The warmth from the campfire’s coals was a stark contrast to the cold unease emanating from Mum. She sat wrapped in her own world of worry, her gaze lost in the small flickering flames. Despite my efforts to soothe her, the reality of our family being torn between two worlds was a burden too heavy for her to bear easily.
The usual bustle of the camp, with its sounds of life and survival, seemed distant, muffled as if we were separated by an invisible veil. We sat in our bubble of concern, the air thick with unspoken fears and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on us.
This tranquility, however fragile, was shattered when Jerome burst into our midst, his arrival like a sudden wind that stirs dormant embers into life. His eyes were wide, his breaths short and rapid, and he was practically vibrating with excitement, his hands clutching something tightly as if it were a lifeline.
“Paul, you won’t believe this!” he gasped, his voice a mixture of awe and incredulity.
Intrigued and momentarily distracted from the heavy atmosphere, I leaned forward, my interest piqued. “What’s going on, Jerome?” My voice was a mix of curiosity and concern, the latter a constant companion in these unpredictable times.
He opened his hands to reveal the treasure he carried – bundles of fresh Australian notes. “Beatrix and this new Guardian, Jarod, they brought all this cash!” His words tumbled out in a rush, each syllable infused with his barely contained excitement.
The sight of the money, so out of place in our rugged, makeshift existence, was jarring. “Cash? Where did all this come from?” My mind raced with possibilities and concerns, the presence of such wealth amidst our dire circumstances sparking a flurry of questions. The money, so starkly tangible, seemed to underscore the surrealness of our situation, a vivid reminder of the old world clashing with our new reality.
Jerome's smile was wide, a beacon of excitement in our mundane surroundings, but his eyes, they held a hint of the unknown, a flicker of uncertainty that belied his outward enthusiasm. “I don’t know the full story. Beatrix was in a rush. Something about it being time-sensitive.” His words, laden with ambiguity, sent a ripple of tension through me.
My brain connected the dots rapidly - cash, urgency, Beatrix’s involvement. It painted a picture that was hard to ignore. A heist, it had to be. The realisation hit me like a jolt, my pulse quickening with the implications of what it could mean for our ability to secure ongoing supplies and resources. “We need to find out what’s going on,” I said, my voice firm, carrying a resolve born of necessity. I was already moving, my body reacting even before my mind had fully embraced the plan, drawn towards the Portal's enigmatic presence.
Jerome reached out, his hand gripping my arm with an intensity that matched his gaze. “Wait, the laptop. Luke said we can talk to Charles with it.”
At the mention of Charles, Mum’s head snapped up, her posture shifting from inward despair to alert engagement. Her anxiety, a constant shadow, momentarily replaced by a flicker of hope, a mother's instinctive reaction to the possibility of reuniting with her child. “Charles? Is he ready to come through?”
Jerome’s grin remained infectious, a testament to his unyielding optimism. “He should be home from school any minute now. Luke’s waiting for him.” His words, casual yet laden with significance, sparked a flurry of activity.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I responded, my own determination mirroring the stakes at hand. “I’ll grab the laptop and meet you at the Portal.” The words were out, a commitment to action, propelling me forward.
Mum and Dad were already on their feet, their movements swift, a dance of desperation and hope intertwined. The prospect of action, of doing something, anything, injected a new energy into our group, a collective momentum that pushed us towards the unknown, towards a portal that represented both danger and possibility.
Jerome and I, each step heavy with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, made our way to the Portal, where the scene that unfolded before us seemed to border on the surreal. Beatrix stood amid a veritable sea of cash, the piles so large and sprawling that they seemed to spill out into our reality, challenging the very nature of our predicament with their stark, tangible presence.
But what truly captured our attention, what drew our gazes like moths to a flame, was the sight of a second Portal. This new anomaly in our already twisted reality loomed larger and more imposing than the first, its screen pulsating with an otherworldly glow that seemed to beckon us into its depths.
Jerome’s voice, laced with incredulity, echoed my own inner turmoil. “Where the heck did that come from?”
The initial shock hadn't fully ebbed away when Beatrix's voice, laced with a hint of triumph, cut through the thick air of disbelief. “Quite the haul, huh?” Her grin, broad and unabashed, was as expansive as the pile of cash she stood beside, yet my attention found itself ensnared by the dual enigmas before us—the inexplicable wealth and the even more perplexing new Portal.
