"Shit!" The exclamation burst from my lips as the tent pole, slick with the sweat from my palms, escaped my grasp. The end of it struck me sharply on the side of the head, a brief flash of pain that was as surprising as it was sharp, before it clattered to the ground with a sound that seemed overly dramatic in the quiet of our surroundings.
"Hey!" Jamie's voice, tinged with concern and a hint of frustration, carried across the expanse of what was to be our first shelter. The structure itself seemed to share in our moment of disarray, wobbling precariously as the corner I had been responsible for gave way, yet again. The large tent, ambitious in its size given our limited experience, challenged our determination—or perhaps our naivety.
Despite the progress we had been making in Luke's absence, the incident left me questioning my own capabilities. The realm of manual labour, it appeared, was filled with nuances and difficulties that I hadn't fully appreciated until now. The irony was not lost on me; here I was, struggling to erect a basic shelter, a task that humans had mastered millennia ago, yet feeling utterly out of my depth.
"Sorry," My voice carried back to Jamie, an attempt to bridge the physical and metaphorical distance between us. As I rubbed the side of my head, probing for any signs of injury, a part of me expected to find a burgeoning lump, a physical manifestation of my ineptitude. Finding none, I let out a small sigh of relief, a momentary pause in the string of setbacks that seemed to characterise our attempt at setting up camp.
Bending down, I retrieved the pole from the dust, its surface gritty against my skin, as the fine particles clung to my hands. With a renewed sense of determination, or perhaps stubbornness, I grasped the pole firmly, ready to give it another try. The task at hand was clear, even if our success was anything but guaranteed.
The sight of Luke's returning figure was like a beacon in the vastness of Clivilius, momentarily eclipsing all other concerns. The pole, and with it the precarious stability of our tent, was forgotten as I rushed to meet him, the relief at his safe return momentarily lifting the weight of our situation. "Finally!" The word was a burst of emotion, a mixture of relief, anticipation, and a touch of desperation.
"I wasn't gone that long," Luke retorted, his voice carrying a lightness that contrasted sharply with the tension I had felt in his absence. The practical items he handed over—a shovel and several rolls of toilet paper—were symbols of the normalcy we were struggling to maintain.
"You were gone long enough," Jamie's voice cut through. His gesture towards the tent was a silent testament to the efforts and frustrations that had filled the interim.
Luke's optimism seemed undiminished by our clear struggle. "You've made great progress. You'll have it finished in no time," he said, his cheerfulness bordering on the unrealistic given the state of our construction efforts. His promise to return with clothes for me was a reminder of the basic necessities we were still scrambling to secure, the simple comforts of life on Earth that felt so distant here.
"Good idea," I responded, a touch self-consciously, the dust of Clivilius mingling uncomfortably with my sweat, creating a layer of grime that made me acutely aware of my current state of undress. Luke's hasty departure, with the promise of quick relief, left a void that was immediately filled by Jamie's pragmatic focus.
The look I shot Jamie, a silent plea for a momentary reprieve, went unappreciated. His directive to resume work on the tent, coupled with the moniker "clumsy," was a jarring call back to reality. I cringed, not just at the nickname but at the truth it carried. The tent, with all its challenges, did indeed feel like a ‘bloody obstacle’ in more ways than one.
Yet, Jamie's blunt encouragement sparked something within me—a determination, perhaps born of necessity or pride, or a mixture of both. With a renewed sense of purpose, I approached the task at hand. The tent pole, once a symbol of my frustrations, snapped into position with a satisfying click. It was a small victory, but in the vast uncertainty of Clivilius, even the smallest step forward felt like a monumental achievement.
The tent, a beacon of our hard work against the backdrop of an unforgiving landscape, stood proudly as Luke's voice broke through the silence, vibrant and full of life. "The tent looks amazing!" he exclaimed, his excitement palpable in the cool air that surrounded us. "Is it finished now?" he inquired, his gaze eagerly sweeping over the structure that had absorbed so much of our time and dedication.
