"Glenda's cooking breakfast," Kain's voice pierced the silence, pulling me back from my reverie amidst the dust and collected items at the Drop Zone.

I looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing my face. "You came all that way to tell me that?" My voice carried a mix of amusement and disbelief. The thought of breakfast seemed almost too good to be true.

Kain laughed, the sound carrying easily in the open air. "She's insisting that we all eat a hearty meal. We need to keep our strength up for the busy day ahead of us," he explained, his grin infectious.

"Sounds like she has plans," I replied, my laughter mingling with his. The prospect of Glenda taking charge, ensuring we were well-fed and prepared for whatever tasks lay ahead, was both comforting and slightly amusing.

"I believe so," Kain affirmed, now standing beside me. "So, what's your assessment?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping over the Drop Zone, curiosity evident in his tone.

Caught off guard by the question, I paused, "Oh," letting the word hang in the air as I gathered my thoughts. I considered the practical needs of our settlement, the balance between immediate necessities and long-term sustainability. "I'd really like us to get some more concrete poured for the sheds. Nearly everything here has been here for less than twenty-four hours and it's already covered in a layer of fine dust," I explained, demonstrating my point by swiping my finger along the top of a large tent box, revealing a layer of dust on my fingertip to Kain.

"I don't think it matters what we do," Kain replied, his tone resigned yet pragmatic. "We're never going to stop that, but the sheds should help."

"Hmm," I murmured, my mind returning to the myriad tasks that awaited us, the constant battle against the encroaching dust a minor yet persistent reminder of the challenges we faced.

"Any more tents?" Kain's question brought me back to the present.

"Yeah," I answered, scanning the area. "Looks like there's only one. We can take the boxes back to camp when we go for breakfast."

"Yeah," Kain agreed with a chuckle, his earlier sombreness momentarily forgotten. "I'm sure Glenda will get it up quick."

I nodded, a sense of admiration in my agreement. "She definitely knows what she's doing with them. Far more than I do," I admitted, the acknowledgment of Glenda's competence and our collective reliance on each other's strengths a grounding thought.

"And me," Kain added sombrely, his voice carrying a hint of self-reflection.

As I glanced over at Kain, I realised that he was grappling with more challenges than I had initially perceived. Despite his youthful age and the noticeable difference in our heights, Kain's dedication and skill had already made a significant impact. His work with the concrete had not only impressed me but also highlighted his valuable contributions to our collective efforts. "Don't doubt yourself, Kain. You've got amazing skills," I assured him, my tone imbued with genuine respect and encouragement.

"Thanks," he responded, his reply brief yet carrying a weight of appreciation. Then, abruptly, his attention shifted, his head snapping up. "Is that a pillow?"

"Where?" I found myself asking, my interest piqued, eyes straining to follow the direction of his pointing finger. The prospect, no matter how slim, stirred a flicker of hope within me. The discomfort of last night's sleep was still fresh, a sore reminder of our austere living conditions.

"Wedged between the two boxes," Kain clarified, his movements quick as he navigated through the makeshift aisles created by our organised chaos. "It is," he exclaimed, his voice lifted in triumph as he retrieved the pillow from its hiding spot.

"Just the one?" The words left my mouth even as a part of me already knew the answer.

"Looks like it," he confirmed, making his way back to me, the pillow in hand.

I couldn't help but frown at the realisation. "Like one pillow will do us much good," I remarked, the bitterness in my voice betraying my frustration. The thought lingered, heavy with irony—how such a small comfort could have significantly improved the quality of my rest last night. Yet, despite the sting of missed opportunity, the discovery of even a single pillow felt like a small victory.

"What are you two creeping about for?" Luke's voice, unmistakable and imbued with his characteristic briskness, sliced through the stillness of the morning as he approached the Drop Zone.

Both Kain and I spun around, the suddenness of his voice jolting us from our focus on the newly discovered pillow. "Hey Luke!" My response was sharp, a mix of surprise and accusation. "When did you drop off the sleeping bags?"

