As Luke materialised from the void, rejoining our desolate surroundings, the air seemed to shift, charged with the tension of his return. His entrance was met with a volley of harsh words from Jamie, a raw expression of our collective frustration and disbelief. I watched Luke, my gaze sharp, searching for any hint of foreknowledge, any sign that he had led us into this predicament with eyes wide open.
"Did you know?" The accusation in my voice was unmistakable, a direct challenge to his intentions and honesty.
"Know what?" Luke's response was tinged with innocence, but the simplicity of his question did little to quell the rising storm of doubts in my mind.
"That we wouldn't be able to get back," I pressed on, needing to understand, to find a semblance of reason in the chaos that had ensnared us.
"How would I have known? I've been the only one here until now and I've been able to come and go as I please," Luke countered, his defensiveness painting him as a victim of circumstance rather than its architect. Yet, his words did little to ease the weight of uncertainty that pressed down upon us, leaving a bitter taste of betrayal in their wake.
"So, this is it then," Jamie's voice cut through the tension, resignation laced with a dark finality. "This is our fate. To die in this god-forsaken dust." His declaration, though despairing, seemed to echo the unspoken fears that lingered in the back of my mind, a grim acceptance of our predicament.
"Not fate. Destiny," Luke replied, his tone shifting dramatically. The enthusiasm and excitement that bubbled up in his voice were at odds with the stark, unforgiving landscape that stretched out before us. It was as if he saw something in this desolation that Jamie and I could not, a vision that transcended the immediate peril of our situation.
Jamie and I exchanged a look, a silent communication that conveyed our mutual incredulity. Luke's optimism, unfounded and bizarrely out of place, grated against the reality of our circumstances, sparking a frustration that I could no longer contain.
"You're so full of shit sometimes," I blurted out, the insult slipping from my lips with a casualness that belied the depth of my irritation. It was more than just a reaction to his current delusion; it was an accumulation of feelings, a response to the myriad ways his dreams and schemes had entangled us in situations we never asked for.
Again, silence enveloped us, a heavy, suffocating blanket that seemed to smother any semblance of hope. The barren landscape offered no comfort, no answers, just the endless expanse of dust and the weight of Luke's unfathomable destiny. In that moment, the gulf between us seemed wider than ever, a chasm deepened by unspoken fears, unanswered questions, and the realisation that our trust in one another—and in the future Luke imagined—was as fragile as the dust beneath our feet.
The standoff between Luke and me felt as charged as the air before a storm, our gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. The question that had been tormenting me finally burst forth, sharpened by a desperation I could no longer contain. "What about my children? Am I ever going to see them again?" With each word, my voice grew tighter, the fear of never holding my kids again constricting around my heart like a vice.
Luke's response, when it came, was so unexpected it took a moment for the full impact to hit me. "I can arrange to have them come here?" he suggested, as if he was offering a simple solution rather than a sentence to a life in exile.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I exploded, my voice ricocheting off the barren landscape. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Luke's grasp on reality, on the very essence of responsibility, seemed more tenuous than ever. "I know you don't have the first clue about parenting, Luke, but here's the number one, golden rule for how to be a dad. You ready?" My sarcasm was a thin veil over the growing despair. "Don't, under any circumstances, bring your children through a one-way interdimensional Portal to an alien wasteland where there is literally nothing but dust and a tent!" The absurdity of the situation, of even having to articulate such a thought, was overwhelming.
As the words spilled out, fuelled by a mix of incredulity and protective fury, I felt the last vestiges of hope evaporate into the arid air. The notion of dragging my children into this desolate, uncertain existence was unthinkable. The very suggestion laid bare the chasm between Luke's idealistic visions and the stark reality of our predicament. It underscored a fundamental disconnect, a divergence in our understanding of what it meant to protect and provide for those we loved.
In that heated exchange, a painful truth crystallised within me. The adventure, the leap into the unknown that had once seemed like a thrilling escape, had morphed into a nightmarish trap. The weight of my choices, of the trust I had placed in Luke's hands, pressed down on me with an unbearable heaviness. The realisation that I might never see my children again, never share in their lives or guide them through their trials, was a torment unlike any other. It was a loss that extended beyond the physical distance between worlds, reaching into the very core of my being, tearing at the bonds that defined me as a father, as a protector. In that moment, the desolate landscape that stretched out before us seemed a perfect mirror to the desolation within, a vast, unending expanse of regret and longing.
