As the familiar shape of our tent finally came into view, a sense of relief washed over me, tinged with a growing sense of urgency. The anticipation of closely examining Joel's condition had turned the journey back to camp into a seemingly endless trek, each step fuelled by a mixture of determination and apprehension. Carrying a man who hovered between life and death, had transformed the familiar landscape into a gauntlet of physical and emotional challenges.

"Put him down on the mattress," Jamie's instruction broke through my thoughts as we approached the campfire.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We only have one. He could be infected," I found myself voicing the concern that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind. The possibility of infection, a threat that could compromise us all, suddenly loomed large, casting a shadow over the relief of having made it back to camp.

Jamie stopped abruptly, his reaction catching me off guard. "Bit late to say that now," he snapped, the frustration evident in his voice. "If Joel's infected then we likely are too."

My mouth tightened into a grimace, the taste of regret bitter on my tongue. How could I have only thought of this now? The self-reproach was a sharp sting, a reminder of the weight of responsibility I carried as the medic in our group.

"Jamie's right," Luke chimed in, his gaze meeting mine. "We may as well." His words, though meant to support Jamie, also served as a gentle reminder of the stakes we faced, of the delicate balance between caution and necessity.

I hesitated, the conflict within me palpable. The thought of compromising our only mattress, our solitary comfort in this harsh environment, against the potential risk of infection was a dilemma that weighed heavily on me. Yet, I could see the logic in Luke's stance, the necessity of keeping unity within our group, especially in the face of the unknown challenges that lay ahead.

Perhaps he is already making plans to provide us with additional bedding, I found myself thinking, a hopeful conjecture that offered a semblance of solace. "Okay," I acquiesced, my voice a mix of resignation and resolve as I moved to hold the tent flap open, a silent acknowledgment of the decision made.

As Kain swiftly removed the blankets from the mattress, a flurry of activity surrounded Joel's still form. My heart thudded against my ribcage, the anticipation of uncovering the truth about Joel's condition heightening my senses as Luke and Jamie gently laid him down. Now was the moment for a thorough examination—time to delve deeper into the mystery of his survival.

Luke stepped back to afford me the space needed to work. I knelt beside the mattress, my posture one of focused determination. Leaning over Joel, I began my examination, my fingers moving with the confidence and precision honed by years of medical practice. Each press, each prod, was a question asked, a piece of the puzzle I was desperate to solve.

The slice across his throat was my primary focus. I studied it closely, my brows furrowing in confusion. The wound was perplexing—a clean cut that, under different circumstances, should have been fatal within minutes. The very fact that I could, hypothetically, slip my fingers through the wound and touch the back of his throat without meeting any resistance was a conundrum that defied my medical understanding. It was as if the wound existed in isolation from the rest of his body's responses.

As my examination continued, my fingers tracing the contours of his arms and legs, I found no telltale warmth or the reassuring pulse of blood coursing through veins. Yet, contradictorily, Joel was breathing. The rise and fall of his chest, though faint, was undeniable—a silent testimony to the life still fighting to manifest within him.

Lifting my gaze to his eyes, I was met with a sight that tugged at the very core of my being. His eyes, a vibrant shade of blue, held a spark that seemed to dance with life, their gaze fixed on the tent's ceiling as if locked onto something beyond my comprehension. The dichotomy between his grievous wound and the apparent life within his eyes cast a profound sense of mystery over the entire situation. How could someone so critically injured appear so alive in their gaze?

This anomaly challenged everything I thought I knew about medicine and the human body's capacity to survive against the odds. It was a reminder of the complexities and mysteries that still elude even the most experienced among us. As I continued my examination, the reality of our situation settled heavily upon me—we were navigating uncharted waters, and the outcome of this journey was as uncertain as the condition of the young man lying before me.

Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself to articulate the perplexing findings of my examination. My words were chosen with care, reflecting the weight of the conclusion I had reached. "Both carotid arteries seem to have healed, assuming they were ever severed. Aside from the obvious slice across his throat and what I'd assume are bumps and bruises from his time in the river, he doesn't appear to have any other major physical wounds. I'm not sure how he could have lost all of his blood if not through major artery damage." The words hung in the air, a testament to the medical anomaly laid out before us.

Luke's confirmation came with a certainty that underscored the gravity of the situation. "His throat was definitely slit. There was a lot of blood," he stated, adding a layer of complexity to Joel's condition.

I could only shrug in response, a gesture of confusion and disbelief. "It's not making much sense." The pieces of the puzzle were refusing to fit together in any logical manner, defying my medical expertise and understanding.

"What do you mean you know his throat was slit?" Jamie questioned Luke aggressively. "And how the fuck would you know how much blood there was?" The accusation in his voice was palpable, turning the atmosphere in the tent charged with a new kind of urgency.

My eyes darted quickly between Jamie and Luke, the undercurrents of accusation and defence weaving a complex web of emotions and questions. They finally settled on Luke, searching his face for answers, for any indication of how he came to possess such definitive knowledge of Joel's condition. The tension between Jamie and Luke, the unanswered questions surrounding Joel's mysterious survival, and the inexplicable medical findings created a vortex of confusion and suspicion.

"No signs of any defensive wounds?" Luke asked, sidestepping the tension Jamie's accusations had woven into the air, a deft manoeuvre that left the underlying issue unaddressed.

"No, none," I found myself responding, my head shaking almost reflexively at the oddity of the question, especially given the current context. His inquiry struck me as peculiar, more so in the shadow of Jamie's pointed demands. Curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but probe further, "Were you expecting there to be?" The question hung between us, an invitation for Luke to divulge more, to add clarity to the murky waters of our understanding.

Luke's response was a head shake, his expression one of contemplation rather than evasion. "Not necessarily. I guess that means whatever happened to him, well, it happened quickly and probably took him by surprise." His words offered a semblance of logic, a possible scenario that fit the lack of defensive wounds, yet they did little to quell the undercurrent of suspicion.

Jamie, however, was not appeased. His glare, unwavering and filled with anger, underscored the urgency of his need for answers. "Well? You haven't answered my question," he demanded, his tone brooking no evasion.

Caught in the midst of this unfolding drama, I couldn't deny my own growing intrigue. Luke clearly knows more than he is letting on, a realisation that settled heavily within me. His knowledge, or lack thereof, was a critical piece of this intricate puzzle, one that could potentially shed light on the dark, uncertain path we found ourselves navigating. As Jamie's anger simmered, demanding transparency, and Luke wrestled with his conscience or calculations on what to disclose, I found myself at a crossroads of professional curiosity and the need for trust within our group. The balance of our survival could very well hinge on the truths yet to be uncovered, on the secrets that lay just beneath the surface of our uneasy alliance.

Luke's revelation seemed to suspend time within the confines of the tent. "Joel was the driver who delivered the tents back home," he began, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of what he was about to disclose.

My gasp was just a fragment of our collective response, a chorus of surprise that filled the space between us. Luke, undeterred by our reactions, continued to peel back the layers of this unexpected narrative. "I was surprised to see him. I didn't recognise him at first, though. Not until I saw his name sewn into his shirt." His words prompted me to action, my hands moving almost of their own accord to confirm the truth of his claim. I found the rip, and with it, the name that anchored Joel's identity in our reality. "Joel," I read aloud, the name resonating with a newfound significance.

Luke's story unfolded further, revealing the accidental chain of events that had catapulted us into this shared ordeal. "Henri and Duke coming here was all an accident," he admitted, the simplicity of the statement belying the chaos it had unleashed. "Joel accidentally let Henri outside and he ran through the Portal when we tried to catch him. I forgot I was still carrying Duke when I followed after Henri." The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together, albeit jaggedly, painting a picture of unintended consequences and serendipitous encounters.

