Taking a moment to step back and admire my progress was a rare indulgence in the midst of our ongoing struggle to adapt and survive. Surprisingly, the second tent, though not yet halfway completed, was really starting to take shape. It was a visual testament to the effort and determination I had poured into the task, a small beacon of progress in the vast, uncertain landscape of Clivilius.
However, my moment of quiet satisfaction was abruptly shattered by the sound of Luke calling out my name. The voice, unmistakably his, cut through the silence, originating from the direction of the Portal. What does he want now? I couldn't help but wonder, a mix of irritation and curiosity pulling me away from the task at hand. The half-made shelter stood as a silent witness to my efforts, its incomplete form a reminder of the work that still lay ahead.
As I began to drag myself away from the tent, Luke's voice reached me once more, this time with a message that immediately captured my full attention. "Food!" he announced, the single word carrying across the dust hills, igniting a spark of anticipation within me.
At the mention of food, my earlier reservations and fatigue momentarily faded into the background. Food was a commodity that had taken on a new level of importance, a scarce yet vital source of energy and comfort. Without needing any further encouragement, my legs responded with a newfound vigour, propelling me towards the Drop Zone at a pace driven by the promise of sustenance.
"I don't have time to help you move them," Luke's voice was matter-of-fact, his hands busily placing another three shopping bags beside the cluster already gathered in the dust next to the Portal. The urgency in his voice hinted at the tight schedule he was operating under. "I have another delivery arriving within the hour."
"Another food delivery?" My curiosity piqued as I reached for the first of the bags, the weight of it reassuring in my grasp.
Luke nodded, confirming my guess. "Yeah, I made two online grocery orders from two different supermarkets last night." The simplicity of his statement belied the complexity of our situation—relying on deliveries from another world for nourishment.
"Oh, I didn't realise." My response was tinged with both surprise and a newfound appreciation for Luke's efforts to ensure our well-being.
Without another word, Luke stepped back into the swirling colours of the Portal, disappearing from sight. The seamless manner in which he navigated between worlds was both fascinating and unsettling. In less than a minute, he re-emerged, this time with another four shopping bags in hand. "There should be enough non-perishables to last you at least a few days," he mentioned, his tone casual, as if delivering groceries across dimensions was an everyday task. Then, just as quickly as he had reappeared, he vanished once more, the Portal closing behind him, its colours fading into the background.
"Bye, Luke," I called out to the now silent Portal, a small smile playing on my lips despite the oddness of the situation. Luke really is odd sometimes, I mused internally, the thought accompanied by a gentle shrug of my shoulders.
Carrying the bags of grocery supplies back to the tent, I decided it was best to place them under the shade of the first tent's canopy for the time being. The plan was to store the food in the second tent once it was fully set up—a task that still required my attention and effort to complete.
No sooner had I set down the bags than Duke and Henri emerged from the tent, their curiosity piqued by the new arrivals. They eagerly poked their noses into each bag, their faces comically intrusive as they searched for any hidden treats. "I don't know if there's anything for you," I told them, trying to manage their expectations while secretly hoping Luke had thought to include something for them too. They deserved a bit of comfort just as much as Jamie and I did.
To my amusement, Duke's head dove deep into one of the bags, his body wiggling in a mix of excitement and determination. Moments later, he triumphantly emerged, a packet of dog treats clenched gently in his mouth. "Well," I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, "I guess there is something for you after all." Duke's reaction, his tail wagging in a blur of motion, was a heartwarming sight.
"Bring them here then," I instructed, extending my hand to retrieve the treats. But Duke, ever the playful soul, deftly evaded my attempt and darted into the tent with his prize.
Following Duke into the tent, the light-hearted atmosphere was momentarily interrupted as Jamie, with a quick movement, snatched the packet of dog treats from Duke's mouth. "Luke's brought us a heap of groceries," I announced preemptively, forestalling any questions Jamie might have had.
"Thank fuck. I’m starving," Jamie responded with a hint of relief in his voice, his movements careful as he propped himself up to a sitting position. He then proceeded to open the bag of treats, distributing one to each of the eagerly waiting dogs.