Luke paused, his expression turning contemplative as if trying to recall a detail amidst the blur of his tasks. "Umm," he began, "Would have been sometime late yesterday afternoon or early evening. Why?" His question, simple and direct, seemed oblivious to the undercurrent of frustration his absence had stirred.

My irritation found a voice, tinged with sarcasm, as I snatched the single pillow from Kain and thrust it towards Luke. "Didn't you think it might be a good idea to let someone know?" The words were more a jab than a question, a release valve for the pent-up annoyance at his lack of communication.

Luke's attempt to respond was stammered, cut short by my continued argument. "If Glenda hadn’t sent Kain over to collect the box of tent pegs, we wouldn't have had them for sleeping last night," I pointed out, the frustration in my voice rising with each word. I glanced at Kain, seeking an ally in this moment of tension.

Kain, caught in the crossfire, opted for a non-committal retreat, his hands raised in surrender and his head shaking in disbelief as he backed away slowly, unwilling to be drawn into the fray.

Luke's retort came swiftly, his patience evaporating. "I have a lot planned to bring through the Portal for you, and I don’t have the time to take it further than the Drop Zone," he countered, his tone edging towards defensive. "Besides, wasn't the Drop Zone your idea? You're the one who told me to leave stuff there."

His words struck a chord, a reminder of the agreed-upon system that now seemed to backfire in the face of practical reality. "Yeah, but you need to at least tell someone," I insisted, my argument losing steam even as I made it.

"I don't have time for that crap, Paul!" Luke's voice snapped, sharper now, his frustration mirroring my own. "You, or someone else, will just have to check frequently."

The confrontation, fuelled by mutual stress and the pressure of our circumstances, left me momentarily deflated. As much as I relished the verbal sparring with Luke, a part of me recognised the validity in his argument. Despite the annoyance it caused, the Drop Zone was indeed my idea, and his contributions, however unannounced, were invaluable. Reluctantly, I backed off.

"Hey, Kain!" Luke's call cut through the tension that had lingered from our previous conversation, shifting the focus entirely. "Do you still have the keys to your ute?”

Kain's immediate response was to pat down his jeans in a near-reflex action, his movements quick and purposeful. When his hand emerged from the back pocket with the keys, a small wave of relief seemed to wash over him. "Actually, I do," he announced, a note of surprise in his voice as if he hadn't expected to find them. The keys dangled in the air between us.

"If you give them to me, I'll bring your ute through," Luke offered calmly, his demeanour unflappable as always.

My eyes widened in response, the implications of Luke's words slowly sinking in. A ute? Luke's bringing us a ute? The possibility seemed almost too good to be true.

"Really?" Kain asked, his excitement palpable as he moved closer to hand over the keys.

Luke's nod was all the confirmation we needed. "That's mad!" Kain exclaimed, the keys now securely in Luke's possession. The promise of having a vehicle at our disposal was thrilling.

This is so exciting, I thought to myself, a flicker of personal longing crossing my mind. I want my car! Yet, almost as quickly as the excitement had risen, it was tempered by a more pragmatic concern. "But what happens when it runs out of fuel?" I asked, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice.

"I'm working on a solution for that," Luke assured us, though his answer was far from satisfying.

"Like what?" I pressed, seeking a more concrete plan.

Luke's shrug was noncommittal, his response, "I'm not a hundred percent sure yet, but I'm getting there, so I'll let you know when I do," did little to alleviate my doubts.

"That's very vague of you," I remarked, my skepticism deepening.

"Have you spoken to my mother?" Kain asked, interrupting our minor squabble.

"Umm, nope," Luke's response was casual, almost dismissively so, as if the sensitivity of Kain's query barely registered on his radar.

"So, she has no idea where I am?" Kain pressed, his voice laced with an undercurrent of anxiety. It was clear this was more than just a passing concern for him.

Luke shook his head, a gesture that seemed to carry more finality than words. "Not that I know of." His tone was nonchalant, but the implications of his words were anything but.

