Adjusting the log on the campfire, its embers sending a cascade of sparks into the night like a miniature galaxy being born, I couldn't help but cast a contemplative glance over our makeshift encampment. Each of the settlers, my unexpected family in this vast wilderness, was settled into their chosen spots for the night, their bodies relaxed in the trusting embrace of sleep. The air, though cool, was a gentle reminder of the wild's indifferent embrace, suggesting that even without the fire's warmth, survival wouldn't have been in question tonight. Yet, the fire wasn't just a source of warmth; it was a beacon of hope, a circle of light against the darkness of the unknown.
Passing Lois, I couldn't resist giving her a gentle pat. She responded with a soft nuzzle against my hand. Convincing myself that dragging out blankets or sleeping bags for the human members of our group wasn't necessary felt like a small lie I told myself to ease the burden of leadership. After all, it was just Luke, Paul, and Kain remaining outside, the men seemingly content with their spots near the fire.
My mind wandered to the whereabouts of the others. Karen's earlier departure, fuelled by frustration and anger, replayed in my mind, her silhouette storming off to her tent a vivid image against the night's canvas. Chris, too, was absent from the circle, likely seeking to mend fences with Karen in the privacy of their tent.
Jamie, on the other hand, would be in his tent, but not alone—Joel, his son, would be there with him. The dynamic between father and son, especially in these trying times, was something I often pondered. It was a relationship tested and forged anew in the crucible of our circumstances.
Lois, ever the curious soul, had initially been fascinated by the mysterious coins that had sparked so much debate and conflict. Her snout had been irresistibly drawn to them, her golden retriever instincts piqued by the scent of adventure they carried. However, after a few gentle reprimands aimed at preserving the coins' secrecy, she had found solace and companionship beside Paul, who had unwittingly become her new favourite human. Her choice was both amusing and telling; in this new world, alliances were formed not just by necessity but by the innate bonds of friendship and trust.
Satisfied the fire was well-fed for the remainder of the night, I withdrew into the sanctuary of my tent, seeking solace in its familiar confines. As I lay there, the darkness of the tent's canopy a vast expanse above me, I found myself absentmindedly playing with the coins. Their cool metal surface slid between my thumb and forefinger, a tactile reminder of the day's discoveries and the mysteries they heralded. My thoughts inevitably drifted to my father, the man who had first spoken the name Chewbathia in hushed tones, imbuing it with a sense of wonder and secrecy.
I tried to summon more details from the depths of my memory, wishing I could recall more of his tales about that distant place. With my eyes shut tightly, an effort to block out all distractions, my father's image materialised in my mind's eye with startling clarity. I could see him, his gentle expression as he brushed my hair from my face, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet of my memory. "Glenda," he seemed to say, his presence so vivid it was as if he was there with me in the tent.
"Father," I whispered back, uncertain whether the words had truly left my lips or merely echoed in the chambers of my mind. "Where is Chewbathia?" The question felt as heavy as it was heartfelt, a plea for guidance across the boundaries of time and space.
His answer was cryptic, yet imbued with a confidence that felt both reassuring and daunting. "You know how to find it. You know how to find all of them." The assertion left me bewildered, my brow furrowing in concentration as I grappled with his meaning. Could it be true? Did I possess knowledge, however buried, of how to uncover these secrets?
"The secret key that you kept hidden in your study?" I ventured, the memory of a forbidden space filled with the promise of untold mysteries surfacing in my thoughts. His laughter, light and filled with affection, seemed to dance around the confines of my tent. "Well, it was hardly secret nor hidden then, was it?" he teased, and I could almost see the twinkle in his eye, the shared joke illuminating a connection that time had not diminished.
His next words struck a chord, a revelation of my childhood antics known yet unspoken between us. "I always knew that you used to spy on me through the crack in the door, late at night when you should have been tucked away in bed and fast asleep," he said, and I could feel a warmth spreading across my cheeks, a flush of embarrassment mingled with a deep, abiding love.
