Henri stood at the riverbank not far from the tents. His barks were sharp and insistent, slicing through the calm like warning shots. Paul, with his back to us, was a hunched figure of urgency next to Henri, leaning over something—or someone—that I couldn't quite see from my vantage point. My pace quickened, drawn by a mix of curiosity and a sinking feeling in my stomach.

As I neared, the scene unfolded like a page from a thriller I wished I hadn't opened. A young man, his body a limp silhouette against the glistening surface of the river, was trapped in a deadly embrace with the water. He lay face down, the river's current treating him with an indifference that was almost cruel, bobbing him rhythmically as if to a lullaby meant for the deep. His feet, a jarring note in the otherwise fluid scene, were caught on a rock that jutted out from the bank like a hand reaching up from below.

My breath hitched, caught in the vice of sudden fear and concern. Luke's voice, laced with a similar urgency, cut through the air. "Paul, what's going on?"

The desperation in Paul's voice as he screamed back, "Help me!" was palpable, a raw edge of panic that I felt scrape across my own nerves. "Hurry! He needs help."

Luke, jumping into action without hesitation, was on his knees next to Paul in an instant. I stood frozen for a moment, watching as Paul extended his reach across the water, his hands pressing against the young man's waist in a frantic attempt to roll him. The gesture was one of desperate hope, a fight against the pull of the current and the weight of a body that seemed to have already succumbed to the river's embrace.

The river's edge felt like a boundary between two worlds—the solid certainty of the land and the unpredictable fluidity of water. As I approached, Paul's silhouette against the water blurred for a moment as he slid into the river, his movements deliberate and focused.

"Help me roll him," Paul's voice cut through the tension, a command that was both a plea and a directive.

I glanced at Luke, giving his left shoulder a firm nudge. He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes before he too entered the water, positioning himself opposite Paul. The river, a silent witness to our efforts, seemed to hold its breath.

"Go," Luke signalled, his voice steady. "I've got him."

"Three. Two. One. Roll," I commanded, my voice more steady than I felt. As the body rolled, I crouched, my hands finding the cold, slick surface of the protruding rocks. With a tug that pulled at both my muscles and heartstrings, I freed the man's feet, releasing him from the river's grasp.

Kain's voice shattered the momentary calm, "Who the fuck is that?" The terror in his voice was a mirror to the shock rippling through me. I found myself echoing his question internally, my mind racing through faces and names, trying to place the stranger before us.

I've never seen this man before. The thought was a whisper in my mind, a puzzle piece that didn't fit.

Paul's response was a murmur, almost lost in the sound of the flowing river. "No idea." His voice carried a weight, a reflection of the uncertainty that clouded his features as he stared at the young face bobbing gently in the water. It was a face that belonged to no one we knew, an unknown variable in our tightly knit equation.

Despite the dire circumstances that unfolded before us, a fleeting spark of hope ignited within me. The sight of this stranger, though grim, hinted at a world beyond our small circle, a reminder that we were likely not alone in this vast, unpredictable nothingness. "Is he breathing?" I found myself asking, clinging to that sliver of hope, however thin it might be.

"I don't think so," Luke's reply came, heavy with resignation.

My mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in a frantic search for solutions. "Quick. Bring him to shore," I directed, voice laced with urgency. "There might still be a chance of resuscitation." In moments like these, every second counts, and the healer in me refused to give up without trying.

"No," Paul's response was curt, slicing through the thin veil of hope I'd clung to.

"What?" My voice shattered the tense air, a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"I don't think it will help," Paul said softly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. "His throat has been slit."

I gasped, the word 'slit' echoing in my mind like a death knell. How is that possible? The reality of the situation bore down on me, a heavy, suffocating blanket of dread.

"Fuck!" Kain's exclamation was a raw expression of the shock that gripped us all.

Despite the gruesome revelation, a part of me insisted, "We should bring the body in anyway." My brain struggled to process the severity of the wounds, to understand the brutality that had been inflicted upon the stranger. It was a desperate grasp at humanity in the face of inhumanity.

"What good will that do?" Luke's question was pragmatic, yet it sent a chill down my spine. "If he's been murdered and someone comes looking for him, perhaps we shouldn't be the ones caught with his body."