"Don't you think you should tell her?" The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, driven by a sense of righteousness. "You know that his fiancée is pregnant, right?" It was a low blow, but I felt the situation warranted it.

"Umm," Luke's annoyance was palpable, a sharp contrast to his previous indifference. "Have you asked me to tell Claire and the kids where you are?" His counter-question was like a slap, forcing me to confront my own hypocrisy.

I fell silent, the weight of his question anchoring me to the spot. I hadn't. And the truth was, I had no intention of letting Luke do that. Not until I was ready for Mack and Rose to join me, preferably without Claire. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unsaid and the undone.

"That's what I thought," Luke sneered, his voice breaking the tension. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what came next. "The less anyone outside of Clivilius knows of its existence, the better," he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. "It's safer for all of us that way." His words were like a decree, setting the boundaries of our secrecy.

I nodded, the action more reflexive than anything. My mind was racing, thoughts swirling with questions and concerns. As I studied Luke, I couldn't help but wonder what he was holding back. Had he found Cody? Did he have more information on the Guardians? Questions I wanted to ask but didn’t dare in front of Kain. The less anyone inside of Clivilius knows what is really going on, the better. At least until Luke and I could work out what really was going on. It was a delicate balance, one that we needed to tread carefully.

Kain's hesitation was palpable, a contradiction to Luke's decisiveness. "But I guess I could try and bring your mother through the Portal, if you'd like?" Luke's offer was unexpected, a glimmer of compromise in the rigid stance he'd taken.

"No, I think we could do without her," Kain replied, his voice steady but his body language betraying a hint of reluctance. "For now at least," he added quickly, as if to soften the blow of his words.

My head tilted sideways, an involuntary response to the undercurrents of intrigue that seemed to be unravelling. A bit of tension there maybe? It was a rhetorical question, even to myself.

"Well, I'd better go get your ute," Luke announced, his voice cutting through the stillness that had settled around us. His statement seemed to mark the end of our current discussion, a signal that it was time to shift gears—literally and figuratively. He turned to walk away, his movements brisk, a man on a mission.

"Oh. Hey, Luke," I called out, a sudden thought striking me. It seemed only fair to bring this up now. "Can you bring Jamie's car through too?" If Kain was getting his ute, then it was only right. Equality, even in vehicle retrieval, seemed like a small but significant form of fairness.

"Umm, nope," Luke teased, his tone playful yet final. It was a response that irked me, the simplicity of his refusal without room for negotiation.

"Why not?" I couldn't hide the annoyance that crept into my voice. It was frustrating, dealing with Luke's sometimes arbitrary decisions.

Luke's expression shifted, the playfulness draining away to be replaced by a seriousness that was rarely seen. "I need it to drive to Collinsvale," he explained, his tone suggesting that this was a matter of practicality rather than choice.

"Where the hell is Collinsvale?" I asked, turning to Kain for some context.

"Not far from his house," Kain supplied, his voice carrying a note of nonchalance. It was an answer, yet it provided little in the way of real information.

I turned back to Luke, a plan formulating in my mind. "Oh. So, you could walk there then," I said, my words more an assertion than a question. It was a challenge, lightly veiled in the guise of a suggestion.

Kain laughed, a sound that broke the tension that had begun to coil between Luke and me. "It's not that close," he interjected, his amusement clear.

"Gotta go now," Luke said, his voice carrying a finality that ended the exchange. He smiled and waved, a gesture of farewell that was both friendly and dismissive. It was Luke's way, I realised; he navigated our demands and the necessities of our situation with a pragmatism that was both infuriating and admirable.

Glenda's familiar yet muffled voice drifted towards us on the listless air. "Breakfast must be ready," I surmised, my voice carrying a mix of hope and hunger.

"We may as well wait for Luke to bring my ute," Kain mused, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His voice held a note of anticipation. "Imagine the others' surprise when we drive it back to camp." The thought brought a smirk to my face, picturing the bewildered expressions that would greet our grand entrance.

"Yeah, it will be a surprise," I concurred, the idea amusing me. Curiosity then nudged my thoughts in another direction. "By the way, have you seen Jamie or Joel yet this morning?"

