Standing around the campfire, the soft murmur of voices mingled with the crackle of flames, casting a warm, flickering light across Luke's weary features. Despite his recent induction as a Guardian, only a week ago, the optimism that once shone in his eyes seemed to have dimmed. Deep lines etched into his forehead betrayed the weight of his new responsibilities. Observing him, a pang of apprehension stirred within me. Is this the imminent future awaiting me? The question lingered in my mind, heavy with foreboding.

The scars I bore, painful reminders of my own tumultuous introduction to Clivilius, seemed to echo with a shiver across my shoulders. Even in my relatively short tenure as a Guardian here in Bixbus, the changes were noticeable. The population was growing, the transition from temporary tents to more permanent caravans and motorhomes marking a significant shift. Recently, everyone had thrown themselves into constructing a basic but functional chainlink fence around the camp's perimeter.

Yet, beyond the reassuring boundaries of our makeshift fortification, the vast, uncharted wilderness stretched out, a constant reminder of the unknowns that lay waiting. The landscape, so reminiscent of the open expanses I had traversed on my way to Broken Hill, held an eerie silence. Apart from the goat and the scattered chickens that I had collected along my way, there was a palpable absence of life, a void that seemed too vast to be merely empty. The sudden recollection of the shadow panthers that lurked in the periphery of our new home sent a chill down my spine.

I forced a deep breath, trying to anchor myself in the moment, away from the spiralling thoughts of what other mysteries and threats might lie beyond our small enclave.

"That's everyone," Nial announced, his voice echoing slightly as he secured the metallic gate with a resounding clang. He and Paul stepped into the small, enclosed settlement, their silhouettes briefly framed against the dimming sky.

Luke, observing the finality of the gate's closure, remarked with a hint of dry humour, "It feels a bit like a zoo here now." His words floated across the cool air as his brother joined our small assembly with a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the day.

"Except this time, I think we are the animals locked in the cage," Paul said, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and irony.

The comparison struck a chord, and I couldn't help but think of the more literal captives we had. "I'm not so sure that the goat and chickens that you've locked in the car and left out there would agree with you," I told Paul, my tone laced with a gentle reproof as I gestured vaguely towards the Drop Zone, where the unsuspecting animals awaited their fate.

Luke interjected, "It won't always be this way." He rubbed at his brow, a gesture of weariness yet determination, and turned to me. His eyes met mine, seeking to instil a sense of hope. "Beatrix and I will bring you more supplies tomorrow."

I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders yet again. "Yeah, I'll get you as many motorhomes as I can over the next few days," I affirmed, my voice steady, bolstered by the resolve in Luke's gaze.

"And you've got some skilled people here now. You'll have a little village built and buzzing with enthusiasm in no time," Luke asserted, his voice laced with a hope I found both comforting and daunting.

"I wouldn't go that—" I started to inject a dose of realism into his sunny outlook, only to be cut off by Paul's interjection.

"Speaking of motorhomes and supplies, Luke can give you my house keys." Paul's statement, seemingly straightforward, carried an undercurrent of resignation. He paused, turning to Luke with a look that seemed to seek confirmation.

“Yeah,” Luke responded, his voice steady. "I've got them all in a safe space." His assurance was matter-of-fact, yet it couldn't entirely mask the underlying tension that the subject stirred.

"If Claire and the kids really have gone to Queensland, I doubt they'll return anytime soon," Paul continued.

I noticed Luke's right eye twitch as he gave his brother a look filled with unspoken questions and perhaps a hint of worry. The complexity of their shared history and unspoken fears seemed to momentarily bubble to the surface.

Meanwhile, Paul, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore Luke's silent interrogation, turned his gaze back to me. "You may as well bring anything from the house that looks useful," he instructed, his voice carrying a note of finality, as if in handing over his keys, he was also relinquishing a part of his past, a chapter he was perhaps ready or resigned to close.

"Include furniture with that," Kain's voice cut through our conversation, drawing our attention as he approached with the awkward yet determined gait that his new crutches dictated. "I could really do with a good couch to rest my leg."

Luke's expression tightened with concern, the lines on his forehead deepening as he addressed Kain's discomfort. "Has it still not healed fully?" he inquired.

