I wiped the sweat from my forehead, the gritty sensation of dust mingling with perspiration serving as a harsh reminder of the environment's unforgiving nature. My feet dragged through the thick, omnipresent dust, each step a laborious effort that echoed the desolation of our surroundings. Pausing, I shook out the fine, pervasive dust from my shoes for what felt like the umpteenth time, my mind bitterly comparing this to the more forgiving sands of a beach—or even the rugged terrain of Broken Hill. This was a different beast altogether, a relentless, suffocating blanket that seemed to seep into every crevice, both physical and emotional.
The sudden, familiar rumble of the ute's engine cutting through the still, heavy air propelled me into action, my jogging pace a futile attempt to escape the omnipresent dust cloud that trailed my every move. As I approached, Kain greeted me with the window wound down, the interior of the vehicle a brief, tantalising glimpse into a world less choked by dust.
"No Luke?" I inquired, the question hanging between us, laden with unspoken concerns and the weight of our collective dependence on each other's roles in this precarious balance of survival and construction.
"Nope," Kain's response was succinct, a verbal shrug that did little to assuage the knot of worry forming in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help but wonder about Luke's whereabouts and the silent pressures we all navigated beneath the surface of our makeshift community.
"Need a lift back?" Kain's offer broke through my reverie.
"Nah. All good," I replied, brandishing the pen and folded paper I had been safeguarding in my back pocket as if they were talismans against the uncertainty of our situation. "I'll do an inventory and then I'm going to make Luke some lists." My voice carried a determined undertone, a commitment to getting things done.
Kain's laughter, light and unburdened, floated through the air. "Your inventory will be easy," he joked, a moment of levity in the face of our daunting reality. "I think it's mostly just large shed materials left."
His words, though meant in jest, anchored me back to the purpose of my endeavour. The task of inventory, simple as it might appear, was a linchpin in the delicate machinery of our operations. I was acutely aware of the weight of responsibility that came with construction, far removed from the hobbyist projects of my past. This wasn't about assembling a child's playhouse or piecing together a computer desk; the stakes were infinitely higher, with real consequences for failure.
"They're making quick work with the tent. I'm sure Glenda will enjoy helping you with the slabs," I offered, an attempt to bridge my concerns with the ongoing efforts back at camp.
"Okay," Kain's response was terse, the finality of the conversation underscored by the revving engine and the subsequent kick-up of dust as he drove the ute back towards camp.
I stood there, a solitary figure amidst the swirling dust, watching the vehicle's rear tires bite into the soft earth. The worry lines deepening on my forehead were a mirror to the tracks left by the ute, a physical manifestation of my internal fears. He'll be lucky if he doesn't get bogged, I thought.
The Drop Zone, a sprawling expanse of dust and ambition, had quickly sapped what little energy I had mustered that morning. After a solitary, contemplative lap around the perimeter, I found myself gravitating towards an unassuming box, its surface dust-coated yet inviting. Settling down, the heat enveloped me like a suffocating blanket, and a sense of exhaustion washed over me, leaving me feeling utterly deflated. With a heavy sigh, I smoothed out a piece of paper along my thigh, the texture of the material a startling reminder of the roughness of my hands, dry and gritty from the relentless dust.
Despite the overwhelming odds, a flicker of hope persisted within me—hope that Luke might procure the right materials for my ambitious project. It was a long shot, given our isolated circumstances and the specific needs of the Drop Zone, yet the possibility of contributing to something tangible spurred a rare surge of optimism. So, with deliberate care, I began to jot down the requirements in very general terms at the top of the page: long posts and shade cloth – the Drop Zone needs some shelter. The words, simple yet laden with the weight of our collective need for respite from the relentless sun, seemed to echo the urgency of our situation.
Time became a blurred notion, lost amidst the concentration and the relentless heat that made the sweat trickle down my face incessantly. It was during this haze of focus and discomfort that the bright colours of the Portal abruptly shattered my concentration, its vibrant swirls igniting a spark of excitement within me. The arrival of the charcoal BMW, gliding to a stop just a few meters from the Drop Zone's modestly pillared entrance, was a spectacle that momentarily lifted the oppressive atmosphere. Admiration washed over me, a brief respite from the day's drudgery.