But then, the moment was shattered by a sound from outside the tent—a deep, ominous growl that snapped me back to the present, to the reality of our encampment nestled within the unforgiving desert. My father's comforting presence dissipated like mist at dawn, leaving me alone with the night and its untold threats. The sudden intrusion of danger, real or imagined, cast a shadow over the warmth of my reverie
The tent's entrance stirred, a soft, insistent rustling that cut through the silence of the night. "Father?" My voice broke the stillness, an irrational hope flickering briefly as I called out. The heat of the moment, sweat beading on my forehead, betrayed my rising panic. "Father, is that you?" I knew it couldn't be, yet the part of me clinging to the remnants of my dream couldn't help but reach out.
Lois's response was immediate, her barks sharp and alert, slicing through the tension like a warning bell. The sensation of fear prickled at the back of my neck, a physical manifestation of my growing unease. In the almost oppressive darkness of the tent, my vision was useless, my eyes squinting as they tried in vain to penetrate the night that had swallowed the interior of my shelter whole.
Driven by a mixture of concern and a determination to prevent Lois from waking the entire camp, I moved. My hands and knees felt the familiar fabric of the tent floor as I made my way toward the entrance.
From her place at the campfire, Lois's growl, a short, warning snarl, heightened my alarm. Something was amiss, and the protective instinct for my companions, both human and canine, surged within me.
"What's going on? Why is Lois barking?” My questions were a half shout as I emerged, finding Paul, Luke, and Kain, their figures etched in the dim light, suddenly as vigilant as sentinels. The cold shiver that cascaded down my spine was as much from the sight of their alertness as from the unknown threat that had disturbed our peace.
"We don't know," Paul's reply came, his voice steady but his gaze locked on the unseen, his attention fixed on the darkness beyond our camp. The intensity of his focus was unnerving, a silent acknowledgment that the night held more secrets than we were privy to.
"Probably just the wind picking up dust," Luke ventured, his attempt at reassurance sounding hollow against the backdrop of our collective apprehension. Yet, as if to affirm his words, a sudden gust swept through the camp, a tangible force that whipped a spray of fine dust over us. The wind, capricious and unyielding, tangled my hair, sending strands flying across my face in a wild dance.
Luke must be right, I conceded silently, even as I fought to free my vision from the unruly locks. The wind, a natural explanation for the disturbance, offered a sliver of rationality amidst the fear. Yet, the mention of Clivilius, even in thought, imbued the moment with an eerie significance. The suddenness of the wind, its timing almost too perfect, left me wrestling with a mix of relief and residual unease. Was it merely the wind, or had we inadvertently drawn the attention of something—or someone—far more formidable?
The urgency in Luke's voice sliced through the tension like a knife. "We'd better get inside the tents!" he bellowed, his command echoing the rising panic among us. My immediate concern turned to Lois, whose instincts seemed far sharper than our own in this moment of crisis. "Come, Lois," I called out, my hand reaching for her collar in a desperate attempt to guide her to safety.
But Lois, ever the protector, ignored me completely, her growls deepening—a clear sign of her perceived threat. Her defiance was unnerving, amplifying the fear that had already taken root within me.
From the darkness, Jamie's voice added to the unease, his own panic for Duke mirroring my struggle with Lois. "Duke! Get back here!" he yelled, his concern palpable in the night air.
"Lois!" I hissed, a last-ditch effort to gain control, but my voice seemed to dissolve into the tension that enveloped us.
Kain's exclamation, "Shit! We're surrounded!" sent a wave of dread crashing over me. His retreat to the campfire, a beacon of false safety, underscored the desperation of our situation.
Frustration and fear battled within me as I attempted once more to coax Lois. "I mean it, Lois. Get inside," I growled, more to convince myself than her. My efforts, however, were futile against her steadfast determination to stand her ground.
Karen's voice, tinged with alarm, cut through the night. "What's going on?" she demanded, emerging from her tent into the brewing storm of fear and confusion.
It was then, amid the escalating panic, that an inexplicable phenomenon caught my eye. The Portal, a spectacle of bright rainbow colours, shimmered across the dunes in the distance—an otherworldly light show that seemed both beautiful and terrifying. What the hell? The sight was disorienting, challenging everything I thought I knew about our Portal.
Karen's confusion only heightened the surreal nature of the moment. "Is that Luke?" she queried, mistaking the cause for the Portal's eerie illumination.