His words, meant to be rational, felt like ice water being poured over the flickering flame of my hope. The implications of being found with the body, the danger it posed to us, was a reality I hadn't fully considered. A cold shiver ran down my spine as my mind threatened to spin out of control.

First dust storms and burns and now murder! The world I thought I knew, the Clivilius my father had described in stories of adventure and discovery, had vanished. It was replaced by a harsh, unrecognisable landscape marked by violence and fear. I rubbed my temples in a vain attempt to ward off the growing sense of despair.

We're all going to die here. The thought was a whisper of terror in my mind, a stark contrast to the determination that had fuelled me moments before. The brutality of the world outside our small circle of light had intruded, shattering any illusions of safety.

"I'm with Luke," Kain's voice cut through the chilling morning air, aligning himself with the caution that Luke had voiced.

"Yes," Paul chimed in, his gaze lifting to meet mine, a silent plea for understanding in his eyes. "Regardless, he deserves a proper burial." His voice carried a respect for life—and in death—that resonated deeply within me, a stark reminder of the humanity we must cling to, even in the face of barbarity.

"Proper burial!" Luke's scoff was a jarring note, dismissive and pragmatic, yet underscored by a fear we all felt. "You don't even know the guy."

"If we bring him in, I can do a rough autopsy." The words felt heavy on my lips, a grim acceptance of the role I had to play in this unfolding drama. It was a proposal borne out of the need to understand, to seek answers in the silence of death.

"Is that really necessary?" Luke's question, laden with skepticism, stung more than I expected. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened to him." His attempt to downplay the need for further investigation was a testament to the fear that perhaps we were delving into matters best left untouched.

I threw Luke a sharp look of disapproval, my gaze hopefully conveying more than my frustration. He knows better than I, the danger we are in. The words formed silently in my mind, a rebuke for his unwillingness to confront the reality that knowledge was our only ally in this desolate place. "A rough autopsy might be able to tell us more of a story of how he met his fate," I countered, my voice firm, trying to bridge the gap between our instincts to flee from the horror and the necessity to face it head on.

Anything we can learn might help us survive. The thought remained unspoken, a silent mantra that fuelled my determination. In the depths of my being, I understood that every piece of information, no matter how small or morbid, was a potential lifeline. The grim task ahead was not just about uncovering the truth behind one lost soul's demise but about gleaning any insight that might safeguard the rest of us against a similar fate.

This was our reality now—a balancing act between preserving our humanity and succumbing to the primal urge for survival. Each decision, each action, was a step on the tightrope we walked, with the abyss of the unknown yawning below.

As Paul began to retch, his body convulsing with the force of his nausea, I felt an instinctual urge to reach out to him, to offer some semblance of aid. But the river between us, its waters cold and unforgiving, made it impossible. I could only watch, a silent spectator to his distress, feeling a helplessness that knotted my stomach.

The horror of the scene before me seemed almost surreal, as if the serene backdrop of the river had been violently disrupted by a storm of human suffering. Vomit erupted from Paul's mouth in a rapid expulsion. His legs buckled beneath him, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to find balance, to regain control over his rebelling body.

Luke's expression, a mirror to my own shock, morphed from surprise to fear in a heartbeat. His hands, once firmly gripping the body, released as if burned, and he slipped beneath the surface of the water with a splash that seemed to echo around us. "No!" My scream tore from my throat, a futile attempt to undo what had already happened, to rewind those few, critical seconds.

Paul and Luke resurfaced, gasping, the river claiming them momentarily before releasing them back to us. Water streamed from their hair and faces.

"Where's the body?" Paul's voice, tinged with surprise and confusion, broke the heavy silence that had fallen over us. His eyes met Luke's, both sets filled with a dawning realisation of the gravity of what had just occurred.

"Shit," The word slipped from me, a whisper of despair as the reality set in. The wave created by their fall had acted as a malevolent force, seizing the opportunity to claim the body for the river. It had been carried away into the faster-moving current, propelled out of sight, out of reach, as if the river itself sought to erase the evidence of the tragedy that had unfolded on its banks.

 "Where's Jamie?" Luke's voice was edged with panic

"He went for a walk to the lagoon," I responded, the words feeling incongruous in the moment, almost trivial in the wake of our current predicament. It seemed an odd time for Luke to be thinking of his partner, yet the worry in his voice was unmistakable, a reminder of the personal stakes entangled in our survival.

