As the early morning sun crested the distant mountains, its warm light began to traverse the barren landscape, reaching out to where I stood just outside the tent. The sight was a gentle reminder of the world's enduring beauty, even in the most desolate of places.

With my fingers interlocked, I raised my arms above my head, indulging in a long, satisfying stretch that awakened every part of my lanky frame. I leaned from side to side, feeling the gentle pull along my sides, a simple yet profound pleasure of movement after a night's rest. Aside from a minor crook in my neck—an unwelcome souvenir of the night that I hadn't noticed until this moment—I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of sleep I had managed to achieve during the very dark night.

The sound of stirring from the tent beside me captured my attention, halting my morning ritual mid-stretch. As I straightened my back, bringing my arms down to my sides, my gaze drifted towards the source of the noise. The tent flap moved slightly, a sign of life within.

"May I enter?" My voice was tentative as I pushed my head through the tent's front flap, unsure of what awaited me inside.

"Yeah," Jamie's response was weary but welcoming, his attention fixed on Joel, who, to my surprise, sat upright. "Come take a look at this."

I approached with cautious steps, my eyes wide with a mix of concern and curiosity. Duke, ever watchful, tracked my movement, his gaze sharp and unyielding, reminding me of our tentative treaty.

"His hand is hurt," Jamie disclosed, gently lifting Joel's arm towards me. His tone was matter-of-fact, yet underlaid with an unspoken worry.

Kneeling beside them, I focused on Joel's hand, trying to ascertain the extent of his injury. The task felt familiar, a return to the routine of medical assessment.

"Wrist movement seems to be fine," I observed aloud, my fingers moving with practiced care over Joel's palm and then to his fingers, seeking signs of damage.

At the slightest touch to his index finger, Joel's response was immediate—a croak of pain that pierced the quiet of the tent. The reaction was so swift, so pronounced, that it left little doubt in my mind about the nature of his injury.

"I believe he has a broken finger," I concluded, my professional assessment made with a confidence born of experience. As I looked up to meet Joel's gaze, a silent communication passed between us—a mix of empathy, understanding, and a shared resolve to navigate this latest challenge.

"How bad is it?" Jamie's voice was tinged with concern, his eyes fixed on me as if searching for a silver lining.

My brow furrowed as I shook my head. "Impossible to say without an X-ray. But with our limited resources, I doubt it would make any difference even if we could," I responded, the reality of our situation laying bare the limitations we faced. My medical training had prepared me for many things, but practicing without the necessary tools wasn't one of them.

Turning to face Jamie, I was met with a look that mirrored a tumult of emotions—bewilderment, sadness, and fear mingling in his gaze.

"I'll go and check what supplies we have. I should be able to take care of it. I can always ask Luke for additional supplies if I need them," I offered, striving to inject a note of reassurance into the conversation.

"You've spoken to Luke?" Jamie's question, laced with a hint of surprise, caught me slightly off guard.

"Not this morning, but I've given him my access card for the Royal. As long as he's careful, he'll have access to all the supplies we'll likely ever need," I explained, the recollection of my decision to entrust Luke with the card bringing a momentary sense of optimism.

Jamie sighed softly, his response revealing a complex mix of emotions. "I'm glad you have that much faith in him."

"You don't?" The question was out before I could stop it, a direct probe into Jamie's trust—or lack thereof—in Luke.

Jamie's reaction was subtle yet telling. His lips pressed together tightly, a clear signal that he was not ready to engage in a discussion on the matter. The shutters came down behind his eyes, a barrier erected to keep his true feelings hidden from view. Without a word, he shrugged, an evasive manoeuvre that spoke volumes.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Jamie uncapped his water bottle and gently held it to Joel's lips. As Joel took clumsy sips, water escaping down his chin, I reached out to dab away the droplets. In that moment, our collective attention returned to Joel, the immediate need to care for him overshadowing the undercurrents of tension and unanswered questions.

"Mind if I look the rest of him over?" I directed my question towards Jamie, seeking his consent to proceed with a more thorough examination of Joel. It felt necessary to ensure that we hadn't missed anything that could complicate his recovery.

