Duke's Triumph

"Nothing restores perspective quite like watching a dog solve problems that have been defeating humans all day."

Taking a moment to step back and admire my progress was a rare indulgence in the midst of our ongoing struggle to adapt and survive. The second tent stood before me, its skeleton of poles and partially stretched canvas rising from the red dust like something being coaxed into existence. Surprisingly, though not yet halfway completed, it was really starting to take shape. The main support structure held firm. The guide ropes I'd hammered into the ground hadn't pulled loose. The fabric, when I'd managed to attach it, hadn't immediately torn or collapsed.

My hands ached from gripping poles and pulling ropes. My shoulders burned from the unfamiliar strain of construction work. But there it was — something I had built. Something that would provide shelter, protection, a small claim of human presence in this alien emptiness.

However, my moment of quiet satisfaction was abruptly shattered by the sound of Luke calling out my name. The voice, unmistakably his, cut through the silence, originating from the direction of the Portal.

What does he want now?

I couldn't help but wonder, a mix of irritation and curiosity pulling me away from the task at hand. Every interruption meant lost momentum, meant muscles cooling and stiffening, meant having to find my place again in a process I was only beginning to understand.

As I began to drag myself away from the tent, Luke's voice reached me once more, this time with a message that immediately captured my full attention.

"Food!" He announced, the single word carrying across the dust hills, igniting a spark of anticipation within me.

At the mention of food, my earlier reservations and fatigue momentarily faded into the background. Food was a commodity that had taken on a new level of importance, a scarce yet vital source of energy and comfort. My stomach, which I'd been training to ignore through sheer force of will, suddenly reasserted its presence with an almost painful twist of anticipation. When had I last eaten properly? Yesterday? The day before? Time had blurred into a continuous stream of crises, and meals had become afterthoughts subordinate to more pressing emergencies.

Without needing any further encouragement, my legs responded with a newfound vigour, propelling me towards the Drop Zone at a pace driven by the promise of sustenance. The burned foot that had been complaining all day fell silent, overruled by a more fundamental need. I moved faster than I had since arriving in Clivilius, my body remembering how to hurry even when every muscle begged for rest.

"I don't have time to help you move them," Luke's voice was matter-of-fact, his hands busily placing another three shopping bags beside the cluster already gathered in the dust next to the Portal. "I have another delivery arriving within the hour."

"Another food delivery?"

My curiosity piqued as I reached for the first of the bags, the weight of it reassuring in my grasp. The plastic handles bit into my fingers with familiar discomfort, a sensation so ordinary it felt almost sacred in this context.

Luke nodded, confirming my guess. "Yeah, I made two online grocery orders from two different supermarkets last night."

"Oh, I didn't realise."

Without another word, Luke stepped back into the swirling colours of the Portal, disappearing from sight. The seamless manner in which he navigated between worlds was both fascinating and unsettling — like watching someone walk through a wall, except the wall was made of impossible light and led to another dimension entirely. I still hadn't fully adjusted to the sight of it, still felt a small lurch in my stomach every time matter dissolved into that swirling aperture.

In less than a minute, he re-emerged, this time with another four shopping bags in hand. His arms strained with the weight, the plastic stretching but holding. Seven bags total now, clustered in the dust like a picnic that had wandered into the wrong reality.

"There should be enough non-perishables to last you at least a few days," he mentioned, his tone casual, as if delivering groceries across dimensions was an everyday task. For him, perhaps it was becoming exactly that. Then, just as quickly as he had reappeared, he vanished once more, the Portal closing behind him, its colours fading into the background like a television switching off.

"Bye, Luke," I called out to the now silent Portal, a small smile playing on my lips despite the oddness of the situation.

Luke really is odd sometimes, I mused internally, the thought accompanied by a gentle shrug of my shoulders. But odd was relative now. Everything here was odd. Luke's peculiarities had simply found an environment where they finally made sense — or at least, where they were no stranger than anything else.

Carrying the bags of grocery supplies back to the tent, I decided it was best to place them under the shade of the first tent's canopy for the time being. The heat would destroy anything perishable within hours, would warp packaging and spoil contents that had already survived one impossible journey. The plan was to store the food in the second tent once it was fully set up — a task that still required my attention and effort to complete, but which now felt slightly more urgent with provisions secured.

No sooner had I set down the bags than Duke and Henri emerged from the tent, their curiosity piqued by the new arrivals. They trotted over with the particular enthusiasm that dogs reserve for anything that might contain food, their noses already working overtime, processing scents that presumably told them more about these bags' contents than my eyes ever could.

They eagerly poked their noses into each bag, their faces comically intrusive as they searched for any hidden treats. Henri's entire head disappeared into one bag, his small body straining forward as he investigated. Duke worked more systematically, moving from bag to bag like a quality control inspector on a factory floor.