"Lagoon?" Luke echoed.

"Downstream," Paul's reply came, succinct.

"Shit," Luke cursed, the pieces falling into place in his mind far quicker than I could follow. He looked back at Paul, his eyes wide with a new-found urgency. "We need to retrieve that body, now!" His declaration was a complete reversal from his earlier stance, driven by a sudden shift in priorities.

"But... but you just said..." Paul began, confusion lacing his words.

"Forget what I just said. You were right. We are better off keeping the body," Luke cut Paul off, decisiveness replacing his prior hesitation. Without another word, he clambered onto the riverbank and took off in a sprint

Paul, still reeling from his ordeal, wiped a speck of vomit from his lip.

"Go!" I found myself instructing, pushing Kain towards action, towards following Luke's lead. My shove was met with resistance.

"Fuck off!" Kain snapped, dodging my second attempt to spur him into motion.

Paul pulled himself from the river's grasp. "I'll go," he announced, determination in his voice as he walked up to Kain, ready to chase after the fleeting chance of regaining control over our situation.

"Introductions can wait," I said, my words a mixture of encouragement and urgency, pushing Paul to leave immediately. There was no time for formalities, no space for hesitation when every moment could mean the difference between life and death, between holding onto a semblance of order and succumbing to chaos.

Paul brushed past Kain without another word and took off in a sprint, his resolve to catch his brother a testament to the bonds that tied us together, the unspoken commitments that drove us to act even when every instinct screamed against it. In that moment, as I watched Paul's retreating figure, I was acutely aware of the fragility of our situation, of the delicate balance between survival and morality, and of the sacrifices we were all required to make to protect one another, to hold onto the threads of humanity in a world that seemed determined to unravel them.

"Are you okay?" My voice was steady as I reached out, placing a firm hand on Kain's shoulder, an anchor in the storm of chaos that had engulfed us. The sudden contact seemed to startle him, his body tensing under my touch as if jolted awake from a nightmare.

"I... I think so," Kain stammered, his words tangled with confusion and fear. The façade of toughness he'd maintained was cracking, revealing the vulnerability beneath. "What the fuck is going on?" The question burst from him, raw and laden with emotion, tears spilling over in a flood of unchecked fear and disbelief.

I took a deep breath, recognising the signs of shock setting in, the overwhelming reality of Clivilius crashing down on him far harder than it had on me—or perhaps it was just a different kind of hard. "Come," I said gently, coaxing him with a tone I hoped was comforting, inviting him to follow me to the relative sanctuary of our tent. "I think you're in shock." The words were an understatement, a simplified label for the complex maelstrom of emotions I sensed swirling within him.

Kain's response was a delicate nod, a fragile gesture that conveyed his willingness to be led, to seek solace in the guidance of someone else amidst the incomprehensible turmoil. He took a few hesitant steps, then paused, a hand pressed to his forehead as if to physically hold back the onslaught of his thoughts.

"Sit down for a while," I urged, guiding him under the protective canvas of the tent's canopy. The suggestion was not just an offer of physical rest but an invitation to momentarily put aside the burden of understanding, to find respite in the pause.

Kain collapsed into the soft dust, a silent surrender to the forces that had buffeted him since our arrival. His body seemed to fold into itself, a physical manifestation of his internal retreat from the reality that had proven too harsh, too sudden.

"Here, drink this. Probably nearly all of it," I offered, extending an unopened bottle of spring water towards him. The gesture was as much about providing physical sustenance as it was about offering a momentary distraction, a brief focus on a simple, necessary action.

Kain's smile was an awkward twist of his lips, a fleeting attempt at gratitude amidst the turmoil. He took the bottle with a shaky hand, gulping down the water in deep, desperate swallows. Closing his eyes, he rested his head in his hands, a silent figure of desolation seeking solace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

As I glanced past Kain, my gaze settled on Henri. He had reclaimed his spot on the corner of the mattress within the tent, a picture of tranquility amidst the turmoil that surrounded us. Unbothered, he seemed to embody a state of peace we all yearned for, a silent testament to the resilience of spirit I hoped we could all find in the days to come.

The fragile thread of hope was shattered by a spine-chilling scream that tore through the silence, slicing the air with a sharpness that made my neck stiffen. It was a sound that spoke of raw fear, of terror so profound it seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath us. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat propelling me into action.

