Waking up to the gentle, albeit unexpected, affection from Henri was disorienting yet oddly comforting. The small, furry face peering into mine, followed by a quick lick on the cheek, was a jolt back to reality from the depths of an unintended slumber. I gently pushed Henri away, my movements sluggish as I fought the fog of sleep that clung stubbornly to my senses. Sitting up, I felt the stiffness in my neck protest, a physical reminder of the makeshift bed of dust I had chosen over vigilance.
"You must have been tired," Glenda's voice reached me, laced with a mix of amusement and concern.
Looking up, I found her standing just outside the supply tent, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of our nascent settlement. "Yeah, I was," I admitted, the acknowledgment coming with a tinge of embarrassment. I had not intended to fall asleep; the realisation that I had done so without noticing the transition from night to day unsettled me.
As Glenda approached, her presence seemed to anchor me back into the moment, her steps stirring up small clouds of dust that danced in the morning air. "You fell asleep pretty quick," she observed, her words doing little to fill the gaps in my memory of the previous night. The mention of breakfast, offered in the form of a muesli bar, was a welcome distraction, yet my thoughts were already drifting towards the idea of cleansing the night's weariness from my body and spirit.
"Thanks, but I think I might go have a quick wash first," I said, my decision made as I shook the dust from my hair, feeling it cascade down in fine particles that glittered momentarily in the morning light.
"In the river?" Glenda's question, though expected, carried a note of caution.
"Yeah," I replied. "It's all we've got."
"Fair enough," Glenda conceded, her voice softening. "But make sure you eat when you get back. You need to keep your strength up." Her words, practical and motherly, were a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. The mention of setting up a third tent and pouring concrete, tasks that seemed daunting in the context of our limited resources and manpower, brought a sense of urgency back into focus.
"Oh," was all I could manage.
"Yes. I found your concrete instructions," Glenda said, her smile conveying a mix of reassurance and determination.
As I stood, the ritual of brushing dust from my clothes had become almost second nature. My face contorted involuntarily as I took in the sight of my attire, each layer of dust a testament to the day's, or rather, the night's slumber. The realisation of my own need for cleanliness was immediate and undeniable as I raised my arm for a quick, confirming sniff. Yep, the verdict was clear in my mind, a wash was not just needed; it was essential.
With a sense of purpose, I entered the tent, my anticipation of a quick grab-and-go for my washing essentials halted by the sight that greeted me. The mattress lay empty, an unspoken question hanging in the air, its usual occupant nowhere to be seen. "Where are Jamie and Duke?" The query was out before I could temper my surprise, directed towards Glenda as I poked my head back outside, seeking reassurance or at least an explanation.
"They've gone for a walk. He seems much better this morning," came Glenda's response, her words floating back to me with a casualness that belied the underlying relief. The news that Jamie was feeling well enough to venture out was a bright spot in the otherwise mundane start to the day.
"That's good," I replied, the sentiment genuine as I retreated back into the tent. The relief I felt at Jamie's improvement was a small buoy of hope in the ongoing saga of our survival. My attention then turned to the task at hand—locating fresh clothes and a towel amidst the organised chaos of our supplies. My fingers eventually found what they were searching for, but not without a brief battle with the various items that had become our makeshift home's decor.
Lifting the towel I had managed to unearth, I brought it to my nose, the action instinctive. The smell that greeted me was an unpleasant reminder of our current living conditions—stale and slightly damp, the scent of use without the luxury of proper drying. We need to find a way to hang up wet belongings soon, I mused, the thought more a mental note to address later. The realisation was a practical one, born from the necessity of maintaining not just personal hygiene but a semblance of broader cleanliness in our day-to-day lives.
Stepping outside, the contrast between the dim interior of the tent and the bright world beyond was striking. For the first time since I had awoken, I fully registered the warmth of the sun's rays, a comforting presence in the vastness of the blue sky above. It was a moment of unexpected beauty, a gentle reminder of nature's indifference to our struggles and fears. "Do you know which way they went?" I asked, my voice carrying a hint of apprehension. The last thing I wanted was an awkward encounter with Jamie on his return.
"They've headed downstream," Glenda responded, her finger pointing towards the gentle flow of the river, her casual mention of a lagoon sparking my interest. Jamie's decision to venture towards that particular spot was a testament to his improving condition, a fact that brought an unspoken relief.
At first, I was hesitant to share the treasured location, but part of me was curious whether the lagoon had the same surreal effect on everyone. "Yeah," I replied, my voice carrying across to Glenda with a note of encouragement. "It's a nice spot. There's nothing there except water and dust, but you should check it out sometime."
