The monotonous scrape of my trowel against the freshly poured concrete, smoothing it into what I hoped would be a solid foundation for one of the sheds, was abruptly interrupted by a loud bark. It was a sound that instantly pulled my attention away from the grey expanse beneath my hands, a stark reminder that life, in all its unpredictable forms, was determined to make its presence felt in our makeshift settlement.
"Lois!" Glenda's voice, tinged with excitement, cut through the air as she jogged to greet the golden retriever making a dramatic entrance over the crest of the nearest hill. The dog bounded into camp with an energy and enthusiasm that seemed to light up the dusty landscape, a stark contrast to the grim task I was engaged in.
"Not another fucking dog," I mumbled under my breath, the frustration evident in my tone. The last thing we needed was another mouth to feed, another variable in the already complex equation of our survival. Reluctantly, I turned my focus back to the concrete, trying to lose myself in the physicality of the task, to block out the distractions that threatened to undermine the precarious sense of control I clung to.
"Lois, down!" Glenda's command snapped me out of my reverie. The firmness in her voice prompted me to lift my gaze, curiosity overriding my initial irritation. My body reacted before my mind fully processed the situation, propelling me towards Joel who stood outside the tent, an observer to the unfolding scene. I halted, my stride breaking as the scene before me unfolded into something unexpectedly tender.
Joel, with a cautiousness that spoke volumes of his gentle nature, crouched down and enveloped the golden fur in his arms, his fingers stroking the dog with a gentleness that seemed at odds with our harsh surroundings. "Seems she likes you," Glenda observed, her smile broad and filled with a warmth that momentarily pierced the veneer of my frustration.
Duke approached the pair with a curiosity that was both cautious and calculated. He circled around, his nose working overtime as he tried to make sense of this new addition to our camp. Lois, startled by Duke's sniffing, leapt backwards, her tail a blur of excited motion. It was a dance of introduction, of tentative steps towards understanding and acceptance.
Henri, ever the introvert, made a fleeting appearance, his curiosity piqued but quickly overshadowed by his preference for the familiar confines of his bed inside the tent. His brief venture into the fray was a reminder of the diverse personalities that made up our little community, each reacting in their own way to the newcomer.
As Lois jumped around, a bundle of playful energy, and Duke continued his cautious assessment, I found myself caught up in the moment. The frustration and skepticism that had clouded my thoughts gave way, if only briefly, to an appreciation for the simple joys that these animals brought into our lives.
"We need a road," Paul's voice boomed, slicing the tranquility as he trudged down the final slope into camp, his boots leaving deep impressions in the soft earth. The fatigue in his steps couldn't mask the determination in his voice
Lois dashed towards Paul with a zeal that belied her size. Her paws, a blur of motion, kicked up little clouds of dust as she closed the distance, nudging him in greeting, her tail wagging like a metronome set to the rhythm of pure joy. Paul crouched down, indulging Lois with the affection she sought.
Showing her quick reflexes, Glenda caught the keys Paul tossed in her direction with a graceful ease that made it seem as though time had momentarily slowed down. Paul, in response, crouched down to scratch Lois behind the ears, his actions softening the rugged lines of his face. "Ooh, you're a beautiful girl," he murmured affectionately, a generous smile playing on his lips as he massaged her ears.
"My car's here?" Glenda's voice, tinged with both surprise and a hint of skepticism, broke the brief silence that had fallen over us. She held up the keys, her gaze shifting from Paul to the direction from when he had arrived.
"Yeah," Paul replied, his attention still partly on Lois, who seemed more demanding of his affection by the second. "It's got bogged just over the hill."
Laughter bubbled up from Kain, a sound that seemed to momentarily lift the day’s fatigue. "We definitely need a road," he chuckled, the humour in his voice sparking a flicker of amusement in my own chest.
Paul's eyes, however, flashed a warning as they met Kain's, his mirth quickly fading. "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you," he said, the glare sharp. "You wanna be the one to collect the stuff in it or dig it out of the dust?"
Glenda huffed, her frustration laced with a begrudging fondness for the chaos that was our camp life. "Honestly," she exclaimed, "this camp is like living with a bunch of children sometimes." With Lois and Duke now her willing followers, she began walking in the direction Paul had indicated, her determination clear in the set of her shoulders.
Paul and Kain exchanged looks, their expressions a mix of guilt and amusement, reminiscent of children caught in a mischievous act.
"I don't think she's got any children," I joked, unable to resist the urge to lighten the mood further.
"I heard that!" Glenda's voice, stern yet laced with the unspoken laughter, echoed back to us.
