Amid the flickering flames of the campfire, soft voices melded into a comforting but haunting backdrop to my wearied face. The fire's warm glow cast dancing shadows across us, highlighting the deep lines of strain etched across my forehead. These were not just marks of physical exhaustion but silent acknowledgments of the weight of responsibility that now rested on my shoulders. In the dim light, Beatrix's scars seemed to stand out more prominently, each one a testament to the challenges and sacrifices inherent in our roles as Guardians. Observing her, I couldn't help but wonder if my own journey would soon bear similar marks, a thought that both daunted and steeled me.
Bixbus, with its ever-growing settler population and improving living conditions, stood as a beacon of progress in the wilderness. Our recent efforts to fortify the camp with a simple chain-link fence were a testament to our determination to protect what we were building. Yet, despite these advancements, the vast unknown beyond the camp's perimeter served as a constant reminder of danger. The shadow panthers, with their lurking threat, ensured my thoughts seldom wandered far from the immediate concerns of safety and survival.
"That's everyone," Nial's voice broke through my reverie as he secured the metallic gate, signalling the completion of the day's work. Paul's entrance into the small enclosed settlement marked the moment with a gravity that seemed to weigh down the very air around us.
"It feels a bit like a zoo here now," I remarked, attempting to inject a bit of levity into the heavy atmosphere as my brother approached. The comparison, though made in jest, was a reflection of the surreal sense of our situation, enclosed and watched, yet not by spectators but by the unseen dangers that prowled beyond our makeshift barriers.
Paul sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless burdens. The heaviness in his demeanour was palpable, a clear sign he was in no mood for humour. "Except this time, I think we are the animals locked in the cage," he replied, his words cutting through the night with a sharpness that left a lingering silence in their wake.
"I'm not so sure that the goat and chickens you've locked in the car and left out there would agree with you," Beatrix's voice cut through the evening air, her tone light yet pointed, drawing a collective gaze toward the direction of the Drop Zone.
"It won't always be this way," I reassured, my hand rubbing at my brow. I turned to Beatrix, determination in my eyes. "Beatrix and I will bring you more supplies tomorrow."
She nodded in agreement, "Yeah. I'll get you as many motorhomes as I can over the next few days."
"And you've got some skilled people here now; you'll have a little village built and buzzing with enthusiasm in no time," I added, my voice tinged with optimism. The vision of a thriving community, one that transcended the boundaries of a makeshift camp, seemed within reach, a tangible goal that spurred me forward.
"I wouldn't go that—" Beatrix began, her pragmatism always a grounding force, only to be cut off by Paul's interjection.
"Speaking of motorhomes and supplies, Luke can give you my house keys." His look towards me sought confirmation, a silent query that I was quick to affirm. "Yeah," I said, "I've got them all in a safe space." The keys, symbolic of Paul's trust in us, felt like a significant gesture, an extension of our community's shared resources and mutual reliance.
"If Claire and the kids really have gone to Queensland, I doubt they'll return anytime soon," Paul continued, his words drawing a curious glance from me.
Either oblivious to or choosing to ignore my unvoiced curiosity, Paul turned his attention back to Beatrix. "You may as well bring anything from the house that looks useful." His directive, practical as it was, spoke volumes of the sacrifices and adaptations we were all forced to make.
"Include furniture with that," Kain added, hobbling over with his new crutches. "I could really do with a good couch to rest my leg."
"Has it still not healed fully yet?" I asked, my concern for Kain genuine.
"No," Kain replied, the simplicity of his answer belied by the complexity of emotions it evoked. "I don't seem to be as privileged as Joel." His words, laced with a tinge of bitterness, hinted at deeper stories of struggle and resilience.
"Any news on that front?" I inquired further, hoping for some positive update on Joel and the others who had become mere whispers and worries in the wind.
"No," answered Kain, the fading daylight doing little to mask the concern etched deeply on his face. "We've not seen anything of Joel, Jamie, or Glenda," Paul added, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.
"Give them a couple more days," I suggested, trying to inject a note of optimism into the conversation. The alternative—giving in to despair—was not an option.
"And then what?" Beatrix asked, her question hanging in the air, a palpable reminder of the uncertainty that cloaked our every decision.
I shrugged, my response a silent admission of the limitations of my foresight. Paul, however, seemed to embody the collective anxiety with another heavy sigh.
"You've really got no idea what you are doing, do you, Luke?" Kain's interjection, though perhaps meant as a jest, shifted the mood perceptibly.
"It's not that easy," Beatrix snapped back, her defence immediate and fierce.
"You don't have to tell me that," Kain retorted, motioning to his recovering leg.