"No," Kain responded tersely, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "I don't seem to be as privileged as Joel."

"Any news on that front?" Luke's question seemed to probe for more than just an update, perhaps seeking a glimmer of hope.

"No," Kain's reply was succinct, the concern etched on his face growing more pronounced as the daylight waned around us, the shadows deepening and blending with the lines of worry on his brow.

"We've not seen anything of Joel, Jamie, or Glenda," Paul interjected, his voice adding another layer to our collective anxiety.

"Give them a couple more days," Luke suggested, though his words seemed to float more on hope than conviction.

"And then what?" My question cut through the strained optimism, seeking something more concrete, a plan or a promise we could hold onto.

Luke's shrug was a silent admission of uncertainty, a gesture that felt unsettlingly inadequate in the face of our growing concerns.

Paul sighed, a sound heavy with the weight of unspoken fears, just as Kain's scoff broke the tense silence. "You've really got no idea what you are doing, do you, Luke?" His words, sharp and laden with his own mix of fear and frustration, were a jarring reminder of our precarious situation.

"It's not that easy," I found myself snapping back, rushing to Luke's defence.

"You don't have to tell me that," Kain shot back, his voice hard, his words not just a retort but a reminder of his own struggles and pain.

My mouth opened to respond, to defend, to argue—caught in the crossfire of emotions and the harsh truths of our existence here.

"And while I think of it," Paul's voice broke through the mounting tension, his words cutting through the air with a decisiveness that momentarily redirected our focus. "My car is still parked at the Adelaide airport carpark. Can you collect it for me and bring it here?"

I shifted my gaze from Kain, whose stubbornness lingered in the air like a thick fog, to Paul, feeling the shift in the conversation's direction. "Sure," I muttered, my agreement quick but laced with the remnants of the previous disagreement.

Luke's reaction was almost instantaneous, his face brightening with a kind of eager helpfulness. "Oh," he exclaimed, the idea clearly sparking a sense of purpose in him. "I am flying from Hobart to Adelaide first thing in the morning. I won't have time to collect Paul's car, but I can register a Portal location to make it easier for you, Beatrix."

"Thanks, but there's no need to fly, I've already registered several locations in Adelaide," I informed him, my tone gentle yet firm, aiming to ease any unnecessary burdens from his shoulders.

Luke's expression shifted, his initial enthusiasm melting into a look of thoughtful concentration. "Oh," he uttered, a simple acknowledgment that seemed to carry a weight of realisation or perhaps disappointment.

I watched him, my eyes narrowing slightly, trying to decipher the underlying currents of his thoughts. Despite the clear logic of my explanation, Luke's pensive demeanour hinted at deeper layers, unspoken considerations or perhaps personal reflections triggered by the mention of Adelaide. It seems like a no-brainer to me, I thought, puzzled by his reaction but aware that each of us, in our own way, was navigating the complexities of our new realities, sometimes caught in the tangle of our thoughts and the unspoken narratives that played out within us.

Finally, Luke's demeanour shifted as he raised his head, a new resolve in his voice. "I've already got my flight booked. I may as well use it. Besides, I might find something useful at the airport. In any event, it'll give you a much closer point of entry for collecting Paul's car."

"Alright," I conceded, masking my initial reservations with a nonchalant shrug. Internally, I acknowledged the logic in his plan, though a part of me craved the simplicity of a direct task. My list of tasks from Paul is growing quicker than I can keep up with, I reflected, feeling the weight of responsibilities piling onto my shoulders.

The conversation took another turn as Paul, his eyes sharpening with curiosity, probed his brother. "What are you actually going to Adelaide for, Luke?" His suspicion was palpable, echoing my own silent questions about the necessity of this trip.

Luke's brief hesitation was telling, a subtle crack in his usually composed exterior. "I'm thinking I might bring our parents and siblings to Clivilius," he declared, his voice gaining strength with the admission. The idea was bold, perhaps reckless, and it resonated with a mix of potential promise and undeniable risk.

I couldn't contain my reaction, a gasp escaping my lips unbidden. "Is that a good idea?" The question burst forth, driven by a surge of concern for the myriad implications of such a move.