"Pretty much," Jamie replied, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He accepted the suitcase from Luke with a nod. Then, turning to me, Luke handed over my overnight bag and backpack, their familiar weight settling in my hands. "Thanks," I said, feeling a mix of gratitude and the impending sense of Luke’s departure.
As Luke turned away, his next words lingered in the air, touching a soft spot in my heart. "Duke misses you," he said to Jamie, his tone laced with a gentle sadness. The statement, simple yet profound, echoed within me. I watched Luke's figure recede towards the pile of rubbish we had amassed. "He knew as soon as I got the suitcase out that you were going away," Luke's voice faded, trailing off into the distance.
In that moment, my mind conjured the image of Charlie, my dark grey Kelpie, her presence a vivid memory against the starkness of our surroundings. How I yearned for her companionship, her boundless energy and the unconditional love she offered. The thought of her brought a fleeting sense of comfort.
Yet, as I allowed myself another deep sigh, the reality of our situation settled heavily upon me. Observing the endless expanse of brown and yellow dust, a bleak canvas under the relentless sun, the truth became painfully clear. This environment, harsh and unforgiving, was no place for a dog as spirited and vibrant as Charlie. The realisation was a sombre one, underscoring the sacrifices and choices we were forced to make in our quest for survival.
"Take these back with you," I said, my voice more firm than I intended as I thrust several black garbage bags into Luke's arms. The bags, swollen with the detritus of our recent efforts, seemed almost comical in their bulkiness.
Luke's eyes widened slightly as he assessed the bulging sacks of rubbish. "I don't think the bin will fit both of those," he remarked, skepticism painting his features. His doubt was not unfounded; the bags were indeed a testament to our extensive cleanup.
"I'm sure you'll think of something," I encouraged, attempting to infuse a note of optimism into the situation. "We've also made a small pile of cardboard we can burn, over there," I added, gesturing vaguely to the site where a modest mound of cardboard lay as evidence of our attempt at tidiness.
A smile cracked across Luke's face, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge accepted. He hoisted the bags with a resigned determination and began his journey back to the Portal, the weight of our collective refuse in tow.
Turning back to our immediate surroundings, Jamie's voice broke the brief silence. "We may as well unpack these in the tent," he suggested, his tone pragmatic, carrying his suitcase with an ease that belied its apparent weight. His biceps flexed under the strain.
Dragging my own bag with considerably less grace, I followed Jamie into the tent, my enthusiasm waning with each step. "And put them away where?" I queried, my voice laced with a weariness that mirrored my physical state.
Jamie didn't miss a beat, placing his suitcase down in the right wing of our spacious tent. His movement was fluid, practiced, but the space did not welcome us as it should have. "For fuck's sake!" Jamie's frustration erupted.
I chose to ignore Jamie's outburst, though it echoed loudly within the canvas walls of our temporary abode. Inside, I felt a stir of agreement, a shared sentiment of frustration that I pushed aside. I took my bag to the left wing, seeking solitude in the act of rummaging through my belongings. Quietly, I found a blue singlet, a small comfort against the relentless dust that seemed to permeate everything.
Feeling the confines of the tent closing in, both physically and metaphorically, I made a decision. "I'm going for a walk," I announced to Jamie, the words barely escaping before I turned and left the tent behind.
I collected the shovel from where I had left it lying on the ground alongside the two rolls of toilet paper. The items seemed almost out of place in the natural setting, a stark reminder of our human needs in the midst of this desert. Leaving the toilet paper behind, I ventured along the edge of the river upstream. The soft burbling of the water, a constant companion in this otherwise silent world, soothed my troubled mind. Its melody, both calming and relentless, hinted at the eternal cycle of nature, unbothered by human concerns. I could easily have stripped off my clothes and jumped back in, the cool embrace of the water promising a temporary escape from the heat and the dust. But I was on a mission—a mission that, in its absurdity, had become a focal point for my scattered thoughts. Somewhere, out there in the fine dust that seemed to coat every surface and fill every breath, a poo needed a proper burial.
