The sound of loud, panicked voices pierced the stillness outside, jolting me from my light slumber. My heart immediately began to race, its beats echoing in my ears like a drum. I sat up abruptly in the sleeping bag, the fabric rustling noisily in the otherwise silent tent.
Beside me, Chris stirred, his voice deep and groggy with sleep. “What is it?” he asked, his words muffled by drowsiness. He made no attempt to move, still half-enshrouded in the cocoon of the sleeping bag, his eyes barely open.
Outside, the voices grew louder, more panicked, each cry sending a cool shiver of apprehension down my spine. “I don't know,” I replied to Chris, my voice laced with a growing anxiety. “I’ll go and find out.” Determination overrode my initial shock, propelling me to investigate.
Pulling myself out of the sleeping bag, the darkness enveloped me, thick and impenetrable. It must have been the dead of night, given the absence of any natural light. The only faint illumination came from the sporadic, flickering glow of the campfire’s flames, casting ghostly shadows around our tent.
“Karen,” Chris whispered sharply, his hand suddenly clasping my arm, his touch firm yet cautious.
“What?” I turned towards him, squinting in the near darkness, barely able to discern his outline.
“I’m coming with you,” he declared, his voice now steadier, more awake.
I nodded in response, aware that he might not see it in the dark, but the gesture was for me more than him - an acknowledgment of our partnership, of not facing the unknown alone.
As I stepped out of the tent, the chilly night air hit me, carrying with it Kain's spine-tingling cry. “Shit! We’re surrounded!” His words were like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the atmosphere with fear and urgency.
“What’s going on?” I called out, my voice trembling slightly, as a sudden gust of wind whipped fine dust into my face, forcing me to shield my eyes with my hand.
Chris was instantly at my side, his presence a comforting solidity in the chaos. He placed his hand on my shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that grounded me.
Paul's voice cut through the night, trying to rationalise the situation. “I think it’s just a dust-” But he stopped mid-sentence. The eerie glow of the Portal's bright, rainbow colours momentarily lit up the dunes in the distance, casting a surreal light against the dark sky before disappearing as abruptly as they had appeared.
“Is that Luke?” I asked, my voice tinged with apprehension. The strange occurrence made the hairs on my arms stand on end, a physical manifestation of my growing unease.
“I’m right here,” came Luke's response from nearby.
“If that wasn’t Luke, then who?” I muttered under my breath, a shiver of fear running down my spine. The uncertainty of the situation was overwhelming, the darkness around us suddenly feeling more oppressive.
Jamie’s stern voice broke through the tension. “Duke, stop barking!” he scolded. He held the dog close to him in front of his tent, trying to control the animal's growing agitation.
Lois responded with a guttural growl that seemed to echo the group's collective anxiety.
Then, a chilling scream shattered the night's uneasy quiet, sending a shockwave of pure terror rippling through the camp.
“Lois!” Glenda's voice was a mix of fear and desperation as the Retriever bolted into the darkness. I watched, my heart pounding, as Glenda and Paul quickly disappeared after Lois, their figures swallowed by the night.
Kain, acting on instinct, grabbed a frying pan from the fire and dashed off in pursuit, his movements hurried and frantic.
“Grab Duke!” Luke barked out an order to Jamie before he, too, followed the others into the darkness.
The rapid succession of events left me reeling, my mind struggling to keep up. I felt an almost primal urge to join them, to do something, anything.
“Duke!” Jamie's voice was laced with panic as Duke wriggled free and darted off. Jamie, head down, chased after the determined dog into the enveloping blackness.
I moved to follow, but Chris's firm grip pulled me back. “Karen. Don’t,” he said, his tone serious and unwavering.
Looking into his eyes, I saw the reflection of the fire casting an eerie shadow across his face, mirroring the fear I felt. “I feel like we should be doing something,” I said, my voice shaky, my hands trembling with adrenaline and fear.
“It's pitch-black out there. We’ll only get lost too. We need to wait,” Chris insisted, his voice steady, trying to impart reason over the panic.
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly, pulling myself closer to Chris, seeking comfort in his warmth.
The campsite fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the sporadic crackling of the fire and the distant, indistinct shouts of our companions. We were left in a limbo of worry and anticipation, the darkness around us a tangible reminder of our vulnerability in this unfamiliar world.
As the tension in the campsite hung thick in the air, Jamie’s cry for help sliced through the stillness. “Help me!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic as he stumbled back into the dim light of the campfire, cradling Duke in his arms.
“Jamie! What’s happened?” I called out, my voice sharp with concern. Chris and I rushed to meet him, our feet kicking up small clouds of dust as we moved. My eyes widened in shock at the sight of an unfamiliar woman accompanying him. She appeared like a figure straight out of an ancient tale – a warrior, with a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows slung effortlessly over her shoulder.
As Jamie’s knees buckled under the weight of his emotion and exhaustion, Chris was quick to react, catching him just as he began to collapse. “I’ve got you,” Chris assured him, his voice steady and strong.