"I'm right here," Luke responded, confirming my fears that he wasn’t our Guardian that had activated the Portal.
With my patience depleted and Lois unyielding in her vigilance, my attempts to move her resulted in my own ungraceful fall to the ground. The thump of my backside hitting the earth was a jarring punctuation to the night's madness.
"Duke, stop barking!" Jamie's shout was a desperate plea for order amid the disarray.
Lying there, momentarily defeated, I was overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. The reality of our predicament—a clash between the known and the unknown, between invisible dangers and the unfathomable mysteries of the Portal’s activation—loomed large.
The night air, already tense with unease, was shattered by a scream—a sound so raw and terrifying it seemed to freeze the very blood in my veins. The dust, whipped into frenzied spirals by the wind, became an eerie backdrop to the nightmare unfolding before us.
In that moment of disruption, Lois reacted with a decisiveness that I couldn't match. As I fumbled to rise from the ground, dirt clinging to my palms, she bolted. "Lois!" The name tore from my throat, a desperate plea as I watched her sprint into the void beyond. My heart raced, not just with fear but with the overwhelming need to protect her from whatever horror had pierced the night with its cry.
Driven by a mix of dread and determination, I found my legs propelling me forward, chasing after Lois's rapidly disappearing form. The relief at sensing Paul's presence close behind me was a fleeting comfort, a thin thread of solidarity in the face of the unknown.
The desert beneath my bare feet shifted treacherously, the fine dust a hindrance that seemed determined to drag me back. Each step was a battle, the dunes rising and falling like the swell of a stormy sea. As I crested the second dune, my footing failed me. The ground crumbled, and I was sent tumbling downward, the world a blur of motion and disorienting flips. Dust clouds erupted around me, my descent a chaotic dance with gravity.
Paul's voice, a beacon in the tumult, reached out, "Are you..." His words were a lifeline cut devastatingly short by another scream. This one was closer, a visceral sound that clawed at the fragile veil of courage I had drawn around myself. The immediacy of the threat, now so near, hammered home the reality of our perilous situation.
As the night sky momentarily erupted into an otherworldly spectacle of colours, my attention was drawn to a small, incongruous shape in the dust, mere feet from the enigmatic Portal. The world plunged back into darkness, but the image of the object was seared into my mind, guiding me through the shadows.
Nearing the object, a faint glow beckoned from beneath it—a beacon in the overwhelming dark. A phone! The realisation hit me with a mix of shock and intrigue as I scooped it up from the cool dust. The device must have belonged to the source of those harrowing screams, a silent witness to the terror that had unfolded. Locked, its screen offered a sliver of illumination, a lifeline in the pitch-black desert.
With the phone's dim light carving a path through the darkness, I made my way to Paul, who sat disoriented in the dirt, the blackness of the night having eroded his sense of direction.
As I reached for him, his instinctive recoil spoke volumes of the heightened tension we all felt. "It's me," I reassured, securing a firmer grip on his arm to anchor him.
"Where the hell did you get that?" His voice was a mix of surprise and skepticism as he eyed the phone in my grasp.
"I found it face down in the dust, over there, near the Portal," I explained, my grip on his arm unyielding.
Together, we stood, just as the Portal erupted once more into a vibrant display, its colours casting our shadows into stark relief against the night.
Luke's voice cut through the tension, his concern palpable. "Everyone okay?" His glance back at us offered a momentary connection, a shared acknowledgment of the ordeal we'd just endured.
"I think so," Paul's voice carried a hint of relief, his gaze meeting mine in search of reassurance.
I nodded, signalling my unspoken agreement, even as I questioned how much Paul could actually see in the fluctuating light.
"Good. I'm going in," Luke declared with a resolve that bordered on defiance. His statement, laden with determination and the unspoken risks it entailed, left us in a momentary pause. And then, as abruptly as it had flared to life, Clivilius went dark.
The sudden cessation of the Portal's light, the disappearance of Luke, sent a ripple of anxiety through me. The phone in my hand, a silent testament to the night's events, felt heavier—a symbol of the unknown dangers and the fragile hope.