Breaking from the river's comforting proximity, I turned due west. The transition was marked, from the soft, malleable banks of the river to the increasingly arid and unforgiving ground. I was nearing the spot, I was sure of it. My determination solidified with each step, even as the landscape offered no encouragement. My eyes locked in a constant stare on the ground around me, searching with a focus that felt oddly intense given the nature of my quest.
"Hmm," I wondered aloud, bringing myself to a halt. The large, round boulder protruding from the ground in front of me served as a landmark in this almost featureless expanse. But where is my poo? The question, absurd on its face, took on a gravity that felt disproportionate in the moment. My eyes opened wide with curiosity initially, then fear. The possibility that something—some creature of the desert—might have claimed my poo was unsettling. Did something actually take my poo? The thought was ludicrous, yet in the silence and isolation of this place, every possibility seemed magnified.
I raised the shovel, holding it in front of me more as a talisman than a weapon, ready for any fight. The gesture was more reflexive than rational, a symbol of my readiness to confront whatever this wild place might throw at me.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice breaking the silence with a note of defiance. Taking a few steps beyond the boulder, I peered into the expanse, half-expecting an answer. But the silence that greeted me was complete, a reminder of my isolation.
The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me. Here I was, armed with a shovel, on a mission to bury my own waste, confronting the vastness and indifference of nature with a mix of determination and unease.
A gentle breeze flirted with the edges of my fringe, offering a brief respite from the unyielding heat. I found myself rubbing at my arms, not entirely from the chill but more from a subconscious attempt to comfort myself amidst the vast emptiness. Lifting my gaze to the clear, blue sky, I noted its constant, unblemished canvas. Not a single cloud dared to mar its perfection, nor did any bird dare to slice through its expanse with a call. It was a silence so profound, it felt like a weight, pressing down with an almost tactile presence. I shivered again, not from cold, but from the realisation of my utter isolation. Another breeze whispered across my arms, as if nature itself was attempting to offer a semblance of companionship.
If I can't find the poo soon, I found myself thinking, a hint of resignation threading through the notion, I'll just head back to the tent. The thought of Jamie immediately surfaced, the possibility that he might be wondering about my whereabouts. But as quickly as it came, skepticism followed, snuffing out the fleeting concern. I shook my head, almost amused by my own naivety. Or not, I corrected myself, the reality of Jamie's indifference settling in. The absurdity of expecting any form of camaraderie or concern in this desolate landscape was laughable.
Motivated by a mix of determination and the need to conclude this bizarre quest, I took several more strides across the barren dust. The landscape seemed to stretch on endlessly, a sea of monotony. Then, suddenly, "Aha!" The exclamation burst from me, a small victory against the backdrop of desolation. There it was, the object of my singular focus—the dust-covered poo. It wasn't customary for me to fixate on such things. Yet, under the circumstances, this had become my mission, a peculiar but necessary task.
Crouching down, I found myself drawn into an inspection that felt oddly significant. It's so strange, I mused, the detective in me awakening. There were no ants marching towards it, no flies buzzing overhead, no signs of any critter that might consider this a feast. It was as if Clivilius was devoid of life, or at least, the kind of life that took interest in such organic offerings.
The realisation was eerie, unsettling even. Here I was, in a world that seemed to reject the very essence of what I had always known to be a natural cycle of life. The absence of life, or its apparent indifference to what should have been a natural attractant, underscored the alienness of this environment. It seemed Clivilius harboured no life that thrived on the remains of others, or if it did, it had no interest in what I had to offer.
The shovel sank into the soft ground with surprising ease, initially giving me a false sense of simplicity in the task at hand. But as I scooped away a couple of handfuls of dust, I quickly encountered the firm crust beneath—a hard contrast to the initial layer, almost as if the planet itself was challenging me, refusing to yield easily to my efforts. I crouched down to inspect this resistant layer more closely, its darker hue suggesting a compactness that the surface dust barely hinted at. Curiously, I touched the crust with the tip of my finger, pressing lightly. It left a small but visible indent, a minor victory against this unyielding barrier.
