"Paul! Kain!" I called out, my voice piercing the heavy silence as Jamie and I struggled with the weight of Joel's limp body, dragging him from the shelter of the tent. My legs, strained beyond their limit, betrayed me suddenly, giving way beneath me. The unexpected collapse sent my knees crashing into the unforgiving dust, a sharp pain radiating up my thighs before dissipating into a dull ache at the base of my spine. I winced, the physical pain momentarily distracting me from the emotional turmoil of our grim task.

Hearing my call, Paul and Kain rushed toward us, their faces etched with concern and urgency.

Pushing through the pain, I forced myself back onto my feet, hastily brushing the dust from my knees. The small abrasions, superficial wounds in the grand scheme of things, seemed ready to break the skin's surface, threatening a release of blood. Yet, this physical discomfort was nothing compared to the weight of our current endeavour.

"I'll take him," Paul said decisively, stepping forward to relieve me. He reached across, his hands firmly grasping Joel's shoulders, prepared to shoulder more than just the physical burden of our fallen comrade. I nodded once, my gesture one of silent gratitude for his intervention, a small solace in the midst of our collective despair.

"Where are we taking him?" Kain's voice broke through, his question hanging in the air, underscored by the unspoken fears and uncertainties that plagued us all. Without hesitation, he moved to lift Joel's other shoulder, ready to play his part in this sombre procession.

"To the lagoon," I instructed, my voice carrying a mix of resolve and trepidation. The lagoon was not just a destination but a symbol of our last hope, a place that, perhaps foolishly, we believed might offer some semblance of peace or resolution to the unfathomable situation we found ourselves in.

As we navigated the uneven terrain, the three of us took turns supporting Joel's flaccid form, a steady rhythm to our steps as we made our way toward the lagoon. The weight of Joel's body was a constant reminder of our dire situation, each shift in his weight a silent echo of the life that once animated him. The air was thick with an unspoken grief, the kind that wraps around your throat and tightens with each breath.

Jamie, driven by a mix of desperation and determination, moved ahead of us with a pace that seemed to defy the heavy atmosphere that clung to our group. His figure, a blur of motion against the backdrop of the barren desert, rushed into the clear water of the lagoon before the rest of us could fully catch up. His actions, so full of purpose and urgency, stood in stark contrast to the helplessness that gnawed at my insides.

Watching Jamie wade into the lagoon, I was struck by the surreal nature of our actions. Here we were, in the midst of an unfathomable situation, clinging to a sliver of hope that defied logic. The lagoon, with its clear waters and serene beauty, seemed almost oblivious to the tragedy that unfolded on its banks. It was a sharp, painful contrast to the turmoil that churned within me, a reminder of the world's indifference to individual suffering.

As we approached the edge of the lagoon, the clamour of our movements contrasted sharply with the stillness of the water. "Make sure he's on his back," I found myself shouting, my voice cutting through the flurry of activity as Paul and Kain carefully lowered Joel into the lagoon's embrace.

Kain, without hesitation, splashed into the lagoon, moving to steady Joel from the side opposite Jamie. The water, disturbed by our movements, rippled around them, the only immediate response to our desperate endeavour.

Jamie's voice, firm and determined, cut through the tension as he called out to Paul, "No!" He interrupted Paul's preparations to join them in the water, his focus solely on ensuring Joel's safety. "Kain and I have got him covered." His assertion was a mix of command and reassurance.

"You sure?" Paul's question, filled with concern, mirrored my own fears and doubts. As Jamie and Kain slowly waded deeper into the lagoon, their figures becoming part of the lagoon's scenery, I found myself questioning the efficacy of our actions, the hope that spurred us forward now mingled with apprehension.

"Certain," came Jamie’s reply, a single word that carried with it a weight of responsibility and determination.

Turning to Paul, I asked, "Can you see?" My own gaze strained to catch a glimpse of Joel, to ensure his well-being even as we entrusted him to the care of the lagoon. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, trying in vain to alleviate the throbbing pain in my knees.

"No," Paul admitted, his frustration evident. "It would be nice if they didn't keep their backs to us. I can't see much at all." His words echoed my own feelings of helplessness, the difficulty in standing back, unable to contribute further, unable to see the outcome of our actions.

The sudden gasp for air shattered the heavy silence, slicing through the tension like a bolt of lightning. My heart leapt into my throat. "What's happening?" I shouted, the words ripping from me in a mixture of fear and desperate hope. Every fibre of my being screamed to join them in the lagoon, to be at Joel's side. It felt wrong, standing here on the shore, as if by merely observing from a distance, I was betraying my medical duty, my need to be part of this impossible moment.

