his circulatory system has collapsed." Her gaze met mine, a silent affirmation of the criticality of the situation, yet her next words offered a sliver of hope, a course of action amidst the helplessness. "You're right. I agree we should bring him back to camp."
The agonised tension that had contorted my face eased slightly at Glenda's words.
"What? Seriously?" Luke's incredulity echoed the surreal nature of our predicament.
"Help us," I pleaded, desperation lending strength to my voice as I slid my hands underneath Joel, ready to do whatever it took to save him.
Luke, after a moment of hesitation, joined us, his actions speaking louder than any words could. Positioned across from Glenda, he too slid his arms beneath Joel's limp form, ready to assist in the delicate task ahead.
"Ready. Lift," Glenda's voice was firm, guiding us through the motions with the assurance of her expertise.
As we lifted Joel together, a sharp pain lanced across my chest, a physical reminder of my own ongoing healing. I suppressed a grimace, pushing aside the discomfort. Joel's life hung in the balance. The weight of his body in our arms was a weight I would carry a thousand times over if it meant bringing him back from the brink. In that moment, as we moved together towards hope, Joel was all that mattered.
As we navigated the edge of the lagoon, the presence of my nephew, Kain, barely penetrated the turmoil of my thoughts. His sudden appearance, stepping in to assist us, should have brought relief, but instead, it only added to the confusion and frustration swirling inside me. There he was, thrust into the middle of this nightmare, his vibrant youth a stark contrast to the gravity of our situation. The camp's latest arrival, now part of this harrowing journey back, seemed both surreal and desperately needed.
Ignoring the glances from Luke, my emotions teetered on the edge of a precipice. The anger, a fierce and relentless force, threatened to consume me once more. The reality of carrying Joel, my son whose existence had only recently come to light, was overwhelming. And now, with Kain involved, the situation felt even more personal, more dire. What the fuck is going on inside Luke's head!? The thought was a venomous whisper in my mind. If Clivilius doesn't kill Luke, I'll bloody do it myself.
"You coming, Paul?" Glenda's voice, calling across the lagoon to where Paul sat in a daze, barely registered as a distant echo. The urgency of our mission to get Joel back to camp, to safety, was paramount.
"I'll meet you there soon," came Paul's distant reply, his voice a thread of sound carried on the wind.
With a deep, impatient breath, I steeled myself against the whirlwind of my emotions. We have to keep moving. The imperative to continue, to lead the way through the uncertainty, lent me a semblance of purpose amidst the despair.
Encouraging the others with a decisive step, I led our small, burdened procession forward. The journey back to camp, through thick dust and over undulating hills, felt endless—a trek across a landscape that mirrored the desolation in my heart. The wide expanse of nothingness that stretched out before me was a physical manifestation of the void within, a path that I trudged with a singular goal: to bring Joel to a place where hope, however fragile, might still exist.