"And Joel saw all this?" My voice barely concealed the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind, trying to piece together the implications of Luke's admissions. "Yes," Luke confirmed, his next words casting a shadow over the already dim light of our understanding. "And when I returned, I found Joel lying in a pool of blood in the back of the truck."

The gravity of the situation settled heavily upon us, the air thick with the realisation of the catastrophic turn of events Joel had been swept into. "Holy shit," Kain's words echoed my own sentiments, a succinct summary of the shock and disbelief that gripped us.

"But that was yesterday," Jamie said, the words hanging between us, charged with an accusation that felt like a physical blow. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Luke's response was a gulp, the sound dry and filled with apprehension. "I thought you'd blame me for it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, a confession that seemed to pull the tension tighter, like a bowstring ready to snap.

"I do fucking blame you for it!" Jamie's exclamation burst forth, raw and unfiltered.

"Boys!" My own patience, worn thin by the escalating tension and the gravity of our predicament, prompted a firm interruption. Yet, my attempt to mediate was lost in the storm of their conflict.

"And then you brought him here and dumped his body in the fucking river! That's some seriously fucked up shit," Jamie's voice rose again, each word a hammer striking the anvil of accusation, his outrage a clear reflection of the horror and disbelief that such actions could be attributed to his own partner.

"It wasn't me!" Luke's shout was a desperate attempt to defend himself, to deny the atrocious act that Jamie laid at his feet. "I would never do something so terrible!"

"Boys!" My voice, louder this time, carried a note of finality, a demand for silence that could not be ignored. "Stop it!"

The tent fell into an eerie silence, the kind that follows a storm, where words hang suspended, their impact lingering in the air.

Jamie was the first to break the heavy silence that enveloped us, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Well, what did you do with the body?" he asked, his tone now somewhat more contained than the raw edge it carried moments before.

"We buried him," Luke replied, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with an unspoken weight.

"We?" I couldn't help but interject, my curiosity piqued, yet apprehension knotted my stomach.

Luke bit his lower lip. After a brief hesitation, he confessed, "Beatrix, Gladys, and I."

"This is insane," Kain muttered, his voice muffled as he shook his head, burying it in his hands in disbelief or perhaps despair.

I felt a frown etch itself deeply across my forehead, my brows knitting together in confusion and concern. My eyes narrowed as I tried to piece together the bizarre puzzle laid out before us. "I really don't understand any of this at all," I admitted, my voice a mix of frustration and resolve. "But I can do some basic surgery and stitch his throat back up. I can't guarantee anything." I paused, considering the gravity of what I was about to undertake. "He might be breathing and have his eyes open, but that doesn't mean that he is actually alive. He hasn't spoken and isn't responding to any of my stimuli."

Jamie's face was a mask of confusion and concern. "So, what does that mean? What's happening to him?" he asked, his brows furrowed in worry.

I sighed, feeling the weight of uncertainty press down on me. "I really don't know," I replied honestly, my heart heavy with the admission.

At my words, Luke seemed to retreat into himself even further, taking a few steps back as if the physical distance could shield him from the reality of our situation.

"Alright," Jamie said to me, his voice firm, a surprising beacon of support in the unsettling fog of unknowns. "What do you need?"

"Well… I need..." I began, my mind racing through the list of medical supplies and equipment I would need, before my voice tapered off, lost in the magnitude of what we were about to attempt.

Jamie leaned in closer, his presence grounding, urging me to focus. His eyes, filled with determination and an unspoken promise of support, helped me gather my thoughts. "Okay, let's think this through," I said, bolstered by his proximity and the solidity of his support. "First, we'll need..." And with that, the plan began to take shape, a fragile hope blossoming.