Jamie turned, his face alight with an incredulity that mirrored our own, yet etched with a joy that seemed out of place in the grim tapestry of our ordeal. "He's breathing again," he announced, his voice carrying over the water, a beacon of impossible news.

I exhaled loudly, a release of breath I hadn't realised I was holding. Wie zum Teufel isch das überhaupt möglich? The question echoed through my mind, a mantra of disbelief. De Mann isch tot gsi, dess bin i mir sicher gsi! My medical training, every bit of experience I had, told me that what we were witnessing defied all logic, all understanding.

"What the hell is going on? How is that even possible?" Paul's muttered disbelief under his breath was a vocalisation of the confusion within me.

I shrugged, the gesture one of helplessness in the face of the unimaginable. "I'm not sure. But it seems there is something about the lagoon that is keeping Joel alive," I replied, my voice tinged with wonder and skepticism. Or bringing him back to life, my mind added silently, entertaining the notion that we had stumbled upon something truly miraculous, a phenomenon that challenged the very fabric of our understanding.

Paul's smile, brief as it was, transformed into a furrow of deep thought. "You mean he wasn't actually dead when we first found him in the river?" he posited, seeking some logical explanation in a situation that defied logic.

Pausing, I let his words sink in, turning them over in my mind. My face mirrored the intensity of my thoughts, furrowing in concentration as I grappled with the myriad of possibilities, the medical anomalies, the sheer improbability of it all. "I really don't know," I admitted after a moment. The certainty I once held about life and death, about the boundaries of medical science, was being challenged in the most profound way.

Paul's response, a simple gesture of rubbing at his forehead, was an emblem of our shared confusion, of the questions that multiplied with each passing moment. Standing at the edge of the lagoon, witnessing what could only be described as a miracle, I realised that we had ventured into uncharted territory, a place where science met the unknown, and all our preconceived notions were being washed away by the waters of the lagoon.

As the bright sun bore down on us, merciless in its intensity, I found myself shielding my eyes, squinting towards where Jamie, Kain, and Joel were. The glare of the sunlight on the water's surface made it difficult to see clearly, adding to the frustration I felt. "What's going on out there?" My voice carried across the water, a mix of concern and impatience breaking through as curiosity got the better of me. Unable to contain my urge to be involved, I began to remove my shoes, ready to wade into the unknown myself.

"It's okay," Jamie's voice floated back, an attempt at reassurance that did little to quell the storm of questions raging inside me. "We've got it under control."

"But I really should examine..." My protest was cut short.

"Maybe we should just leave them be," Paul's suggestion came unexpectedly, his hand grasping my arm with a firmness that spoke volumes. His intervention halted my movements, anchoring me to the spot beside him.

A look of bewilderment quickly took over my face. Surely Paul is not serious? The thought raced through my mind, incredulity mixing with a sense of professional duty. This is by far the greatest medical anomaly of my career, and they all expect me to just stand here on the sidelines? The very idea seemed antithetical to everything I stood for as a medical professional, every instinct honed by years of training screaming for me to be involved.

"Just for a little while," Paul insisted, his voice attempting to tread a delicate balance between reason and the emotional turmoil that enveloped me. "You can examine him when Jamie has calmed down."

"Fine," I huffed, the word heavy with reluctance. Sinking into the dust beside Paul, I felt the resolve within me harden. The decision to wait, even for a moment, felt like a concession I was loath to make. "But I'm not giving them too long." My words, a compromise between my professional judgment and the situation's demands, hung between us.

"Fair enough." Paul's response, though accepting, did little to ease the tension that gripped me.

The silence between Paul and me stretched on, a tangible manifestation of the tension and uncertainty that clouded the air. Inside me, curiosity roamed like a caged animal, eager for release, for an opportunity to dissect and understand the unfathomable events unfolding before us. Several times, the urge to rise, to dash back to the lagoon's edge, surged through me with such intensity that my muscles tensed in anticipation. Yet, each time, I forced myself to remain seated, whispering a mantra of patience to my restless spirit. It isn't my time yet.

"Why don't we head back to camp for a bit," Paul's suggestion broke through my internal struggle, his voice pulling me back to the present. He rose to his feet, embodying a decision made, as he extended his hand towards me. "Jamie's got a loud voice; he'll yell out if he needs us." His attempt to tug me along, to persuade me to distance myself from the situation, was met with a stubborn resistance on my part.