Jamie's exasperation echoed starkly against the backdrop of our desolate surroundings. "I can't believe you've gotten us stuck in this bloody place!" His voice cracked with the strain of anger and disbelief, a brief pause breaking the tension before he pressed on, seeking answers, "How long have you known about this?"
Luke's explanation seemed almost mundane in the face of our extraordinary circumstances. He recounted dozing off at his desk, the surreal simplicity of waking to find the so-called Portal Key slipping from his grasp. The casual mention of such an object, as if it were a common occurrence, struck me as both absurd and unsettling.
"Portal key?" The skepticism in my voice was palpable. I couldn't help but add, "You're aware that you are not, in fact, living in a sci-fi novel, right?" The words were out before I could temper them, my incredulity at our situation finding an outlet in dry humour.
"Well, that's what it is, isn't it? The key to open the Portal?" Luke's response was laced with sarcasm, a defence against the absurdity of our reality.
"Yeah, but... Portal?" I echoed, the word feeling alien on my tongue, as if by questioning its validity, I could somehow dispel the nightmare we found ourselves in.
"What else would you call it?" Luke countered, his gaze shifting to the large wall of dancing colours that held us captive.
"A piece of shit," Jamie interjected with a flatness that left no room for interpretation. “One giant piece of shit.” His blunt assessment of our predicament was devoid of any pretence, a raw expression of frustration and resignation.
At that moment, an unexpected snort of laughter burst from me, a spontaneous reaction to the absurdity of our debate in the face of such dire circumstances. The sound was out of place, a jarring note in the sombre melody of our situation, yet it was uncontrollably genuine.
Luke and Jamie turned their gazes towards me, their expressions a mix of surprise and confusion. "Sorry," I managed to say, the back of my fist pressed to my mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the laughter. My efforts only served to amplify the sound, a second snort breaking free, louder and more unrestrained than the first. I turned away, my back to their uncomfortable stares, as a wave of laughter shook my body. For a fleeting moment, the absurdity of our argument, set against the backdrop of our surreal and hopeless situation, became overwhelmingly comical. My exhausted mind, teetering on the edge of despair, found respite in the release of laughter, a brief escape from the grim reality that loomed over us. The near silence that followed, punctuated only by my sporadic chuckles, was a testament to the complex tapestry of emotions we navigated—fear, frustration, disbelief, and the unexpected relief found in a moment of shared absurdity.
After the laughter had subsided, a sobering silence took its place, like the calm after a storm. I took a deep breath, feeling the heat of embarrassment fade from my cheeks as I turned back to face my companions. The vibrant spectacle that had captivated us was gone, replaced by a large, translucent screen that shimmered in the desolate landscape. Jamie stood alone, his figure a solitary testament to our shared confusion and growing apprehension.
"He's gone back for supplies," Jamie explained, his voice cutting through the silence with a matter-of-factness that belied the surreal nature of our situation.
"Oh," was all I could manage, my gaze drifting to the ground as I grappled with the reality of our predicament. "What now?" I asked, more to fill the silence than in any real hope of receiving a satisfactory answer.
Jamie's shrug was a visual echo of my own feelings of helplessness. "No idea," he admitted, and in his voice, I heard the same mixture of fear and resignation that churned in my own chest.
With a heavy sigh, I turned my attention to the pile of boxes that Luke had optimistically dubbed our first shelter. Rudimentary at best, I thought, a bleak acceptance settling over me as I began walking towards them. The prospect of 'roughing it' in this alien wasteland was daunting, to say the least, and yet, it seemed there was little choice in the matter.
"What are you doing?" Jamie's voice reached me, tinged with curiosity and perhaps a hint of concern.
I paused, turning to face him, the weight of our situation pressing down on me. "I don't really know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I rubbed at my brow. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each more unsettling than the last. How could Luke do this to us? This question, more than any other, gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. I had trusted him implicitly, believed in him with a conviction that now seemed naïve at best. With my life, I had placed my faith in him, and now, that trust felt misplaced, leaving me to question not just Luke's intentions, but my own judgment.