“This one,” she gestured nonchalantly to the larger Portal, her casual demeanour at odds with the gravity of her revelation, “seems to be linked to me and Jarod.” The casual drop of her words did little to mask their weight, each syllable laden with implications that stretched beyond the confines of our current understanding.
I managed a nod, my faculties overwhelmed by the barrage of questions assaulting my mind. The dynamics in Clivilius were shifting, morphing before our eyes with a rapidity that outpaced the swirling desert sands surrounding us. I shelved my burgeoning curiosity about Jarod and his connection to this unfolding mystery, choosing instead to anchor my focus on the immediate, on the tangible—on the pressing matters that demanded our attention amidst the ever-deepening labyrinth of our circumstances.
Turning to the cash, my eyes tracing the contours of the seemingly endless stacks, I asked, "How did you manage this?"
Beatrix's laugh, light and almost carefree, fluttered through the air. She playfully tossed a bundle of notes into the air, watching them flutter down like leaves in autumn. "Let's just say, I've learned a thing or two from Luke." Her words, wrapped in mystery and a hint of mischief, only deepened the oddity.
Our conversation, teetering on the edge of further inquiries into the origin of the cash, was abruptly curtailed by Luke's arrival. His presence carried an air of urgent purpose. His demeanour was all business, a stark reminder of the stakes at hand, brushing aside any small talk as if it were an unnecessary distraction.
"Ready to talk to Charles?" Luke's question, sharp and direct, was aimed at Jerome, who, with a nod of determination, began the intricate process of setting up the laptop for the call. Luke quickly returned to Earth.
Jerome's focused expression, his fingers deftly manoeuvring over the keys and cables, mirrored the intensity of our collective anticipation. It was as if the air itself hummed with the tension of waiting, every eye in our small assembly fixed on the laptop's screen, each of us holding our breath for the virtual reunion with Charles. The convergence of technology and our desperate hope seemed to coalesce around the glowing screen, a beacon in our uncertain journey, pulling us together in a shared vigil, awaiting the face that would momentarily bridge our scattered lives across the digital expanse.
As Jerome initiated the call, the tension in the air was almost palpable, a tangible force that seemed to draw us all in closer. I turned to Beatrix, who stood beside me, her eyes, sharp and calculating, momentarily flicked between the bundles of cash and the laptop screen, as if assessing the situation with a strategist's mind.
"We need to keep this cash safe. My motorhome?" I suggested, the words coming out more as a practical solution than a question.
Beatrix, her attention still divided between the unfolding call and our conversation, nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a plan. I'll help you move it," she responded, her voice a blend of determination and intrigue.
Our planning was abruptly cut short by Jerome's announcement, his voice a sharp contrast to the low murmur of our strategising. "He's answering!" The urgency and excitement in his tone were infectious, snapping our attention back to the laptop screen.
The image of Charles's face, materialising on the screen, was a poignant reminder of the world we'd left behind and the fragmented state of our family. His familiar features, now displayed in the glow of the laptop, felt surreal, a digital connection bridging the vast physical and emotional distance that separated us. Another member of our family, about to witness the existence of Clivilius, albeit virtually, brought a mix of relief and a deepening sense of foreboding. The significance of the moment wasn't lost on any of us, a poignant blend of reunion and revelation in the midst of our turbulent journey.
As Jerome, Mum, and Dad became engrossed in a heartfelt conversation with Charles, their voices blending in a symphony of mixed emotions, I turned to Beatrix, drawn by the enigma of our newfound wealth. The piles of cash, a surreal addition to our scarce environment, beckoned for an explanation.
“Beatrix, where exactly did all this money come from?” I probed, my curiosity piqued not just by the amount but by the unconventional method of its acquisition. The normality of our previous life felt like a distant memory, replaced by these moments of surreal strategy.
She leaned in, conspiratorially, her voice a hushed whisper as if the winds themselves might carry her secrets away. “After seeing what Luke did with the fencing supplies, I got inspired. I activated my Portal in an armoured vehicle. Let’s just say, we won’t be short on funds for a while.” Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and pride, a testament to her ingenuity and audacity.