A sudden brush of fur against my leg startled me, disrupting the tense silence that had enveloped us. "That darn dog," I muttered under my breath, a mix of affection and irritation colouring my tone. Lois had once again positioned herself at the heart of the chaos.
"Lois! Stay!" My command was firm, a desperate attempt to exert some control over the situation as I let go of Paul's arm to secure Lois. Illuminating her with the phone's screen, I hastily examined her for any signs of injury, my heart racing with concern for her well-being.
From the darkness, Kain's exclamation, "Whoa!” pierced the night, adding to the already heightened sense of urgency.
Lois, sensing something we couldn't, pulled fiercely, her strength surprising. As she bared her teeth, a growl vibrating through her throat, my worry deepened. "She's baring her teeth," I informed Paul, the worry in my voice unmistakable. "She's never done that before." The behaviour was uncharacteristic, a clear indication that the danger, whatever its source, was real and immediate.
Paul's reaction, a sharp intake of breath as he shielded himself from a gust of wind laden with dust, was instinctive. The night had turned against us, the environment itself seeming to conspire to heighten our fear.
Then, cutting through the turmoil, Kain's scream—a sound so raw and filled with agony—it froze me to my core. It was a scream of pain, unmistakably different from any cry of frustration or fear. It was the kind of scream that told you its emitter was experiencing a level of pain that was visceral and immediate.
In that moment, my fear for Lois, for Paul, for all of us, crystallised into a sharp, painful point in my chest. The realisation that we were not merely spectators, but active participants in a drama far beyond our understanding, was overwhelming. The darkness, once merely an absence of light, now felt alive with threats, both seen and unseen, and Kain's scream was a harrowing reminder of the stakes involved. The night had turned hostile, and every shadow seemed to hide a new danger, every gust of wind a harbinger of further terror.
"Go and find him, girl," I urged Lois, my voice laced with desperation as I gave her a gentle push on the backside, signalling her release. As she darted off into the night, I hurried after her, the phone's dim light my only guide through the oppressive darkness. Calling out for Kain became a mantra, each shout a blend of hope and dread, the silence that followed each call twisting my heart tighter with worry.
"Where are you, Kain?" Paul's voice, heavy with concern, boomed through the darkness, mirroring my own anxiety.
Then, a small victory against the night; "I see tracks," I announced, spotting the distinct imprints of Lois's paws in the dust, a fleeting sign before the wind threatened to erase them. My pace quickened to a jog, the phone's light bobbing ahead as I followed the trail. "Lois found him!" Relief flooded through me as the figures of Lois and Kain materialised from the shadows.
I rushed to Kain's side, dropping to the ground with a sense of urgency that eclipsed the threats around us. "Kain," I said, gently pushing Lois away as she attempted to lavish him with concerned licks. "Kain, are you okay?" My voice was a mix of fear and hope, seeking any sign that he was not beyond help.
"Is he alive?" Paul's question cut through the tense air, loaded with the weight of unspoken fears.
Kain's response was a grimace of pain, his face twisted in a silent scream that spoke volumes of his suffering. The garbled sounds that escaped him were barely human, yet his nod towards his leg was a clear communication of the source of his agony.
As the phone's light swept over Kain, revealing the extent of his injury, a cold, sharp intake of breath escaped me. The sight of the deep, jagged gash across his thigh was a stark reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows. The fabric of his trousers, now a mere relic of the attack, was soaked through with blood, clinging desperately to the wound as if trying to shield it from further harm.
Years of medical training surged to the forefront of my mind, pushing aside the initial shock with a wave of focused determination. "Yes, but his leg is wounded. Come help me move him," I called out to Paul, my voice a mixture of urgency and command. Despite the fear clawing at my thoughts, a semblance of calm settled over me, a testament to the countless times I'd faced medical emergencies back on Earth.
Kain's scream, a harrowing sound filled with pain and fear, pierced the night. "My leg!" he cried out, a mist of bloody saliva painting the air with his agony. "I think it's bleeding," he managed between sobs, the realisation of his own vulnerability breaking through his shock.
"It is," I confirmed, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. The light flickered across his injury, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance with the pain radiating from his wound.