"I don't know if there's anything for you," I told them, trying to manage their expectations while secretly hoping Luke had thought to include something for them too. They deserved a bit of comfort just as much as Jamie and I did. They hadn't asked to be brought here. They hadn't chosen this exile. They were simply doing what dogs do — adapting, persisting, finding joy in small moments even when the larger picture made no sense at all.

To my amusement, Duke's head dove deep into one of the bags, his body wiggling in a mix of excitement and determination. His tail began wagging before the rest of him had even processed what he'd found — that instinctive canine response to good fortune. Moments later, he triumphantly emerged, a packet of dog treats clenched gently in his mouth. The packet crinkled in his jaws, its colourful packaging absurdly cheerful against the backdrop of red dust and alien sky.

"Well," I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, the laughter feeling foreign in my throat, rusty from disuse. "I guess there is something for you after all."

Duke's reaction, his tail wagging in a blur of motion, was a heartwarming sight. Luke had remembered. In between the shelving and the groceries and the constant trips between dimensions, my brother had remembered that two small dogs needed their treats. It was such a small thing, and yet it loosened something in my chest that I hadn't realised had been tight.

"Bring them here then," I instructed, extending my hand to retrieve the treats.

But Duke, ever the playful soul, deftly evaded my attempt and darted into the tent with his prize. His small legs churned through the dust, the packet bouncing in his grip, Henri scrambling after him in hopeful pursuit.

"You little—" I started, but the words dissolved into another laugh. It felt good to laugh. It felt human.

Following Duke into the tent, the light-hearted atmosphere was momentarily interrupted as Jamie, with a quick movement, snatched the packet of dog treats from Duke's mouth.

"Luke's brought us a heap of groceries," I announced preemptively, forestalling any questions Jamie might have had. The sight of him, alert enough to grab things, was encouraging. His face still carried the pallor of pain and exhaustion, but there was something sharper in his eyes than there had been earlier.

"Thank fuck. I'm starving," Jamie responded with a hint of relief in his voice, his movements careful as he propped himself up to a sitting position. He then proceeded to open the bag of treats, distributing one to each of the eagerly waiting dogs. Duke and Henri accepted their prizes with wagging tails and immediate focus, their earlier competition forgotten in the face of actual reward.

"So, you're feeling better then?" I inquired, observing him closely.

Jamie's condition had been a constant source of worry, and any sign of improvement was welcome news. The wound on his chest remained hidden beneath his shirt, but the fact that he could sit up, could move, could participate in the simple ritual of feeding treats to dogs — these were signs I clung to with perhaps more hope than they warranted.

"I think so. I think I actually fell asleep," he admitted, a note of surprise in his voice as if the very act of resting had been an elusive luxury.

I chuckled at his realisation. "Yeah, you did."

Jamie offered a faint smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment's tranquillity. The expression transformed his face, reminded me that beneath the pain and the anger and the devastating accusations he'd hurled at Luke, there was still the person my brother had chosen to spend a decade with. There was still someone capable of warmth, of connection, of finding small pleasures in dog treats and surprise naps.

"Well now that you're awake, I may as well bring these bags inside. It'll be better than leaving them outside in the heat," I suggested, thinking ahead to the practicalities of preserving our newly acquired supplies.

The tent's shade wasn't perfect, but it was better than the direct assault of the Clivilius sun. Food that spoiled was food we couldn't eat, and we couldn't afford to waste anything Luke had managed to acquire.

"I'll help you," Jamie offered, attempting to push himself up from the mattress.

I watched the wince he tried to hide, the way his hand moved involuntarily toward his chest before he caught himself and redirected it.

"No," I insisted firmly, the protective instinct kicking in. "I think you had better take it easy for the next few days."

The last thing I wanted was for Jamie to overexert himself and exacerbate his condition. We had no doctor yet. We had no antibiotics, no surgical equipment, no way to address complications if they arose. The best medicine we could offer was rest, and even that felt inadequate against what was happening inside his body.

Jamie slowly settled back down, the realisation dawning that perhaps rest was the most prudent course of action. I could see the conflict in his face — the frustration of being sidelined, the reluctant acceptance of his own limitations. He was someone who needed to be useful, I realised. Someone who measured his worth in contribution, regardless of the outward attitude. Being forced into passivity must have felt like its own kind of wound.

"Maybe just for the rest of today," he conceded.

I nodded, accepting the compromise even as I privately suspected "the rest of today" would need to extend considerably longer. But that was a battle for another moment. Right now, we had food. We had shelter. We had two dogs contentedly chewing treats and a wounded man who was at least willing to rest.