My mouth opened for a rebuttal, the words teetering on the edge of my tongue, ready to defend, to argue, to make my stance known. But it was Paul's timely intervention that cut through the rising tension like a knife through water, his voice calm, redirecting the flow of our conversation towards more practical matters. "My car is still parked at the Adelaide airport carpark. Can you collect it for me and bring it here?" he requested from Beatrix.
"Sure," she muttered.
"Oh," I said, my face lighting up as an idea sparked to life within my mind. The potential for solving multiple problems with a single solution seemed almost too good to pass up. "I am flying from Hobart to Adelaide first thing in the morning. I won't have time to collect Paul's car, but I can register a Portal location to make it easier for you, Beatrix."
"Thanks, but there's no need to fly; I've already registered several locations in Adelaide," she replied, her words effectively rendering my planned effort redundant.
"Oh," I responded, my initial enthusiasm deflating into thoughtful concentration.
Her narrowed eyes studying me, Beatrix's puzzlement at my reaction was evident. She was trying to piece together the puzzle of my intentions, the undercurrents of plans within plans that even I was still navigating. Finally, lifting my head, I clarified, "I've already got my flight booked. I may as well use it. Besides, I might find something useful at the airport. In any event, it'll give you a much closer point of entry for collecting Paul's car." The words, once spoken, solidified my resolve, painting a picture of a path forward that leveraged every available resource for our collective benefit.
"Alright," she agreed, her acquiescence a relief. It was a delicate balance, managing the myriad tasks and challenges that our situation presented, and her willingness to adapt provided a much-needed sense of solidarity.
My list of tasks in my mental notebook was already burgeoning, each entry a commitment, a responsibility that I bore willingly, yet not without a measure of apprehension for the growing complexity of our lives.
"What are you actually going to Adelaide for, Luke?" Paul's question, tinged with suspicion, cut through my thoughts, a reminder that my actions, however well-intentioned, did not exist in a vacuum.
I hesitated momentarily, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. "I'm thinking I might bring our parents and siblings to Clivilius," I said, feeling a surge of confidence buoy my words. It was a bold move, one fraught with risk and uncertainty, yet driven by a deep-seated belief in the sanctuary we were trying to create, in the potential for a better life that lay within the bounds of Clivilius.
Beatrix gasped loudly. "Is that a good idea?"
Surprisingly, Paul stepped in before I could muster a response, his words cutting through the heavy air with a decisiveness that momentarily lifted the weight from my shoulders. "It'll be a lot more mouths to feed, but I think you are right. I think they could really help us here." His support, unexpected yet unwavering, bolstered my resolve, a reminder of the strength found in our collective determination.
"How many?" Beatrix's question, straightforward and filled with pragmatic concern, prompted me to delve into the specifics, to quantify the challenge we were contemplating.
"Only Adelaide?" Paul inquired.
"I think so, for now," I replied, my mind wrestling with the multitude of considerations the decision entailed.
Paul, turning back to Beatrix with a semblance of clarity, stated, "Parents and three brothers."
"Two brothers," I quickly corrected, a slight mix-up in the family count that needed addressing. The sudden interjection painted a confused expression on both Beatrix's and Paul's faces, prompting me to clarify the situation further. "Eli is still visiting Lisa in the United States." The mention of Eli brought a momentary pause, a brief detour in our discussion as we navigated the complexities of our family dynamics.
"Girlfriend?" Beatrix ventured a guess, her curiosity piqued.
"Sister," came our characteristic unified brotherly response, a chorus of clarification that momentarily lightened the mood.
"Oh, you've got a big family," Beatrix remarked, her fingers moving as if trying to tally the members in her mind.
"Yep," Paul and I chimed in together, another unified reply that underscored the bond between us
"Are you going to bring them to Bixbus tomorrow?" Paul's question brought us back to the immediacy of the challenge, the logistics of integrating our family into this new life we were carving out in Clivilius.
I shrugged casually. "I'm not sure yet. I still haven't worked out the best way to approach them." The admission was a moment of vulnerability, an acknowledgment of the uncertainty that lay ahead. After a brief pause, seeking wisdom in shared counsel, I asked, "Any ideas?"
Paul's initial shrug was a mirror of my own uncertainty, but it didn't last long before a thought seemed to cross his mind, a spark of insight in the growing dusk. "I suspect that all you need to do is find a way to convince dad, and the rest will easily follow."
"Hmm," I mused, the simplicity of his suggestion resonating with a deep-seated truth. Rubbing my chin, I considered his words, a plan beginning to take shape amidst the myriad of uncertainties. "I think you're onto something there."