"Yeah," Kain replied, his attention briefly meeting mine. "I went and saw them just after you left. I'm surprised Luke didn't ask about them."

I turned towards Kain, a thoughtful expression crossing my face. "I think Luke's a bit distracted right now," I offered, trying to excuse his oversight.

Both our jaws dropped in astonishment as the ute came bunny-hopping through the wall of swirling colours, a spectacle that defied the mundane expectations of vehicle arrival. It stuttered and stalled, coming to an abrupt halt. The sight was so unexpected, so out of the ordinary, that we couldn't control our laughter. We doubled over, half bent in stitches.

A sulking Luke stepped from the ute, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. It was a look that only added fuel to our amusement.

"Luke! Wait!" I called out between bursts of laughter, trying to catch my breath and regain some semblance of composure. Luke stopped in his tracks, yet he didn't turn to face us. His posture stiff, a clear sign of his annoyance.

"I said no," he stated bluntly, his voice cutting through the humour of the moment like a cold blade. It was a reminder of the tension that had preceded his departure.

I stepped beside my brother, placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "I know," I said, my voice softening. "It's not about Jamie's car," I continued, lowering my voice further. It was important to make Luke understand that our concerns went beyond the trivialities of the moment.

"Then what is it?" Luke snapped, his patience thin. "I'm already late for breakfast with Karen." His words carried a hint of desperation.

My mouth dropped open, a gape of disbelief that far surpassed my reaction to Luke's erratic driving earlier. "You're going out for breakfast!" The words tumbled out, laced with incredulity. "We're stuck in this dustbowl, and you're going out for breakfast? Unbelievable!" I spun away, a whirl of frustration, my gaze landing on the barren landscape that stretched out beyond us—a brutal reminder of our isolation.

"It's not like that," Luke's voice came from behind me, a hint of urgency as he reached out, his hand clasping my arm, pulling me back from the edge of my annoyance.

I wheeled around to face him, my frustration boiling over. "Then explain yourself," I demanded, my stance rigid, expecting a justification that would somehow make sense of his seemingly frivolous plans.

Luke chuckled softly, a sound that in any other context might have been comforting. But now, it only served to fan the flames of my irritation.

"What?" I barked, unable to mask the annoyance that seeped into my tone.

"You're so funny when you're mad," he said, his grin wide, as if he found genuine amusement in my frustration.

"Oh, shut up!" My protest was half-hearted, a smile threatening to break through despite my best efforts to stay annoyed.

"Ahh," Luke teased, his finger pointing accusatorially at the twitching corner of my mouth—a traitorous sign of my crumbling facade.

I brushed his hand away, a mix of irritation and amusement swirling within me. "Stop being an idiot," I chided, even as the tension between us began to dissolve into the familiarity of our sibling bond. "What do you want?"

"You wanted me, remember?" Luke laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

My face warmed, a blush of sheepish realisation. "Oh yeah," I admitted.

"But first, why are you having breakfast with Karen?" I pressed, curious about the underlying reason for his departure.

Luke's gaze darted about, a signal of his discomfort. Kain, oblivious to our exchange, sat in the front seat of his ute, poised for departure.

"Well?" My impatience was palpable, a prompt for him to divulge his plans.

"I'm hoping to bring her and her husband here," Luke revealed, his voice a soft murmur.

I gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet that enveloped us. My face turned serious, the weight of his intention sinking in. "Are you sure that's a good idea? We're not exactly a thriving community." My words were laced with skepticism, a reflection of the doubts that continued to plague me.

"Not yet you're not," Luke conceded, his agreement a gentle reminder of our shared aspirations. "But you will be."

I eyed him suspiciously, my mind racing with the implications of his plans. "And how can they help?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my reservations.

"Their skills will be pretty evident. Give them a warm welcome," Luke replied, his confidence in his decision unwavering.