To my surprise, it was Paul who responded, not Luke. "It'll be a lot more mouths to feed, but I think you are right. I think they could really help us here." His endorsement was unexpected, a rare alignment with his brother's plan.

The conversation left me with a swirling mix of thoughts. Bringing Luke's family to Clivilius wasn't just a logistical challenge; it was a gamble, one that could either fortify our community or strain it further.

"How many?" I queried, the mention of additional mouths to feed igniting a flicker of concern within me. The logistics, the resources needed—it all started to tally up in my mind.

"Only Adelaide?" Paul's question was pointed, an attempt to gauge the scope of Luke's plan.

"I think so, for now," Luke's response was measured, hinting at a larger plan yet to unfold.

Paul's gaze shifted back to me, providing specifics, "Parents and three brothers."

"Two brothers," Luke interjected, his correction slicing through the growing tally in my mind.

The sudden change threw me off, and I wasn't alone; Paul's puzzled look mirrored my own confusion.

"Eli is still visiting Lisa in the United States," Luke added, filling in the blanks and drawing a map of his family's global footprint.

"Girlfriend?" I ventured, trying to piece together the familial connections.

"Sister," they responded in unison, a brief moment of brotherly synchrony in an otherwise fragmented conversation.

"Oh, you've got a big family," I remarked, my mind unconsciously moving to count the members, an attempt to grasp the full picture of what—and who—Luke's plan entailed.

"Yep," they agreed together again, a simple affirmation that carried the weight of expanded responsibilities and altered dynamics for our community.

Paul, always focused on the immediate tasks at hand, pressed on, "Are you going to bring them to Bixbus tomorrow?"

Luke's shrug was nonchalant, but the undercurrent of his words suggested a depth of uncertainty. "I'm not sure yet. I still haven't worked out the best way to approach them." His gaze lingered on the flickering shadows cast by the firelight, lost in contemplation, before he sought external input. "Any ideas?" he directed at Paul, a subtle admission of his need for guidance.

Paul's response was a shrug, his silence hanging in the air momentarily before his expression shifted, eyes widening as if a lightbulb had flicked on in his mind. "I suspect that all you need to do is find a way to convince dad, and the rest will easily follow." His voice carried a confidence that seemed to pierce through Luke's uncertainties.

Luke's reaction was contemplative, his hand absently stroking his stubbled chin. "Hmm," he intoned, considering the new angle Paul offered. "I think you're onto something there." It was clear that the dynamics within their family were complex, hinging significantly on the patriarch's stance.

As their conversation unfolded, I found myself adrift in a sea of confusion. How did their father wield such influence? Was it respect, fear, or something more profound that bound them to his will? The notion of one person having such sway over a family's collective decisions was both intriguing and mildly alarming. Is he some sort of controlling sociopath? The question skated dangerously close to judgment, but the curiosity was unavoidable, a natural response to the unfolding narrative of their family dynamics.

Luke's voice snapped me back to the present, "Come on, Beatrix," he said, a gentle nudge out of my internal musings. "Let's get you these keys." His words, simple and practical, pulled me from the whirlpool of thoughts about family influences and control.

The wardrobe door, its white paint chipped and worn, groaned on its track, revealing a sparse collection of empty hangers that swayed slightly with the motion. "Where are your clothes?" I inquired, my voice tinged with confusion. The practicality of transporting clothes to Clivilius puzzled me, especially when Luke had the luxury of returning here whenever he wished. And to wash them, my thoughts added, as I tried to piece together the rationale behind his actions.

Luke, stretching on his toes, reached toward the top shelf, his back momentarily to me. "They're in the other side of the wardrobe," he stated, his voice carrying an edge of obviousness that I hadn't detected.

I winced slightly as his fingers grazed the shelf, the sound of wood against skin echoing subtly in the room. "Got it," he declared, a hint of triumph in his voice as something metallic clinked against the wood. Watching him withdraw his arm from the closet's upper reaches, I noted the shift in his balance as he settled back on his heels.