Yet, as the vehicle came to a halt, a flicker of curiosity morphed into intrigue. I squinted against the glare, the silhouette of an additional passenger momentarily catching my attention. The question of who it could be lingered in the air, an unresolved puzzle that was quickly overshadowed by the sudden appearance of a large golden retriever leaping from the car. The dog's majestic form, a burst of energy and fur, trotted past with an air of purpose, oblivious to my presence. Its bark, both joyful and commanding, seemed to herald its arrival as it made a beeline towards the camp.
"Lois!" Luke's voice cut through the stillness as he emerged from the car.
What the hell is Luke thinking bringing yet another dog here! My frustration bubbled up, manifesting in a silent, theatrical gesture of disbelief towards the sky. In this landscape, every new mouth to feed was another day's worth of resources stretched thinner.
"Glenda's," Luke explained briefly, as if the mere mention of her name should clarify any and all concerns.
I could only offer a noncommittal shrug in response, the dog already forgotten as my interest pivoted towards the vehicle. "Nice car," I commented, my fingers tapping against its hood with an appreciative rhythm. The sleek lines of the BMW contrasted sharply with the rugged backdrop of the desert. "Do we get to keep it?" I asked, half-joking yet secretly hopeful.
"Of course," Luke responded, his casual affirmation catching me off guard. "The keys are in the ignition."
"Sweet," I murmured, allowing myself a moment of unabashed pleasure as I sank into the front seat. The interior's cool luxury was a refreshing departure from the harsh, unforgiving environment outside.
"Have you got Joel's address yet?" Luke inquired, snapping my attention back to him.
"Yeah," I replied, fishing the torn piece of paper from my back pocket and handing it over. A grin tugged at my lips as I watched his reaction, knowing full well the assumptions that would dance through his mind. "Joel wrote it," I hastened to add, eager to absolve myself of any blame for the illegible scrawl that barely passed for an address.
"Oh," Luke murmured, his reaction subdued, betraying a hint of surprise. "Nice."
"Hey!" I called out, extracting myself from the cocoon of the car as Luke began to distance himself. "Are you going to help?" My gesture encompassed the vehicle, heavily laden with supplies that whispered promises of progress and backbreaking labour in equal measure.
"Can't," Luke replied with a straightforwardness that bordered on dismissive. He brandished the torn piece of paper like a shield, a flimsy excuse that nonetheless granted him passage away from the physical toil awaiting us. "Joel's waiting," he called over his shoulder, his form retreating towards the swirling colours of the Portal.
Then, just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the kaleidoscopic gateway that connected our worlds. The Portal's vibrant hues faded, leaving me alone with the car, its cargo, and a sense of abandonment that was becoming all too familiar in this landscape of survival and sacrifice.
Closing the car door behind me, I felt a surge of excitement mixed with a touch of reverence for the task at hand. Turning the key in the ignition, the car purred to life, a symphony of mechanical perfection that momentarily eclipsed everything else. A wide grin spread across my face, unbidden yet genuine, as I whispered to no one in particular, "Such a beautiful car." My eyes danced over the interior, taking in the luxury of the leather that peeked out from under an assortment of pillows, blankets, and an array of bags and cases—a juxtaposition of opulence and practicality that somehow seemed fitting for our odd existence.
With a final, affirming rev of the engine, I guided the shiny vehicle over the crest of the first hill, the thrill of the drive igniting a flicker of joy within me. Plumes of dust billowed into the air behind me, marking my passage through this desolate landscape. "Woo!" The exultation slipped from me as the car fishtailed down the hill, a moment of exhilaration that was abruptly snuffed out as the vehicle came to an unexpected and jarring halt.
I attempted to restart the car, turning the key with a mixture of hope and urgency. The engine obeyed, humming back to life, but my relief was short-lived. Pressing the accelerator only resulted in the back wheels spinning helplessly, digging themselves deeper into the unforgiving dust until they, and my spirits, ground to a halt. Climbing out to assess the situation, the depth of it hit me hard. The wheels had buried themselves so deeply that the bottom of the bumper was barely an inch above the ground. "Shit!" The word was a cry of frustration, echoing starkly against the silence of the barren landscape.
With a huff of disappointment that felt heavy in my chest, I resignedly removed the key from the ignition, my actions mechanical as I began to unload several bags from the car. To my chagrin, they turned out to be dog food—a small consolation, but one I clung to nonetheless. I couldn't bear the thought of returning to camp completely empty-handed, not after the brief taste of freedom the car ride had offered.