Paul's arrival was a relief, his presence a tangible support in the madness. "We need to move him out of this dust storm," I stated, turning to face him, my mind racing with the logistics of safely transporting Kain without exacerbating his injuries.
"You hold the light, I'll help him," Paul responded.
With the phone's light our only guide, the full gravity of Kain's condition was shrouded in shadow and uncertainty. The desolation surrounding us, once merely an inhospitable backdrop, now felt ominously alive with hidden threats. The realisation that something—or someone—had inflicted such harm on Kain sent waves of fear through me. The thought of not being alone on this planet had once held a tinge of hope for companionship, for allies in this unknown world. But this violent encounter shattered that hope, leaving behind a gnawing dread of what else might be out there, watching, waiting.
"Try not to put too much pressure on the leg," I instructed Kain gently, aware of every grimace and twitch of pain that crossed his face. My voice carried a blend of concern and command, hoping to ease his journey to standing despite the gnawing fear that we were far from being out of danger.
Paul crouched beside Kain, positioning himself as a human crutch. "Okay. We can take shelter at the Drop Zone for now," he suggested, though his voice betrayed a hint of doubt, as if questioning the safety of any haven in this unpredictable world.
As they prepared to stand, Paul's assurance to Kain, "We're going to stand," was more than just a statement of action; it was a declaration of solidarity, of shared burden. Watching them struggle to their feet, a surge of admiration for their resilience mingled with my anxiety.
Illuminating the path ahead with the phone's light, I took the lead towards the Drop Zone, each step a balance between haste and the need to ensure Kain's stability. The sight that greeted us—a makeshift shelter comprised of large boxes and unused shed materials—was ironically comforting. My initial chagrin at our slow progress in building the settlement now transformed into gratitude; our "incompetence" had inadvertently provided us with a means to protect Kain from the harsh elements and potential predators.
The Portal, igniting once more, painted the night with surreal hues, its beauty a stark contrast to our grim reality on the ground. It was a reminder of the thin veil between the extraordinary and the perilous that we navigated.
"Paul!" Luke's voice, unmistakable and imbued with urgency, cut through the tension, momentarily drawing our attention.
"We're almost at the Drop Zone," Paul responded, his voice carrying through the darkness, a beacon of our location and a signal of our continued struggle for safety.
Luke's declaration, "I need to check the house. I'll be back soon!" and his subsequent departure back into the darkness left us in a renewed state of isolation.
Passing between the two stone piles that marked the entrance to the Drop Zone, following my directions, our small group weaved in and out in search of a suitable place to stop.
"Do you think we're safe here?" Kain's question, voiced as we huddled amongst the protective embrace of the larger shed boxes, was laden with vulnerability. The uncertainty in his voice mirrored the anxiety that clung to my own thoughts, a persistent shadow that no amount of reasoning could fully dispel.
As I carefully arranged Kain's leg, keeping it extended to minimise further injury, I reached for Paul's shirt. Transforming it into an impromptu bandage, I wrapped it around Kain's thigh with as much precision as the dim light allowed. The action was both a distraction and a necessity, a way to focus on the tangible problem in front of us.
"Lois hasn't growled once since we found you," Paul observed, his voice carrying a note of hopeful relief. His hand found Lois's head, offering comfort to both the dog and himself. Lois seemed to have relaxed, her heavy panting a sign of her own exhaustion from the night's events.
"As soon as the wind calms, we need to get back to camp. Kain's leg needs prompt medical care," I stated, the weight of leadership pressing down on me. The urgency of the situation allowed no room for delay; every moment we remained at the Drop Zone was a moment lost in the battle against time and injury.
"Of course," Paul agreed, his exhaustion palpable as he sought rest against a makeshift support.
Alone with my thoughts as I buried the phone to hide its betraying light, my back against the cold, unyielding surface of a box, I allowed myself a moment of vulnerability. The adrenaline that had fuelled my actions began to wane, leaving behind a tide of emotions that I had fought to keep at bay. In the darkness, with only the silhouettes of our temporary shelter for company, a silent tear escaped, a quiet testament to the fear and loneliness that threatened to overwhelm me.
I can't do this on my own, my mind sobbed as I wiped a silent tear from my eye. I need you, Pierre.