My hand instinctively moved toward the jingling keys in Luke's grasp, but he, seemingly lost in his next task, knelt down without handing them over. My eyes tracked his every move, curiosity piqued, as he extracted several pairs of shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe. The realisation that the keys might not be Paul's sparked a twinge of nervous excitement in me. What was Luke hiding, or rather, what was he about to reveal?

Luke's meticulous fingers delved into the carpet, his actions precise and knowing. I watched, fascinated, as he peeled back a section of the floor covering, unveiling a gleaming metal underneath. "You have a safe buried in your wardrobe floor?" My voice carried a mix of awe and disbelief as I lowered myself beside him, my curiosity piqued.

"You have a safe buried in your wardrobe floor?" I asked incredulously, carefully bringing myself to my knees beside Luke.

The key, now in Luke's steady hand, found its home in the lock effortlessly. He paused, a moment of anticipation hanging between us, before answering with a confident and somewhat mischievous, "Of course." His grin, broad and unrestrained, hinted at secrets about to be unveiled.

With a decisive turn, the lock yielded with a satisfying click, and Luke lifted the lid. I leaned in closer, my breath catching at the reveal. The interior was a trove, lined with zip-lock bags bulging with contents that spoke of hurried packing or meticulous hiding.

"Here's Paul's," Luke announced, his hand selecting a specific bag from the collection. He handed it over with a casualness that belied the anticipation of the moment.

The bag's plastic crinkled under my touch, an oddly mundane sound in the midst of the unfolding mystery. My fingers traced the outlines of a phone, a wallet, and various scraps of paper within. Each item, seemingly ordinary, was imbued with a sense of importance, fragments of a life temporarily tucked away, now handed over to me. The weight of the task, the trust implied, and the secrets just beneath the surface sent a shiver of responsibility through me. I was not just retrieving belongings; I was delving into the private world of another, a world hidden away in zip-lock bags in a buried safe.

Questions bubbled up inside me, each one vying for escape, but the most pressing emerged first. "Is there a bag for everyone?" My voice carried a mix of curiosity and a tinge of concern as I considered the implications of such meticulous compartmentalisation.

"Yeah. I figured keeping things grouped by owner would be the best way to manage," Luke's response was practical, his tone matter-of-fact, reflecting a level of organisation that was both impressive and slightly unnerving.

I was about to nod in agreement, acknowledging the sensibility of his method, when Luke's next action interrupted my train of thought. "Oh, apart from this one," he said, presenting another bag to me.

My eyes instinctively narrowed, scrutinising the new item. Inside, a collection of driver's licenses peered back at me, their laminated surfaces gleaming under the artificial light. "Why keep all the driver's licenses separate?" I queried, the question laced with a mix of confusion and a burgeoning sense of intrigue.

Luke's reaction was swift and a tad evasive. Without addressing my inquiry, he reclaimed the bag, promptly returning it to its hidden haven. The swift dismissal of my question hung in the air, thick with unspoken explanations and Luke's apparent desire to keep certain things under wraps.

Choosing not to delve deeper into the enigma of Luke's organisational logic, I shifted my focus to the zip-lock bag containing Paul's items. "What's all this?" My inquiry broke the brief silence as I sifted through the contents, fingers brushing over scraps of paper filled with a jumble of numbers and letters.

"It's the notes I've been making for Paul. It includes all the important stuff like the codes to unlock his phone and access his bank accounts," Luke elucidated, his tone carrying a hint of pride in his thoroughness.

His explanation offered a glimpse into a side of him I hadn't fully appreciated before—meticulous, methodical, and undeniably prepared. A part of me admired his foresight and organisation, traits that were becoming increasingly vital in our unpredictable world. Yet, as I knelt there, the scraps of paper in hand, a silent acknowledgment of Luke's complexity settled over me. His actions, so calculated and precise, revealed a depth of responsibility and perhaps a burden that he carried quietly.

Paul’s keys, each meticulously labelled, clinked in front of my face, momentarily pulling my attention away from the scribbled notes and codes. Even in the dim light, I could clearly see Paul's name etched on the small tag attached to the keychain. The level of organisation was almost comforting.