The sense of betrayal was acute, a sharp contrast to the physical barrenness that surrounded us. It was not just the landscape that felt alien, but the very foundation of our brotherhood, now fractured by the weight of decisions made and actions taken. As I stood there, confronting the enormity of our situation, I couldn't help but feel lost, adrift in a sea of doubts and unanswered questions, with no clear path forward.
The weight of the box caught me off guard. It slipped through my grasp, the end hitting the ground with a thud that kicked up a cloud of dust around my feet. I couldn't help but cast a glance at Jamie, who had returned to the large screen that served as our unwanted gateway to this place. His back was to me, his posture one of determined futility as he attempted to coax the portal back to life. I didn't linger on the sight; a deep, sinking feeling told me it was a fruitless endeavour.
Dragging the box by the strip of blue plastic, I felt a wave of despondency wash over me. The landscape stretched out endlessly, a monotonous expanse of brown and dust that seemed even more desolate than the arid reaches of Broken Hill—a comparison I had never imagined I'd make. The lack of shade, the oppressive heat, and the sheer emptiness of it all weighed heavily on me, a physical manifestation of our isolation.
As I trudged up the second small rise, a flicker of something unexpected stirred within me. Sound—a noise so out of place in this barren wasteland that I doubted my own senses. Water. The notion was so absurd, so implausible, that for a moment, I hesitated, afraid to give in to the hope that fluttered in my chest. Yet, the unmistakable murmur grew louder with each step, urging me forward.
Reaching the crest of the rise, the sight that greeted me was so starkly at odds with the desolation behind me that I could only stare in disbelief. There, cutting through the dust and desolation, was a river—a wide, meandering ribbon of water that stretched as far as the eye could see. The view was jarring, a vibrant vein of life in the midst of so much barrenness.
For a moment, I was rooted to the spot, my mind grappling with the implications. Water meant life, possibility, a chance. Perhaps not all was lost. The sight injected a sliver of hope into the bleakness of our situation, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness. It was a reminder that even in the most unforgiving places, life finds a way to assert itself. With a renewed sense of purpose, I felt the weight of despair begin to lift, if only slightly. The presence of water in this desolate place was a sign, perhaps, that our situation was not as dire as it had seemed. In that moment, the river represented more than just a source of physical sustenance—it symbolised a lifeline, a reason to believe that survival, and maybe even a way home, could be within our reach.
"Jamie!" My voice, filled with a newfound urgency, cut through the still air, but the response I hoped for didn't come. The realisation that I had wandered far beyond a simple shout's reach hit me with a mix of frustration and concern. The landscape, once seemingly endless in its barren expanse, now held a secret I was eager to share. Jamie was nowhere in sight, hidden by the undulating terrain that I had, until moments ago, cursed for its monotony. "At least, I think it's only one hill," I muttered to myself, the uncertainty of the terrain mirroring my initial despair turned cautious optimism. I raised my voice once more, hoping against hope that my call would bridge the distance between us.
Finally, Jamie's head bobbed into view as he crested the hill, a sight that sparked a brief flicker of relief in my chest. "Come over here!" I urged, my arms flailing in a bid to draw him away from the portal's fruitless allure. "Hurry up," I added, watching him navigate the dusty ground with a reluctance that spoke volumes of his exhaustion and dwindling hope.
"What is it?" Jamie's voice carried a hint of curiosity as he neared, his figure emerging more fully against the backdrop of the hill.
"There's a river," I announced, the words tinged with an enthusiasm I hadn't felt since before we found ourselves ensnared in this alien landscape. The revelation felt like a small victory, a beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty.
As Jamie drew closer, I could see the change in his expression, a subtle shift that mirrored the spark of hope I felt within me. The light in his eyes, though faint, was a testament to the power of possibility, however slight it might be in our grim situation.
Turning on my heel, I led the way down the hill, my steps quickened by the prospect of what lay ahead. The dust, a constant companion, shifted treacherously underfoot, threatening to send me tumbling. Yet, the promise of water, of life, propelled me forward, each step a defiance of the despair that had threatened to consume me.
Racing towards the riverbank, my legs moved with a fervour I hadn't known I possessed, driven by the sight of the water's promising clarity. Kneeling, I couldn't help but marvel at the river's purity, its surface a mirror to the sky above, unblemished by the dust and desolation that defined our surroundings.