"Of course," I responded, nodding slowly. In the end, I knew the decision wasn't mine to make. This place was challenging enough without adding unnecessary conflicts. Luke's intentions, though bold, reminded me of the broader vision we shared—a vision of transformation and growth. It was a hard life here, but perhaps I didn't need to make it harder by resisting change.

"Now, what is it you wanted?" Luke's voice pulled me back from my thoughts, his gaze steady and expectant.

"Oh," I started, my mind scrambling to collect the scattered pieces of my brain. "We need some more wood for the campfire." The words felt mundane, yet the need was as vital as any other.

"Sure," Luke replied with a nod, his assurance quick and unwavering. "I'll make sure you have some before nightfall."

"And Kain and Glenda need fresh clothes," I continued, the list of necessities growing as I spoke.

"Okay," Luke nodded once more, the simplicity of his response belying the importance of the task. And with that, he turned toward the Portal, the gateway that connected us to a world we were both part of and apart from.

"And Joel too," I added quickly, the name springing to mind as an afterthought but no less important.

Luke's eyes widened slightly at the addition, a visible sign of the mounting pressures. "I'll get Kain and Glenda's clothes first," he conceded. "But I'll need you to get me Joel's address."

"Why do you need his address?" I questioned, the suggestion seeming to complicate what I had imagined would be a simple task. "Can't you just buy them some new ones? It'd be much easier."

"We're running low on cash," Luke stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion yet heavy with implication.

"Already?" My exclamation was more of a reflex than a question, a verbal manifestation of the disbelief and concern that knotted in my stomach.

"Yes, already," Luke confirmed, his eyes meeting mine in a brief exchange that conveyed the extent of his admission. "And get me Kain's wallet at some point for me, would you," he added, the request trailing off as he stepped through the Portal, leaving me to ponder the implications of his departure.

I watched as the vibrant colours of the Portal faded, a visual echo of Luke's presence disappearing into another reality. I sighed softly, the sound a whisper in the vastness that surrounded me. "Stay safe, little brother," I murmured into the silence, a silent prayer to the universe.

A loud honk from the horn jerked me out of my introspection, slicing through the still morning air with an urgency that was hard to ignore. I glanced over at Kain, his impatience palpable even from a distance. With a few long strides, eating up the space between us, I found myself sliding into the passenger seat beside him.

"Let's go!" Kain announced, his enthusiasm manifesting in a thumbs-up that seemed to embody his readiness to tackle whatever lay ahead. His energy was infectious, yet something nagged at the back of my mind.

"No, wait!" The words burst from me as the engine roared to life, a beast awakened, eager to be unleashed.

Kain turned to me, his expression a mix of confusion and mild irritation. "What now?" he asked, his patience thinning.

"We may as well pack those tent boxes in the back," I suggested, the practicality of the idea emerging from the remnants of our earlier conversation. It was a logical step, one that would streamline our efforts and minimise unnecessary back-and-forth trips.

Kain frowned.

"It'll save us coming back for them," I pressed, hoping to appeal to his sense of efficiency. The rationale was sound, but it required a brief delay in our departure, a sacrifice Kain seemed loath to make.

"Fine," Kain huffed, his agreement coming as a begrudging exhale. "But make it quick!" His tone left no room for dawdling, a clear directive that haste was of the essence.

"Oh," I laughed, the humour in the situation not lost on me. I clambered out of my seat, a movement more enthusiastic than graceful. "You're helping too." It was a declaration rather than a request, an invitation to share in the labour

Kain's eyes rolled, a silent but eloquent commentary on his feelings about the plan. Yet, despite his apparent reluctance, his door opened all the same.

Kain manoeuvred the ute with the precision of a seasoned navigator, threading it carefully through the Drop Zone, a no-man's land that lay between us and the rest of Clivilius. The two small rock piles that flanked the path stood like ancient guardians, silent witnesses to our passage. As we cleared them, I noticed the wheels deliberately veering away from the direction of camp, charting a course that was as unexpected as it was unannounced.