I absorbed her words, a cocktail of admiration and concern swirling within me. “That’s incredible,” I admitted, the strategist in me impressed by her initiative. “And risky.” The last word hung between us, a silent acknowledgment of the fine line she was walking.
She shrugged, a gesture that seemed to brush off the seriousness of her actions. “Sometimes, you’ve got to take a leap.” Her casual dismissal belied the depth of our plunge into this new world's murky ethics.
Our task of moving the cash to the ute was momentarily interrupted by Jerome's voice. “Luke and Charles are going to bring through some big barrels of wheat and rice. We’ll need help moving them.”
I nodded, already mentally allocating resources and manpower. “I’ll take this cash to the motorhome and come back with Nial and Adrian. I know exactly what barrels you are talking about, and we’re going to need all the muscle we can get.”
With a renewed sense of purpose, Beatrix and I resumed moving the cash, the bundles heavy in our arms. The physical weight of the money was a stark contrast to its symbolic weight—a symbol of our survival, growth, and the moral complexities that accompanied our new life. As we secured our unexpected riches, the responsibility it entailed loomed large, an exhilarating yet daunting prospect.
The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting elongated shadows that danced across the rugged terrain, as I watched Beatrix disappear through the Portal. The sight of her retreating figure, the last of the cash still clutched in her hands, etched a mixture of relief and apprehension into my mind. Her departure marked a significant shift; the weight of safeguarding the large quantity of cash she had brought now rested squarely on my shoulders.
I climbed into the ute, the familiar creaks and groans of its frame a stark contrast to the advanced technology of the Portal. As I drove back to camp, dust clouds billowed behind me, a gritty reminder of our stark, unforgiving environment. The arid landscape, with its sprawling deserts and jagged rock formations, seemed indifferent to my predicament.
The idea of stashing a small fortune in my motorhome struck me as ludicrous. Here in Bixbus, our existence was stripped down to survival, where daily concerns were more about securing water and shelter than handling money. These bundles of currency, symbols of a world far removed from our daily struggles, seemed almost mockingly out of place. I could almost hear the wind laughing, whisking through the narrow crevices of the camp, as if to remind me of the futility of wealth in a land that valued water more than gold.
As the ute rumbled towards the camp, the motorhome came into view, its weathered exterior a testament to the harsh conditions of Bixbus. The thought of hiding such a significant amount of cash in there, amidst my sparse belongings and survival gear, felt like a bizarre juxtaposition. Yet, there was an underlying thrill to it, a secret that imbued the mundane with a sense of the extraordinary.
As I began the task of transferring the cash from the ute, each handful carried with a profound sense of unreality. The crinkle of the notes, crisp and distinct, formed a stark auditory contrast to the relentless, whispering winds and the soft, shifting sands that surrounded me. Here I was, a solitary figure in this desolate world, laden with the riches of a civilisation that felt not just miles but entire worlds away.
The interior of the motorhome offered a stark dichotomy to the barren landscape outside. Here, within these confined walls, I meticulously stowed away the cash. Each nook and cranny became a covert vault: underneath the worn mattress, within the cramped cupboards, and even in the freezer, where the cold metal seemed to mock the absurdity of using such a space for storing currency.
As the growing piles of money transformed my simple, utilitarian living space into a surreal treasury, a profound sense of irony washed over me. I was stashing what could be a small fortune, in a place where the concept of fortune had lost its conventional meaning. Each bundle placed in its hideaway sparked reflections on the stark dichotomy of our existence here: in Bixbus, stripped of the complexities and comforts of modern life, these notes were reduced to mere paper, devoid of their intended purpose.
Yet, as I continued to conceal the money, a conflicting feeling emerged. With each bundle secured, a sense of relief began to permeate the stifling air of the motorhome. Not for the monetary value of the notes, which here in the desolation of Bixbus held as much practical use as the dust outside, but for what they represented. This cash, so out of place in our daily struggle for survival, was a potential lifeline. It symbolised a tangible connection to Earth, to a world where these notes could be exchanged for essential supplies, tools, and perhaps a glimmer of hope for a better future.