Glenda's reaction, a nod filled with contemplation, signalled her interest, yet her practicality shone through in her response. "I might wait until I have some clothes to change into," she said, her words reflecting a pragmatic approach to the adventure.
As I walked past Glenda and the campfire, embarking on my journey towards the river, I could feel the weight of her gaze on me. It was an unsettling sensation, a silent scrutiny that seemed to pierce through the back of my head, making my steps feel heavier than usual. The unease that settled over me was palpable, a testament to the vulnerability that accompanies being observed when one is about to undertake a task as private as washing away the grime of survival.
My discomfort peaked when the realisation hit me—I had chosen the direction leading towards the lagoon, where Jamie and Duke had ventured. The thought of potentially encountering them, especially in a state of undress, sent a wave of embarrassment crashing over me. "Oh," I scoffed under my breath, the absurdity of my oversight dawning on me. In an attempt to correct my course, I spun around, my cheeks aflame with a flush that felt hot enough to rival the warmth of the morning sun. "I'll go upstream," I announced to Glenda, my voice a mix of determination and chagrin. The gesture of pointing, as if to solidify my new decision, was more for my benefit than hers.
Glenda's response was a smile, a simple, understanding curve of her lips that offered a semblance of comfort amidst my self-conscious fluster. Then, turning away, she headed towards the Portal, her movements marking a return to the tasks at hand and leaving me to my revised plan.
I gave myself a mental shrug, trying to shake off the residual embarrassment. I'd circle back to Glenda later, perhaps after regaining a bit of dignity along the riverbank. Not wanting to venture too far, my eyes began to scan the landscape ahead with increased scrutiny, searching for a spot that offered both privacy and proximity to the water. The task of finding a suitable place to undress and cleanse myself, while seemingly simple, carried with it a heightened sense of awareness of my surroundings. Every shift in the breeze became a signal to be interpreted, a potential indicator of privacy or exposure.
The decision to stop was born out of frustration more than satisfaction with the location. The landscape around me offered little in the way of privacy, just the modest shield of small hills dotting the otherwise open and unforgiving terrain. With resignation setting in, I began the awkward process of disrobing in what felt like an expanse of vulnerability, the barren land stretching out in all directions with not nearly enough coverage for comfort.
As the zipper of my jeans hissed open, a sudden bark shattered the quiet, slicing through the stillness and immediately seizing my attention. It was a sound unmistakably familiar, yet alarmingly out of place in the serenity of my intended solitude. "Henri?" The name slipped out as a whisper, a query into the silence as I paused, my senses heightened, straining against the distance for any further sign.
Then, as realisation dawned with the clarity of the danger it suggested, a single, emphatic "Shit," escaped me. The bark wasn’t just a call; it was a warning, a harbinger of something amiss. My actions became frantic, the previously leisurely task of undressing now a rushed attempt to make myself presentable in the face of urgency. The zip was yanked carelessly, a hasty movement born of the sudden fear that coursed through me, igniting a cascade of alarm bells in my mind.
Shoving my feet back into my shoes with an urgency that bordered on panic, the thought of something seriously wrong back at camp propelled me forward. Each second seemed to stretch, elongating with the growing dread that something had happened in my brief absence.
With my heart hammering against my ribcage, I turned back towards camp, the need to understand and possibly confront whatever had prompted Henri’s alarm consuming all other thoughts. The tranquility of the morning, once a backdrop to a simple task of cleansing, had morphed into a pressing need to return, to ensure the safety of those who had become more than just fellow survivors—they were my responsibility, my community.
Racing back to camp, the urgency in my voice carried across the distance as I called out for Henri, my concern for the little dog now intertwined with a deeper sense of alarm. “Henri! Henri!” My shouts echoed, a desperate attempt to locate him, to assure myself he was safe.
As the camp came into view, Henri's form materialised at the river's edge, his small frame tense, barking incessantly in a display of distress that was impossible to ignore. My heart skipped a beat at the sight, the cause of his agitation quickly becoming horrifyingly clear. There, in the shallow embrace of the river, lay a young man, his body partially submerged, face down in the water. The gentle bobbing of the current, in stark contrast to the scene's gravity, seemed to mock the perilous situation with its calmness. His boots, caught on a rock, prevented him from being carried further downstream, an accidental anchor to this grim tableau.
"Shit!" The expletive burst from me as I rushed forward, adrenaline propelling me to action. Dropping to my knees at the riverbank, I was overcome with a mixture of fear and determination. The need to act was immediate, every second crucial.