Kain revved the engine, a declaration of intent as much as a necessity. The ute responded with enthusiasm, its wheels biting into the dust, sending plumes of red and orange spiralling into the air, painting the sky with the colours of adventure. The dust swirled around us, a tangible reminder of the untamed world we inhabited.

"What are you doing?" I couldn't keep the mixture of apprehension and excitement from my voice, my grip tightening on the side of the seat as if to brace myself against the unknown.

"Just a short detour," Kain replied, his grin infectious, wide enough to dispel any lingering doubts. His confidence was a beacon, guiding us through the uncertainty of the detour. The ute took a sharp turn, skirting the roughly marked perimeter of the Drop Zone, a clear departure from the beaten path.

Laughter bubbled up between us, a shared moment of joyous rebellion against the caution that had begun to define our existence in Clivilius. It was a laughter born of complicity, of shared secrets and the thrill of the unexpected.

The journey was rough, a testament to the untamed nature of the land. The ute churned through the dust, its passage marked by a trail of disruption in the otherwise untouched landscape. We navigated over small hills, each one a minor victory in our impromptu expedition, heading towards the imposing silhouette of the mountains in the distance. Their presence loomed large, a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond our immediate concerns.

My heart raced with the exhilaration of the moment. This detour, this brief escape from the confines of our daily struggles, was a vivid reminder of the beauty and excitement that still existed in the world around us. It was a stark contrast to the often grim reality of our situation in Clivilius, a place where joy was a rare and precious commodity.

As we bounced and jostled along the makeshift path, I found myself reflecting on the moments of happiness that had punctuated my time in this strange, new world. This detour, this moment of unfettered freedom and camaraderie, was undoubtedly one of those moments. Well, maybe just one exception, I mused to myself, a smile playing on my lips as I thought of another time, another joy that had briefly illuminated the darkness of Clivilius. In that moment, with the wind in our faces and the untamed world stretching out before us, I was reminded of the unpredictable beauty of life, even in the most unlikely of places.

"How much petrol?" My voice pierced the roar of the engine and the rush of wind, a pressing concern as we neared the crest of another hill. The anticipation of our fuel status hung between us, a tangible reminder of our precarious adventure's limitations.

"Still three-quarters," Kain shouted back, his voice steady and reassuring over the din. The response was a beacon of hope, a promise of continued freedom, however fleeting it might be.

As we reached the summit, my breath caught in my throat. The world unfolded before us in a tapestry of stark beauty, a vast expanse of reds, browns, and oranges that painted the earth in hues of fire and earth. It stretched endlessly, a wild and untamed landscape that spoke of ancient times and secrets buried deep beneath the soil. The dark grey mountains stood as silent sentinels in the distance, their peaks slicing into the clear blue sky, marking the boundary between our little corner of the world and the unknown.

"Floor it!" The excitement was irresistible, a command born of the moment's exhilaration. I wanted to chase the horizon, to defy the constraints of our reality, if only for an instant.

Kain's response was immediate, his foot slamming down on the pedal with a determination that matched my own. The ute leaped forward, a beast unleashed, its engine roaring with newfound vigour. We surged ahead, leaving a billowing cloud of dust in our wake, a testament to our passage through this desolate yet beautiful land.

The thrill was short-lived. Barely a hundred metres into our mad dash, the engine sputtered and died, the sudden silence a disappointing contrast to the moments before. The ute coasted to a stop, its momentum spent, leaving us adrift in the vastness of the landscape.

I turned to Kain, confusion and disbelief etching my features. "What the hell?" My question hung in the air, an echo of our shared dismay.

Kain's hands worked the ignition, the engine chugging in protest as he turned the key several times. But the only answer was silence, a stubborn refusal that left us stranded, the adventure abruptly grounded.

As we disembarked from the ute, the silence of our surroundings enveloped us, the mechanical heartbeat we had become accustomed to during our journey, fading into a distant memory. The act of stepping out felt like a concession to our predicament, an acknowledgment of the unexpected pause in our adventure. We made our way to the front of the vehicle, the ground beneath our feet shifting softly, a reminder of the arid landscape that had claimed our progress.