The monotony of stowing away the cash lent itself to a kind of meditative state, allowing my thoughts to drift far beyond the confines of the motorhome. I found myself reflecting on our journey, the monumental shift from our past lives to our current existence in Clivilius, a name that now evoked a sense of home, however harsh it might be. The endless list of challenges that lay ahead loomed large in my mind, each one a reminder of the precariousness of our situation.
Needing a respite, I stepped outside, the door of the motorhome creaking shut behind me. The camp unfolded before my eyes, a patchwork of tents and motorhomes scattered across the barren, unforgiving terrain. Each structure, no matter how small or improvised, stood as a testament to our resilience and adaptability. The stark, alien landscape of Clivilius stretched out in every direction, indifferent to our struggles, yet we had carved out a space for ourselves here against all odds.
With the last of the cash now securely hidden away, I engaged the rudimentary lock on the motorhome. The action felt almost ceremonial, an acknowledgment of the value we were conditioned to assign to money, even when its practical worth here was negligible. The irony of securing something so valuable in a world where its utility was virtually non-existent wasn't lost on me. In Bixbus, the real value, the true treasures, were the people and the community we were painstakingly building. Our shared experiences, the bonds forged in adversity, and the collective will to survive were our greatest assets.
As I gazed out over the camp, a complex tapestry of emotions wove through me. Pride in what we had achieved and determination to face what was yet to come filled my chest. The physical cash was hidden, safe from any immediate threats, but it was the strength, unity, and shared purpose of our community that would truly define our chances of survival in this new and harsh world.
Finally, with the cash securely stowed, my next task was clear. Finding Adrian and Nial was imperative to handle the next wave of supplies. As expected, I found them near the sheds they were diligently constructing, their figures bent over their tools, engrossed in their task.
"Hey, guys, need your help with something," I called out, my voice cutting through the clatter of construction. They looked up, their expressions shifting from concentration to curiosity.
Adrian turned to me, his hands leaving smudges of dirt on his pants as he wiped them. "What's up, Paul?" His tone was casual, a stark contrast to the urgency simmering within me.
"We've got a bunch of heavy barrels to move from the Portals. They're filled with wheat and rice. Can you give me a hand?" I explained, my gaze flicking between the two, silently conveying the importance of the request.
Without hesitation, Adrian nodded, his demeanour shifting to one of readiness. Nial, ever the reliable force, chimed in with a supportive, "Sure thing, Paul. Let's get to it."
We piled into the ute, the engine rumbling to life beneath us, vibrating through the seats and into our bones.
The drive, though brief, stretched out in my mind, elongated by the anticipation of the formidable task awaiting us. Upon arrival, the sight of Jerome and Dad analysing the barrels reinforced the challenge ahead. These large white containers, standing tall and stoic, seemed almost insurmountable in their size and weight, casting long shadows on the ground like silent giants of our new world.
"Alright, let's figure out how to get these onto the ute," I declared, my voice imbued with a resolve that I hoped would inspire confidence in the group. We gathered around the barrels, each of us sizing up the task from our vantage points, the air filled with a mix of determination and underlying tension.
The barrels, bulkier and more intimidating than I had remembered from my younger days, stood as a testament to the physical demands of our new reality. Lifting them would not only require a coordinated effort but also a testament to our collective strength and resolve.
"We could just tie a rope around them and drag them back to camp," Adrian suggested with a smirk, his comment cutting through the tension. His jest elicited a round of chuckles, a brief respite from the gravity of our situation. Despite the laughter, his idea lingered in my mind as a potential plan B.
"Let's give lifting them a try first," I proposed, not entirely dismissing the alternative. We strategically positioned ourselves around the first barrel, our bodies tensed and ready for the exertion ahead.
"On three," I initiated the countdown, my voice steady. "One, two, three!" Our collective effort filled the air, a chorus of grunts and strained breaths as we lifted the barrel. Our muscles protested, fibres burning with the effort as we inched the container upward and manoeuvred it onto the back of the ute, which creaked ominously under the new weight.
"One down," Nial exhaled, his breath heavy, as he wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. The relief of having moved one barrel was palpable, yet the sight of the remaining ones served as a stark reminder of the task still at hand.
Despite our collective concern that adding a second heavy barrel to the ute might be pushing our luck, we set to work, the task at hand demanding our focus. Yet, our efforts were soon interrupted by an arrival that shifted the atmosphere entirely.