The interior of the tent seemed to close in around me, the canvas walls feeling more like barriers than protection as I glanced around, a nervous flutter in my stomach. Luke and Kain had managed to slip away, their departure almost ghostlike in its quietness, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. My eyes found Jamie, and I tried to steady my voice. "I'm going to do a horizontal mattress suture. I need a medium saline solution with a broad spectrum of antimicrobial activity, gloves, non-absorbable suture material, forceps, needle..." The list flowed from my lips, a mantra of medical necessity, before I paused to take a breath, feeling the weight of the task ahead.

Jamie's reaction—or the lack thereof—was not what I hoped for. He stared back at me with a blank expression, his eyes glazing over as if the words I spoke were in a foreign language. A pang of frustration mixed with a dash of fear coursed through me as I realised the magnitude of the responsibility resting squarely on my shoulders. This was going to be much harder than I had initially realised.

Feeling my face tighten, I made a snap decision. "You stay here and watch him," I instructed Jamie, trying to infuse my voice with more confidence than I felt. My hand found his shoulder, giving it a firm pat in an attempt to convey a sense of urgency and importance to his role. As I got to my feet, the action felt like stepping into a role that I suddenly felt entirely unequipped for.

"I won't be long. I'll just get what I need from the medical tent and come straight back," I promised, my words a blend of reassurance for him and a pep talk for myself. As I stepped out of the tent, the cool air hit me, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. The brief moment of solitude allowed me to gather my thoughts, steeling myself for the task ahead. I knew that every second mattered, and the urgency propelled me forward, my mind racing through the procedure steps and the supplies I would need to gather.

Within the span of two minutes, the reality of our precarious situation had transformed the tent into an impromptu operating room. I found myself kneeling beside Joel, the gravity of what I was about to do settling heavily on my shoulders. With deliberate movements, I donned a pair of medical gloves, the latex material stretching snugly over my fingers, a thin barrier against the severity of the procedure I was about to undertake.

I handed another pair to Jamie, the urgency of the moment reflected in my voice. "You'd better wear these," I instructed, more a command than a suggestion. Jamie, understanding their importance, slipped his gloves on with an efficiency that betrayed his nervousness.

"Now hold this tray for me," I continued, my voice steady, trying to infuse some semblance of calm into the charged atmosphere. Jamie nodded, a quick, jerky movement that spoke volumes of his anxiety.

"And try not to tremble too much," I added, half-jokingly, yet fully aware of how our nerves could impact the delicate procedure. "I don't need any other distractions." Jamie nodded again, his movements quick but more controlled this time, as he focused.

As I began to prepare Joel's neck wound for suturing, the silence between us was charged with concentration. The air felt thick, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts, yet united in a singular purpose.

"Why a mattress suture?" Jamie's question broke the silence, his curiosity piercing my bubble of focused intensity.

"No unnecessary talking during surgery," I responded flatly, my tone brooking no argument. My time in Borneo had indeed broadened my horizons, pushing the boundaries of my medical knowledge and skills. There, amidst the lush jungles and the critical lack of resources, I had learned to adapt, to innovate. Yet, despite the growth, the core truth remained—I was a general practitioner, not a surgeon. My experiences had taught me the value of knowing my limits, the importance of acknowledging the thin line between confidence and hubris.

Now, kneeling beside Joel, every lesson learned, every skill honed, was called upon. I knew my capabilities, but more importantly, I recognised the boundaries of my expertise. This was not the time for lengthy explanations or discussions. Precision and focus were paramount; there was no room for error, no space for distractions. My hands, though steady, were a testament to the respect I held for the task at hand—a life hung in the balance, and it was up to me to navigate this precarious edge with the utmost care and concentration.

As I focused intently on Joel's neck wound, the world around me seemed to narrow. Grasping the edge of the wound with the forceps felt almost second nature, a testament to the countless hours I'd spent in medical settings, though never quite like this. The needle holder felt like an extension of my own hand as I drove the needle through the skin, easily piercing the dermis. The sensation of the needle moving through flesh was both familiar and surreal.

