The warm mix of sand and dust beneath my bare feet was a new sensation, one that brought a certain rawness to our journey across the small hills. Greta, Jerome, and I followed Paul, each step sinking slightly into the soft ground beneath us. Greta's grumblings had begun almost immediately, her complaints about the heat and the ever-present dust filling the air. Despite my initial optimism, I had to concede that she had a point. This environment was dustier than anything we had experienced during our years living in Broken Hill.
“This is how it is everywhere,” Paul said, a hint of impatience in his voice. It was clear he had adapted more quickly to this environment, or perhaps he knew something we didn't.
As we descended the slope, the gown I was wearing became increasingly uncomfortable in the warm climate. I pulled it tighter around me, a futile attempt at modesty in this vast, open land. My thoughts drifted to the pioneers of old, crossing vast plains with minimal possessions. Their journeys, fuelled by faith and resilience, resonated deeply with me now. Here we were, on our own journey of faith, traversing the sands of sacrifice. A faint smile crossed my face despite the hardship. I had heard the voice of the Lord, and in my heart, I trusted that He would bless us for our diligence and perseverance.
Upon cresting the final hill, a small encampment came into view. It was modest, far smaller than I had anticipated. The simplicity of the camp made me wonder if we were among the first Saints to be gathered in this place. The thought was both exhilarating and daunting. We were pioneers in our own right, embarking on a journey that was as spiritual as it was physical.
The sight of the large chain-link fence surrounding the small camp sparked a mix of curiosity and fear in Greta. “Why the large fence?” she asked Paul, her voice carrying an undertone of both intrigue and apprehension.
“For protection,” Paul answered, his response succinct, offering no further details. His brevity suggested that there were underlying issues we were yet to understand.
It was Jerome who drew our attention to something more unsettling. He pointed to the skull of a black panther-like creature impaled into the ground at the camp's entrance. “What is that?” he asked, his voice a mix of fascination and horror.
My stomach churned at the sight. The skull was a stark and disturbing symbol, one that spoke of dangers I hadn't anticipated in this new world. Greta clutched me tightly, her reaction one of revulsion and fear. “Noah, that’s so disturbing, I can’t look,” she exclaimed, pressing her face into my chest. “Is it really necessary?” Her words were muffled against my gown but dripping with dread.
I stroked Greta’s hair, trying to offer her some comfort in this unsettling moment. Despite the warmth of the environment, a haunting chill ran through me.
“We were attacked a few nights ago. It is a reminder that we need to remain vigilant to the dangers that surround us,” Paul explained, his tone serious.
My back stiffened at his words. Dangers? The sight of the black panther's head, with its dried blood and razor-sharp teeth, was a grim testament to threats I hadn't envisioned in this place. A deep sense of foreboding settled over me.
As I stood there, staring at the menacing skull, I reminded myself that the early pioneer Saints faced their own trials and tribulations. They endured tremendous suffering for their faith, with many paying the ultimate price. This thought, while sobering, fortified my resolve. If they could persevere through their trials, then so could we. God had led us here for a reason, and I held onto the hope that He would protect and guide us, just as He had guided the pioneers. The skull, a stark reminder of the reality of this new world, also served as a call to faith and vigilance. We were in God's hands, and in that truth, I found a measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty.
As Paul led us through the rattling gate into the camp, I could feel the curious eyes of its inhabitants on us. The sight of three men preparing to depart caught our attention. “We’re off to get this shed finished,” one of them, a sturdy man with calloused hands, announced as we neared them.
I was acutely aware of my inappropriate attire in this setting. I pulled my dressing gown tighter around me, feeling somewhat out of place and hoping Luke would soon arrive with more suitable clothing.
The youngest of the three men, leaning on crutches, chimed in with determination in his voice. “Hopefully get the second one finished, too.” His spirit, despite the physical challenge evident in his use of crutches, was commendable.
“That sounds great,” Paul replied. His introductions were brief, but I managed to catch the names of these industrious individuals. The first man who spoke was Adrian, clearly an expert in construction. The young man on crutches was Kain, an apprentice construction worker. His story of building a house for himself and his fiancée back in Tasmania, and his abrupt transition to Clivilius, piqued my interest. However, his sudden change in demeanour when recalling his past life made Paul swiftly change the topic. The third man was Nial, who ran a fence construction business in Hobart.
Their friendly demeanour was noticeable, but so was their rough exterior. As they made their departure, their occasional cussing and off-handed remarks about our unusual appearance made it clear they weren’t the kind of Saints I had envisioned encountering in this new world.
Standing near the front gate, I took in the settlement's modest features with a mix of intrigue and mild disappointment. Paul pointed out the caravans and motorhomes that dotted the area, a row of large tents, and a bonfire that seemed to serve as a communal hub. His description of a large river snaking its way behind the tents and a distant lagoon piqued my interest, yet it all seemed so... mundane, so different from what I had envisioned the New Jerusalem to be.
Jerome’s face lit up at the mention of the lagoon, a spark of youthful excitement in his eyes. Paul, perhaps sensing his growing interest, quickly diverted his attention back to the immediate surroundings.
