Duke Fetched Luke

"Sometimes the ones you're trying to save end up rescuing you—turns out loyalty doesn't require opposable thumbs."

Duke jumped up at my leg, his simple act of affection grounding me in the moment. The small weight of his paws against my shin, the eager wag of his tail — these ordinary gestures carried extraordinary comfort in a place where nothing else was ordinary anymore. I bent down to scoop him up into my arms, his compact body warm against my chest.

"Well, Duke, what are we going to do with you?"

His response was to lavishly cover my cheek with rough, eager licks, a reminder of the uncomplicated love and loyalty our four-legged friends offered us. No conditions. No judgment. No questions about why I'd left my wife or how I'd ended up in another dimension or whether I was handling any of this correctly. Just simple, boundless affection from a creature who asked nothing more than to be near someone who might scratch behind his ears.

"We'll bring you Charlie," I found myself promising him, my decision solidifying with the words. The resolution surprised me even as I spoke it — hadn't I just been thinking about how irresponsible it would be to bring more animals here? But watching Duke's trusting face, feeling his small heart beating against my palm, something shifted. He needed a companion. We all did.

"You'll like her."

The thought of adding another member to our small, burgeoning family here in Clivilius brought a flicker of warmth to my heart, a small moment of hope that our isolation might be temporary. Charlie would bring a piece of home with her — the black gleam of her coat, her enthusiastic barks, the way she pressed her nose against my leg when she sensed I was troubled. Mack and Rose would want her safe, wherever they were. And maybe, just maybe, caring for these animals would give us something to hold onto when everything else felt like sand slipping through our fingers.

Turning back towards the Drop Zone, a sigh escaped me.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath as the realisation hit — Luke had forgotten to take the empty truck back with him. It sat there in the dust like an accusation, a delivery vehicle from another dimension that some poor driver was probably still searching for, wondering if he'd lost his mind or his job or both. A minor oversight in the grand scheme of things, yet indicative of the myriad of challenges and distractions that constantly vied for our attention. We couldn't even manage to return stolen property properly.

Duke's subsequent lick across my cheek pulled me from my thoughts, his simple, joyful demeanour a welcome contrast to the complexities of our human concerns.

"You're right, Duke. Oh well, indeed."

His presence was a gentle reminder not to dwell too much on the things I couldn't control. The truck would sit there until Luke remembered it or until the dust claimed it entirely. There were more pressing matters than inter-dimensional vehicle theft.

As we headed back to the camp, I couldn't help but notice that the thick layers of dust covering the ground of Clivilius seemed particularly tough on Duke, his short legs struggling against the soft, treacherous terrain that threatened to swallow him with every step. He was built for suburban backyards, for tile floors and trimmed lawns — not for this endless expanse of powder that shifted beneath him like water. Each step required twice the effort it should have, his small body working hard just to keep pace.

Picking Duke up, I carried him the remainder of the distance. His weight was negligible compared to the boxes and wheelbarrows and failed concrete attempts, and he settled into my arms with the contentment of a creature who had learned to accept help when it was offered. A lesson I might do well to learn myself.

"We'd better check on your other dad," I told Duke, a sense of responsibility washing over me. It was time to see how Jamie was faring after his encounter with the river, to offer whatever support I could. The image of that ruptured wound haunted me still — the blood, the pus, the way Jamie's face had contorted with pain when Luke's hands found the injury. Whatever was happening inside that wound, it wasn't getting better on its own.

Duke's bark, full of energy and agreement, echoed my sentiments. He seemed to understand, in whatever way dogs understand these things, that Jamie needed us.

Lifting my head, I scanned the surroundings with a growing sense of panic. Jamie was nowhere in sight. The tent sat empty and still. The river whispered its endless song to no audience. The red dust stretched in every direction, unmarked by footprints or movement.

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered under my breath, my gaze darting upstream and then swiftly downstream towards the lagoon. He should have been here. He should have been back by now, wound cleaned, resting in whatever shade the tent provided. Instead — nothing. Absence where a person should be.

The possibility of Jamie venturing as far as the lagoon sent a wave of nervousness crashing through me. Not just concern for his safety, though that was there too — something else. Something I didn't want to examine too closely. The lagoon... its serene beauty and the strange, unsettling effect it seemed to have on me lingered at the back of my mind, fuelling my apprehension.

I know I have to check on Jamie, but maybe we shouldn't be at the lagoon at the same time…

The thought echoed, a reminder of the unexplained turmoil that place stirred within me. There was something about that water — something that had reached into parts of myself I kept carefully locked away, had asked questions I'd spent thirty-five years refusing to answer.

I had never doubted my sexuality before, but that lagoon... What was it doing to me?

