Sitting up slowly, the ache in my bones greeted me like an old, unwelcome friend. Despite the discomfort, there was a small consolation—the dust beneath me. It shifted easily under my weight, almost like a natural mattress, moulding itself to the contours of my body. In a world stripped of most comforts, this small adaptation of the earth to my form made the harsh reality of sleeping without a mattress just a tad more bearable.

I glanced over at Kain, who lay in a tangled half-in, half-out sprawl across his sleeping bag and the dust. The sight brought a smile to my face, a rare moment of lightness in the midst of our unusual situation. It was hard to tell whether Kain had been battling restlessness or had found an odd sense of comfort in his unconventional sleeping position.

As the gentle morning breeze brushed against my skin, the hairs on my arms stood on end, a chill running down my spine despite the warmth of the rising sun. The breeze carried with it a small puff of dust, swirling in a miniature whirlwind before dissipating into the air. The sight, rather than being mundane, filled me with a sense of unease. It was a haunting reminder of the dust storm we had endured, the strongest breeze I had felt since that torturous night. The thought of facing another storm so soon sent a shiver of apprehension through me, even as I gazed up at the clear, cloudless sky, questioning the likelihood of a repeat disaster.

Shaking off the dust and the lingering worry, I quickly dressed in yesterday's clothes, the fabric stiff and gritty against my skin. Rolling my sleeping bag with practiced motions, I entered the third tent, the one we had rushed to set up the day before. The large, vacant spaces within it seemed almost mocking in their emptiness. "Well, that was worth the rush to get it up yesterday," I muttered to myself, the words heavy with a mix of sarcasm and resignation. Yet, as I surveyed the space, a different thought occurred to me—having the tent up spared us the task today, a small victory in itself.

"This is my home now," I declared, a statement that was more an affirmation to myself than anything else. Dropping the sleeping bag onto the floor at the back of the central shared living space, I felt a complex mix of emotions. There was a sense of finality in accepting this place as my home. Yet, there was also a subtle undercurrent of defiance and resilience in claiming this space, in making it ours despite everything. The tent, like Clivilius with its vast, empty expanses, was a blank canvas—a place of potential and possibility, a testament to our continued survival and adaptation in a world that had changed beyond recognition.

The realisation hit me with a mix of discomfort and necessity—I really needed a wash, and a change into fresh clothes seemed long overdue. I made a mental note to collect my bags once Jamie woke up.

Stepping out from the tent, the absence of Glenda was noticeable, but my immediate concern led me towards the river located behind our camp. The cool morning air brushed against my skin, a reminder of the day's start and the tasks that lay ahead. Approaching the river, the sound of its flowing water was a welcome respite.

Crouching down by the river's edge, I cautiously began to unwind the bandage wrapped around my arm. The bandage was very dry, a good sign perhaps, but it did little to ease the knot of worry forming in my stomach. My brow furrowed as I contemplated the state of the wound beneath. The fear of finding my skin in a deteriorated condition, possibly turned grey again as it had before, weighed heavily on my mind. Holding my breath, I braced for what I might uncover.

To my profound relief, as the bandage came off and I examined the wound, the greyness had not returned. I exhaled a long, steadying sigh, my shoulders dropping slightly with the release of tension. Closer inspection of the three puncture marks revealed a healing process underway. Gently poking the surrounding flesh, I observed how the skin turned pale under pressure, a sign of blood flow interruption, only to see it promptly return to its normal fleshy pink colour upon releasing my finger. Small scabs had started to form over the puncture sites, a clear indication of the body's natural healing at work.

The sudden sound of Glenda's voice close behind me was enough to almost send me toppling into the river. "That's looking really healthy," she observed, her tone carrying a note of genuine approval.

Caught off guard by her silent approach, I struggled to regain my balance, my concentration shattered. "We'll have to stop meeting like this," I joked, an attempt to lighten the moment. But the joke seemed to fly right past her, leaving a momentary awkwardness hanging in the air between us.

Glenda gave me a sideways glance, her expression unreadable for a moment. "I mean you sneaking up behind me at the river," I clarified, hoping to bridge the gap my attempted humour had seemingly widened.