Jamie, arriving moments later, echoed my thoughts with a mix of awe and skepticism in his voice. "It's so clear," he remarked, his eyes scanning the surface as he pondered out loud about its safety for drinking. The question lingered between us, an unspoken concern against the backdrop of our thirst.
My response was noncommittal, a shrug that betrayed my own uncertainty. Back home, the water's clarity was never a guarantee of its safety, a reality of life in the outback that had taught me to be cautious. Yet, here, the rules we knew seemed irrelevant.
Impulsive as ever, Jamie reached out, his fingers breaking the water's surface. "It feels so cool and fresh," he said, a note of surprise in his voice that piqued my curiosity. Compelled by his reaction, I extended my hand, immersing it in the cool embrace of the river. The sensation was immediate and intense, a rush of cool that seemed to carry an undercurrent of warmth, a dichotomy that felt almost magical in its effect.
"I could totally jump in right now," I found myself saying, the words borne of a half-joking longing spurred by the river's inviting chill.
Jamie's laughter cut through the air, light and carefree. "Well, you'd have to do it skinny," he teased.
His jest took a moment to register, prompting a puzzled glance from me. "Huh?"
"Well, we don't have any towels or spare clothes,” he elaborated. His words brought me back to reality, a chuckle escaping me at the absurdity of our situation and the brief escapism the river had offered.
"Oh, of course," I conceded, feeling a mix of amusement and resignation. Despite the brief interlude of levity, we continued to immerse our hands in the river's flow, finding solace in the simple pleasure of the water's cool touch. Each time our fingers broke the surface, it was as if we were reaching for a connection, a reminder of the world beyond our current confines, a world where rivers were just rivers, and not symbols of hope in a desolate landscape.
"Do you really think we're stuck here?" The words left my lips, a mixture of fear and hope mingling in the uncertainty of our situation. Jamie's response, though soft, carried the weight of our shared apprehension. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a mirror to the vulnerability we both felt. "I hope not."
The possibility hung in the air, unspoken yet palpable. "But what if we are?" I couldn't help but push for an answer, for any semblance of a plan. Jamie's reaction was immediate. "If Luke can get out, I am sure we can too," he asserted, his voice laced with a determination that bordered on desperation.
I watched as Jamie's figure receded, his silhouette a distinct contrast against the backdrop of the hill as he made his way back towards the Portal. A part of me wanted to call out, to say something—anything—that might ease the tension. Instead, I let out a gentle sigh, a release of the myriad emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.
Of all the people to be stranded with in Clivilius, fate had chosen Jamie. The thought crossed my mind, unbidden yet persistent. It was a moment of frustration, a questioning of the cosmic forces that had led us to this point. Yet, as quickly as the thought appeared, I pushed it aside. Life with Claire had taught me the value of resilience, the importance of focusing on the positive rather than dwelling on what couldn't be changed.
Turning my gaze back to the river, I allowed myself a few minutes of quiet reflection. The water, clear and tranquil, offered a momentary escape. My reflection stared back at me, a reminder of the person I was beneath the fear and uncertainty. Gradually, the tension in my shoulders began to ease, the water's gentle flow a soothing balm to the turmoil within.
In that moment, by the river's edge, I found a semblance of peace. It was a reminder that, regardless of our circumstances, there was beauty to be found, moments of calm amidst the storm. And as I stared into the water, I realised that survival was as much about maintaining hope as it was about finding a way back home.
The emptiness of my thoughts was as vast and desolate as the landscape around us, a stark contrast to the usual clutter of daily concerns and responsibilities. As I hoisted myself up from the dust, the weight of our situation settled on my shoulders with a newfound gravity. The box, left atop the hill in a moment of distraction, now seemed like a symbol of the tangible challenges we faced.
Dragging the box behind me, the trail it left in the dust was a testament to our presence here, a physical mark on a world that seemed indifferent to our struggles. The contents of the box, metal poles intended for the construction of what Luke had optimistically called our first shelter, rattled with each step.
I had chosen a spot near the riverbank for our camp, a decision driven by the primal lure of water and the semblance of life it represented. The distance from the Portal, while making our return more cumbersome, seemed a worthy trade-off for the comfort and psychological ease proximity to the river might afford us.