"Come on, Beatrix," I said, pulling her back from the edge of her wandering thoughts. "Let's get you these keys.”
The white painted wardrobe door, now aged and slightly chipped at the edges, rumbled along its worn track, a sound reminiscent of distant thunder rolling over a quiet town. As it begrudgingly gave way, it revealed an assortment of empty coat hangers, swaying slightly as if dancing to a breeze that had snuck into the room. The hangers, devoid of their usual garments, clinked together softly, an eerie chime in the otherwise silent room.
"Where's your clothes?" Beatrix inquired, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, questioning the practicality of my decision to leave my wardrobe barren when the convenience of returning to change was just a mere thought away. Her eyes, sharp and inquisitive, scanned the empty space before her as if trying to unravel a mystery hidden within the void.
On tiptoes, I stretched towards the heavens, or at least towards the top shelf of the wardrobe, my fingers grazing the rough texture of the wood. "They're on the other side of the wardrobe," I responded, injecting a hint of mock frustration into my voice, as though the answer to her question should have been obvious. My tone was light, playful even, but beneath it lay a layer of anticipation, a prelude to the revelation I was about to unveil.
Cringing, I felt the coarse surface of the shelf beneath my fingertips, a sensation akin to dragging one's skin across the rough bark of an ancient tree. “Got it,” I declared triumphantly, the sound of a solid clink against wood marking the end of my brief, yet arduous, quest. My prize in hand, I descended back to the solid ground, the plush carpet embracing my heels with a softness that contrasted sharply with the harshness of the shelf above.
Beatrix reached out for the keys now jingling in my grasp, her movements swift and purposeful. Yet, in a moment of silent defiance, I dropped to my knees, the metallic chorus of the keys ceasing as they landed in my open palm. The thrill of the secret I was about to share enveloped me, a cloak of excitement that rendered me almost entirely oblivious to her presence. Only the faint awareness of her curious gaze, tracking my every move, tethered me to the reality of her company.
Pulling several pairs of shoes from the depths of the wardrobe floor, I felt a nervous excitement ripple through me, a current of anticipation that electrified the air around us. It was a moment of revelation, of crossing a threshold into the unknown. The shoes, mundane in appearance, were mere vessels for a secret of greater magnitude, a secret that was about to bind Beatrix and me in a way few could understand. It was time to induct another Guardian into my little secret.
My fingers danced nervously at the edge of the carpet in the back corner of the wardrobe, each thread whispering secrets as they unravelled under my touch. Beatrix's eyes, wide with a blend of curiosity and disbelief, mirrored the flickering lights above as I peeled back a considerable section of the carpet. It was like revealing a hidden world beneath our feet, a shiny, metallic surface winking at us from its discreet haven.
"You have a safe buried in your wardrobe floor?" Beatrix's voice was a mix of incredulity and awe, her tone climbing an octave as she carefully lowered herself beside me.
The key, cold and metallic against the warmth of my palm, slid into the keyhole with a satisfying ease, a testament to the many times I had performed this ritual in solitude. Pausing, I savoured the moment of anticipation, the seconds stretching into eternity before the impending reveal. "Of course," I replied, my voice laced with a mischievous glee, a wide grin splitting my face as I imagined the myriad of possibilities racing through her mind.
With a soft click, the lock yielded under my fingers, and I lifted the lid with a reverence usually reserved for the unveiling of sacred relics. Beatrix inhaled sharply, a gasp escaping her lips as the contents of the safe came into view. It was a treasure trove of the mundane, elevated to the extraordinary by their concealment. The safe was meticulously organised, lined with bulging zip-lock bags that seemed to pulse with the secrets they contained.
"Here's Paul's," I said, my voice a mixture of pride and solemnity as I extracted one of the bags, placing it gently in her hands. The clear exterior crinkled under her touch, a tactile connection to the lives encapsulated within. Her fingers hesitated over the items—a phone, a wallet, scraps of paper—each object a puzzle piece in our interconnected existence.
"Is there a bag for everyone?" The question slipped from her lips, a natural curiosity blooming amidst the garden of her thoughts.
"Yeah. I figured keeping things grouped by owner would be the best way to manage," I answered, my voice steady, betraying none of the inner turmoil that accompanied the guardianship of such secrets.
"Probably—" she began, her voice trailing off as agreement and further questions percolated in her mind.
"Oh, apart from this one," I interjected, presenting another large bag with a flourish. The shift in her gaze was palpable, the light of inquiry narrowing into focused scrutiny as she beheld the small images of faces trapped behind the plastic veil. "Why keep all the driver's licenses separate?" she probed, her voice a blend of curiosity and concern.