Her brow narrowed slightly, a sign of misunderstanding or perhaps concern. "Sorry," she said, her voice softening as she crouched down beside me to take a closer look at my arm. I turned my gaze out across the river, shifting my now reddening face away from her direct scrutiny. Did Glenda not get the humour? I found myself wondering, a ripple of unease threading through the brief exchange.

After inspecting my arm, Glenda released it and pushed herself to her feet, her movements efficient and focused. "Keep a close eye on it. Notify me immediately if anything changes. And soak the bandages back in the river," she instructed with a professional detachment that belied the earlier awkwardness.

"Of course. I'll watch it closely," I assured her, pulling myself up to stand. As she turned to leave, a thought occurred to me, prompting a spontaneous call. "Hey, Glenda?"

"Yes, Paul?" She paused, turning back with an openness that invited further conversation.

I ventured into the logistical arrangements that had been on my mind. "Are you happy to keep sleeping in the medical tent for now? If so, Kain and I will share that third tent and we can leave Jamie and Joel where they are," I proposed, the practicalities of our living arrangements suddenly pressing. "Oh, and Luke if he ever decides to stay the night," I added, almost as an afterthought, acknowledging the fluidity of our group's dynamics.

"Sure," Glenda responded with a gentle shrug, her demeanour easygoing and accommodating. "I don't have any issues with that."

Relief washed over me, accompanied by a smile. "Great. I'll move my suitcase across as soon as Jamie is awake," I confirmed, buoyed by the ease of the arrangement. Despite the occasional misunderstandings, I found a deep sense of gratitude for Glenda's agreeableness.

"They are both awake now. I was just in with them," Glenda's words caught me off guard as we made our way back to camp.

"Oh," was all I could manage, my surprise evident. "Joel too?" The question slipped out as we walked.

"Yes. He has a broken finger but apart from that, he looks to be making a speedy recovery. It is quite remarkable, really," Glenda explained, her voice carrying a note of professional admiration.

A dryness clutched at my throat, the memory of the sound of bone snapping vividly replaying in my mind, sending an involuntary shudder through my body. "It is very odd," I found myself agreeing, though I strained to keep my voice even and casual. The words felt hollow, a feeble attempt to mask the unease that twisted in my gut. "I may as well move my stuff now then."

"I don't think they'd mind," Glenda remarked.

My voice dropped to a softer register, a reflection of the concern that lingered beneath my composed exterior. "Do you know if Kain slept alright?" The question was directed at Glenda, but my gaze drifted toward Kain, who was showing signs of waking.

"I assume so. I didn't notice anything unusual," she answered, her response straightforward. "Why do you ask?" Her inquiry, simple on the surface, felt laden with a deeper probing for my motives.

"Just making sure we're all safe, I guess." The words were a shield, a vague explanation for the genuine concern that drove me to ask. Safety had become a precious commodity, its assurance found not in grand gestures but in the small checks we made on each other.

"You could ask him yourself, he is awake now," Glenda suggested flatly, her statement a gentle nudge towards direct communication.

"Sure, okay," I agreed, nodding, though the prospect of broaching the subject directly filled me with an inexplicable hesitance. "I'll do that then. I'll just grab my bag first." The smile I offered Glenda was uncomfortable, a poor mask for the mix of concern and responsibility that tugged at me. Pushing my way inside Jamie's tent, I was acutely aware of the delicate balance we all maintained, each of us orbiting the others in a silent dance of mutual support and individual resilience.

"You two look well," I ventured as I stood up, striving to infuse a note of cheer into my voice despite the complexity of emotions swirling within me.

"Well enough," came Jamie's succinct reply, his voice carrying an undercurrent of resilience mixed with resignation.

"I'm just collecting my suitcase to take to the other tent," I explained, deliberately keeping my gaze away from Joel. The last thing I wanted was to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was. I hastily gathered the few items of clothing scattered on the floor beside my bag, stuffing them in before zipping it up with a decisive motion.

"Why?" Jamie's voice cut through the air, a note of curiosity or perhaps challenge in his tone.