The question hung heavily in my mind, a mystery I was determined to unravel. Or perhaps determined to bury, to push so deep that it could never surface again. Claire's face flickered through my thoughts — not angry, but confused. The way she'd looked at me sometimes across the dinner table, as if trying to solve a puzzle whose pieces didn't quite fit together. Had she sensed something? Had she known, on some level, that there were rooms inside me I'd never let her enter?

No. This wasn't the time. Jamie was missing. Everything else could wait.

"Jamie!"

My voice broke the silence as I jogged downstream towards the lagoon, calling out for him periodically. Each shout felt like throwing stones into fog — the sound disappeared without echo, swallowed by the vast indifference of this alien landscape. Duke, loyal as ever, tried to keep pace, but the thick, clinging dust proved too much for him, and with a reluctant glance back at me, he turned and headed towards the safety of the tent.

Smart dog. At least one of us had sense.

Reaching the lagoon, I continued to call out.

"Jamie!"

My voice echoed off the water, the only reply the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. The lagoon lay before me like a mirror, its surface reflecting a sky that held no stars, its depths hiding whatever secrets had stirred those impossible feelings in me yesterday. I kept my eyes fixed on the shoreline, refusing to look too deeply into that water, afraid of what I might see staring back.

"Where the hell are you?"

Frustration laced my words as they dissipated into the air, unanswered. My forehead creased with worry, the tight knot in my stomach growing with each passing moment of silence. He could be anywhere. He could be collapsed somewhere, bleeding, dying, while I stood here shouting at empty water.

The pain in my foot flared with intensity, urging me to sit and tend to it in the cooling embrace of the lagoon's water. The burned skin throbbed with each heartbeat, a metronome counting out the seconds of my failure to find Jamie. But the urgency to find him overshadowed my physical discomfort. I could nurse my foot later. I could rest later. Right now, someone who mattered was missing.

The thought of anything happening to him under my watch was unbearable.

Luke would never get over it if something tragic happened to him. And I'd be all alone here.

The realisation hit me with a cold dread that had nothing to do with the temperature. The thought of solitude in this vast, unfamiliar world, without Jamie's presence, was a scenario I couldn't — and didn't want to — contemplate. For all our tension, all our exhaustion-fuelled snapping, Jamie was the only other human here who understood what we were facing. The only one who shared this impossible experience. Losing him wouldn't just be losing a companion — it would be losing the last witness to my own sanity.

"Jamie!"

The scream tore from my throat, raw and filled with a desperation I hadn't known I possessed. The word scraped against my vocal cords, emerged ragged and fractured.

"Where the hell are you?"

My voice echoed off the silent expanse of the lagoon, unanswered. The water absorbed my panic and offered nothing back. Spinning on my good heel, my movements were too quick, too frantic, leaving me dizzy and nauseated. The world tilted sideways for a moment, colours bleeding into each other like watercolours in rain.

It was then, through the disorienting swirl of my surroundings, that I caught sight of it — a large hill, looming ominously on the other side of the lagoon. Higher ground. A vantage point. If Jamie was out here anywhere, I might be able to spot him from up there.

With a sense of urgency propelling me forward, I forced my aching body up the steep incline of the hill. Each step was a battle against both the terrain and my own physical limitations. The dust gave way beneath my feet like loose sand, requiring three steps' worth of effort for every one step of progress. My burned foot screamed its objections with every stride, and my lungs — unaccustomed to this kind of exertion after years behind a desk — burned with the effort of drawing breath.

By the time I reached the top, I was gasping for breath, my body bent double as I tried to recover. My hands clamped down on my knees, a futile attempt to steady myself. The world pulsed with each heartbeat, darkening at the edges before brightening again. When had I become this unfit?

It was in this moment of forced pause that I noticed the redness on my arms — another reminder of the harshness of this environment. The skin that had been merely pink this morning was now an angry red, the kind of colour that promised peeling and pain in the days to come. I'd been so focused on my foot that I'd forgotten about the rest of my body, exposed to a sun that didn't play by Earth's rules.

After a few minutes, with my head thrown back in an attempt to catch my breath, the reality of my situation hit me.

"Shit," I cried out into the unforgiving sky. "I'm going to burn to a crisp out here."

The thought spurred a new wave of panic.

I have to find Jamie, and fast.

Before the sun finished what it had started. Before my skin blistered beyond repair. Before I joined Jamie on the list of people who needed medical attention we couldn't provide.

Lifting my head slowly, the landscape unfolded before me as I looked up from between my arms. What I saw drove every other thought from my mind.

"Holy crap!"