"Come on," Kain said, a nod towards Glenda's retreating figure urging us into action. "Let's get this car."
Taking a deep breath, I joined the pair as they followed Glenda.
"Hey, where are the new people?" Paul asked as the three of us walked.
"Karen and Chris?" Kain clarified.
"Yeah."
I found myself shrugging in response, an involuntary gesture that belied a mixture of indifference and frustration. After the struggle with the tent and the concerted effort on the concrete slabs, the absence of Karen and Chris from these tasks hadn't gone unnoticed. Their lack of participation had left a sour note, one that I wasn't keen to dwell on. "They've gone for a walk," Kain offered, his voice filling the space my shrug had left open.
"Oh, to the lagoon?" Paul's question, laced with a smile, seemed to aim at lightening the mood, yet it only served to underscore the divisions among us.
"Pretty sure…" Kain's voice faded as we reached the dust-covered charcoal BMW, an unusual symbol of our isolation and the challenges it presented. The car, under its layer of grime, hinted at a life far removed from our current reality. Bet it's a nice car underneath all that shit, I mused, my thoughts briefly veering away from the immediate concerns as I circled to inspect the bogged wheel.
"Fuck! You've done a good job, Paul," the words escaped me as I crouched beside the wheel, now buried beneath the earth. It was a statement tinged with irony.
"It all happened so quickly," Paul's defence came swiftly, a mix of embarrassment and justification in his tone.
"I bet it did," my reply was skeptical, an unspoken critique of Paul's capabilities, or perhaps more accurately, a reflection of my growing frustration with the situation as a whole. It wasn't just about the car or Paul's driving; it was the cumulative weight of our challenges, each small setback a reminder of the precariousness of our existence.
Kain's soft chuckle cut through the tension, a light-hearted interjection that momentarily lifted the heavy atmosphere. Glenda, ever practical, opened the passenger door, her actions shifting our focus from the problem at hand to the task of rectification.
The futile swipes at the dust encapsulating the wheel felt like a metaphor for our current predicament—every effort to advance seemed countered by the environment's relentless pushback. As I scrapped at the ground, the dust seemed almost sentient, immediately refilling any space I cleared. "Shit," I muttered, a mix of frustration and resignation lacing my voice, the word dissolving into the dusty air as quickly as my efforts to clear it.
"Think we can dig it out?" Kain's question, filled with a hopeful undertone, pulled me from my reverie of defeat. He crouched beside me, his presence a reminder of the solidarity that had become our most valuable resource in this challenging landscape.
"Not with our hands," I responded, casting a sidelong glance at him as I demonstrated the futility of our actions—a handful of dust slipping through my fingers, instantly replaced by more.
"Shovels then?" Kain's suggestion was a pivot to practicality, a move towards a solution rather than a surrender to the problem.
Inhaling deeply, I took a moment to weigh our limited options, the dust swirling around us as if mocking our deliberations. "Shovel might work. Probably the best we can do," I conceded, the prospect of using proper tools offering a sliver of hope in the midst of our sandy quagmire.
"I'll go grab them."
"Hang on," I interjected, my hand reaching out to grasp his arm, halting his departure. "Go check the Drop Zone first. The shovels we've been using are all covered in cement. Might make it a little more challenging for us." My words were a reminder of our situation's complexity, where even the tools we relied on could become obstacles in themselves due to the conditions we were working under.
"Sure," Kain replied, his nod quick and decisive as he rose, the determination in his movement indicative of his resolve. I watched him navigate the small rise that separated us from the Drop Zone, his figure momentarily silhouetted against the harsh backdrop of our environment.
As he disappeared from view, I brought myself to my feet, dusting off my hands, though the action did little to remove the fine layer of grit that clung to my skin. There wasn't much point in making further attempts to free the wheel until we had the right tools.
"Do you want to carry anything back now? Or wait to see if we can dig this car out?" I found myself asking Glenda, trying to plan our next steps. Her head was halfway through the passenger door, rummaging through the contents as if searching for a lifeline in the clutter.
"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully, her voice a soft murmur that seemed almost too gentle for the harshness of our surroundings. "I'll take this one for now…" Her words trailed off, leaving her decision hanging in the air like the dust that surrounded us.
"Joel?" My attention snapped away from Glenda and towards the figure making his way towards us, his steps uncertain and his posture that of someone carrying more than just physical weight. My voice barely rose above a whisper, a mix of concern and disbelief colouring my tone.
"I'll check on him when I get back to camp," Glenda responded, her attention still partially on the items within the car.