Turning to the woman cautiously, my gaze fixed on her, trying to assess if she was a friend or a threat. Taking Duke gently from Jamie’s arms, I immediately felt the warmth and stickiness of blood trickling down my arm, soaking into the fabric of my shirt. My heart clenched in fear and sorrow. Duke was seriously hurt.
“The creature’s wounds are serious. He has lost a lot of blood,” the warrior woman informed me, her tone matter-of-fact yet tinged with a hint of empathy.
A gasp escaped my lips, my worst fears about Duke's condition confirmed. My heart sank, feeling heavy with the grim reality of the situation.
Turning her attention to Jamie, who was visibly struggling with his emotions, the woman spoke again. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.” Her words, though likely meant to be comforting, felt like a cold splash of reality.
Jamie's response was heart-wrenching. “Duke,” he cried, tears streaming down his face as he broke free from Chris’s grasp and reclaimed Duke from my arms. “The lagoon,” he whispered, a flicker of hope or perhaps desperation lighting up his eyes.
“It’s too dangerous,” the warrior woman cautioned, her voice firm. “Whatever is out there will smell the blood and most certainly attack again. I can’t protect you out there.”
Her words struck a chord of fear in me. The situation was dire – not just for Duke, but for all of us. The unknown dangers lurking in the darkness, the potential for further attacks, and now the introduction of this mysterious warrior woman – it all culminated into a whirlwind of uncertainty and peril.
The night air was suddenly pierced by another loud, harrowing scream, emanating from the direction of the Portal. The sound sent a fresh wave of terror through me, a stark reminder that the danger was far from over.
“Your friends need help,” the warrior woman stated, her voice urgent but composed. Without another word, she took off running towards the source of the scream. I watched as she swiftly retrieved an arrow from her quiver, her movements fluid and practiced, a true embodiment of a seasoned warrior.
Meanwhile, Jamie, overwhelmed with grief and desperation, began to walk towards the river. My instincts kicked in, and I immediately followed him. The warrior was right about the dangers lurking out there, but leaving Jamie alone was not an option.
“Jamie,” I said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder firmly, gently encouraging him to face me. “There’s no time.” My voice was a mix of urgency and compassion, understanding his pain but aware of the imminent danger.
“The river has healed before. It can heal again,” Jamie sobbed, his voice breaking with emotion. He turned away from me, continuing his short but perilous journey to the river bank behind the row of tents.
Chris, ever the protector, stepped in beside Jamie, holding a large, makeshift fire torch that cast an eerie glow around us. “Then I’m coming with you,” he declared, his voice steady and resolute.
After a moment of surprise, I quickly regained my composure and nodded in silent agreement. Together, Chris and I followed Jamie, each step heavy with apprehension and determination. The fire torch flickered in Chris's hand, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground as we moved. It was a small source of light in the overwhelming darkness, a symbol of our defiance against the unknown terrors of the night.
The riverbank, under the faint illumination from Chris's torch, felt like a world removed from the chaos that had engulfed our camp. The gentle lapping of the water against the shore provided a stark contrast to the frantic energy of just moments ago. I stood beside Jamie, my hand on his back for support, as he carefully stepped into the river with Duke in his arms.
“It’s okay, Duke,” Jamie whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he gently lowered the small, furry body into the water. “You’ll be okay.” His words were a mix of hope and desperation, a plea to the universe for Duke’s survival.
The light from Chris’s torch flickered, casting a warm, dancing glow on our faces, accentuating the glistening tears in our eyes. The scene unfolding before us was heart-wrenching – a poignant blend of hope, grief, and the rawness of human emotion. I wasn’t sure what Jamie meant by the river's healing powers, but his belief in them was evident, and in that moment, I chose to share in his hope, however fragile it might have been.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you, Duke,” Jamie sobbed, his voice breaking the stillness of the night. His sorrow was palpable, a raw, aching wound.
Standing there, I felt a deep sense of helplessness wash over me. I wanted to do something, anything, to ease Jamie’s pain. In the dim light, I noticed the water around Jamie slowly staining red, a silent testament to Duke’s grave injuries.
“No, Duke! No!” Jamie’s cry of anguish shattered the night, his hands gently shaking Duke’s limp head. It was a sound that resonated with the finality of loss, the acceptance of an outcome we had all feared.
My heart ached with the heavy realisation that Duke was gone. I looked at Chris, the sadness mirrored in his eyes. He passed me the torch and quickly waded into the water, his movements purposeful yet gentle, as he placed his hands firmly on Jamie’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Jamie. Duke’s gone,” I said, my voice a soft whisper, a lament for the loss of a companion, a friend.
Overcome with grief, Jamie’s body sagged, and he sank below the water’s surface. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, the air thick with sorrow.