I paused, the question hanging between us, heavy with implications. "Oh," I began, my voice slightly hesitant as I avoided turning back to face them. "Kain and I thought it would be a good idea if we took the third tent and left you and Joel to have this one," I replied, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "And Luke if he ever stays with us," I added, almost as an afterthought, though the mention of Luke carried with it a weight of unspoken concerns and questions.

"Hmph," Jamie scoffed, a sound rich with skepticism and perhaps a hint of disdain. "I'm not sure Luke will be spending many nights with us."

His words left me momentarily puzzled, my brow furrowing in confusion. Jamie's comment hinted at something deeper, a story untold or expectations unmet regarding Luke. Sure, Luke had been distracted, a shadow figure flitting in and out of our collective existence, but his need for rest, for a place among us, remained undeniable—at least, in my eyes.

With the bag now in tow, I felt the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air. I chose not to press further, to delve into the meaning behind Jamie's words or to challenge the skepticism that laced them. Instead, I let myself out of the tent without another word, the act of leaving marking a silent acknowledgment of the complexities and tensions that wove through our group, binding us together even as they pulled us apart.

"Do you have a preference as to side?" I called out to Kain, my voice echoing slightly as I emerged from the dimness of Jamie's tent into the more open space where our new dwelling stood. The transition from the sheltered interior to the outside world felt symbolic, a step into a new chapter of our shared survival.

"They're both the same, really," Kain replied, his voice stretching as leisurely as his arms above his head. There was a simplicity to his response, a readiness to adapt that I admired.

"Fair enough," I responded with a casual shrug, my mind already turning over the possibilities of our new living arrangement. Carrying my bag into the tent, I chose a corner in the left wing almost instinctively, setting down my belongings with a sense of finality. The act of unravelling my sleeping bag and smoothing it out on the floor, meticulously working out the lumps of dust beneath it, was meditative. Each thump against the ground served as a reminder of the new reality we were carving out in this unfamiliar world.

"So, this is home," I reminded myself with a murmur, the words barely audible. The thought of personalising this space, of adding the comforts of a large pillow or two, drawers, hangers, and especially some form of light, flickered through my mind like a distant dream. The idea of sleeping here, under the shelter of the tent rather than by the campfire, seemed almost luxurious in its novelty.

A slight grimace marred my expression as I considered the distance between this makeshift home and the possibility of bringing my children here. The ache of missing them was a constant companion, softened only by the hope that they were too engrossed in the joys of spending school holidays with their grandparents to feel the weight of my absence.

"I'm going for a walk to the Drop Zone," I announced, stepping back out into the relentless brightness of the day. The cloudless sky overhead seemed to mock the complexity of our lives on the ground. "Take stock of what Luke's left us."

"I doubt you'll find anything new. I haven't seen him yet this morning," Glenda's words were a gentle reality check. "But I'm sure there might be useful things we didn't notice before," she quickly added, her voice tinged with optimism as she caught the fleeting shadow of disappointment on my face.

Taking my time, I trudged through the thick dust, my footsteps a slow, deliberate dance with the earth beneath me. Each step kicked up clouds of dust that seemed to defy gravity, lingering in the air with a persistence that caught my attention. It fascinated me, this dance of particles, suspended as if time itself had slowed to marvel at their grace. The dust must be exceptionally fine and light, I mused, its behaviour unlike anything I'd encountered before, a small wonder in our new world.

As I approached the large, vacant screen of the Portal, I detoured to the right, passing through the small rock-pile gate that served as the Drop Zone’s informal entrance. The piles of rocks, haphazard yet deliberate, felt like silent guardians to the trove of discarded hopes and potential resources that lay beyond.

Despite Glenda's earlier prediction, a part of me had held onto a sliver of hope that perhaps Luke had left something new, something overlooked in our previous forays. However, it didn't take long for me to conclude that the Drop Zone remained unchanged since my last visit. Luke had not been here, or if he had, he'd left no trace of his passage. The realisation was a quiet disappointment, a reminder of the unpredictability and often fruitlessness of our scavenging efforts.