Initially, I pulled away, yanking my elbow from Paul's grasp with a firmness that mirrored the turmoil within me. Despite my reluctance, his persistence wore down my resolve. Deep down, I knew he was right; standing vigil on the lagoon's shore would not alter the course of events. Joel's fate, entwined with the mysteries of the lagoon, was beyond my ability to influence. With a heavy heart, I found myself acquiescing, walking beside Paul in a silence that was filled with unvoiced questions and concerns.

We had barely crested the first gently sloping hill on our way back to camp when a sudden curiosity overtook me. I noticed something off about Paul's arm, an anomaly that hadn't been there before. Stopping abruptly, I turned to him, my concern overtaking my previous resignation. "What's wrong with your arm?" I inquired, my gaze drawn to the area of concern

Paul's reaction was swift, almost reflexive, as he whisked his arm away from my view, a clear attempt to downplay whatever it was I had noticed. "Oh, it's nothing," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of dismissiveness that did little to assuage my concern.

Reaching across Paul's body and grasping his arm, I examined the darkened flesh surrounding three small, ominous holes. "This doesn't look like nothing," I said, my voice carrying the weight of my medical expertise and burgeoning worry. The sight before me was troubling—a clear indication that what we were dealing with was far beyond ordinary.

"Tell me what happened," I demanded, my tone leaving no room for evasion.

Paul hesitated, his reluctance visible in the tense lines of his body before he finally spoke. "Joel dug his fingernails into my arm when he first… woke up." His admission, delivered with a mixture of disbelief and discomfort, only added layers to the mystery.

"That was when you screamed?" I pressed further, seeking clarity.

Paul's face flushed a bright red, an acknowledgement that spoke volumes. "Yeah," he admitted.

My mind raced, piecing together the implications of Paul's words against the backdrop of medical knowledge I possessed. Dead or alive, Joel's body is not capable of inflicting wounds on anyone else. The notion that Joel, in whatever state he was, could cause such harm was baffling. It's not uncommon for scratches or punctures to become infected, but this looks more than a simple infection. The darkened tissue, the rapid progression of the symptoms—it all pointed to something far more sinister. And if it happened only today, then whatever it is, it's progressing rapidly, just like Jamie's wound had. This realisation struck me with the force of a physical blow, causing me to gasp as the pieces of a terrifying puzzle began to align in my mind.

"Is it bad?" Paul's voice, tinged with worry, pulled me back from the precipice of my thoughts.

"Well, it's not bloody good," I responded, deciding against revealing my deeper concern.

Paul chuckled nervously.

"Come," I instructed with a newfound urgency that surprised even myself. My mind was racing, piecing together a plan. "I have an idea." The words were a beacon of action, a directive that pulled Paul and me out of the morass of fear and confusion, if only momentarily. I led the way, setting a brisk pace. Paul followed closely, his trust in my sudden decisiveness evident in his quick compliance.

As we traversed the remaining distance to camp, my thoughts were a whirlwind. The seriousness of Paul's condition, mirrored by the mysterious recovery of Joel, had ignited a spark within me. This wasn't just about medical curiosity anymore; it was about understanding the unknown forces we were dealing with. My footsteps were purposeful, each one carrying us closer to a makeshift lab where I hoped to piece together some semblance of understanding.

The camp, usually a place of rest and camaraderie, now loomed before us as a sanctuary of potential solutions. My mind buzzed with possibilities, with hypotheses that needed testing, with urgent questions that demanded answers. The urgency of our return was palpable, driven by the need to act, to apply scientific inquiry to the surreal circumstances we found ourselves in.

"Wait here," I urged Paul, leaving him momentarily as I ducked into the supply tent. My movements were quick, efficient, driven by a singular focus. Emerging moments later, bandages in hand, I was already mentally preparing for the next steps. "We need to go back to the lagoon," I announced to Paul, not pausing to gauge his reaction as I started to move away, my mind racing ahead.

"Glenda, wait!" Paul's voice, laced with hesitation, halted me in my tracks. I turned to face him, noting the concern etched on his features. "It's only a minor wound. I'm not sure we need the lagoon," he ventured, a note of uncertainty in his voice that piqued my curiosity.

I eyed him cautiously, aware that the situation was far from ordinary, and every piece of information could be crucial. "Go on," I encouraged.

Paul seemed to weigh his next words with great care, the pause stretching between us like a chasm. "Well..." he began, his hesitation palpable.