And so, with my enthusiasm deflated and the weight of failure pressing down on me, I began the short but now seemingly insurmountable trek back to camp. The bags felt heavier with each step, a physical manifestation of my disappointment. I was almost there, on the cusp of a small victory. Yet, as I marched back to face the others, the dust clinging to my boots and the dog food cradled in my arms, I couldn't help but feel the sting of what could have been.
As I made my way into the heart of our burgeoning camp, the declaration fell from my lips with a mix of resignation and determination, "We need a road." The moment my presence was noted, Lois, a bundle of unrestrained joy, abandoned Joel's side to greet me. Her tail was a frantic pendulum of excitement as she bounded towards me, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the weight of the situation I was bearing.
Tossing the car keys to Glenda with a casual flick of my wrist, I set down the bags of dog food with a thud, the dust rising around us like a slow exhale. Crouching to meet Lois, her affectionate lick across my cheek sparked an immediate smile. "Ooh, you're a gorgeous girl," I murmured, my fingers lost in the thick fur of her head, each scratch a momentary escape from the harsh reality awaiting us just over the hill.
"My car's here?" Glenda's voice, tinged with a mix of surprise and concern, cut through the moment. The keys dangled from her hand, a symbol of both hope and the complications that came with it.
"Yeah," my response was distracted, my attention wholly claimed by Lois, whose demands for affection provided a brief, cherished respite. "It got bogged just over the hill." The admission was made with a heavy heart.
"We definitely need a road," Kain's laughter, light and mocking, attempted to slice through the tension.
"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you," I retorted, the jest tinged with an edge of reality. The question that followed was a mock challenge, a reflection of the daunting task that lay ahead. "You want to be the one to collect the stuff in it or dig it out of the dust?"
"Honestly," Glenda exhaled in a huff. "This camp is like living with a bunch of children sometimes." Her stride towards the car, with Lois and Duke trailing loyally behind, was a mix of determination and resignation, bracing herself for yet another obstacle.
Kain and I exchanged a glance, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity and complexity of our situation. Jamie's joke, "I don't think she's got any children," was a light-hearted attempt to ease the tension, a brief interlude of humour in our otherwise unfortunate circumstances.
"I heard that!" Glenda's call, sharp and clear, reverberated back to us, a reminder of her ever-vigilant presence.
"Come on," Kain urged, nodding towards Glenda's retreating figure. His suggestion, simple yet laden with the unspoken understanding of shared burden, propelled us into action.
As we made our way across the uneven terrain, the absence of our newest additions to the camp sparked a question that had been lingering at the back of my mind. "Hey, where are the new people?" I voiced out, curious about their whereabouts.
"Karen and Chris?" Kain echoed, as if to confirm whom I was inquiring about amidst our ever-growing assembly of Bixbus settlers.
“Yeah,” I affirmed.
Jamie's shoulders lifted in an indifferent shrug, his silence speaking volumes of our collective awareness—or lack thereof—of each other's movements.
"They've gone for a walk," Kain finally disclosed, filling in the gaps of our fragmented community tapestry.
"Oh, the lagoon?" The question left my lips tinged with a knowing smile, the mention of the lagoon bringing forth images of tranquility and sensual energy.
"Pretty sure they went upstream," Kain corrected, his answer redirecting my mental map of their possible retreat.
Our focus shifted abruptly as Jamie, crouching beside the car's hopelessly buried back wheel, let out a mix of astonishment and amusement. "Fuck! You've done a good job, Paul," his voice was laced with a sarcastic commendation, drawing a tight line of frustration across my forehead.
"It all happened so quickly," I defended, the words barely covering the embarrassment and haste that had led to the car's unfortunate demise.
"I bet it did," Jamie retorted, the undercurrent of humour in his voice matched by Kain's soft chuckle. The camaraderie, though strained by the situation, was a thin veneer over the underlying tension. Rolling my eyes, I turned away, eager to escape the spotlight of their amusement.
"You're not staying, Paul?" Glenda's voice called out, a mix of surprise and reproach halting my retreat.
"I don't think Luke's done yet," I replied, the words, while true, were a thin veil for my desire to distance myself from the immediate failure and perhaps find solace in whatever new arrival lay ahead. My steps, determined yet heavy, carried me away from the group.
The sound of soft steps trailing behind me prompted a pause in my stride. Turning slightly, I saw Lois, her attention momentarily caught by the mundane allure of the desolate landscape. "Come on, Lois," I encouraged, a faint smile breaking through as she dutifully followed, after stopping to sniff at nothing-in-particular and squatting to pee.