The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface found its outlet as I struggled with the box's stubborn blue plastic strip. "Aargh!" The sound tore from my lips, a raw expression of the myriad emotions I'd been trying to keep at bay. The plastic, meant to secure the box's contents, now felt like yet another barrier between us and a semblance of stability in this unfamiliar world. Without tools, the task seemed insurmountable, a cruel joke in our already dire circumstances.
The thought of enlisting Jamie's help flickered through my mind, his physical strength a possible solution to the immediate problem. Yet, the very idea of asking for his assistance brought a surge of reluctance. The tension between us, though unspoken, was palpable, and my pride balked at the notion of showing vulnerability. It was a petty hesitation, perhaps, but in that moment, it felt significant, a line I wasn't ready to cross.
So, there I sat, caught between the practical need to access the contents of the box and the emotional barriers that made the simple act of asking for help feel like an admission of defeat. The situation was emblematic of the broader challenges we faced: the need to rely on each other for survival in a place that demanded more of us than we might be prepared to give.
The sudden shift from bending to standing sent a disorienting rush through my body, my head spinning as if caught in a whirlwind. For a moment, the world around me—a blur of dust and sky—faded into insignificance, replaced by vivid images of Mack and Rose. Mack, with his wide, curious eyes, had just celebrated his tenth birthday, a milestone I now felt worlds away from. Rose, ever the spirited soul, was nearing her seventh year, her laughter a distant echo in my heart. The realisation that days had slipped into an unknown number since I'd last seen them, held them, was a weight pressing down on my chest.
The memory of leaving them, safe and happy at their grandparents' house, stung with fresh pain. Those visits had become a cherished tradition, a special time for them to bond with Nana and Grandad, filled with stories and adventures in the backyard transformed into a 'campsite.' When I had left for Adelaide, I promised myself, albeit silently, that the trip to visit Luke would be brief and that I'd be back before their time with their grandparents was over. The irony of that promise now twisted inside me, a cruel reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead.
As I steadied myself, gripping the dusty box for support, the weight of my fear and longing threatened to overwhelm me. The thought of not returning to Broken Hill in time, of missing the chance to welcome my children back from their holiday adventure, seemed a minor concern compared to the gnawing dread that I might never see them again. The vast distance between Clivilius and home stretched infinitely larger in my mind, a chasm not just of space but of time and lost moments.
Questions with no answers circled relentlessly in my head. Will I ever get to hold my kids in my arms again? The possibility of a future devoid of their hugs, their laughter, and their boundless energy was a void too vast to contemplate.
The bleakness that had settled over me seemed to echo in the barren landscape of Clivilius, the dwindling hope of reuniting with my children mirrored by the frustration of not being able to open the box. Defeated, I trudged back to the pile of boxes, the task of relocating them near the river offering a semblance of purpose. It was a small, manageable goal in a situation that felt increasingly out of control.
Approaching Jamie, I found him engrossed with the Portal, his efforts yielding no progress. "Figured out how it works yet?" The question was as much an attempt to break his concentration as it was to engage in some form of conversation.
His reaction was immediate, the frustration palpable as he vented his anger on the inert dust of Clivilius. "This thing is fucking useless!" The despair in his voice was a mirror to my own feelings, a shared sentiment that transcended our current predicament.
Conflict was never my forte, the very notion often enough to set my nerves on edge. Yet, the pressing need to find distraction, to momentarily escape the grim reality of our situation, spurred me to action. "Why don't you give that a rest for a bit and help me move these boxes?" The suggestion was tentative, an olive branch extended in the hope of diverting Jamie’s focus from the despair that threatened to consume him. "It might help you to keep your mind and hands busy with something else."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. I watched Jamie closely, the tension in my body mounting as I awaited his response. Every second stretched into eternity, each muscle in my body tensing in anticipation of his reaction.
"Sure," he finally acquiesced, the single word a balm to my frayed nerves. Relief washed over me, not just for the help with the boxes, but for the temporary truce it represented. In that moment, the simple act of moving boxes became more than just a physical task; it was a step towards maintaining my sanity, a distraction from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that loomed over me.