Jamie glanced at Joel, who offered a gentle nod of permission, a silent but clear communication of trust and readiness for the examination to continue.

"Go for it," Jamie responded, his attention momentarily diverted by the practical matters of camp life. "I have two hungry dogs to feed anyway."

At the mention of food, Henri, ever attuned to the routine of mealtime, leaped down from his resting place and bounded towards the bags, anticipating the familiar rattle of tinned dog food.

With Jamie and the dogs momentarily preoccupied, I turned my full attention to Joel, determined to conduct a thorough assessment. The whimpers of anticipation from the dogs became a distant backdrop to my focused evaluation.

"Everything else seems to be okay. Your bruises will heal," I reassured Joel after completing my check. He responded with a slow nod, an indication of his understanding and appreciation for the care being given.

"And his neck?" Jamie's voice cut across the tent, concern for Joel's well-being evident even as he attended to the dogs.

I paused to give Joel's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before responding to Jamie, ensuring that both men knew I was taking their concerns seriously. "No sign of infection," I announced, relieved to deliver positive news.

Turning back to Joel, I offered him further advice, speaking clearly to ensure he grasped the importance of what I was saying. "Don't do anything strenuous, and with plenty of rest, it looks like your throat will heal fine.”

Though my words were directed at Joel, I was aware of Jamie's attentive presence in the background, listening for any information that might affect their collective well-being. This moment, a blend of professional assessment and personal concern, reflected the depth of our interconnectedness, the way our lives had become intertwined in the pursuit of survival.

Joel's mouth curled into a faint smile, a subtle yet profound indication of his resilience. The morning light, filtering through the canvas window, bathed his face in a soft, pink glow that seemed almost ethereal against his pallor.

"I think it might be worth keeping a bucket of lagoon water here and dabbing some on his neck every few hours. I suspect that might help," I suggested, the idea forming as I spoke. The mysterious properties of the lagoon's water, which had shown remarkable healing capabilities, held a potential that we couldn't afford to overlook.

"Really?" Jamie's surprise at my suggestion was evident, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

As I looked at Joel, contemplating the enigma of his survival, a thought escaped me louder than intended. "He really shouldn't be alive," I remarked, the starkness of the statement cutting through the air. Realising the potential discomfort my words might cause, I hastened to add, "But he is." The tent's atmosphere tensed momentarily, a reflection of the fine line between life and death we navigated.

"I'd like to set up a lab to study the properties of the lagoon's water. I'll talk to Paul and Luke about it this morning," I declared, my mind racing with the scientific possibilities and the urgent need to understand the forces at play in our survival.

"Why Paul?" Jamie's question, though simple, hinted at underlying currents of concern or perhaps skepticism regarding the distribution of responsibilities within our camp.

"With you preoccupied with Joel, it would make sense for Paul to take responsibility for leading the camp's development," I answered with a firmness born of necessity. The situation demanded clear roles and responsibilities, and I felt no inclination to debate the point.

"Hmph," Jamie scoffed, his dissatisfaction clear. "Why not Kain? Why not you?"

"I'm a medical professional. Medical matters are all that I have any interest in leading," I stated, my voice reflecting a conviction in my role and limitations. The silence that followed was contemplative, my own decisiveness surprising even to me.

"And Kain?" Jamie pressed, unwilling to let the matter rest.

Meeting Jamie's gaze, I weighed my words carefully. "Kain is a strong, young man. Luke was wise to choose him, but he lacks the experience we're going to need for our settlement to thrive." It was a candid assessment, not meant to diminish Kain's contributions but to acknowledge the challenges that lay ahead.

Jamie's attention shifted away, and an uncomfortable silence enveloped the tent. The conversation had broached sensitive topics, revealing the complexities of our interpersonal dynamics and the delicate balance of leadership, expertise, and survival that our survival necessitated.

"Do you want me to get that bucket of water for you?" The question lingered in the air, my offer standing as a gesture of support, considering the day's earlier discussions and the tentative plans we had begun to formulate.