“And there, you have it,” Paul said, as if to conclude our brief tour. His tone was a mixture of pride and a hint of resignation, as if acknowledging the settlement’s simplicity.
Confusion furrowed my brow. “Is this it?” I found myself asking as we moved towards the low burning campfire. The question was out before I could filter it, driven by a mix of surprise and a slight sense of disillusionment.
“Yep. Welcome to Bixbus,” Paul confirmed. His voice carried a sense of finality, mixed with a subtle undercurrent of pride for what had been established here, despite the apparent modesty of the settlement.
Greta, ever direct, voiced the question that was lingering in all our minds. “So, this isn’t the New Jerusalem?” Her tone was a mix of curiosity and a tinge of disappointment.
The atmosphere shifted palpably, becoming heavy with an almost tangible awkwardness. Karen's voice cut through the near-silent tension, her words coarse and blunt. “What the fuck’s a New Jerusalem?” she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else, yet loud enough for us all to hear.
I tugged nervously at the ends of my robe’s tie, feeling increasingly out of place in my current attire and in this settlement that seemed so far removed from our expectations. The realisation that our journey was not leading to the grandiose vision of the New Jerusalem, but rather to this humble and pragmatic community called Bixbus, was a jarring shift in perspective.
"Karen," Paul called out, his voice cutting through the tension that had settled over us. He gestured towards her, a request for assistance in his eyes. “Do you happen to know where we might be able to find some temporary clothing for my parents?” he asked, his tone both hopeful and apologetic.
Karen paused, considering Paul's request. After a moment, she nodded. “Follow me,” she said, her voice firm yet not unkind. She motioned for Greta and me to follow her, and Paul encouraged us to do so with a reassuring nod.
As Greta and I followed Karen, a thick tension hung in the air, the awkwardness of our situation leaving us all at a loss for words. Paul and Jerome remained behind, watching us walk away.
Entering Karen's caravan felt like an intrusion into her personal space, especially given the compact nature of her living quarters. Despite my discomfort, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of intrigue about life in Bixbus, about how people adapted and made homes in such unconventional settings.
My attention was immediately drawn to a terrarium on the table. Curiosity piqued, I leaned in to get a better look and was surprised to find it filled with baby spiders. Their species was unfamiliar to me, adding to the mystery.
“Ah, don’t mind those,” Karen said nonchalantly, gesturing towards the terrarium. “They’re just my little eight-legged roommates.”
Her casual remark brought a soft chuckle out of me, the first genuine smile since our arrival in Clivilius. Greta, however, was visibly less comfortable with the idea. “Roommates?” she nearly shrieked, her expression a mix of disbelief and alarm. “In the Bible, spiders are a symbol of-”
“Hard work and diligence,” Karen cut in smoothly, her interjection stopping Greta mid-sentence.
I watched the exchange with interest, unsure of the point either woman was trying to make. My extensive knowledge of the Bible didn’t recall any specific mention of spiders or their symbolic meaning.
“But let’s focus on finding you some clothes,” Karen continued, turning her attention to a small pile of clothes. “I don’t think Chris’s clothes will fit Noah, but I have something for you, Greta.”
Feeling out of place amidst the women’s discussion and the close quarters of the caravan, I announced, “I’ll wait outside,” and made a hasty exit. Leaving Greta and Karen to sort out the clothing, I stepped back into the open air of Bixbus, my mind still processing the new realities of this world and our place within it. The simplicity of life here, the makeshift homes, and the sense of community despite the rough edges – it was all part of a larger journey we were on, one that would undoubtedly challenge and change us in ways we couldn’t yet foresee.
Standing outside Karen's caravan, I found myself meandering near the entrance, yet my gaze was constantly drawn to the landscape around me. The dust seemed omnipresent, covering every inch of the ground, painting the scenery in muted earth tones. In the distance, a mountain range loomed, a natural barrier that stirred my curiosity. What lay beyond those peaks? Was it more of this endless, dusty terrain, or something entirely different?
The faint sound of flowing water reached my ears. It must be the river Paul mentioned, hidden from view by the rolling hills and uneven terrain of Bixbus. Its proximity was a comfort, yet its invisibility added to the sense of mystery that enveloped this place.
The occasional clang of tools against materials echoed in the distance, a reminder that life in Bixbus was not just about survival, but also about building and progress. Kain, Nial, and Adrian were hard at work on their shed, contributing to the settlement’s growth in their own way.
When Greta emerged from the caravan, she looked visibly disturbed and slightly agitated. The details of her conversation with Karen remained a mystery, as she refused to divulge what had transpired between them. Knowing Greta, it didn’t take much to unsettle her, and Karen's directness might have been too much for her. I sighed softly, acknowledging the small frictions that were bound to arise in such close quarters and under these unusual circumstances.
At least Greta was now properly clothed, a small relief amidst the uncertainty of our new surroundings. We decided not to linger on the unknowns of her interaction with Karen. Instead, we rejoined Paul and Jerome by the campfire, seeking the warmth and familiarity of family in this unfamiliar world.