"Paul, what's going on?" Luke's voice, tinged with concern and confusion, reached me from a distance.
"Help me!" My scream was a plea for immediate assistance, my voice straining with the effort. "Hurry, he needs help!" The words were a clarion call, a summons for aid in a moment that allowed for no hesitation.
Luke joined me without a moment's delay, sinking to his knees beside me. "Shit," he whispered, the curse a shared sentiment of shock and realisation.
Reaching across the water, my initial attempt to roll the man was clumsy, resulting in little more than nudging the body closer to Luke. Without hesitation, I found myself entering the river, the coolness of the water enveloping me as it quickly rose to my waist, its depth catching me off guard.
"Help me roll him," I urged, my voice carrying a mix of determination and anxiety. Luke joined me in the water. "Go," he said, ready to assist. "I've got him."
Glenda's count down, "Three. Two. One. Roll," might have seemed superfluous in the urgency of the moment, but it provided a necessary cadence to our actions. As we turned the body, Glenda worked to free the man's feet from the entrapment of the rocks.
The sudden exclamation, "Who the fuck is that?" jolted us, an unexpected voice piercing the tense air. The young man's face, now visible and bobbing in the water, was unfamiliar, his identity a mystery that only deepened the urgency and confusion of the moment. "No idea," I found myself whispering, a response more to myself than to the question posed by the unknown voice.
"Is he breathing?" Glenda's question, filled with concern, cut through the chaos.
"I don't think so," Luke's grim assessment came as he checked for signs of life.
"Quick, bring him to shore," Glenda urged, her voice a beacon of action in the panic.
"No," I countered abruptly, my discovery halting any further attempts at rescue. My eyes, wide with shock, were fixed on the young man. "I don't think it will help," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, the revelation of the cause of death—a slit throat—rendering any attempt at resuscitation futile.
"Fuck!" the voice exclaimed again, the terror and disbelief palpable in the air.
The tension hung in the air as Glenda's gasp sliced through the grim silence. "We should bring the body in anyway."
"What good will that do?" Luke questioned, his voice laced with apprehension. "If he's been murdered and someone comes looking for him, perhaps we shouldn't be the ones caught with his body." His words painted a grim picture of the potential dangers we faced, not just from the elements, but from other, more malevolent human forces.
My hands, betraying my inner turmoil, began to tremble uncontrollably. The reality of murder, of other people out there capable of such violence, was a shock to my system. What the hell is going on? The questions whirled through my mind, a maelstrom of fear, confusion, and disbelief.
The nameless voice, aligning with Luke's cautious stance, only added to the weight of the decision before us. Yet, despite the fear and the logical arguments for caution, I found myself agreeing with Glenda. "Yes," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Regardless, he deserves a proper burial." The assertion was a reflection of a fundamental belief in human dignity, a conviction that even in death, especially under such tragic circumstances, respect was owed.
Luke's scoff, "Proper burial! You don't even know the guy," highlighted the divide in our perspectives. His pragmatism, though understandable, clashed with the more humanistic approach Glenda and I seemed to be leaning towards.
"If we bring him in, I can do a rough autopsy," Glenda suggested, her voice steady.
"Is that really necessary?" Luke's challenge was predictable, his focus on the pragmatic, the immediate. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened to him."
The conversation, the debate over what to do next, was almost too much to bear. A wave of acidic bile rose in my throat, a physical manifestation of the horror and revulsion that the situation evoked within me.
"A rough autopsy might be able to tell us more of a story of how he met his fate," Glenda explained, her rationale clear.
The sensation was overwhelming, a visceral reaction that I couldn't control. The taste of bile, acidic and relentless, clawed its way up my throat as the surrounding arguments became a distant cacophony. My focus narrowed to the internal battle raging within me, the imminent expulsion of my stomach's contents becoming my sole reality. The tears that blurred my vision, a mixture of physical reaction and emotional overload, were a testament to the severity of the moment.
Just as the nausea reached its peak, I managed to turn away, a small mercy to spare my companions from the brunt of my sickness. However, the riverbed beneath me proved to be an unreliable ally, shifting unexpectedly and sending me beneath the water. The shock of the cold water compounded my distress, leaving me gasping and disoriented.
As I floundered, my arms and legs moved of their own accord, desperate to right myself and regain some semblance of control. The river water, an unwelcome intruder, forced its way into my mouth, adding insult to injury. When I finally managed to surface, coughing and spluttering, my immediate concern was for the young man we had been trying to save.