Standing again, I took a moment to steel myself for the next attempt. Gripping the shovel handle with renewed determination, I raised it high and drove it down with all the force I could muster. The crust gave way with a loud crack at the point of impact, a sound that echoed slightly in the silent expanse around me. Encouraged, I wriggled the shovel into the newfound crack, leveraging my weight with a heavy jump. To my satisfaction, the shovel sank beneath the dark crust, breaking through the barrier that had seemed so defiant moments before.
Much better, I thought with a small sense of triumph, as I tossed the last of the mixed dark soil and soft dust into the small hole where I had laid the poo to rest. It's safe now, I assured myself, a bizarre sentiment to have over such a task, yet there it was—a feeling of completion, of having done something necessary, however odd it might seem.
My gaze then shifted to the broader task of marking this spot. The thought of accidentally stumbling upon this toilet site in the future brought a grimace to my face. It would be most unpleasant, indeed. I scanned the desolate landscape for something—anything—that could serve as a marker. But the barrenness offered no aid; no tree, no bush, not even a stray branch to repurpose. My eyes fell back to the shovel in my hand, the only tool, the only companion, in this endeavour. It'll have to do, I resolved.
With that decision made, I gripped the shovel even tighter and raised it once more. This time, my action was not just about breaking through the crust but about leaving a lasting sign of my presence, of my intervention in this alien soil. I drove the shovel down into the firm crust with all the force I could summon, a final act of determination. The shovel stood there, upright and firm, a solitary marker in a vast, empty landscape, a testament to the oddity of the task I had completed and a guidepost for the memory of this moment, however strange it might be.
The return to the tent felt surprisingly swift, the landscape having tricked my senses into thinking I'd ventured further than I actually had. The realisation struck me with a mix of relief and disorientation. I haven't wandered so far after all, I realised, the familiar silhouette of our makeshift home coming into view more quickly than anticipated.
Upon my arrival, Jamie's immediate concern cut through any lingering thoughts. "Where's the shovel?" he asked, his gaze scanning me, expecting to see it in my hands.
"Oh," I responded, slightly taken aback by the abrupt shift to practicalities. "I've left it in the ground to mark our toilet spot. We can use that as our guide. We may as well do our business in a single location." It seemed like a logical solution at the time, a way to bring some semblance of order to our barren living conditions.
Jamie's reaction was immediate, his face contorting in a mix of disgust and resignation. "I guess," he said, the idea clearly not appealing to him. His suggestion that followed was unexpected. "Maybe we should build a long drop."
"A long drop?" I echoed, the term sparking a vague memory of basic outdoor survival tips I'd heard long ago.
"Yeah," Jamie confirmed, his voice carrying a hint of enthusiasm now, mixed with a candid admission. "Although I'm not really sure how we do that," he confessed dryly, the optimism fading as quickly as it had appeared. His pause was heavy, laden with a grim acceptance before he added, "We're going to die here."
The weight of his words hung in the air, thick and undeniable. I found myself rubbing my forehead, a gesture of stress and deep thought. Jamie's blunt assessment of our situation was hard to dismiss. I hadn't been camping since I was a child. The skills, the knowledge required to survive in an environment as unforgiving as this, seemed beyond my grasp. What hope do we have of surviving here? The question loomed large, threatening to engulf the flickers of hope I tried to nurture.
But surrendering to despair wasn't an option. We needed to remain positive, to cling to any sliver of hope, no matter how slim. "We just need—" I began, my thoughts scrambling for a plan, for any course of action that might improve our odds.
Before I could gather my thoughts, the sound of Luke's voice cut across the distance, pulling our attention away from the bleak spiral of our conversation. The urgency in his tone was enough to shift the mood, to offer a distraction, however brief.
"The mattress!" Jamie exclaimed, the previous conversation momentarily forgotten as he set off into a gentle jog toward the Portal. His sudden movement, spurred by Luke's call, was a stark reminder of our situation—constantly reacting, constantly adapting.