"Good to see you, lil' bro," Jerome greeted Charles with a mix of joviality and warmth, his hand landing with a playful thump on Charles's shoulder. Their interaction, a blend of casual camaraderie and deep-seated familial bonds, momentarily lightened the mood.
Charles, however, seemed momentarily frozen, his response stalled by the overwhelming newness of his surroundings. His eyes, wide and absorbing, scanned the landscape of Clivilius, a stark departure from the world he knew. The raw, unrefined terrain must have struck a chord of surreal realisation within him, the gravity of our situation mirrored in his silent contemplation.
Dad stepped away from our laborious task to welcome Charles with a tight, reassuring hug. "Stuck together as a family forever in this bizarre place," he murmured, his voice laced with a dry humour that didn't quite mask the undercurrent of earnest solidarity in his words.
I caught Luke's eye, a silent exchange passing between us, an acknowledgment of the unspoken truths now shared among us all. The realisation that Bixbus was not the promised New Jerusalem and that Earth was a chapter firmly behind us hung in the air, a heavy mantle that we each bore in our own way.
Feeling the weight of our collective fatigue and the emotional toll of Charles's arrival, I called for a pause. "Let's take a short break," I announced, my voice carrying the unspoken acknowledgment of our need for a moment of respite. The collective sighs of relief that followed were punctuated by a shared understanding.
"You've cut yourself," I noted, my voice laced with a blend of worry and curiosity as I observed the small wound on Luke’s elbow.
"Yeah," he acknowledged, his response laced with a hint of caution. The air thickened with unspoken implications, the circumstances of the injury and its potential consequences hanging between us, unsaid yet palpable.
Seizing the moment, “Come on, let’s get you to the camp. Mum will be wanting to interrogate you,” Dad told Charles, trying to bring some humour into the situation. Mum had been stressing about Charles’s absence for hours, and now, at least, that was one issue that could be put to rest. Although Charles’s arrival presented many more issues, I couldn't help but see the irony in it all.
As Dad and Charles began to make their way towards the camp, a semblance of normalcy in their steps, Luke's attention turned sharply to me, his demeanour shifting. "We need to talk, in private," he stated, the urgency in his voice cutting through any lingering facade of normality. His tone, firm and insistent, left no room for doubt—there were matters at hand that required immediate and discreet attention.
As the background hum of barrels being hoisted and secured onto the ute filled the air, Luke ushered me away from the industrious scene, a clear intent etched on his face. Jerome, his curiosity piqued, followed us, his presence marking him as more than just a bystander in these unfolding events. Sensing Luke's reluctance to speak freely in front of an additional set of ears, I offered a nod of reassurance. "It's okay," I affirmed, sanctioning Jerome's inclusion in the conversation.
“Everyone here in Clivilius will need to pull more than their own weight if we stand any chance of surviving out here,” I emphasised. My firm gaze drifted to Jerome, who had been thrust into this harsh reality without much choice. “That makes you a man now, bro,” I told him, half joking, but very much with serious undertones. In the very short time that we’d been here, we’d already experienced death and a kidnapping. Jerome's face oscillated between awe and trepidation, unsure whether to be impressed or terrified by my proclamation.
"Paul," Luke interjected, his voice a low, urgent whisper, pulling me back from my reflections. "We had to leave the house in a hurry. It’s not safe there anymore." His words hung heavily between us, laden with implications that tugged at the edges of my understanding.
My response was a silent, inquiring look, my brow furrowed, urging him to elaborate without uttering a single word.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Luke delved into the heart of the matter. "The police showed up, seemingly out of nowhere. And there’s a Detective Santos involved."
My eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and alarm. “Detective? That’s no beat cop. What were they doing there?”
Luke's expression mirrored my concern, his eyes locking with mine as he shared his unease. "I've got no idea," he admitted, the uncertainty in his voice amplifying the gravity of our predicament. "I can't risk going back right now. Something feels off about the whole situation." His words, heavy with implication, resonated with a troubling sense of foreboding.
I nodded, understanding Luke’s conclusion but still very confused about how and why the police would be there in the first place. Did they know that Luke was there? If they’d arrived a few hours earlier, they’d have found the house filled with the usual monotony of kids at school, dad at work, and mum going about her daily routines. What on Earth were they doing there?