Without a moment's hesitation, I leapt up, my legs moving instinctively, propelling me downstream through the thick layers of dust that had settled over everything. The dust kicked up around me, clouding the air, but my focus was unyielding. Each step felt heavy, as if the very earth sought to hold me back, to slow my desperate rush toward the source of the scream.

I didn't stop. I didn't look back. My mind was a whirlwind of action and reaction, processing scenarios at a speed that felt almost disjointed from the physical effort of my legs propelling me forward. The scream had cut through the air with a clarity that left no room for doubt, igniting a sense of urgency that resonated with every fibre of my being. In my years of medical experience, such a scream was unequivocal—it signalled an emergency, a call to action that could not be ignored.

The terrain was unforgiving, the dry dust a treacherous carpet that sought to undermine my haste. When my shoe, heavy with the clinging dust, betrayed me, sending me stumbling to the ground, I felt a flare of frustration. But there was no time to dwell on the fall; the urgency of the scream that still echoed in my mind spurred me on. With a determination fuelled by the knowledge that every second mattered, I pushed myself up, barely registering the gritty texture of the dust against my palms.

As I reached the top of the last rise, my breath came in heavy, ragged gasps, sweat dripping from my brow, a testament to the physical exertion and the sweltering heat that seemed to press down with an almost physical weight. Yet, for a moment, I paused, allowing myself a brief respite to survey the scene that unfolded below.

The lagoon lay spread out beneath me, a serene expanse of clear water that glittered in the sunlight. Jamie and Luke were already there, their figures huddled over a body that lay motionless at the mouth of the lagoon, where the tumultuous journey of the river branched into the calm embrace of the lagoon. The sight sent a jolt through me, the reality of the situation settling in with a weight that felt as tangible as the dust that clung to my skin.

Paul, on the opposite side of the bank, was visible now, his posture and expression one of concern as he stared across the mouth of the lagoon toward the two men. Despite the distance, I could see that he appeared to be okay, a small comfort in the midst of the unfolding drama.

In that moment, perched on the edge of the slope, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. The juxtaposition of the serene beauty of the lagoon against the backdrop of potential tragedy struck me with a poignant clarity. Here, in this untouched corner of Clivilius, the rawness of nature and the fragility of human life intersected in a way that was both beautiful and brutal.

As a doctor, I had faced emergencies before, moments where life and death hung in the balance, dependent on the actions taken in the briefest windows of time. Yet, standing there, overlooking the scene, I felt the weight of responsibility press down on me anew. This was more than a test of my medical skills; it was a challenge to my ability to remain calm under pressure, to make the right decisions when they mattered most.

With a final steadying breath, I began my descent down the steep slope, my resolve hardened by the knowledge that my skills, my experience, could make a difference. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but one thing was clear: I was needed, and I would not falter.

As I transitioned into a jog, the rocky perimeter of the lagoon guided my path toward Luke, Jamie, and the still figure that lay ominously at the water's edge. The rough terrain demanded my full attention, each step a calculated effort to maintain balance and speed.

Behind me, Kain's voice pierced the tense air. "Jamie!" he called out, a note of desperation threading through his shout. I felt a pull to look back, to reassure myself of Kain's presence, but the immediacy of the emergency before me tethered my focus. There was no time for hesitation, no moment to spare for glances backward.

The scene that unfolded as I neared was one of raw emotion and chaos. "What the fuck have you done, Luke?" Jamie's voice, laden with accusation and disbelief, screamed into the open air. The intensity of his outcry was a stark contrast to the tranquil backdrop of the lagoon, a peaceful setting now marred by the drama of human anguish.

My breath hitched as I witnessed Jamie's loss of footing, a moment of heart-stopping fear as both he and the body tumbled back to the ground.

"Help me take him back to camp," Jamie's voice, choked with tears, broke through his façade of determined toughness. The vulnerability laid bare in his plea was a jarring sight, compelling me to pause momentarily in my approach.

I have a job to do, I reminded myself, the mantra a lifeline to cling to amidst the emotional turmoil. It was crucial now, more than ever, to maintain professional detachment, to prioritise the medical assessment over the pull of empathy that threatened to cloud my judgment.