Curiosity tugged at my thoughts as I followed Jamie, eager to discover what had unfolded between him and Luke during my absence. My initial step back into their company was met with a scene that stretched the boundaries of my imagination. Luke, with a display of both determination and weariness, was hauling a king-size mattress through the Portal. The sight was so out of place, so incredibly surreal, that my face instinctively broke into an expression of astonishment. The mattress seemed to wrestle with the confines of the Portal, a bulky invader from another realm making its grand entrance into ours.
Without a word being exchanged, Jamie and I instinctively knew to jump into action. We approached Luke, and together, we lifted the cumbersome mattress. It was a moment that seamlessly blended the absurd with the cooperative, transforming what could have been an arduous task for Luke alone into a manageable, almost light-hearted endeavour for the three of us. As we carried the mattress towards the tent, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unity, a camaraderie forged in the most unexpected of circumstances.
No sooner had we positioned the mattress inside the tent than Luke was off again, this time returning with an armful of sheets and blankets. The fabrics, caught by the wind, fluttered gently, adding a touch of grace to the ruggedness of our surroundings. As we spread the sheets over the mattress, transforming it from a mere object to a place of rest, the action felt deeply symbolic. It was as though we were staking a claim, marking this small piece of the unknown as ours, if only for the night.
Laying out the blankets, I was struck by the peculiar intimacy of the moment. Here we were, three individuals, united by circumstance, creating a semblance of home in the midst of nowhere. Every tug and fold of the fabric was a small declaration of our resilience, a testament to our ability to find a little comfort in the face of the unknown.
Luke's apologetic tone, "Sorry there's only one tent and mattress," was met with my instinctive shrug. "I can't believe we haven't even been here for twenty-four hours. It feels like a week already," I mused aloud, the sentiment echoing my internal disorientation and the skewed perception of time.
"I know," Jamie chimed in, a lightness to his tone that I hadn't heard since our arrival. "At least I might get a decent night's sleep without Duke and Henri," he joked.
Luke's chuckle, a low, self-amused sound, broke through my reverie. "And I forgive you for sleeping with my brother for a night." His words, meant in jest, seemed to bridge the gap between the tension of our situation and the semblance of normalcy we were all grappling to find.
Jamie and I both laughed in return, a spontaneous eruption of genuine amusement that caught me off guard. It was a pleasant surprise, a brief respite from the constant undercurrent of uncertainty. The laughter felt like a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink of despair to a moment of shared humanity. It was the first time either of us had laughed since entering this strange world, a world that seemed to demand so much of us yet offered these fleeting moments of connection in return.
"I've ordered a few more tents," Luke interrupted, his voice cutting through the lingering chuckles. "They should arrive tomorrow." His statement was a promise of improved conditions and perhaps a bit more privacy.
"I hope they're at least as big as this one," I found myself saying, the thought of space, of having a corner of this vast unknown to call my own, sparking a flicker of excitement within me. "I could get used to having that much space to myself."
"Yes. They're the same size," Luke confirmed, and I could feel my spirits lift at the prospect. The idea of enduring this adventure with just a bit of personal space made the challenges seem more bearable. I'd only have to spend one night sharing the tent with Jamie. We'd have to share the mattress, but the promise of our own private wing for dressing offered a sliver of dignity.
"Now," Jamie's voice pulled me back to the present, a note of practicality in his tone as he addressed Luke. "That wood you were going to get?"
I looked at Jamie. "Wood?" I asked, having clearly missed some vital information while I was... preoccupied… earlier.
Luke swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in a visible sign of his unease. "I'll get it right now.” His words, simple yet laden with the weight of responsibility, reminded me of the precariousness of our situation. We were all leaning on each other, dependent on each other's strengths to navigate this unfamiliar terrain.
As Luke set off to fulfil his promise, I was left with a renewed sense of the delicate balance we had struck between camaraderie and survival. Each of us, in our own way, was trying to contribute, to make this strange world a little more hospitable, a little more like home. And in that moment, I understood that our laughter, our jokes, and even our shared discomfort were the threads weaving us together, creating a tapestry of resilience in the face of the unknown.