As we stood by the campfire, the arrival of Luke marked a shift in the atmosphere. Paul's irritation was immediate and palpable. “What’s taken you so long?” he demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory. “We’ve been waiting ages for you!”
Luke’s response was a mumbled “Sorry,” his gaze darting away from Paul’s penetrating stare. It was clear he was uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and his attention quickly shifted to Greta. “Whose clothes?” he inquired, a flicker of amusement in his voice as he noted her changed attire.
Karen, appearing almost out of nowhere, startled Luke, causing him to jump slightly. Her presence was unexpected, but she seemed unfazed. “I’ve lent her some of mine, since you were taking so long,” she said sternly to Luke, her tone indicating that she wasn't pleased with his tardiness.
Luke, regained his composure. “Thanks, Karen. That’s very kind of you,” he said, acknowledging her help.
Karen wasn’t done yet, though. “I’m not sure that your mother agrees that it was a suitable conversation,” she remarked, her expression serious and direct. Her comment brought a sudden tension to the air.
I felt a twinge of annoyance at Karen’s decision to raise the topic in front of everyone. Family matters, in my view, were to be kept private, and grievances resolved quietly, without drawing others into them. The fact that I was still in the dark about what had transpired between Greta and Karen only added to my discomfort.
I glanced at Greta, hoping to gauge her reaction, but she remained stoically silent, her face unreadable. The situation was delicate, and I knew that pressing her for details in this setting would only exacerbate the tension.
Paul's intervention came as a relief, redirecting the conversation away from the tension between Greta and Karen. He took the suitcases from Luke and handed one to Greta and me. "We’re expecting the first sheds to be completed today, so why don’t you bring us some food storage from home?" he suggested to Luke, a practical proposal in light of our new situation.
Karen, intrigued and somewhat baffled, asked, “Food storage?”
Greta’s expression lit up with satisfaction. “Our church leaders have always taught the diligent Saints to have twelve months of food storage,” she explained. She glanced at me, her smile broad and filled with a sense of vindication. “It’s always been Noah’s pride and joy. We’ve been ever so obedient.” Her tone was a mix of pride and a subtle hint of triumph, as if our preparedness was a point of honour.
Karen's dubious look towards Greta revealed her skepticism. The concept of such extensive food storage seemed foreign to her, perhaps even excessive in her eyes.
Jerome, eager to support Greta’s claim, joined in. “Seriously, she’s not lying. There’s literally an entire room dedicated just to food storage,” he confirmed, his words echoing the seriousness of our family's commitment to preparedness.
Feeling a swell of pride, I couldn't help but chime in about our family’s efforts. “There are tins of vegetables, pasta varieties of almost every kind, containers of flour and sugar, and-” I began, ready to list the extensive inventory of our food storage.
Karen cut in, her grin reflecting genuine pleasure. “Well, it looks as though that obedience of yours is about to actually pay off,” she said, her words carrying a note of approval. She cast a sideways glance at Luke, as if to reinforce Paul’s suggestion that our food storage be brought to the settlement.
Paul continued his briefing with Luke, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. “Karen’s been busy emptying a lot of shopping trolleys from last night’s raid. Could you take them back to Earth and fill them with food stuff?” The simplicity of his request belied the complexity of the task at hand.
Luke’s eyes sparkled, igniting with a fire that reflected his unwavering commitment. “Yeah, that should work,” he replied, his voice tinged with a palpable eagerness. His readiness to leap into action was infectious, yet I felt a twinge of unease at the mention of 'Earth'.
Karen chimed in seamlessly. “Jerome and I will collect the empty trolleys and bring them to the Portal for you,” she offered, her tone efficient, her demeanour all business.
Jerome, in contrast, let out a loud sigh of reluctance, his body language screaming his lack of enthusiasm for the task. But Greta, with her sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, was quick to admonish him. “Go and make yourself useful,” she prodded, her words like a whip snapping him into action.
As Luke, Jerome, and Karen set off to execute the new plan, the dynamic shifted. Now, it was just Greta, Paul, and me left behind. A sense of isolation crept over me, as if I were standing on the edge of a vast, unknown abyss. My mind drifted into thought, mulling over the host of new terms that Luke and Paul had casually tossed around during their exchange. Portals, night raids, and the stark implication that we were no longer on Earth – these concepts swirled in my head, colliding with my beliefs and understandings. I loved to delve deep into the doctrines of the church, to wrestle with theological complexities, but this... this was another realm entirely. It was mind-boggling, disorienting, and frankly, a little frightening.
Greta's voice, tinged with genuine curiosity and expectation, cut through my muddled thoughts. “Where’s our house again?” Her question, innocent yet laden with the weight of our new reality, anchored me back to the present.
I stepped beside her, a gesture of solidarity in this bewildering world. Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, I found myself seeking the same answers she was. My gaze fixed squarely on Paul, waiting, expecting.
Paul let out a resigned sigh, his response carrying a weight that seemed to bear down on the very air around us. “What you see is what you get,” he stated, his words frank, his tone final.
My brow furrowed as I silently contemplated, so what does that actually mean?