"Where's the body?" The question burst from me, a mix of panic and confusion. My eyes, still stinging from the tears and now the river water, sought out Luke. The sight of him, as drenched and dishevelled as I felt, somehow brought a momentary flicker of solidarity.
"Shit… shit!" The words echoed in the thick, humid air, a chaotic mantra that seemed to amplify the panic setting into our bones. Luke's voice cut through the clamour, desperate and tinged with an urgency that sent a shiver down my spine. "Where's Jamie?" he asked, his voice laced with panic.
I stared at him, feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion. My eyes narrowed instinctively, as I tried to decipher the sudden shift in his demeanour. Why the sudden concern for Jamie? What had changed in the mere moments since we had last spoken about him? "He went for a walk to the lagoon," Glenda's voice broke through my thoughts, calm yet carrying an undercurrent of worry that I hadn't detected before.
"Lagoon?" Luke's voice quivered slightly, betraying his confusion.
"Downstream," I found myself saying, the word leaving my lips with a mixture of reluctance and resolve.
"Shit," Luke muttered under his breath, his eyes darting back to meet mine, wide with realisation and fear. "We need to retrieve that body. Now!”
I felt a jolt of surprise at his words, a sharp contrast to his earlier stance. "But... but you just said," I stammered, my voice faltering as I grappled to keep up with Luke’s thinking.
"Forget what I said. You were right. We are better off keeping the body," Luke interjected, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument as he clambered onto the riverbank with a sense of purpose that was almost palpable. And then, without another word, he took off in a sprint, his figure quickly distancing himself, following the body as it bobbed and floated downstream.
I stood there for a moment, stunned, wiping a smidge of vomit from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. The acrid taste lingered, a distasteful reminder of the horror we were now facing.
"Go!" Glenda's voice snapped me out of my daze, her hand pushing against the back of a young man who stood frozen, caught in the headlights of the unfolding chaos. "Fuck off," he muttered, dodging Glenda's second attempt with a deftness that spoke of his desire to remain uninvolved.
I felt a surge of determination as I pulled myself from the river, the water clinging to my clothes, adding weight to my already heavy heart. "I'll go," I announced, stepping forward, my voice carrying a resolve I wasn't sure I felt.
"Introductions can wait," Glenda said, her eyes urging me to follow Luke without delay.
Brushing past the young man, who looked at me with a mix of confusion and relief, I took off in a sprint. Luke wasn't too far ahead, despite his head-start. Ignoring the sharp twang of pain that shot through my foot with every step, I kept my focus steady. Luke had always been the faster one, but this wasn't a race I was willing to lose. Not now.
"Luke! Stop!" I cried out. My heart pounded in my chest, a relentless drumbeat that echoed my racing thoughts. What were we doing? The situation was spiralling, and with every step, I felt the weight of our decisions pressing down on me, a burden I wasn't sure we were prepared to carry.
Luke didn't stop, but his pace slowed considerably, a tacit acknowledgment of my presence as I caught up within seconds. Our footsteps synchronised, a rhythmic thud against the soft dust.
"Why is that body suddenly so important to you?" I asked, my voice strained from both the run and the weight of confusion pressing down on me.
"He’s Jamie's son," Luke replied, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the air with the sharpness of a knife.
I slowed my pace, my feet dragging as if the ground beneath them had turned to quicksand. I shook my head, trying to dispel the fog of disbelief clouding my mind. "Are you serious? Since when did Jamie have a son?" The words felt foreign, as if I was talking about a stranger rather than someone I had known for the good part of a decade.
"Long story," Luke said, his eyes fixed on the path ahead, as if the answers lay just beyond our sight. "And Jamie doesn't know he's dead."
The weight of his words anchored me to the spot. Grabbing Luke's arm, I yanked us both to a sudden stop, our momentum halting as abruptly as my racing heart. I glared at my brother, the brother I thought I knew inside and out. "But you already knew," I accused, the words heavy with betrayal and hurt.
Luke swallowed hard. "Yes," he slowly replied, his admission hanging between us like a dense fog.
"Shit," I said, the word a mere whisper, as the shock of the news began to settle in the pit of my stomach. I gradually released my grip on Luke's arm, my fingers uncurling as the initial surge of anger gave way to a deep, gnawing sense of betrayal. I thought we told each other everything. But now, standing here in the shadow of this revelation, I wasn't so certain anymore.
Luke pulled himself free, a gesture that felt symbolic of the growing distance between us. "I had nothing to do with it. I swear." His voice was earnest, desperate even, but it did little to bridge the chasm that had opened up between us.
"I highly doubt that," I replied, my words laced with a bitterness that surprised even me.