In that moment, I felt the weight of her gaze, heavy with questions and the dawning realisation of the depth of my secret. Ignoring her question was not an act of evasion but one of protection, a shield against the barrage of inquiries that would surely follow. Swiftly, I reclaimed the bag, returning it to its sanctuary within the safe. The act was not just a physical retrieval but a metaphorical drawing of boundaries, a line I was not yet ready to cross.
Deciding not to venture further into the enigmatic labyrinth of my thoughts, Beatrix's curiosity turned tangible as she opened the zip-lock bag housing Paul's belongings. "What's all this?" she inquired, her voice a blend of intrigue and confusion. The scrap paper, crinkling under her touch, whispered secrets as she carefully unfolded it, her eyes darting across the jumble of numbers and letters inscribed with hurried strokes.
"It's the notes I've been making for Paul. It includes all the important stuff like the codes to unlock his phone and access his bank accounts," I explained, my voice carrying a hint of pride mixed with a sobering sense of responsibility. These were not just arbitrary numbers but gateways into the private corners of my brother’s life.
I jingled Paul's keys close to her, a playful distraction from the gravity of the paper in her hands. The metallic clatter seemed out of place in the quiet of the room, a reminder of the mundane world outside our secret sanctuary. “Even the keys are labelled,” I commented, observing her silent gaze lingering on the small tag bearing Paul's name. It was a small detail, but in our world of carefully guarded secrets, every label served as a beacon of identity.
"Feel free to access the safe whenever you need to. Leave the key at the back of the top shelf," I offered, laying down the rules of engagement with a casual authority. It was an invitation into my inner circle, a gesture of trust that bound us closer together.
"Of course," she responded, her voice steady, betraying neither excitement nor apprehension.
"And only turn the mobile phones on when you need to use them," I continued, the weight of each instruction hanging in the air between us. "Why's that?" she questioned, a furrow forming between her brows, the physical manifestation of her puzzlement.
"I don't know whether police really can track our exact locations from a phone when it is turned on, but I'd rather not take any chances to find out." My words were laced with a cautious paranoia, a reflection of the tightrope we walked in our efforts to stay beneath the radar.
Beatrix shrugged, a silent concession to the limits of her knowledge on the matter.
My instructions continued, "And don't reply to any messages or answer any calls unless they are from me." The directive was clear, a non-negotiable term in our pact of secrecy.
She nodded quickly, her expression a mixture of determination and a touch of overwhelm. The information was a lot to digest, a testament to the intricate web we wove in our clandestine endeavours. Yet, beneath the complexity of our operations, there was an underlying simplicity to our goals: protect, preserve, and proceed with caution. In this shadowy dance of secrets and safety, each step was measured, each decision weighed with the utmost care.
"Oh," I interjected, an afterthought catching the tail of our conversation like a leaf caught in a swift stream. "Use the cash sparingly and be sure to make a note of any bank transactions on the relevant paper." The words felt heavy, laden with the burden of our precarious financial situation. She nodded, her understanding silent yet profound, as if the gravity of our fiscal constraints wrapped its chains around us both.
My concerns spilled over like a torrent breaking through a dam. "Finances don't go too far. I'm really not sure how we're going to keep up paying for supplies and materials to help them build the new settlement," I confessed, the stream of my worries unchecked. It was a rare admission of uncertainty, a crack in the façade of composure I tried so hard to maintain.
Beatrix's lips pursed, a silent mirror to the complexity of the puzzle we found ourselves entangled in. Her mind, I knew, was racing through the maze of our financial conundrum, seeking a way out.
"I think we're going to need to get creative,” I suggested, a tentative bridge across the chasm of our dilemma. It was an invitation to think beyond the conventional, to dare to dream up solutions that skirted the edges of the impossible.
Suddenly, the tension in her face eased, replaced by a spark of inspiration that lit her eyes with a gleam of possibilities. "What is it?" I asked, curiosity piqued, my own train of thoughts halting to give room to her revelation.
"I know how we can get more cash," she declared, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, a harbinger of schemes yet unveiled. "Lots of cash."
"How?" My question hung in the air, a mixture of hope and apprehension. Her response, or rather the lack thereof, sent a chill down my spine. Shaking her head, Beatrix pocketed Paul's keys with a decisive motion and stood. "Never mind about the detail. I think the less you know the better. Leave it to me and Jarod."
"Jarod?" The name sparked a flare of panic, igniting a firestorm of questions. As I rose to join her, the name echoed ominously in my mind.