As the needle approached the edge of the wound, a moment of instinctual haste nearly overtook me. I almost reached out with my bare hand, a move that would have breached the sterile protocol I was so desperately trying to maintain. Catching myself just in time, I remembered the forceps, the proper way to control the needle without compromising sterility or precision. It was a small slip, but it reminded me sharply of the delicate balance between instinct and training, between doing what felt natural and what was medically correct.

The sound of several instruments rattling on the tray beside me brought me back to the immediate reality. Jamie seemed to be struggling with his own battle against nerves. I paused, forceps still in hand, and turned slightly to check on him. "You okay there, Jamie?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine concern. The last thing we needed was for him to faint. "You're not about to pass out?"

"No, I'm fine. Sorry," he replied, his voice tinged with a childlike meekness that caught me off guard. It was a vulnerability I hadn't expected from him, and it served, oddly enough, to slightly lower my own nerves. His admission, rather than adding strain, somehow made the moment more human, more bearable. "You're doing a great job," he added, his encouragement simple yet sincere.

"We've a long way to go yet," I responded, the reality of our situation settling heavily upon me once more. As I turned back to the wound, ready to continue, I felt a renewed sense of purpose.

The sensation of the needle piercing the skin once more was both precise and deliberate, a critical moment in the delicate dance of suturing. As I drove the needle through the other side of the slice, I could feel the resistance of the dermis before it re-emerged on the opposite side, a testament to the care and accuracy required in this procedure. The task required a level of focus and dexterity that seemed to magnify with each movement, each decision calculated and critical.

Next, I meticulously backwards-loaded the needle in its holder, a technique that required both skill and patience, ensuring the alignment was perfect for the next puncture. The process was methodical, each action building upon the last, leading to the final goal of wound closure. As I proceeded in vertical alignment with the other puncture site, I felt a deep connection to the moment, the meticulous nature of the task grounding me in the present, each movement a testament to the years of training and experience that had led me to this point.

After pulling the final suture to the appropriate skin tension, ensuring that the wound edges were neatly approximated without being too tight, I completed the procedure with an instrument tie.

Sitting back on my knees, my body instinctively seeking a moment of rest, my bum settled on my heels, and I allowed myself a brief pause. The intensity of concentration required for the suturing had created a bubble around me, one that I was only now stepping out of. "We did it!" I exclaimed, a wave of accomplishment sweeping over me.

Jamie's question hung in the air, heavy with hope and uncertainty. "So, he'll be okay now?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for reassurance. My smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, the fragile optimism shattering under the weight of reality. Deep down, I harboured doubts about Joel's condition, doubts that gnawed at me with persistent whispers. I wasn't convinced that Joel was truly alive in the way we understood life. The complexities of his condition were beyond the scope of a simple suture and saline.

Then, without warning, the tent was pierced by the sound of Joel gasping for air, a desperate, guttural attempt to draw oxygen into his lungs. It was a sound that was as shocking as it was unexpected, reminiscent of a fish out of water, struggling for survival in a dry environment. My reaction was instinctive, a mixture of surprise and fear that sent me tumbling backwards with a startled exclamation. "Shit!"

The tray of instruments, once meticulously organised, was now a scattered mess upon the floor, the sound of metal clanging against the ground echoing through the tent like an ominous bell. The sudden chaos seemed to amplify the panic setting in, a tangible shift in the atmosphere from hope to fear.

"What's happening?" Jamie's voice, now laced with panic, mirrored my own internal turmoil. His question was a reflection of the confusion and fear that gripped us both, a stark contrast to the brief moment of accomplishment we had just experienced.

Regaining my composure was a struggle, the shock of Joel's sudden gasp for air leaving a lingering sense of dread. I leaned over Joel, my mind racing to process the situation, to find a solution within the confines of my medical training and experience.

"Help him," Jamie insisted, his voice a mix of command and desperation. His plea was a stark reminder of our human instinct to aid those in distress, a call to action that resonated deeply within me, even as I grappled with the limits of my abilities.