Luke huffed with frustration, the sound harsh in the quiet that surrounded us. "We don't have time for this, Paul," he said, his voice urgent, as he tried to coax me back into motion.
But I resisted, firmly planted in my spot, my heart racing not from the run but from the tumult of emotions raging within me. How could he do this? I asked myself, incredulously, the question echoing in my mind.
"I'll tell you about it later," Luke urged, his gaze imploring me to understand, to trust him despite the secrets he'd kept. "There's a lot you don't know."
Another twang of betrayal, sharper and more painful than before, coursed through my heart, leaving a sting that was hard to ignore. "Obviously," I sneered, the bitterness of the situation coating my words like a thick, unpalatable syrup. The revelation Luke had dropped on me cast a long, dark shadow not just on our immediate mission, but on the very foundation of trust and brotherhood I had always believed was indestructible between us.
As the reality of the situation sank in, my eyes widened in a mix of shock and begrudging acceptance. Now that, I had to concede silently, Luke was most certainly correct about. The weight of the secret he had been carrying, the revelation of Jamie's unknown son, it all added layers of complexity to what I had initially thought was a straightforward albeit grim circumstance.
The landscape around us began to change as we neared our destination. The river widened, its banks spreading out as if to welcome us into the open jaws of the lagoon. "There it is!" I cried out, my voice laced with a mix of desperation and determination, as I spotted the body floating downstream, its presence a reminder of the grim reality we were trying to outrun.
"We're never going to catch it before it reaches the lagoon," Luke huffed beside me, his breath heavy with exertion and a hint of defeat. His words felt like a cold splash of water, damping the flicker of hope that had ignited within me at the sight of our morbid target.
"What do we do?" I asked, my heart pounding against my ribcage, the fear of the consequences if Jamie were to spiral further out of control, becoming a tangible presence that threatened to choke the very air around me.
"I'll run ahead. If Jamie is there, I can distract him," Luke suggested, his plan sounding more like a desperate gamble than a well-thought-out strategy.
"Distract him?" I echoed, the confusion evident in my tone. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but the picture they were forming was one I wasn't sure I wanted to see.
"Yes," Luke answered, his voice carrying a determination that seemed to cut through the uncertainty of the moment. "You need to make sure the body doesn't stop. It has to keep going downstream."
The very thought made my stomach churn. The dead body, now a silent player in our twisted scenario, floating downstream to an unknown destination was a morbid image that would likely haunt me for years to come. Where would he end up? The question echoed ominously in my mind. We have no idea what's out there.
"Are you sure, Luke?" I found myself asking, the doubt in my voice a clear reflection of the turmoil swirling within me. "You know nothing stays hidden forever."
"Yes," Luke said firmly, the resolve in his voice brooking no argument. "I'm sure.”
His assurance did little to quell the storm of emotions raging within me. As I watched Luke prepare to sprint ahead, a sense of foreboding settled over me, a dark cloud that seemed to whisper that we were stepping further into a web of lies and secrets from which there would be no easy escape.
Duke's bark, a familiar sound that usually brought a sense of comfort, now carried an ominous note as it drifted towards us on the gentle breeze. The situation we were in, the mission we had embarked upon, lent a sinister undertone to even the most mundane of sounds.
Luke and I jogged to the top of the final hill, our bodies tense with anticipation and dread for what awaited us. The crest of the hill offered us a panoramic view of the lagoon, a natural beauty that under different circumstances would have been a sight to behold. Instead, it was the backdrop to a grim tableau that I was reluctantly a part of.
"Look, there's Duke and Jamie," I pointed out, my voice strained as I spotted them on the far side of the lagoon. The relief of seeing them, however, was short-lived.
"Shit," Luke cursed under his breath, his gaze locked onto something beyond them. "And there's the body."
My eyes quickly followed the direction of Luke's pointing finger, and a knot formed in my stomach. He was right. The relentless current had carried the body to the mouth of the lagoon, where it had unceremoniously washed up, getting caught on a shallow dune that lurked just below the surface of the water. The glimmering surface of the lagoon, usually a peaceful sight, now seemed to mock us with its tranquility, hiding the grim reality that lay just beneath.
"Go!" Luke insisted, his urgency palpable as he shoved me in the direction of Jamie's lifeless son. The physical push felt like a jolt, not just to my body but to my psyche as well. I was being propelled towards a reality I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
The weight of the situation bore down on me as I made my way towards the lagoon. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very earth beneath me was trying to hold me back, or perhaps, give me a moment to gather the courage I would need to face what was coming.
