"For fuck's sake!" The words slipped out, a mix of frustration and resignation, as I juggled the frying pan over the campfire I'd managed to coax back from the brink of extinction. The bacon was more charred than crispy, the eggs dry and overcooked, a far cry from the hearty breakfast I had envisioned for us. It was supposed to be a small morale booster, a taste of normalcy amid the disruption that had upended our lives.

It had indeed been a rough twenty-four hours for us settlers, a period filled with unexpected challenges and revelations that had tested our resolve and unity. With a long list of tasks ahead, I had hoped to fortify us with a decent meal, something to remind us of the comforts of home, however fleeting that might be. But my skills, honed in the convenience of a modern kitchen, seemed almost obsolete here in the rawness of a barren nature.

It's not like I haven't gone camping before. Those memories seemed almost quaint now, leisurely weekends spent in the wilderness, where the biggest inconvenience was forgetting the marshmallows for s'mores. But campfire cuisine, I realised, was an art form all its own, especially when you're working with limited supplies and under the pressure of survival.

We were essentially living in what felt like the Stone Age, each day a lesson in the basics of survival: finding food, ensuring safety, maintaining health. The simplicity of life had been stripped back to its most basic elements, a stark contrast to the complexity of the world we had known. Adapting to this rustic environment required not just physical endurance but a mental shift, a willingness to learn and grow in ways I hadn't anticipated.

"Everything alright, Glenda?" Kain's voice cut through my mounting frustration, his presence catching me off guard as he returned from his morning wash in the river.

"How the hell am I supposed to control the heat on this thing?" My response came out sharper than I intended, my irritation peaking as I contemptuously tossed the remnants of my failed attempt at breakfast into the coals. "Bacon should be fuck-easy to cook!"

"Would you like me to take over?" Kain offered, moving closer with a calm demeanour that contrasted starkly with my own. He squatted beside me, extending his hand towards the frying pan in a gesture of assistance.

"No!" The word was out before I could temper my reaction, my hand pulling the pan back protectively. Realising my overreaction, I paused, taking a few deep breaths to compose myself. "I need to be able to get this right," I admitted, the frustration of the moment mingling with a deeper sense of determination.

"Well, probably the easiest way to control the heat is to move to a cooler or hotter part of the fire. Looking at the state of that bacon, I'd suggest maybe moving over there." Kain gestured to another part of the fire, his suggestion practical and devoid of any judgment. "It should give you a much lower heat."

His advice was simple, yet it spoke volumes of his understanding of campfire cooking, an expertise I was quickly realising I lacked. Despite the initial sting of my pride, I couldn't help but feel grateful for his calm, practical input.

"Thanks," I conceded, my tone softer now, acknowledging the value of his suggestion. I moved around the edge of the fire to the spot Kain had indicated, a cooler area that promised a more manageable cooking temperature.

"And normally you'd want to cook on a grill plate, help keep the pan level. But we don't have one,” Kain continued, providing further insight into the art of campfire cooking.

His suggestion made sense, a small piece of knowledge that underscored how much I had to learn about managing in this environment. "Can I rest the pan on the coals?" I asked, hoping for a simpler solution to my cooking dilemma.

"I wouldn't. Not with bacon and eggs, anyway. They'd end up like charcoal very quickly." His advice came as no surprise, especially after my recent culinary misadventure.

A large ball of saliva squeezed its way down my throat as I glanced back at the now almost unrecognisable bacon that had been hungrily chewed on by the fire. It was a hard pill to swallow, both figuratively and literally, acknowledging my defeat at the hands of a campfire.

"You'll just have to try and keep your arm as steady as you can, and you can always raise and lower the pan from the heat if it gets too hot." Kain's practical tips offered a glimmer of hope, a way forward amidst the trial and error of outdoor cooking.

"I'll talk to Paul and see if he can get Luke to bring us some more camping equipment," Kain offered, his proactive approach a welcome relief.