"No," Jamie's response was immediate, his gaze shifting thoughtfully across to Joel, who had settled back into a prone position. The softness in his voice belied the strength of his resolve. "I don't ever want to leave your side, but it'll probably do me good to get a short walk and some fresh air." His words were a poignant reminder of the deep bond forged under these extraordinary circumstances, and yet, a recognition of the need for self-care amidst the ongoing crisis.

"Very well then. I'll be back shortly, and we'll get that finger of yours all sorted," I assured Joel, my hand finding a gentle resting place on his leg as a sign of comfort.

Emerging from the tent, the absence of Paul beside the now cold remnants of last night's campfire immediately drew my attention. My wandering mind was abruptly reined in as my eyes swiftly focused on the trail of footprints etched into the dust. Instinctively, my legs began to follow the path laid out before me, leading me beyond the confines of our temporary shelter and towards the riverbank where I found Paul crouched, attentively examining the wound on his arm, the bandage discarded beside him.

"That's looking really healthy," I announced as I approached, my voice surprising him enough to unsettle his balance momentarily.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Paul joked, his wide grin reflecting a mix of amusement and embarrassment.

My head cocked to the side as I puzzled over his comment. What does he mean by that?

"I mean you sneaking up behind me at the river," Paul clarified, his explanation bringing a moment of understanding, though the phrase was still somewhat odd to me.

"Sorry," I apologised, lowering myself to his level to get a better look at his wound. Despite the peculiar context of our conversation, my focus sharpened. Paul's gaze drifted across the river, lost in thought, as I took hold of his arm, examining the healing process more closely.

After a thorough inspection, I released his arm and pushed myself to my feet, ready to offer my final advice. "Keep a close eye on it. Notify me immediately if anything changes. And remember to soak the bandages in the river," I instructed, emphasising the importance of vigilance and the beneficial properties we hoped the river's water possessed.

"Of course. I'll watch it closely," Paul assured me, rising to stand by my side, his tone sincere and committed.

With a faint smile, I turned to leave, my initial purpose—attending to Joel's broken finger—suddenly springing back to the forefront of my thoughts.

"Hey, Glenda?" Paul's voice reached out to me, a soft inquiry in the early morning light.

"Yes, Paul," I answered, pivoting gracefully.

"Are you happy to keep sleeping in the medical tent for now? If so, Kain and I could share that third tent and we can leave Jamie and Joel where they are," Paul proposed, his tone suggesting a careful consideration of our living arrangements. "Oh, and Luke, if he ever decides to stay the night," he appended, the mention of Luke an afterthought yet laden with unspoken concerns.

"Sure," I responded with a noncommittal lift of my shoulders. The specifics of where I laid my head each night felt trivial in the grand scheme of things. "I don't have any issues with that."

"Great. I'll move my suitcase across as soon as Jamie is awake," he planned out loud.

"They are both awake now. I was just in with them," I informed him.

"Oh," Paul expressed his surprise, the news seemingly altering his immediate plans. "Joel too?" he inquired, a genuine concern in his voice as we made our way back towards the camp's heart.

"Yes. He has a broken finger, but apart from that, he looks to be making a speedy recovery. It's quite remarkable, really," I shared, the awe in my own voice reflective of the miraculous nature of Joel's recovery.

"It is very odd," Paul concurred, a hint of perplexity mingling with his agreement. "I may as well move my stuff now then," he decided, a resolve taking shape in his voice.

"I don't think they'd mind," I reassured him.

Paul's next words carried a softer tone, a shift that caught my attention. "Do you know if Kain slept alright?" He gestured towards Kain, who was beginning to stir from his own slumber beside the now-smouldering campfire.

"I assume so. I didn't notice anything unusual," I replied, puzzled by his concern. "Why do you ask?"

"Just making sure we're all safe, I guess," he explained, the underlying worry for our collective well-being evident in his voice.

"You could ask him yourself. He's awake now," I suggested, encouraging direct communication among us.