The words slipped from me in a whisper of awe mixed with fear. Just a few metres from where I stood, the ground took a sharp, rocky drop, revealing cliffs that stretched for several kilometres on both sides of the river. From the safety of the lagoon, it had been impossible to tell the cliffs were there — the gentle slope of the shoreline had hidden this dramatic geography as completely as a stage curtain hides the machinery behind a play.

One more step. If I had been looking at my feet instead of gasping for air, one more step would have sent me tumbling over that edge. The thought sent a cold shiver through me despite the heat. Death had been standing right there, patient and invisible, waiting for me to stumble into its arms.

The river, a serpentine ribbon of blue, cut through the barren landscape, stretching into the horizon where it disappeared from sight. It looked different from up here — not just water we'd been drinking and washing in, but a lifeline carved through hostile territory, a single thread of survivability in a world that seemed designed to kill. On the far side of the river, beyond the intimidating presence of the cliffs, the terrain flattened out, extending towards the distant mountains. These majestic peaks rose sharply from the ground, their silhouettes a testament to the raw, untamed beauty of this world.

With my hand raised to shield my eyes from the relentless glare of the sun, I squinted towards the horizon, trying to discern any sign of Jamie in the vast expanse. Nothing moved. Nothing broke the stillness of that ancient landscape. If Jamie was out there somewhere, he was invisible against the enormity of what surrounded us.

To my right, the landscape on my side of the river was a tapestry of gentle, dusty hills that cascaded down to the cliff's edge — a boundary between the rolling terrain and the sheer drop beyond. Each hill identical to the next, each valley a mirror of its neighbours. A man could wander out there for days and never find his way back. A man could die out there, and no one would ever know where to look for the body.

Despite the overwhelming sense of emptiness, I couldn't help but find a harsh beauty in the scene before me. The sun painted the landscape in vibrant strokes of browns, oranges, and yellows, each shade blending into the next, contrasted against the clear blue of the river below. It looked like something from a nature documentary — the kind of footage that makes you appreciate the planet from the safety of your lounge room, never imagining you might one day stand inside that frame.

It was a beauty that was both striking and unforgiving, a reminder of the vastness of the world we now inhabited. A world that didn't care whether we survived. A world that would be just as beautiful without us, perhaps more so.

Yet, the breathtaking view offered no comfort in the absence of Jamie. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, trying to expel the growing sense of dread and helplessness with each exhale. The air tasted different up here — thinner, somehow, or maybe that was just my exhausted lungs struggling to extract what they needed.

If Jamie is out here, there's no way I'm going to find him now.

The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, a concession to the reality of our situation that I was reluctant to accept. I had failed. Again. Just like the concrete. Just like the fire that had burned Jamie. Just like my marriage, my relationship with my children, my brother's trust. Add "search and rescue" to the growing list of things Paul Samuel Smith couldn't manage.

With a heavy heart, I began the trek back to the tent site, each step a physical manifestation of my defeat. My body ached in places I hadn't known could ache — muscles protesting movements they'd never been asked to make, joints grinding against each other like poorly maintained machinery. My spirit was weighed down by sorrow and failure, a familiar combination that had dogged me through the final years of my marriage and had apparently followed me across dimensions.

My head, once filled with determination, now sagged under the burden of a hundred terrible thoughts. Jamie dead in a gully somewhere. Jamie drowned in the river. Jamie collapsed and cooking in this merciless sun. Each scenario played out in vivid detail, my imagination supplying horrors my eyes couldn't confirm.

The world around me felt both vast and oppressively small as I reentered the tent, the fabric walls offering a kind of shelter that felt almost mocking in its inadequacy. What good were walls that couldn't keep out death? What good was a roof that couldn't protect the people beneath it?

"You look worse than I do."

The familiar, croaky voice broke through the silence, pulling me out of my reverie.

My head snapped up in surprise, relief flooding through me at the sight of Jamie. He was there. Alive. Lying on the mattress with Henri curled at his feet and Duke pressed against his side, as if the dogs had understood their assignment and taken up guard duty. The relief was so intense it felt physical — a loosening in my chest, a release of pressure I hadn't realised I'd been carrying.

"Where the hell did you go? I've been searching for you," I blurted out, the frustration and worry of the past hour condensed into a single question. My voice came out harsher than I intended, accusatory when I meant to be concerned.

"I know," Jamie replied, his voice weak but filled with an apologetic tone. "I could hear you calling out, but every time I try to move, it starts to bleed again."

The words landed uncomfortably. He'd heard me. He'd been here the whole time, listening to my increasingly desperate shouts, unable to respond. Unable to move. Trapped in his own body while I ran myself ragged across the landscape.