"Luke!" The call left my throat more as a plea than a summons, echoing off the dusty landscape as Lois and I stood sentinel atop the final hill. The sight of him, hastily abandoning an armful of belongings by the Portal only to vanish without a trace, sparked a flare of frustration within me. The fact that he hadn't even bothered to take it to the Drop Zone, where every resource was precious and accounted for, struck me as both reckless and disheartening.
By the time Lois and I made our way down to the Portal, the heat and the exertion were evident in her laboured panting. The air was thick, almost tangible with the heat that shimmered off the barren earth. "We'll just see what Luke is doing and then we'll get you back to camp for some water," I assured her.
Lois's attempts to find a comfortable position to rest, her awkward shuffling and resettling, painted a picture of discomfort that resonated deeply with me. When she finally stood still, her gaze lifted to mine, eyes brimming with a sadness that mirrored my own sentiments. The dust, invasive and relentless, seemed to sap the vitality from us both. "I know," I found myself empathising openly as I crouched to offer her a comforting pat. "This dust is horrible, isn't it?" The words were a whispered acknowledgment of our shared plight, a moment of connection in the midst of our struggles.
Faced with the task of dealing with the abandoned suitcase, my gaze drifted back towards camp, the distance looming like a chasm filled with heat and exhaustion. My eyes closed against the daunting prospect, a silent plea for respite from the relentless sun. It's too far, the thought echoed in my mind, a sentiment that bore the weight of the day's challenges and the cumulative toll of our circumstances. The very idea of undertaking another trek back to camp, under the scorching sun and with the dust swirling around me, felt like too much to bear in that moment. With a resigned determination, I lifted the suitcase, I carried the suitcase to the Drop Zone.
Bending to collect the second suitcase, the world around me felt like it was closing in, the boundaries between frustration and resignation blurring. Then, as if on cue, Luke materialised through the swirling colours of the Portal.
"Who's all this for?" The question burst from me, a mix of curiosity and a growing frustration that I found increasingly difficult to keep at bay.
"Oh," Luke began, his casual demeanour in stark contrast to the tension I felt. "The suitcases are for Karen and Chris, the large backpack over there is for Kain, and these," he gestured with a nod towards the small bags still clutched in his grasp, "are Joel's."
I was about to respond, to articulate the mixture of disbelief and concern that was brewing within me, when Luke cut me off with a continuation that felt almost dismissive in its casualness. "And I may as well bring a few things through with me whenever I come and go from different locations, so expect the random."
Random! The word echoed in my head like a siren, its implications unsettling. This randomness, this unpredictability, it was the straw that broke the camel's back, shattering the fragile veneer of my composure. "You can't just bring random crap through," I found myself saying, the volume of my voice a testament to the mounting pressure within.
"It's not crap! These are people's belongings!" Luke's retort was swift, his frustration mirroring my own as he dropped the bags in a gesture of defiance.
"What the hell are they supposed to do with it all?" My voice rose in anger, a part of me detachedly recognising the irrationality of my outburst, yet powerless to rein it in. "It's not like we have anywhere to put anything! Hell, we don't have houses. We may as well be living in dog kennels!"
"Far out, Paul!" Luke's exclamation, his hands thrown up in a gesture of exasperation, felt like a physical blow. "Give me a break. I'm only trying to make things more comfortable and homely for you all."
"Homely!" The word tasted bitter as I spat it back at him. "You can hardly call this homely!" In a fit of frustration, I scooped up a handful of the omnipresent dust, throwing it into the air as if to punctuate my point. "This fucking dust is everywhere and it is driving me fucking nuts!"
Luke's response was laughter, a sound that felt jarringly out of place in the heat of our argument. The sound grated on my already frayed nerves.
"Just fuck off, Luke," I muttered, a mixture of anger and resignation fuelling my words. Hefting the backpack over my shoulders and grabbing another smaller bag, I turned to Lois. "Come on, Lois," I urged, the desire to escape the immediate tension overwhelming. "Let's get you some fucking water."
As we began our retreat, a heavy sigh escaped me, a sound laden with weariness and a dawning realisation. I'm starting to sound like Jamie already. The thought was sobering, a reflection of the strain that this new existence imposed on me, warping my interactions and testing my limits in ways I could never have anticipated.