"Feel free to access the safe whenever you need to. Leave the key at the back of the top shelf," Luke instructed, his voice steady, imbuing the simple directions with a sense of ritual, of trust bestowed.

"Of course," I replied, acknowledging the responsibility he was entrusting me with. The safe wasn't just a physical container; it was a repository of trust, of shared secrets and mutual dependence.

"And only turn the mobile phones on when you need to use them," he added, his tone shifting slightly.

"Why's that?" I asked, as my nose scrunched in thought.

"I don't know whether police really can track our exact locations from a phone when it is turned on, but I'd rather not take any chances to find out." Luke's admission was candid, a rare concession to the limits of his knowledge.

I shrugged in response, the gesture laden with my own uncertainty. The mysteries of technology and surveillance were beyond my expertise, and like Luke, I preferred caution over potential peril.

Luke's guidance didn't end there. "And don't reply to any messages or answer any calls unless they are from me." His words were firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

I nodded, a quick, jerky motion that conveyed my understanding and acceptance. The instructions were clear, each one a thread in the web of our collective security.

Luke's voice carried a new note of caution, a shift that drew my focus back to him. "Oh," he interjected, adding another layer to his instructions. "Use the cash sparingly and be sure to make a note of any bank transactions on the relevant paper." His eyes met mine, ensuring I understood the importance of financial discretion.

I nodded once more, my mind already ticking through the implications of meticulous financial tracking. The importance of every cent spent was not lost on me, especially in our precarious position where resources were as valuable as the air we breathed.

As Luke's thoughts spilled out, the weight of our financial reality began to sink in. "Finances don't go too far. I'm really not sure how we're going to keep up paying for supplies and materials to help them build the new settlement," he admitted, his voice laced with a rare hint of vulnerability.

My lips tightened, drawing into a thin line as I absorbed the implications of his words. The financial strain wasn't just a personal burden—it was a collective one, threatening the very foundation of the new world we were striving to build.

Luke's contemplative voice broke through my reverie. "I think we're going to need to get creative," he mused, his gaze drifting off, perhaps envisioning unconventional solutions to our looming economic challenge.

His words resonated with me, sparking a mixture of apprehension and resolve. Creativity wasn't just a luxury; it was a necessity, a crucial element in navigating the uncertain terrain of our new existence.

An unexpected spark of inspiration struck me. My demeanour shifted, a softening of my features, an illumination in my eyes signalling a sudden shift in thought.

"What is it?" Luke inquired, pausing in his financial fretting, clearly noticing the change in my expression.

A sly smile crept across my face as I leaned into the newfound idea. "I know how we can get more cash," I declared, the corners of my mouth lifting in a knowing smirk. "Lots of cash."

His curiosity piqued, Luke pressed, "How?" His surprise was evident, a mix of skepticism and hope colouring his tone.

I shook my head, a playful secrecy taking hold. Stuffing Paul's keys into my pocket, I stood up, feeling the weight of the impending adventure. "Never mind about the details. I think the less you know the better. Leave it to me and Jarod."

"Jarod?" Luke's voice cracked slightly, panic igniting in his eyes as he mirrored my actions and stood. The mention of involving Jarod seemed to stoke his anxieties, adding fuel to the fire of his apprehensions.

My grin persisted, undimmed by his worry. "Just trust me on this one, Luke," I assured him, my confidence perhaps more for my benefit than his. Without lingering for rebuttals or further questions, I exited the bedroom, my steps carrying me toward the living room, toward action.

As I activated my Portal Key, the wall before me erupted in a kaleidoscope of buzzing colours, signalling the gateway to my next move.

"Beatrix," Luke's voice trailed after me, a blend of concern and urgency in his call.

I paused, turning to face him as I stood before the swirling portal. His expression was a tangle of fear and plea for caution.

"Please be careful," he implored, his brow knitted in deep worry.

The words sparked a light chuckle from me, a mix of bravado and nonchalance as I replied, "Well, I can't promise that one." My laughter, though light, didn't fully mask the underlying tension of the risks ahead.

Eager to communicate with Jarod, I knew my plan, however audacious, demanded immediate action. The message I sent was succinct yet laden with urgency.

19:03PM Beatrix: I'm coming for Maggie.