My train of thought derailed sharply, veering into a distressing possibility. "Claire!" The name escaped my lips before I could reel it back in, my mind racing with the thought that my own wife might have been the catalyst for the police's involvement.
Luke's reaction was immediate, a gasp punctuating the tension between us. "You think Claire would have gone to the police?" His question, laced with a mix of surprise and concern, hung heavily in the air.
My expression shifted into a condescending pout, signalling my disbelief at Luke's question. It struck me as odd that he would even need to inquire, given his deep understanding of the turbulent dynamics within my household. "Well, I have been missing for almost ten days now," I responded, my words laced with a touch of sarcasm, hinting at the underlying stress of my unexplained absence.
Luke's expression mirrored the complexity of our situation, his brow furrowing as he processed the implications of my prolonged disappearance. Jerome, caught up in the conversation, expressed his shock. "Has it been that long already?" he interjected, his tone a mix of surprise and concern.
"Apparently so," I answered, letting out a weary sigh. The fluid nature of time in Clivilius, coupled with the pressing concerns of survival, made it a challenge to maintain a clear sense of temporal progression. "To be honest, I’m struggling to keep track of time here."
Luke, still trying to piece together the puzzle, voiced his perplexity. "But a Detective?" The notion seemed to trouble him. "Would anybody take Claire’s claims seriously enough to warrant spending Detective resources on her?"
"Oh, come on, Luke. You’ve met Claire," I said, a hint of exasperation colouring my tone. The mention of Claire's name conjured up memories of her capacity for influence and deception. "She’s the most skilled manipulator I’ve ever met."
“Lucky you married her, then,” Luke joked, attempting to lighten the mood, but I failed to see the humour in the remark.
“So, what’s the plan?” I probed, eager to shift the conversation to more pressing matters. My expression remained etched with the seriousness of our situation, reflecting the urgency to devise a strategy.
“For now, I need to steer clear of the house,” Luke laid out the immediate course of action, his eyes briefly meeting Jerome's before returning to mine, signalling the weight of his decision.
I pressed on, seeking more clarity. “Can you try and dig deeper into it? See just how messy things are?” My request was a plea for information, for any insight that could help us navigate the murky waters we found ourselves in.
“Oh, things are definitely messy,” Luke responded with a tone that teetered on the edge of levity, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, betraying his underlying concern.
Jerome, who had been quietly absorbing our exchange, chose this moment to interject. His voice was tentative at first, as if testing the waters before diving into his suggestion. “To lighten the mood,” he prefaced, ensuring he had our full attention, “Let’s have a celebration tonight at the bonfire. Welcome the Smith Clan properly. What do you think?”
His proposal was unexpected, a stark contrast to the dire topics we'd been wrestling with. Yet, as the idea settled, a genuine smile found its way across my face. “That’s a damn good idea. A celebration might be just what we need.” The prospect of a communal gathering, a momentary reprieve from our challenges, sparked a flicker of warmth in me.
Luke's nod, imbued with a trace of enthusiasm, was a refreshing change from the earlier tension. His hand landed firmly on my shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and shared purpose. "I'll leave the two of you to organise it. We should have plenty of supplies between the raid last night and the food storage I've managed to bring through," he informed us, outlining the resources at our disposal.
"Yeah, there's heaps here now," I responded, feeling a surge of optimism at the prospect of turning our abundant supplies into a celebration. My smile grew, reflecting the lightness that the idea of a communal gathering brought to my heart.
"I'll let Beatrix know too," Luke added.
"And Jarod?" I couldn't help but probe, my voice laced with a hint of curiosity. I was well aware of the underlying tensions regarding Beatrix's choice of Jarod as a Guardian.
“Sure,” Luke muttered, sounding less thrilled about it. “I guess we should involve him too.”
"This is going to be awesome!" Jerome exclaimed, his enthusiasm rippling through us, lightening the mood and bringing forth smiles and chuckles even from Luke.
The prospect of a bonfire celebration was more than just a momentary diversion; it was a much-needed break from the heavy concerns and uncertainties that had been hanging over us. A celebration at the bonfire was just what we needed to lift our spirits and welcome the newest members of our family into our strange, isolated world.