Chaos erupted as Chris sprang into action. Without a second thought, I threw the fire torch onto the ground, its flames sputtering against the dirt, and plunged into the cold water. My hands searched through the darkness until they found Duke’s lifeless body. With a heavy heart, I carried him back to the shore, the reality of his loss weighing heavily on me.
Meanwhile, Chris struggled with Jamie, who was limp and unresponsive. He managed to drag him out of the water, his movements frantic yet determined. Chris immediately started CPR, but, mercifully, it was hardly necessary. Jamie’s eyes snapped open, wide with shock, and he coughed violently, expelling mouthfuls of water.
Jamie, fuelled by a mix of grief and desperation, scrambled over to where I sat with Duke. He almost ripped Duke from my arms, his voice strained with emotion. "Leave me!” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I considered protesting, wanting to offer some solace, but I knew it was futile. Jamie was consumed by his grief, and in that moment, he needed space to mourn. I watched him as he sat by the water’s edge, his legs dangling into the river, a lone figure enveloped by the night.
Planting the fire torch near him, Chris and I retreated to a safe distance, pausing near the tents to ensure Jamie didn’t re-enter the water. He remained there, a solitary figure in the dark, and I knew that he would likely stay there for the remainder of the night, lost in his sorrow.
“There’s nothing more we can do for him,” Chris whispered to me, his voice gentle yet tinged with sadness. “We need to get out of these wet clothes.”
“You go,” I told him. “I’m going to stay close and keep an eye on Jamie.” My voice was firm, my decision made. I couldn’t leave Jamie alone in his grief.
“Okay,” Chris agreed with a nod, understanding my need to stay. "I'll bring you some dry clothes.”
As Chris left to fetch the clothes, I stood there, my gaze fixed on Jamie’s hunched figure. My mind drifted, a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions churning inside me. Loss, grief, the fragility of life in Clivilius – all these thoughts swirled in my head.
When Chris returned, he brought a fresh fire torch and dry clothes for me. I planted the new torch firmly in the ground and quickly changed, the dry fabric a small comfort against the chill of the night. Then, I sat in the dust, not far from Jamie, keeping watch. The flames of the torch flickered, casting a warm, orange glow that barely penetrated the encompassing darkness.
Sitting there, my eyes on Jamie and the still river, I felt a deep sense of solidarity in our shared vulnerability. In the face of loss and the unknown dangers of Clivilius, we were all bound together – by grief, by fear, by the unspoken promise to look out for one another in this strange, new world.
The camp, which had been eerily silent for a while, was suddenly alive with commotion as people began to return. Their voices, a blend of relief and continued concern, filled the night air, breaking the somber stillness that had settled over us.
Sensing that not everything was right, Chris, after a brief, wordless exchange with me, left to check on the situation at the camp. His departure was marked by a subtle hesitation, a silent promise to return soon. I remained seated, my gaze steadfastly fixed on Jamie, who sat motionless by the river. He seemed completely detached from the world around him, lost in his grief and the haunting memories of Duke.
As I watched over him, I tried my best to drown out the noise from the camp. The sounds of people talking, moving, and organising themselves after the night's events were a distant buzz, overshadowed by the heavy thoughts that weighed on my mind. Jamie's pain, the uncertainty of what had happened, the fear of what might still be lurking in the darkness – all these thoughts swirled in my head, each one a heavy burden.
My eyes, reflecting the exhaustion and emotional toll of the night, began to feel as heavy as my heart. The flickering flames of the fire torch provided a hypnotic rhythm, lulling me into a state of weary drowsiness. Despite my best efforts to stay alert, to be there for Jamie, my body had other plans. Before I knew it, I was curled up in a tight ball on the ground, succumbing to the exhaustion that enveloped me.
The sudden jolt of Chris shaking me awake tore me from the grasp of a light, yet restless sleep. “Come on,” he urged, his voice gentle but firm, nudging me to stand up. “Let’s get you back to the tent.”
Blinking away the grogginess, I glanced over at Jamie, who still sat motionless by the river. His stillness tugged at my heart, but I knew there was nothing more I could do for him tonight.
“Okay,” I agreed, my voice hoarse with sleep. I rubbed my weary forehead, feeling every bit of the night’s toll on my body and mind. Standing up, I felt unsteady, my legs stiff and reluctant to cooperate after having been curled up for so long.
As Chris and I made our way back to the tent, the camp was quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier commotion. The soft rustle of the wind and the distant murmur of voices were the only sounds accompanying our steps. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but exhaustion blanketed them, muting their intensity.
We settled into our sleeping bags, the familiar confines of the tent a small comfort after the night’s events. Chris, sensing my fatigue, began to speak, possibly to debrief the night's happenings or to offer some comfort.
However, I was too spent to engage in any conversation. “Chris, I’m exhausted,” I said, cutting him off sharply, my voice tinged with an edge of weariness. “Let's talk in the morning.”
There was a brief silence, and I could sense Chris understanding my need for rest. The events of the night had drained me, both physically and emotionally. My body ached for sleep, and my mind yearned for the respite of unconsciousness.