"So, you're feeling better then?" I inquired, observing him closely. Jamie's condition had been a constant source of worry, and any sign of improvement was welcome news.
"I think so. I think I actually fell asleep," he admitted, a note of surprise in his voice as if the very act of resting had been an elusive luxury.
I chuckled at his realisation. "Yeah, you did." It was good to see him getting some much-needed rest, a brief respite from the discomfort and stress.
Jamie offered a faint smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment's tranquility.
"Well now that you're awake, I may as well bring these bags inside. It'll be better than leaving them outside in the heat," I suggested, thinking ahead to the practicalities of preserving our newly acquired supplies.
"I'll help you," Jamie offered, showing a willingness to contribute despite his recent revelation. He attempted to push himself up from the mattress, a gesture of determination that was both admirable and concerning.
"No," I insisted firmly, the protective instinct kicking in. "I think you had better take it easy for the next few days." The last thing I wanted was for Jamie to overexert himself and exacerbate his condition.
Jamie slowly settled back down, the realisation dawning that perhaps rest was the most prudent course of action. "Maybe just for the rest of today," he conceded, a compromise that reflected his reluctance to remain inactive but also an understanding of the necessity to heal.
As I sifted through the Drop Zone, my focus solely on the elusive box of tent pegs, the familiar burst of colours from the Portal caught my attention. The sight was always a prelude to something new, something unexpected. Now, it heralded the arrival of a tall, slender woman whose entrance seemed almost serene against the backdrop of swirling energies. Her long, blonde hair, cascading around her shoulders, caught the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal, especially against the vibrant hues of the Portal. Dressed in professional attire—long navy slacks and a crisply fitted white button-down shirt—she presented a stark contrast to our dust-covered, makeshift camp. Her steps, confident and unfazed, turned her black shoes a shade of brown as they met the soft, omnipresent dust of Clivilius.
"This is Glenda," Luke announced with a volume that filled the space between us, his presence quickly materialising beside the newcomer. "Glenda is a doctor in Hobart," he added, a visible sense of accomplishment lighting up his features.
I was utterly gobsmacked. Luke had actually done it; he'd brought a doctor into Clivilius. The reality of it left me momentarily speechless, my mind racing. How the hell did he manage to pull that off? The question echoed through my thoughts, mingling with a surge of relief and disbelief. Luke's ability to navigate our needs with tangible solutions was a cornerstone of our survival, but this... this was beyond anything I had anticipated.
The arrival of Glenda, a doctor, no less, into our fold was a game-changer. It was a beacon of hope, not just for Jamie's immediate needs but for our overall chances of maintaining health and safety in an environment that was anything but forgiving. The implications of having medical expertise readily available were vast.
Glenda extended her hand toward me, her gesture one of professional warmth. "It is a pleasure to meet you..." she began, her voice trailing off invitingly for my name.
"Paul," I filled in quickly, taking her hand in a firm shake, trying to convey a sense of gratitude and respect in the gesture. "I'm Luke's brother."
"Of course," Glenda replied, her accent thick, adding an intriguing layer to her presence. German? Or maybe Swiss? It was hard to pinpoint, but it lent her an air of worldly experience. "I see the resemblance now," she observed, a slight smile touching her lips as she made the connection.
"Paul burnt his foot last night," Luke interjected, drawing Glenda's professional focus toward me. "He seems to be doing okay with it, but I reckon a bit of medical attention wouldn't hurt."
"Sure," Glenda responded without hesitation. Turning to me, she commanded gently, "Show me your foot," her tone leaving no room for protest.
Her efficiency caught me off guard. Glenda hadn't even been in Clivilius for five minutes, and already she was ready to dive into her role as a doctor. Her eagerness to help, despite the unfamiliar surroundings and the abruptness of her arrival, piqued my curiosity about what had motivated her to join us in this uncertain world. Yet, any reservations I had about revealing my injury were swiftly overshadowed by the realisation of how much we needed her expertise.
I obliged, lifting my leg toward her with a mix of reluctance and relief. The action felt oddly personal in the context of our brief acquaintance, yet necessary under the circumstances.