I stared at Jamie's bare chest, where he lay on the mattress, the welt that marred his skin looking more menacing. The wound had changed since I'd last seen it — the edges darker now, the centre weeping something that wasn't quite blood and wasn't quite pus but some unholy mixture of both. It looked angry. It looked like it was winning.

"The water didn't help then?" I asked, hoping against hope that he had found some relief.

Jamie shook his head, a gesture laden with defeat.

"I didn't make it to the river."

He took a laboured breath before continuing, each word requiring visible concentration.

"I went too far upstream and then I collapsed before I had the chance to get in the water."

The image assembled itself in my mind — Jamie walking, determined to clean his wound, pushing himself beyond what his body could handle. The ground rushing up to meet him. The dust settling over his prone form. Alone. Helpless.

"Probably just as well," I found myself saying, trying to find a silver lining in the situation. "Or you could have collapsed in the water."

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, the potential consequences too dire to fully contemplate. Jamie face-down in the river. Jamie's lungs filling with water that should have healed him. Jamie's body carried downstream while I searched in the wrong direction.

"I know. Thankfully, Duke found me."

The mention of Duke brought a small smile to my face, the loyal dog proving once again to be more than just a pet. The little Shih Tzu had done what I couldn't — had found Jamie when I was busy climbing hills and admiring views and failing at the one task that actually mattered.

"And how did you make it back here?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as I gave Duke a quick scratch behind his ear, a silent thank you for his role in Jamie's return. The dog's tail wagged against the mattress, accepting the praise with characteristic grace.

"Luke," Jamie said simply. "Duke fetched Luke and he carried me."

The sentence contained multitudes. Duke had known to find Luke. Luke had come back. Luke had carried Jamie — physically lifted and transported the man who had accused him of sentencing them all to death. The man who had shoved him. The man whose wound Luke had inadvertently ruptured.

"Luke was here?"

The question was rhetorical, my mind already piecing together the events that had transpired. Luke, moving between worlds like it was nothing. Luke, showing up precisely when needed. Luke, proving that whatever else he was — deceiver, dreamer, architect of our exile — he was also someone who came back.

"Yeah. He brought in Duke and Henri's beds and box of toys," Jamie added, managing a faint smile as he gestured around the tent.

I looked properly for the first time and saw them — two small dog beds tucked against the tent wall, a box spilling over with chew toys and squeaky things. Ordinary objects from an ordinary home, transported across dimensions because Luke had remembered that even in the midst of catastrophe, dogs needed their comforts.

I couldn't help but smile back. "At least he gets some things right."

Jamie's smile, though faint, was a clear indication of the deep bond between him and Luke. Despite everything — the deception, the injury, the bitter words exchanged — there was something there that couldn't be severed. Observing their interactions over the years, I've always sensed a profound connection, one that went beyond mere companionship. Ten years they'd been together. A decade of shared life, shared space, shared silences.

Yet, their reluctance to openly acknowledge the depth of their relationship puzzled me.

Why do they feel the need to hide their feelings for each other? I wondered. After all, they've been together for a decade.

The complexity of their dynamics, the unspoken emotions and the silent strength of their bond, was something I had yet to fully understand. Perhaps I never would. Perhaps some relationships existed in registers that outsiders couldn't hear, frequencies that only the two people involved could tune into.

Or perhaps — and this thought arrived unwelcome, insistent — perhaps I understood more than I wanted to admit. Perhaps the lagoon had shown me something about hidden feelings, about the vast difference between what we acknowledge and what we actually feel. Perhaps Luke and Jamie's careful distance from each other wasn't so different from the careful distance I'd maintained from parts of myself for thirty-five years.

I pushed the thought away. There was work to be done.

"I'm going to start putting up another one of these tents," I announced to Jamie, wanting to ensure he was comfortable before I began. "Do you need anything first?"

"No," he replied, his voice weak but resolute. He shook his head slightly, the movement small and careful. "I think I might try and get some sleep."

"Good idea," I responded, supportive of his decision to rest.

Turning away, I made my way to the corner of the opposite wing of the tent where my suitcase lay. The battered case looked out of place here — a relic of airport carousels and hotel rooms, of a life where the biggest challenge was remembering which time zone I was in. I quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, topping off my ensemble with my favourite cap — the one Mack had given me for Father's Day two years ago, the brim already shaped to my preferences through countless wearings.

Despite knowing the outfit would result in discomfort due to the heat, the necessity to protect my already drying skin from further damage outweighed my concern for personal comfort. The harshness of the Clivilius sun was unforgiving, and my skin had reached its limit of exposure. I could feel the heat trapped between fabric and flesh, sweat already beginning to gather in the small of my back.

But at least I wouldn't burn. At least I wouldn't add "severe sunstroke" to our growing list of medical emergencies. At least I could do this one small thing right.