"Thank you," I said, appreciating his willingness to help as I placed several more strips of bacon into the frying pan, determined to give it another go with the newfound knowledge.

"Oh, and Kain?" I called out as he started towards his tent, a sudden thought striking me.

"Yeah?"

"Paul went to the Drop Zone. Can you please get him for me? Eating breakfast is mandatory for everyone this morning." It was important that we all gathered, a moment of unity and shared purpose in the midst of our challenges.

"Sure," Kain replied before disappearing inside the tent, his agreement swift and without hesitation.

Refocusing entirely on the task at hand, the campfire became my singular challenge, a primitive stove that demanded all my skill and patience. Though my peripheral vision caught Kain's departure towards the Drop Zone, his brief wave going unacknowledged, my entire being was consumed with mastering the art of campfire cooking. In that moment, the simple act of cooking not only became a test of my adaptability but also a symbol of my commitment to provide for our small community.

Despite the earlier setbacks, a sense of satisfaction began to bloom within me as the bacon finally started to resemble the breakfast I had envisioned. The switch from fried eggs to scrambled was not just a mid-preparation pivot; it was a strategic decision dictated by the unpredictable nature of our cooking facilities. The large batch of scrambled eggs, alongside several cans of beans heated to perfection, represented more than just a meal; it was a testament to resilience, to finding a way to thrive even under less-than-ideal circumstances.

Smiling, pleased with the fruits of my labour, I took a moment to appreciate the small victory. Cooking enough bacon for all of us, along with the eggs and beans, felt like a significant achievement. It was a morale booster, a tangible reminder that despite the myriad challenges we faced, we could still enjoy moments of comfort. This breakfast, cobbled together with determination and a dash of creativity, was my contribution to that sense of communal well-being.

As Jamie emerged from the tent, Duke, ever the opportunist, zoomed ahead and positioned himself beside me, or more accurately, beside the food I had painstakingly prepared. His doggy demeanour conveyed an expectation of sharing, a silent plea for a taste of the morning's efforts. Unable to resist those hopeful eyes, I broke off a small piece of bacon and offered it to Duke, who accepted it with an elegance unexpected from such a robust dog.

Then, as if summoned by the scent of food or perhaps Duke's quiet satisfaction, Henri appeared at our side. His arrival was marked by the enthusiastic wagging of his foxy tail, a blur of motion that spoke volumes of his excitement.

"Careful, he's a little…" Jamie's warning trailed off as I extended a piece of bacon towards Henri. In a flash, Henri's mouth opened wide, revealing a set of tiny but sharp teeth, which quickly found their way to my hand.

"Shit!" The exclamation escaped me as I withdrew my hand, startled by Henri's unexpectedly aggressive snatch. The little guy's bite was swift and determined, albeit lacking in precision, reminding me of a little…

"... shark," Jamie completed his earlier warning with a laugh, finding humour in the situation that I was still processing with a mix of surprise and slight annoyance.

"But he's always so placid," I protested, eyeing Henri as he gulped down the bacon without so much as a chew, a behaviour that reminded me of Lois, who would consume anything within reach with little regard for manners.

"Unless there's food involved, and he always seems to know when and where." Jamie's observation came with a knowing look, an acknowledgment of Henri's food-driven transformation.

"Hmph," was all I could muster in response, instinctively pulling my hands away from Henri's still eager nose, now diligently sniffing for more treats.

"No more, Henri. You've already had your breakfast," Jamie admonished, his tone firm yet affectionate. It was a necessary reminder, albeit one that Henri seemed to accept with a resigned sniff, his tail's enthusiastic wagging slowing to a more contemplative swish.

"You need to make sure you eat some breakfast too," I insisted, carefully arranging several rashers of bacon and a heaped spoonful of scrambled eggs onto a plate. I navigated the plate towards Jamie, mindful of Duke and Henri, whose eager snouts were animated by the scent of food. Their enthusiasm, while endearing, added a layer of complexity to the simple act of serving breakfast.