"Oh, no, no. Not yet," Luke's voice cut through the air, halting the process before it had even begun. His concern was palpable, adding a layer of urgency to the situation. "There is another man, in far more need than Paul," he explained, his tone heavy with worry.
"Take me to him," Glenda responded immediately, her professionalism shining through her prompt readiness to assist. "And I shall take a look."
Luke's gaze shifted to me, seeking information. "Where's Jamie?" he inquired, his voice laced with concern.
I swallowed hard, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "He's resting in the tent. I think he has a fever," I admitted, the words feeling inadequate to convey the seriousness of Jamie's condition.
"Shit," Luke exclaimed, his frustration evident. "What happened? I thought he was feeling better?"
"He seemed much better when we ate. But soon after... He looks pretty bad," I explained, struggling to keep my voice steady as I recounted Jamie's rapid decline.
Glenda wasted no time. "Take me to him. Now," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for delay.
Surprised by Luke's deference, I found myself taking the lead as he gestured for me to guide Glenda to Jamie. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but feel a sense of appreciation for Luke's respect in allowing me to direct Glenda to where Jamie rested. With a sense of purpose, I navigated through the dust, leading the way to the tent site, each step fuelled by a mixture of hope and apprehension. The presence of a doctor offered a glimmer of hope in what had quickly become a dire situation.
As we approached the site, Glenda's sudden exclamation, "Oh my God!" pierced the air, her concern palpable and immediate. Her eyes quickly assessed the scene, landing on the half-built tent with evident alarm. "He's not trapped under there, is he?" she asked, already moving toward it with a sense of urgency that spoke volumes of her dedication to her profession.
The misunderstanding, though tense for a moment, was almost comical under the circumstances. I couldn't suppress a chuckle, appreciating the absurdity of the situation amidst our concern for Jamie. "Oh, no," I quickly reassured her, gesturing towards the actual shelter where Jamie was resting. "He's in the fully built tent," I clarified, hoping to alleviate her immediate worry.
"Thank God," Glenda breathed out, her relief audible as she redirected her steps towards the intended destination. Her reaction, a mix of professional readiness and human concern, was a comforting reminder of her presence and purpose here.
"That one is just my attempt to put a tent up by myself," I added, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment as I admitted to the incomplete structure. It stood as an expression of my efforts, however inadequate they might seem in the shadow of Glenda's swift professionalism.
"Oh, I see," she responded, a hint of understanding in her tone.
As Luke held back the tent flap, allowing Glenda and me to step inside, the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation and concern. "Jamie?" Luke's voice, soft and filled with worry, cut through the silence, but Jamie remained unresponsive, a silent testament to the severity of his condition.
Glenda wasted no time, moving quickly to Jamie's side with a sense of purpose that was both reassuring and alarming. "He's not good. Not good at all," she announced, her professional assessment of Jamie's condition coming after a brief examination of the burst welt on his chest. Her words, stark and unfiltered, sent a chill down my spine.
"What happened here?" Glenda's question was directed at Luke, but it was I who responded, feeling a need to provide some explanation for the bizarre and unfortunate accident. "A hot coal struck him in the middle of the night," I explained, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation without delving into the chaotic details of that night.
Glenda's reaction—a look of wide-eyed bewilderment—was understandable. The circumstances under which Jamie had been injured were as extraordinary as our current living situation. "It's a long story," I added quickly, hoping to steer Glenda's focus back to Jamie's immediate needs rather than the peculiarities of our predicament.
"Later, then," Glenda agreed, her attention returning to Jamie. Her professional demeanour, a blend of concern and determination, was a small comfort in the face of my growing apprehension.
As I stood there, watching Glenda work, I realised I had been biting the inside of my left cheek, the taste of blood an unpleasant reminder of my own anxiety. The tension was palpable, each of us wrapped up in our worries yet united in our hope for Jamie's well-being.