"Sure, okay," Paul agreed, nodding once as if to solidify his resolve. "I'll do that then. I'll just grab my bag first." With that, he offered an awkward smile, a brief acknowledgment of the complexities of our interactions, before brushing past me and disappearing into the tent.

Turning toward my own tent, I was gently interrupted by Kain's approach, his movements deliberate.

"Have you seen Jamie this morning?" His voice, rough with sleep, carried a note of concern, or perhaps just the need for a familiar presence.

"I have," I replied, stopping to give Kain my full attention. The importance of maintaining our connections, of checking in on each other, had never felt more pressing. "You should go and visit with him."

"I will,” Kain affirmed, stretching his arms high above his head, before vigorously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Do you have a preference as to which side?" Paul's voice suddenly cut in, carrying across the campsite as he emerged from Jamie's tent, his travel bag indicating a move was afoot.

"You and Paul are moving into the third tent," I clarified for Kain, noticing how his expression morphed into one of confusion at Paul's query.

"They're both the same, really," Kain responded, his voice carrying a note of indifference to the specifics of the arrangement. His second stretch, arms reaching towards the sky, enhanced his adaptability, a trait that would be invaluable to us all.

Impressive, I mused silently, admiring Kain's ability to remain unfazed by the smaller details of our shared situation. His casual approach to these decisions, when contrasted with the weight of the unknowns we faced, was a refreshing reminder of the resilience and flexibility we had all been forced to adopt. In a world where so much was uncertain, Kain's attitude towards the mundane offered a glimpse of normalcy, a brief respite from the constant vigilance the rest of our reality demanded.

"I'm going for a walk to the Drop Zone," Paul announced as he emerged from his new home. "Take stock of what Luke's left us."

"I doubt you'll find anything new. I haven't seen him yet this morning. But I'm sure there could be some useful things we didn't notice before," I responded, my voice laced with a cautious optimism.

With Paul heading off to the Drop Zone and Kain making his way to visit Jamie, a brief moment of solitude presented itself. It was an opportunity to focus on the task at hand without distraction. Entering the medical supply tent, I found myself momentarily overwhelmed by the urgency of finding what was needed for Joel. My eyes scanned the scant supplies with a heightened sense of purpose, the reality of our limitations pressing heavily on me.

The supplies were limited, yet, within these constraints, I managed to gather a selection of items that I hoped would suffice in treating Joel's injury. Bandages, antiseptic, and a few other essentials were carefully packed into a large bag, a makeshift medical kit cobbled together from the remnants of what Luke had brought us.

Returning to Joel with the medical supplies in tow, I felt a mix of determination and concern. "You ready?" I asked him, signalling my readiness to attend to his broken finger.

"You don't need me, do you?" Kain asked, his gaze flitting nervously between me and his uncle, searching for an indication of where he should be.

"No, Jamie and I can manage," I assured him, trying to diffuse the tension that seemed to hang in the air. "He's getting good practice." My comment, meant to lighten the mood, inadvertently set off Jamie.

"I'm not your fucking lap-dog," Jamie snapped, his frustration clear and cutting.

Kain's face flushed a deep shade of red at the outburst, a visible sign of his discomfort. Internally, I wrestled with the impulse to respond harshly to Jamie, to snap back at him for his unnecessary aggression. However, experience and instinct held my tongue; such a retort would likely do more harm than good.

Kain, sensing the escalating tension, opted for an escape. "I'm going to give myself a quick wash," he said, his voice low, as he quietly exited the tent, leaving behind the strained atmosphere.

In that moment, I reassessed the situation and decided Jamie's help was not as indispensable as I had initially thought. Kneeling beside Joel, I positioned the bag of supplies against my thigh and focused turned my attention to him.

"Can you sit?" I asked Joel, extending my arms to aid him, my gaze sharp and warning as Jamie attempted to step closer. The message was clear; his presence was more disruptive than helpful at this juncture.

With care, I assisted Joel into a sitting position, his determination shining through despite his injury. It was a small yet significant victory.