My heart pounded against my chest, a relentless drumbeat in the silence that followed Joel's gasps. The tension was palpable, a thick, suffocating cloak that wrapped around us, binding us to the moment. "I don't understand," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, a wave of panic crashing through me. "This is out of my scope. I'm not trained for this.” The admission of my limitations was a bitter pill to swallow.

As I grabbed hold of Joel's arms, attempting to pin them down in an effort to manage his convulsions, the severity of the situation was undeniable. The convulsions were a physical manifestation of the turmoil that wracked his body, a sign of the internal battle that raged within.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Joel went still, his eyelids fluttering closed in a haunting semblance of peace.

As I slowly released my grip on Joel's now still arms and backed away, the cold, hard truth of Joel's condition echoed through my mind, reverberating with the finality of a closing chapter. "I'm sorry, Jamie. He really isn't alive," I uttered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I couldn't bring myself to meet Jamie's gaze, to witness the impact of those words reflected in his eyes. The space between us was filled with a palpable grief, a chasm widened by the harsh reality of our situation.

Jamie's response was heart-wrenching, a big sniff breaking the silence before he spoke, his voice laced with desperation and sorrow. "Can't you try to resuscitate him?" he managed between choked sobs.

Catching a glimpse of Jamie's tear-stained face, his eyes puffy and reddened with grief, I felt as if someone had physically reached inside me and torn a hole in my chest. The pain in his expression, so raw and vulnerable, mirrored the turmoil swirling within me. "He has no blood for his heart to pump around his body," I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. The words were a cold, clinical truth, but they felt like a betrayal, an admission of defeat in the battle we had so desperately hoped to win. 

"I'm sorry, Jamie," I whispered again, the silence around us heavy with shattered hopes. A small, salty tear escaped, trailing down my cheek. The disappointment was overwhelming, a tide that threatened to pull me under with its ferocity. I wished, with every fibre of my being, that there was more I could do, that some miracle could reverse the cruel hand we'd been dealt. But some realities are unchangeable, and the pain of acceptance was a burden we were now forced to bear together.

Jamie's sudden grasp on my arm jolted me, his touch a stark contrast to the numbness that had begun to settle over me. "We have to take him back to the lagoon," he stated with a conviction that seemed to cut through the dense fog of despair enveloping me. His words, firm and resolute, clashed with the turmoil swirling within me.

"But why?" The question escaped my lips before I could fully grasp the futility behind it. My head shook in confusion. "What good will that do him now?" I couldn't understand Jamie's insistence, the logic behind his request lost to me in a sea of resignation.

"We have to try," Jamie insisted, his determination undeterred by my doubts. He crouched above Joel's head, positioning himself to lift under his shoulders in a gesture that spoke volumes of his refusal to accept defeat, his unwillingness to let go without exhausting every possible avenue.

"It's no use, Jamie. He's gone," I whispered, my voice soft, attempting to infuse a gentle reality into the situation. The finality of my words felt like a betrayal, an acknowledgment of defeat in the face of Jamie's desperate hope.

"Please, Glenda," he begged, his eyes, brimming with tears, locked onto mine, pleading for understanding, for support. The depth of his anguish was palpable, each word, each look, a heart-wrenching reminder of his sorrow.

Fighting back the swell of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me, I felt another tear escape, tracing a wet path down my cheek. The gesture of moving Joel, of trying to bring him back to a place of significance, seemed so utterly futile in the stark face of reality. Yet, witnessing the pain it caused Jamie to stand by, to do nothing, stirred something within me. The urge to act, to comply with his plea, was driven not by a belief in the efficacy of our actions but by the need to alleviate his suffering, to honour his need to cling to hope, however slim.

But even as I considered his request, a deeper fear gnawed at me—a fear that Jamie's faith in what little I could offer would only serve to deepen his despair when faced with the inevitable truth. The prospect of nurturing any false hope felt like walking a delicate tightrope, where the balance between compassion and reality was perilously thin.