"I need a cloth," Glenda voice broke through my thoughts, her focus unwavering as she prepared to address Jamie's condition with the seriousness it demanded. Luke's panicked gaze met mine, a silent plea for reassurance in a moment teetering on the brink of crisis.
I moved quickly, my hand finding Luke's shoulder in a gesture meant to steady us both. "I've got this," I whispered, injecting a confidence into my voice that I hoped was more convincing than I felt. Rifling through my suitcase, I found a clean t-shirt, the best substitute we had under the circumstances. "It's clean. It's all we have," I offered, somewhat apologetically, as I handed it to Glenda.
"Seriously?" Glenda's question, directed at Luke, was laden with disbelief. Her gaze sought confirmation, a silent inquiry into our level of preparedness.
Luke's response was a resigned nod, coupled with an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, Glenda," he admitted, the simplicity of our supplies laid bare in this moment of need.
Turning her attention back to Jamie, Glenda muttered a terse "shit" under her breath—a faint utterance that nonetheless resonated heavily in the tense air of the tent. My body shivered in response, every instinct on high alert.
"He has severe swelling in the upper left of the small gap between his pectoral muscles," Glenda observed, her professional assessment tinged with concern. As she gently probed the area, she announced, "I need to relieve some of the pressure."
"Okay," Luke and I responded in unison, our voices a blend of apprehension and resolve.
"Someone will need to hold him," Glenda instructed. "And take those dogs outside."
As Luke stepped forward, I intercepted him, the urgency of the situation lending firmness to my voice. "I think you better take the dogs," I stated, recognising the need for him to manage the pets and leave the medical intervention to Glenda and me.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Luke acquiesced, gathering Duke and Henri with a gentle urgency. He led them outside, sealing the tent behind him to ensure a controlled environment for Glenda to work. The zip's closure marked a delineation between the severity of our predicament and the focused effort to aid Jamie.
Kneeling beside Glenda, I felt the gravity of the situation weigh heavily upon me. Her instructions were clear, yet the task at hand seemed daunting. "Hold his shoulders down," she directed, her voice steady and authoritative.
As I reached across her to comply, our arms brushed awkwardly—a reminder of the cramped space and the urgency of our actions. "It'd be best if you sit on his waist," Glenda suggested next, her advice practical yet something about the positioning felt inherently uncomfortable to me. "Lightly," she quickly added, sensing perhaps my hesitation. I did as instructed, positioning myself cautiously atop Jamie's waist, keenly aware of his vulnerability and my responsibility to keep him still. "He's likely to try and move suddenly," she warned, her tone implying that what was to come might not be pleasant.
My mind was a whirlwind of concern and confusion. I understood the necessity of Glenda's presence and her medical expertise, yet the specifics of her intended procedure were a mystery to me. Jamie, for his part, remained oblivious to the preparations, his slumber undisturbed by our quiet but tense conversation.
Observing Glenda's actions, I noticed her attention was fixed on a small lump near Jamie's left pectoral muscle—a detail that had escaped my notice until now. She prepared the area with a makeshift sterility that the clean t-shirt offered, her fingers delicately probing the flesh surrounding the lump. It was evident she was assessing the situation, determining the best course of action to alleviate Jamie's discomfort. Yet, without any visible tools for incision and no prior sterilisation of the area, doubts clouded my mind. How is she planning to proceed without making an incision? And without sterilised equipment? The questions lingered, unanswered.
Despite my apprehensions, I reminded myself to trust in her expertise. She's the doctor. Leave it to her, I silently reassured myself, trying to quell the rising tide of worry.
"You ready?" Glenda's voice cut through the tense silence, her focus unwavering from the spot on Jamie's chest she had identified as needing attention.
"Ready," I managed to reply, my voice betraying the anxiety I felt. The seriousness of the moment, the anticipation of what was to come, left a tightness in my chest.
Glenda's posture shifted slightly, a silent signal of her preparation. Don't hesitate now, Glenda, I thought, my mind racing with a mix of fear and hope.
Then, with a precision that spoke of her expertise, Glenda pressed her fingertips firmly into Jamie's chest. The reaction was immediate; Jamie's body tensed sharply beneath me, his sudden movement restricted by my hold on his shoulders.