"Just trust me on this one, Luke," she assured, her grin unwavering, a beacon of her confidence—or recklessness. Without waiting for my consent, she strode toward the living room, her determination palpable.
"Beatrix," I called out, trailing behind her like a shadow tethered to her light. My heart raced, each beat a drum of war against the silence of her impending actions.
Before the Portal, a masterpiece that painted the room in buzzing colours of otherworldly vistas, she halted and faced me. Her silhouette, framed by the kaleidoscope of energies, was both formidable and fragile.
My brow furrowed, a landscape of my worries and pleas. "Please be careful."
"Well, I can't promise that one," she scoffed, her laughter a light note floating atop the heavy air between us. It was a playful dismissal, yet beneath it lay the unspoken truths of our reality—the risks, the dangers, and the unyielding drive that propelled each of us forward.
As Beatrix's form vanished into the swirling vortex of the portal, the room was abruptly reclaimed by an eerie silence, a stark contrast to the fervent energy that had just pulsated within its confines. I found myself alone, the lingering buzz from the portal's activation fading into a quiet that seemed to press in from all sides.
Returning to the bedroom, my gaze drifted back to the safe, its metallic surface catching the dim light and throwing it back in soft glimmers, as if it too held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
My mind, a tempest of thoughts and emotions, struggled to find purchase amidst the tumult. The outline of Bixbus, with its settlers and the intricate network of connections that bound them, was intricately mapped on paper. It was a tangible manifestation of the delicate web we were tasked with nurturing. Lines that represented lives, resources, and responsibilities intertwined across the sketches, each connection a thread in the fabric of our burgeoning community.
My fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the lines with a reverence that belied their simplicity. Each stroke felt laden with the weight of the lives these lines represented, and within this network of ink and paper, I glimpsed the potential for something greater. It was in this moment of reflection that a plan, nebulous at first, began to crystallise in my mind—a strategy not just for the physical fortification of the settlement, but for the fortification of our bonds, our unity.
"This needs to be more than just a sketch," I found myself saying aloud, the words breaking the silence like a promise to the future. I flipped through the pages of a small notebook, its presence in the safe a testament to its importance. Hidden away from prying eyes, it was a repository of our hopes and fears, a record of the intricate dance of survival we were all engaged in.
"A record of who we are, what we bring, and who we've left behind." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. It was a declaration of intent, a vow to weave the individual threads of our stories into a tapestry that would tell the tale of Bixbus. This settlement, this dream that we were all daring to believe in, deserved more than to be a mere footnote in the annals of history. It deserved to be remembered, to be chronicled with the depth and reverence its inception warranted.
The idea solidified within me, as clear and brilliant as a diamond forged under unfathomable pressures. It wasn't just a fleeting thought anymore but a vision pulsating with life—a book, a compendium that would encapsulate the essence of Bixbus, serving as a beacon of resilience and a testament to the indomitable spirit of community. As I gathered the scattered papers before me, my fingers inadvertently caressed the cool, leathery cover of the notebook that lay beneath them. The Book of Kin, the name echoed through my mind, resonating with a profound significance. It was a title that perfectly captured the essence of the interconnected lives and destinies that would fill its pages, binding them together in a narrative of shared fate and collective endeavour.
Methodically, I shuffled through the papers, each one a fragment of the larger mosaic I was piecing together. "This settlement is more than just structures and resources," I found myself murmuring, almost absent-mindedly. My voice, a soft timbre in the otherwise silent room, carried with it the weight of realisation. It was a recognition of the fact that the true essence of Bixbus lay not in its physical manifestation but in the people who called it home, their stories, and the rich tapestry they wove together through their daily lives and shared experiences.
Envisioning The Book of Kin as a living document, I saw it evolving and growing with each new chapter we added to our collective journey. It would not merely be a record but a vibrant chronicle of life in Bixbus—the joy and the struggle, the triumphs and trials, and most importantly, the intricate web of relationships that formed the backbone of our community. Leafing through the blank pages of the notebook, I imagined the stories that would one day inhabit them—narratives of bravery and cooperation, tales infused with hope and underscored by the unyielding determination to thrive against the odds.
"This will be my legacy," I whispered into the stillness, the words a solemn vow to myself and to the fledgling settlement teetering on the brink of the unknown. It was a promise not just to record our history but to honour it, to ensure that the trials and triumphs of Bixbus and its inhabitants would never be forgotten. In the quietude of that moment, with the promise of The Book of Kin taking root in my heart, I felt a profound connection to the settlement and its people—a sense of responsibility and purpose that transcended the immediate concerns of survival and construction.