Jamie, perhaps sensing his exclusion from the immediate care process, huffed, "I'm going to get the fucking bucket of water." His departure was abrupt, marked by the tent flap closing sharply behind him, inadvertently catching Duke in the process. The dog, quick to follow his master, squeezed through the tent's lower corner, his departure kicking up a small cloud of dust into the already tense atmosphere of the tent.

"Bite down on this," I instructed Joel, offering him a tightly rolled t-shirt for comfort and a distraction from the pain. As I focused, I sensed his apprehension growing, the tension palpable in the confined space of the tent.

"You'll be okay," I reassured him, locking eyes with him to convey confidence and empathy. His blue eyes, wide with fear, reflected his uncertainty. "I need to straighten your finger. I won't lie to you, it's going to hurt like hell, but I need to strap your broken finger to your adjoining fingers to keep it in place." It was important to me that Joel understood what was coming — honesty was paramount in building trust, especially in moments as vulnerable as these.

Joel's resolve was visible as he clenched the fabric between his teeth, his face set in determination.

"You ready?" I asked gently, needing his consent to proceed. It was crucial for me that Joel felt in control of the situation, despite the circumstances.

His nod, though apprehensive, granted me permission. As I carefully straightened his broken finger, I felt his body tense, a natural reaction to the sharp pain. My grip on his wrist was firm, meant to steady him as much as it was to prevent him from pulling away.

"Almost done," I assured him, meeting his pained expression with a smile meant to comfort. "Now we just need to strap it to your other fingers. You may feel a bit more pain, but the worst is over." I wanted to believe my own words as much as I wanted Joel to find solace in them.

As I wrapped his fingers together, I was acutely aware of the balance between gentleness and the necessity of securing the bandage firmly enough to aid healing.

"I'll give you some medication to take the edge off the pain," I assured Joel, gently removing the rolled t-shirt from his mouth, the fabric damp from his clenched teeth. "Do you have any allergies that you are aware of?" It was a standard question, yet essential under the circumstances, given our limited medical supplies and the need to avoid any adverse reactions.

"No," Joel's voice was a hoarse whisper, his head giving a slight shake to emphasise his answer, despite the discomfort it must have caused.

"Okay," I said, turning my attention to the supply bag, my hands beginning to search for something suitable.

"Oh," Joel's voice interrupted my search, causing me to pause. "There is one thing, actually."

"Yes?" My curiosity was piqued, ready for a more conventional concern perhaps.

"Hairy caterpillars." The unexpectedness of his answer momentarily derailed my train of thought.

What an unusual allergy, I mused, my search for medication momentarily forgotten as I looked up at Joel, a mix of curiosity and amusement crossing my face. "I don't think you have to worry about finding any of those critters here," I reassured him with a slight chuckle. "Just take a couple of these, get some rest, and I'll check on you regularly throughout the day."

"Thanks, Glenda," Joel murmured, his voice carrying a hint of relief.

"You're welcome," I replied, offering him a wide smile. Yet, as quickly as the smile appeared, it faded into a more contemplative expression. My mind was torn between the desire to delve deeper into Joel's recent experiences and the professional need to prioritise his immediate physical recovery. My curiosity, however, proved too strong to resist.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" The question was direct, intended to probe for any clues that might shed light on the miraculous nature of his recovery.

Joel's brief hesitation was palpable, a moment of internal debate before he settled on a firm "no."

"Alright, get some rest," I said, my tone softening, my smile returning as an offer of comfort. I quickly gathered the remaining medical supplies, stuffing them back into the bag with a sense of urgency driven by my swirling thoughts.

As I stepped out of the tent, the campsite stretched out before me, empty and quiet. The canvas brushed against my hair, a tactile reminder of the barrier between the relative safety of our makeshift sanctuary and the unknowns that lay beyond.

Joel’s memory lapse, whether genuine or protective, added another layer of mystery to his already complex situation. My trust in Jamie and his intentions had been unsettled, the doubt compounded by his possible influence on Joel's silence. This revelation, far from resolving any of my questions, only served to deepen my resolve to uncover the truth behind Joel’s circumstances. The intricacies of our survival, intertwined with the secrets we each held, painted a picture far more complex than I had initially realised.