I gestured for him to continue, my patience thinning.

"I've already washed it in the river by the lagoon and the flesh seemed to return to normal within a few minutes. So..." His voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air, a tantalising hint at a possible solution, or at least a temporary reprieve.

"… and then without the water it turned grey again," I finished for him, piecing together the implications of his observations. "Interesting. Let's try the river water then," I decided, nodding toward the river flowing behind the tents. The suggestion was a compromise, a test of the water's effects without the immediate return to the lagoon.

"It can't hurt, can it?" Paul agreed, a note of hope mingling with the resignation in his voice.

I shrugged, a non-committal gesture that masked the uncertainty of my thoughts. "We shall see." The possibility that the river water also held some curative properties was both a beacon of hope and a daunting reminder of how little we understood about the forces at play. As we made our way toward the river, the juxtaposition of my medical and scientific training against the backdrop of this inexplicable phenomenon was not lost on me. We were stepping beyond the bounds of conventional medicine, guided by necessity and the slim hope that nature might offer a solution where science could not.

We found ourselves kneeling along the riverbank, not far from the tents. "Go," I prompted Paul, my voice tinged with a mixture of hope and urgency as I pointed toward the clear water. The river, with its gentle flow a few inches below us, seemed almost too benign to be a source of healing for what we faced.

Paul hesitated for only a moment before he complied, submerging his arm beneath the surface. However, his attempt was brief, lasting less than ten seconds before he began to withdraw it. My frustration bubbled to the surface as I frowned at the hasty action. "That wasn't long enough," I said, my voice firm. Acting on instinct, I reached for Paul's arm, pushing it back under the water despite his protests.

"It's burning!" Paul's shout pierced the air, laden with pain and surprise. He struggled against my grip, a clear indication of his discomfort. Yet, in that moment, my focus was singular—on the potential for healing that the river might hold.

I brushed aside Paul's outburst with a determination that bordered on obstinacy. "Wash your arm," I instructed, my tone leaving no room for argument. The realisation that I shouldn't touch the affected area myself dawned on me, a precaution born of uncertainty and the fear of unknown consequences. Paul's gaze, filled with a mix of confusion and distress, met mine. His eyes, wide and imploring, reminded me of a sad puppy, invoking a twinge of guilt within me. It's for his own good, I reassured myself, trying to quell the rising discomfort at causing him pain.

As Paul obeyed, gently swirling the water over his arm, I watched with bated breath. The minutes stretched on, each passing second a testament to our desperation and hope. Then, gradually, almost miraculously, I witnessed the transformation. Paul's skin, previously marred by the ominous marks, began to return to its normal, healthy shade. The sight was nothing short of awe-inspiring, a visual confirmation of the river's inexplicable healing properties.

"Give me your arm," I instructed, my voice carrying a mix of determination and uncertainty. As Paul extended his arm towards me, the water from the river dripping from his skin, I took the bandage and began to wrap his wound with a practiced precision. However, mid-way through, I halted, an idea sparking in my mind.

"What's wrong?" Paul's voice broke through my concentration, tinged with a hint of panic.

"I'm not sure if it will make any difference, but it's worth a try," I found myself saying, more to myself than to Paul. The words were an attempt to bridge the gap between hope and the unknown.

"What is?" Paul's question, simple yet loaded with expectation, pulled me back.

Without a word, I unwrapped the bandage, then submerged it in the river, ensuring every inch of the fabric absorbed the water. The bandage turned a darker shade, heavy with the liquid that might carry the miraculous properties we'd stumbled upon.

"Ahh," Paul murmured softly, a sound that seemed to carry relief. His reaction spurred me on, reinforcing my resolve.

Looking up at him, I tried to project confidence. "It might help to keep the properties of the water on the wound for longer. If we can change the dressing whenever it completely dries out, with a bit of luck, your wound should heal fully," I explained, allowing a small smile of satisfaction to cross my lips. The idea felt right, a blend of intuition and scientific speculation.

Paul shrugged, a gesture of trust in my judgment. "Go for it."

Carefully, I wrapped the soaked bandage around his wound, my movements deliberate. "The sun is too hot," I remarked, the realisation dawning on me as I considered the implications. My face creased in thought once more. "I'll have to find something to protect it. Try to keep it moist for longer." The words were as much a reminder to myself as they were instructions for Paul.

Rubbing at my temples earnestly, I turned my attention to our surroundings, searching for a solution. But what…? The question echoed in my mind, a challenge that would no doubt demand a creative response.