"Thank you," Jamie said, his smile genuine as he accepted the plate from me. "Is there some for Joel too?"

"Of course," I replied, a hint of self-reproach colouring my tone. The oversight, however brief, was unlike me. Why is my brain so scattered this morning? I couldn't help but question my focus as I reached for another plate, carefully loading it with food for Joel.

"Have some beans too," I added, motioning for Jamie to bring his plate closer once more. I spooned a generous helping of beans onto his plate, aiming to provide as nutritious and filling a meal as possible.

"Thanks, smells good," Jamie commented, his approval bringing a small sense of accomplishment.

Resting the frying pan on the nearby log, I stood up, drawing on years of medical training that had honed my ability to project my voice. "Pau-ul! Ka-ain!" I called out, the urgency of breakfast time lending strength to my shout. "Breakfast!" My voice carried across the campsite, an invitation I hoped would cut through the morning air to reach Paul and Kain at the Drop Zone.

"Where are they?" Jamie asked, his question punctuated by the act of shoving half a rasher of bacon into his mouth, a gesture that spoke to the casualness of our dining arrangements.

"Drop Zone. I'm surprised they're not back by now." My response was tinged with worry.

Jamie's reaction was a scoff, a non-verbal dismissal of my concern as he disengaged from the conversation. "Thanks," he said, a brief word of gratitude as he took Joel's plate and headed towards the tent. His actions, while appreciative, hinted at an undercurrent of lingering tension.

I followed him a few steps, driven by a professional compulsion. "I'd like to be present when you feed him.”

"Feed him!? He's not a dog," Jamie retorted, his annoyance clear. The comparison, unintended as it was, struck a nerve. "Speaking of dogs, I wouldn't leave any of the food unattended while the little shark is circling." His warning about Henri, though made in jest, was not without merit, given our earlier encounter.

"Hmm," I murmured, crouching down to protect the remaining breakfast from Henri's opportunistic advances. The disappointment was palpable; missing the chance to observe Joel's condition firsthand felt like a missed opportunity for insight.

"Let me know how he gets on," I requested of Jamie, managing a smile that belied my frustration. It was important to maintain a semblance of cooperation, even in moments of disagreement.

"Sure," Jamie replied, his tone noncommittal as he turned away, Duke following loyally behind.

I eyed the lingering Henri suspiciously. "There's no more for you." My voice was firm, yet gentle, a futile attempt to dissuade his relentless pursuit for more scraps. Henri, undeterred, continued his hopeful vigil, a testament to his unwavering optimism in the face of scarcity.

Suddenly, a loud scream shattered the morning's relative calm, jolting me into high alert. My heart raced, my medical training kicking in instantly, preparing me for any emergency. Jamie, reacting with equal urgency, burst out from the tent, his expression mirroring my own concern.

My mind raced. The scream, unmistakably female, had emanated from the direction of the Portal—a place we had all learned to associate with the unknown, and sometimes, danger. The immediate worry that Paul and Kain might be in trouble was overshadowed by the realisation that their voices would have carried a different timbre. Where the hell are Paul and Kain? The question throbbed in my head, a nagging worry that added to the urgency of the moment.

"I'll go," I declared to Jamie, the decision made almost before I was aware of it. My legs propelled me to stand, driven by a sense of duty and the need to act. "You watch the food." It was a trivial instruction, given the circumstances, but it grounded us in the reality of our daily survival, even as we faced the potential for new crises.

Jamie's nod was a silent testament to our unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding born of necessity and trust. Without a word, he moved towards the campfire, taking up the mantle of guardian over our meagre provisions.

As I set off towards the source of the scream, my mind was a whirlwind of possibilities. The urgency of the situation left no room for hesitation. Every step towards the Portal was heavy with apprehension and the weight of responsibility. The unknown nature of our existence here was quickly teaching me to be ready for anything, and as I moved forward, I braced myself for what I might find, my resolve firm and my purpose clear. The well-being of our small community, and potentially a new arrival, depended on my actions in the coming moments.