"Wait," I found myself saying, an authoritative hand raised to halt any further movement. "Let me check him first." The directive was firm, rooted in the necessity of procedure over the impulse to act on emotion.

Luke's nod was a silent acknowledgment of the logic in my words, a begrudging agreement to the pause in action. Jamie, however, remained rooted to the side of the body, his refusal to move a testament to his emotional turmoil. The defiance in his stance, the raw grief that clung to him, painted a vivid picture of the complexity of our human responses to crisis.

Carefully encroaching on Jamie's protective circle, I crouched beside the still figure sprawled on the ground, the air thick with tension and unspoken questions. My heart was a drumbeat of purpose as I prepared to examine the young man, the solemnity of the moment not lost on me. The world seemed to hold its breath as I took in the stark evidence of violence—a clear, clean slice across his neck. My pulse quickened, a mix of professional assessment and personal shock at the precision of the wound. Whoever had inflicted this injury possessed a chilling expertise. Yet, as my mind raced to piece together the puzzle, nothing seemed to fit the grim tableau before me.

Leaning closer, I locked my gaze with his. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, held a semblance of life that belied his otherwise lifeless appearance. A soft gasp escaped me, the impossibility of the situation pressing in. That's impossible, I silently rebuked myself, even as a sliver of hope dared to flicker within me. My hand moved instinctively, sliding gently under his shirt to rest on his stomach. There, beneath my palm, was the faintest suggestion of life—a soft, rhythmic lifting and falling that defied all logic.

"He's breathing!" The words tumbled from my lips, breaking the heavy silence. The revelation hung in the air, a beacon of hope amidst the despair.

"Joel," Jamie whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and tenderness as he touched the young man's forehead, a gesture of connection, of recognition.

Luke's response was a cough, the result of a mis-swallow, his expression a mirror of my own disbelief and confusion.

"But barely," I hastened to add, grounding the moment in the harsh reality of our situation. "I think he may actually be alive, but I don't understand how that is possible." The words were a professional assessment, yet they carried the weight of my own bewilderment. "His colour suggests he has lost so much blood that his circulatory system has collapsed." The gravity of his condition was not lost on me, each observation a piece of the enigma we were now faced with.

My gaze lifted to meet Jamie's, finding in his eyes a reflection of the myriad emotions swirling within me. "You're right," I said with a calm that belied the storm of thoughts racing through my mind. "I agree we should bring him back to camp."

As we prepared to lift Joel, Jamie's face lit up with an appreciative smile, a beacon of gratitude in the midst of our grim task. The warmth of the sun seemed to cast a glow around him, highlighting the determination and hope that shimmered in his eyes.

"What? Seriously?" Luke's incredulity pierced the momentary silence, his expression a mix of surprise and skepticism.

"Help us," Jamie's plea was soft yet urgent, his hands carefully positioning themselves under Joel's limp form. The request hung in the air, a call to action that was difficult to ignore.

Luke hesitated, a brief moment of indecision that had me holding my breath. Be rational, Luke, I silently urged, hoping he'd see the necessity of our collective effort. My internal plea was answered as he stepped in across from me, his arms sliding beneath Joel's wet body, a silent commitment to the task at hand.

"Ready. Lift!" My voice, firm and clear, broke the tension. Together, we lifted, a testament to our shared resolve.

A slight groan escaped me as we moved, a cramp in my left calf threatening to undermine my efforts. I silently willed my body to cooperate, to not fail me now when every step counted.

Halfway around the lagoon, relief came in the form of Kain, who seamlessly took my place. "Thank you," I breathed out, gratitude mixing with the pain as I took a moment to rub the ache in my calf.

As I raised my head, my eyes sought out Paul, who remained a solitary figure on the bank at the mouth of the lagoon. "You coming, Paul?" My voice carried across the distance, laced with concern and a hint of apprehension. The last thing we needed was another complication, another injury to navigate. The day had already brought enough surprises, from Jamie's unexpected emotions to the bewildering condition of Joel's not-quite-dead state.

Paul's response, "I'll meet you there soon," offered a measure of relief. I released the breath I hadn't realised I was holding, allowing myself a moment of hope that perhaps not everything was as bleak as it seemed.

The three of us, carrying the fourth, trudged through the thick dust that clung to our shoes, over several hills and across the wide expanse of barren nothingness.