Kain, with a sense of purpose, lifted the bonnet, and his exclamation, "Shit!" sliced through the quiet. It was a simple word, but it carried the weight of our collective frustration and disbelief.

I peered over his shoulder, the sight that greeted us was one of desolation. The engine, the heart of our ute, was cloaked in dust—a testament to the harshness of the terrain we had attempted to conquer. The fine, pervasive dust clung to every surface, insidious in its infiltration.

"How are we going to clean that?" Kain's question hung between us, a challenge to our resourcefulness in the face of adversity.

Without a clear answer, I acted on impulse, leaning in and blowing hard into the cramped space. The result was immediate—a large cloud of fine dust billowed into the air, a visual echo of my efforts. "Help me blow," I called over my shoulder, a request that was both absurd and essential under the circumstances.

Kain's initial reaction was one of surprise, his eyes wide as he processed the unconventional nature of our solution. Yet, without protest, he shrugged his shoulders—a gesture of resigned acceptance—and joined me. Together, we exhaled forcefully, our breaths merging in a shared endeavour to revive the ute.

"It's working," I observed, a note of surprise in my voice as I stepped back, gasping for fresh air. The process was arduous, a testament to our determination. Over half an hour of almost continuous blowing, interspersed with attempts to coax the engine back to life, became a battle of wills against the elements.

"I'll go give it another shot," Kain announced, determination lacing his words as he climbed back into the driver's seat. I took a few steps back, watching with a mix of hope and exhaustion.

Finally, our persistence was rewarded. A large cloud of loosened dust heralded the engine's triumphant return to life. Relief and triumph flooded through me, manifesting in a wide, albeit tired, grin. I gave Kain a thumbs up—a silent celebration of our victory over the odds.

Then, with a sense of finality, I closed the bonnet, the sound echoing in the quiet that surrounded us. Climbing back into my seat, I settled in, the familiar contours offering a small comfort. The engine's steady hum was a welcome backdrop, a sign of our resilience, and a reminder of the journey that still lay ahead.

The journey back to camp was an ordeal, each metre fought for against the relentless grip of the thick dust beneath us. The ute struggled, its tires grasping for traction in spots where the dust seemed to conspire against us, almost swallowing us whole on several occasions.

"We need some roads," Kain's voice cut through the tension, his words carrying a mixture of frustration and resolve. He glanced at me, as if seeking confirmation or perhaps a shared recognition of the problem. "We need to contain this dust!"

I scrunched my face, deep in thought. The idea of combating the omnipresent dust seemed like a battle against the very nature of this place. This dust is just not containable, I lamented internally, the realisation settling in with a weighty sense of resignation.

"Even if we just clear a few trails down to the hard crust beneath, should be good enough to drive on," Kain proposed, his voice carrying a hint of optimism amidst the bleakness of my thoughts.

My eyes widened at the suggestion. Why didn't I think of that? The idea sparked a brief flare of hope, a potential solution that seemed so simple yet so effective. But almost as quickly as it appeared, a wave of overwhelming reality crashed over me. "There's so much to do," I murmured, the scope of our task daunting. "Where do we even start?"

"We need a bulldozer," Kain chuckled, the laugh more a release of tension than amusement.

His laughter barely registered before I found myself considering his joke with grave seriousness. "That's actually not a bad idea," I said, turning to him with a look of sudden inspiration. The notion of a bulldozer, absurd as it might have sounded moments before, now seemed like a rational step towards reclaiming some semblance of control over our environment.

"More people?" Kain mused, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, squinting as if the answer might be etched somewhere on the horizon.

"Huh?" The shift in conversation caught me off guard, my mind still wrestling with the logistics of our newfound plan. I turned back to face the front, trying to align my thoughts with the reality that awaited us.

As Kain eased the ute into camp, the sight that greeted us was unexpected. Two unfamiliar figures stood near Glenda, their presence a reminder of the world beyond our dust-enshrouded struggles. "Shit!" The word escaped my lips before I could contain it. "I forgot about Karen!"