His eyes snapped open, and a scream of pain escaped him—a sound so raw it pierced straight to my core. Instinctively, my grip on his shoulders tightened, an effort to both comfort him and hold him steady against the reflex to move away from the source of his pain.
Outside, Duke's barking added to the chaos, his protective instincts riled up by Jamie's scream.
"Jamie!" Luke's voice joined the tumult, filled with concern and confusion.
"Stay out!" Glenda commanded firmly as Luke attempted to enter.
Duke, driven by loyalty and distress, growled menacingly, his protective nature putting him on edge as he ran up behind Glenda.
"Get them the fuck out!" Glenda's focus remained unshaken, her directive clear amid the unfolding drama. Her priority was Jamie's well-being, and despite the pandemonium, her determination to alleviate his suffering was evident.
The tension in the tent was palpable, a thick, heavy air that seemed to press down on all of us. My grip on Jamie's waist had loosened momentarily as my instincts kicked in to protect Glenda from Duke's protective aggression. "Don't you move," she commanded sharply, her focus unwavering from the task at hand. Her stern gaze was enough to snap me back into position, a reminder of the critical role I played in this precarious procedure.
Jamie's pain-filled screams cut through me, each cry sending a wave of helplessness and sympathy coursing through my veins. My heart ached for him, my eyes watering in response to his agony. Luke's timely intervention, pulling Duke away from Glenda, was a small relief, but my attention was quickly drawn back to the grim task at hand.
"Hold him. It's nearly there," Glenda's voice, firm and authoritative, anchored me despite the emotional turmoil I felt. Her instruction was a lifeline in the tempest of Jamie's cries and the unsettling atmosphere that filled the tent.
Curiosity and dread mingled as I glanced down at Glenda's work. The sight of grey and yellow pus being expelled from Jamie's chest was horrifying, but it was the appearance of a small, black mark that truly caught my attention. What the hell is that? The question echoed in my mind, a mix of fear and fascination at the foreign object that had caused so much pain.
"Last time," Glenda announced, her tone indicating the culmination of her efforts. The final push was met with another of Jamie's screams, a sound so raw and pained that it seemed to resonate with the very walls of the tent.
Then, suddenly, there was a pop—a sound so unexpected and grotesque in its implications that for a moment, time seemed to stand still. A long, black splinter, accompanied by a gooey, gunky mess, oozed its way out of Jamie's chest, marking the end of Glenda's procedure. The relief I felt at the removal of the object was quickly overshadowed by the foul odour that followed, an assault on the senses that made my stomach churn.
As Glenda methodically cleaned the area with the t-shirt, she brought the long, charcoal splinter close to my face, prompting an involuntary cringe. "I'm guessing nobody knew that was in there?" she queried, her tone implying both curiosity and a hint of incredulity at the discovery.
I shook my head, too appalled to offer a verbal response. "I certainly didn't," I managed to say after a moment, my voice muffled as I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, a feeble barrier against the revulsion threatening to overcome me.
Thankfully, Jamie's body ceased its squirming, his breathing slowing to a more regular pace, signalling that the worst was likely over. "I need some clean water," Glenda announced, her voice cutting through the heavy silence that had enveloped the tent.
"I'll get it," I volunteered quickly, eager for any excuse to step away from the stifling atmosphere and the lingering odour of infection. Climbing off Jamie's waist, I welcomed the fresh air that greeted me as I exited the tent.
"Who the fuck are you?" Jamie's voice followed me out, his question directed at Glenda in a confused, albeit characteristic, manner. My eyes rolled at his query. Yep, I thought, a mix of relief and sarcasm threading through my mind, The Jamie we know and love is back. Despite the situation, his gruff inquiry was a sign of his resilience, a trait that, under different circumstances, might have elicited a gentle rebuke rather than a sarcastic thought.
Stepping outside, I relayed Jamie's condition to Luke. "I think he is alright," I said, trying to infuse my words with reassurance, despite the tumultuous events I'd just witnessed.
Luke's response was a silent nod, his actions—wiping away another tear—speaking volumes of the worry and relief that battled within him.