Ignoring Glenda's comment, which seemed to miss the urgency of the moment, I found myself moving towards Joel with a haste born of concern. "Joel! What the hell are you doing here?" My voice carried a mix of worry and frustration, the sight of him so far from where I thought he should be—safe in camp—setting my nerves on edge.
"Help," Joel's voice was a croak. His plea was simple, yet it sent a jolt of panic through me.
Shit! My pulse raced, the immediate fear that Joel needed help threatening to overwhelm my senses. "You need help?" I asked, my voice rising in pitch as I gestured frantically for Glenda to come over.
Joel shook his head quickly, his response not what I expected. "Help," he repeated, softer this time, his hand pointing towards the bogged car. The realisation that he was offering help, not needing it, washed over me in a wave of relief mingled with apprehension.
"I don't think that's a good idea. You should be resting," I found myself saying, my hands instinctively moving to his shoulders in an attempt to guide him back towards the safety and comfort of camp. The protective urge was strong, wanting to shield him from any further strain.
"Here, take this," Glenda interjected, her voice cutting through my internal debate. She brushed past me, dismissing my concerns with a determined gesture as she handed Joel a pillow. "As long as you are careful, I think some movement will be beneficial." Her words were confident, a reassurance that perhaps I was being overly cautious.
With a pout marking my face, a silent protest to the unfolding situation, I turned back to Joel. "Are you sure you can manage?" The doubt in my voice was palpable, a reflection of my torn feelings. On one hand, I wanted to wrap him in cotton wool, to protect him from further harm. On the other, Glenda's confidence and Joel's silent nod stirred a reluctant acceptance within me.
I still harboured deep reservations about him being out of bed, the instinct to protect him clashing with the realisation that he needed to feel useful, to contribute in whatever way he could. But if he feels like he is ready to move, why should I be the one to stop him? This internal debate underscored a broader struggle we all faced in this new world—balancing the need for safety with the desire for autonomy, each of us navigating our own paths through the constant uncertainty.
The revelation of Glenda's violin nestled safely within its case on the car's bonnet struck a chord within me, a brief interlude amidst our bogged dilemma. "This must mean that Luke has spoken with Pierre!" Glenda's exclamation, filled with a mixture of hope and longing, momentarily shifted the atmosphere. The instrument, a tangible piece of her past life, seemed out of place against the backdrop of our makeshift existence.
"Your husband?" My question, while intuitive, was more an attempt to bridge the gap between the present and the memories that Glenda's violin had conjured.
"Yes," she confirmed, her voice carrying a blend of affection and sorrow. "I miss him terribly already."
"How does your violin imply that?" I found myself asking, genuinely puzzled at the leap from the presence of the violin to the conclusion that Pierre had been in contact.
"I highly doubt that Luke would have known to bring me my violin." Glenda's explanation hinted at connections and communications beyond my comprehension, a web of relationships that had persisted despite the distance and disruptions.
"You'd be surprised," I responded, half-jokingly. Luke's actions had long since defied any attempts at prediction. Nothing Luke brings us would surprise me at this point, I mused silently, a thought kept to myself as I contemplated the unpredictability that had come to define Luke.
The conversation shifted as Glenda secured her violin, her actions methodical, a brief respite from the uncertainty that loomed over us. "Where is Kain?" Her inquiry, seemingly mundane, was a pivot back to the immediate challenge we faced.
"He went to the Drop Zone to see if there are any more shovels so we can dig this fucking wheel out," I explained, the frustration of our situation briefly surfacing.
Glenda's practical mind quickly turned to logistics. "Aren't there shovels near the shed site?"
I couldn't help but grimace. "They're covered in cement." The admission felt like an indictment of our current state of disarray.
"How the hell did they get… never mind." Glenda's frustration mirrored my own, a shared sentiment that needed no further discussion. She shook her head, a gesture of resignation, and slung the strap of the violin case over her shoulder, ready to tackle the next obstacle.
Then Joel's voice, weak yet determined, cut through the tension. "Help," he croaked, his intention clear, waving the pillow to get my attention.
"Right. Of course," I agreed, my resolve firming. As I reached into the backseat, a small smile crept across my face, a reflection of the pride I felt for Joel. Kate's raised a great lad. The thought was a testament to the strength and character of Joel's mother, qualities that Joel himself had inherited in abundance.
Pulling a large suitcase from the car, I looked up at Joel, who waited patiently on the hill. In that moment, I found myself pondering the broader tapestry of our lives, the connections and relationships that had been altered or severed throughout life. I wonder if she ever found someone else... Does Joel have someone else he calls Dad?