"I need to get them some water," I reiterated, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders. As I squeezed Luke's shoulder, a gesture meant to convey both comfort and solidarity, I moved past him, determined to fulfil Glenda's request.
Gathering the water had proven to be a more time-consuming task than I had initially thought. By the time I made my way back to the tent, Luke was already on his way out, his movements quick, driven by a purpose that immediately set off alarms in my mind.
"Everything okay?" I asked, the concern evident in my voice. Luke's rush could only mean that Jamie's condition was fluctuating, and not necessarily for the better.
"For now," Luke responded, his words offering a temporary relief but also hinting at underlying issues. "But I need to go back to Hobart for some medical supplies." His statement was a sobering reminder of our precarious situation, reliant on resources from a world away.
I let out a soft sigh, a mix of frustration and helplessness swirling within me. "I wish I could come and help you," I said, the sentiment genuine. The limitations of our existence in Clivilius were never more apparent than in moments like these, where even the simplest forms of assistance were constrained by the boundaries of this world.
"If you could come with me, I wouldn't be needing any help to start with," Luke shot back, a hint of bitterness perhaps, or maybe just a raw acknowledgment of our reality. His words stung, not because they were meant to wound, but because they laid bare the truth of our situation.
I remained silent, at a loss for words. What am I supposed to say to that? Luke was right. If Jamie and I could simply leave Clivilius, none of us would be facing these dangers, these constant threats to our well-being.
"Got to go," Luke said, urgency propelling him forward as he took off in a sprint towards the Portal. I watched him go, a mix of admiration and envy for his ability to move between worlds, a freedom that Jamie and I sorely lacked.
Standing there, with the water in my hands and Luke disappearing over the crest of the hill, I was reminded of the stark realities of our new life. The physical distance between Clivilius and Hobart might as well have been a chasm, one that Luke could cross, but Jamie and I could not.
Ducking to enter the tent, I was acutely aware of the water I carried, cautious not to spill a drop. The scene inside was not what I had expected. "Are you okay, Glenda?" I blurted out, noticing her position on the tent floor, extending a dog treat towards Duke with a wariness that seemed out of place. My gaze then fell to her arm, wrapped in one of my fresh t-shirts. "What happened?" I hurriedly asked, my concern for her immediate well-being momentarily overriding my curiosity about the broader situation.
"I'm fine," she assured me, her voice steady despite the circumstances. "It's just a surface wound. This shirt is just a precaution until Luke gets back with some antiseptic." Her calmness in the face of injury was reassuring, yet it did little to quell the storm of questions brewing in my mind.
"But, what..." I faltered, struggling to articulate the confusion and concern swirling within me.
"Duke doesn't like her," Jamie interjected from his position in the tent, his voice carrying a chill that matched the coldness of his gaze. "And neither do I," he concluded, his words sharp and unforgiving.
"Jamie!" I couldn't help but scold him, taken aback by his harshness towards Glenda, whose only intention had been to help.
"She shouldn't be here," he insisted stubbornly, his refusal to see reason frustrating me further.
Glenda's glance in my direction held a clear warning—a plea for me to leave the matter alone. But the injustice of Jamie's words propelled me forward. "If she wasn't here, you'd be bloody dead within a few days!" I retorted, my frustration boiling over. The truth of my words hung heavy in the air, a blunt reminder of our constant battle for survival and Glenda's crucial role in it.
Jamie averted his gaze, a quiet moan escaping him as he attempted to shift positions, only to be met with a gentle admonition from Glenda. "You'd best stay on your back for now," she advised, her attention returning to her patient with a professionalism that underscored her commitment to his care.
Closing the distance between us, I approached Glenda, my movements deliberate. "I've brought you some clean water," I announced, nudging Duke aside with my foot to place the small bucket before her. The gesture was simple, yet it felt like a silent acknowledgment of the tension that permeated the tent. Without waiting for a response, I turned and exited the tent, the weight of the confrontation lingering heavily on my shoulders as I stepped back into the uncertainty of Clivilius.
