Dust and Thunder

“Sometimes the world doesn’t break like glass—it rips like paper, and you're the scribble caught in the middle.”

I hit the ground hard, my knees scraping dry earth, and for a long moment I just lay there—cheek pressed into the hot, gritty dust, trying to remember how to breathe. The smell was the first thing that told me I wasn’t home anymore. Not the soft smells of bark chips and sunscreen and chocolate biscuits. This was dry air, sunburnt and still. It smelled like rust and distance. Like nothing had moved here in a long, long time.

My head throbbed dully, like I’d just woken from a sleep too deep and too strange. My arms felt heavy. Ribbons dangled limply from one hand, her ears dust-smeared and trailing along the ground like forgotten ribbon tails from a birthday balloon.

And then—something. Not a sound, exactly. Not like someone speaking aloud. But a presence, inside me, behind my ribs, curled somewhere just under my thoughts. A knowing. A voice without a voice.

Welcome to Clivilius, Rose Smith.

It wasn’t frightening—not exactly—but it wasn’t comforting either. It felt like the moment when a lift stops too suddenly. Like my name didn’t belong to me for a second.

When I sat up, the world spun slightly. And then I saw it—or didn’t see it, more like.

The playground was gone.

No slides, no trees, no families with picnic blankets and balloons. No Mack scanning the edges of things. No Mum.

Just a wide, open land that stretched and stretched like the inside of a dream I didn’t want to stay in. The earth here was dusty and tired-looking, like it hadn’t rained in years. The sky was too big—an enormous ceiling of perfect blue, the kind that makes you feel smaller the longer you look at it.

My chest tightened so fast and so sharply that I thought I might cry out from the pain of it. I scrambled to my feet, Ribbons still clutched against my ribs, and shouted with all the strength my voice had left:

“Mummy!”

The name echoed, but only once. Then nothing but wind—thin and whispering, curling around my legs like it didn’t quite know what to do with me.

I wanted to scream again, but my throat was closing, the way it did when I cried too hard. I wanted to go back. I wanted to wake up.

Then, from somewhere behind me—

“Rose!”

I froze.

The sound was bright and real and alive, cutting across the baked silence like water across stone. I turned so fast I nearly tripped, dust rising in little clouds around my feet.

“Daddy?” My voice came out small, disbelieving.

He was running towards me, arms open wide, his feet kicking up little puffs of dry soil. He looked the same and different all at once—his face a bit thinner, maybe, but his eyes were exactly the same shade of kind.

“Daddy!”

I ran, legs pumping, the air thick and dry in my throat, and then I was in his arms and the whole world changed again.

He scooped me up like he used to—like I was light as air—and held me so close I could barely breathe, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anything but stay right there, with my face pressed to the warm, familiar fabric of his shirt and my arms tight around his neck.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispered into my hair, voice rough and shaking. “It’s okay, Rose. I’ve got you.”

His heartbeat thundered against my ear, quick and strong and real. And for a moment, even though everything else had changed, I felt like I was home again—because Daddy was here, and he hadn’t let go. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

Then Grandma Greta was there, her arms folding around both of us like a blanket that smelled of lavender and long-ago bedtime stories. The moment I felt her, something in me loosened—not all the way, but enough to let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. She was solid and warm, and her voice, when it came, was soft but tangled with something that didn’t quite fit—a mix of relief and sadness that made my chest feel tight all over again.

“Oh, Rosie,” she whispered, kissing the top of my head. Her lips were cool against my hair, and her hands rubbed gentle circles across my back.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t, not yet. I just buried my face deeper into Daddy’s shoulder, letting his shirt catch my tears. My hands were streaked with red dust and tiny scrapes, my knees stung where I'd hit the ground, but none of it mattered. I was back with Daddy. That was all I could focus on. Just don’t let go, I kept thinking. Don’t let go.

Then I heard Grandma's voice again, low but urgent.

“Where’s Mack?”

I lifted my head, just a little, still clinging to Daddy’s shirt like it could anchor me to something real. “With Mummy,” I murmured, my voice paper-thin. I pointed behind me—to the place where the colours had swallowed me up, where the world had bent and twisted into something strange and impossible.

Daddy’s face changed when I said it. He looked over at Grandma, and for a moment, they just… stared at each other. Like a whole conversation passed between them without words. The kind that grown-ups have when they don’t want children to understand.

“The Portal’s gone quiet,” Daddy said at last.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The way he said it—like the words were made of concrete—made something cold and hard settle in my stomach. I didn’t know exactly what “quiet” meant when it came to a Portal, but I knew from his face that it wasn’t good. Not even a little bit.

Grandma’s arms tightened around me. “Do you think Mack is coming?” she asked, almost under her breath, like she was afraid that saying it aloud might make it true—or make it worse.

Daddy didn’t answer right away. He opened his mouth like he might, then closed it again. Then finally: “I don’t know.”

That’s when I felt it—how heavy he’d gone. Like the weight of not knowing had settled into his bones. Like part of him wanted to collapse under it.

Grandma pulled me tighter, so close that I could feel the thump of her heart through her jumper. It was beating fast. Too fast for someone who was supposed to be calm.

“It’s okay,” Daddy said, and he kissed the top of my head again, slower this time. “You go with Grandma Greta and Grandad. I’ll wait for Mack. I won’t leave until he’s through.”

I didn’t want to go. Not without Daddy. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging like ivy, but Grandma’s hands were gentle and insistent. She coaxed me into her arms with that special kind of strength grandmothers have—the kind that doesn’t ask for permission but is laced with love all the same.

“And Mummy?” I asked, my voice so small I wasn’t sure they heard.

Daddy froze for a second. Something flickered behind his eyes—fear, maybe. Or sorrow. Or something worse. But when he looked at me again, he managed a tiny, wobbly smile.

“And Mummy,” he promised, though his voice cracked just slightly around the words.

I nodded because I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.

Grandma took my hand—hers was warm and dry and a little shaky—and we started walking across the rust-coloured earth. It felt endless, like we were walking through someone else’s dream. The wind tugged at the hem of my jumper, lifting the glittery letters one by one, and every few steps I turned to look back.

Daddy stood there, tall and unmoving, watching the empty space where the Portal had been. The dust swirled around him like a cloak. He looked like a statue carved from waiting.

I kept hoping—aching—to see a boy with wild hair and a grey hoodie come sprinting through that shimmer of air that no longer shimmered.

But he didn’t.

Grandma held my hand tightly as we walked. Her grip was strong—stronger than usual—as though she was trying to anchor me to her, to this dry, strange land where everything felt both too big and not quite real. The ground crackled beneath our shoes, all ochre dust, the kind that clung to your skin and wouldn’t let go. It reminded me of the bushland back home, but emptier, like someone had forgotten to finish drawing it.

No trees. No birds. No power poles or fences or anything that marked human living. Just earth and sky, both too wide and too quiet. The silence buzzed in my ears like the hum of electricity, and I found myself listening for familiar sounds—Mack’s voice, Mum’s laugh, the rustle of leaves—but there was nothing.

I stared up at the sky, and tried to trick myself into believing we were walking one of Daddy’s old tracks through the Broken Hill scrub. Tried to imagine we'd stop any second now to look for lizards sunning themselves on rocks or press wildflowers between the pages of Grandma’s notebook.

But this wasn’t Broken Hill. There were no lizards. No flowers. Just heat and dust and silence.

“Are we going home?” I asked.

Grandma didn’t answer at first. Her gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, mouth set in that tight line I’d seen before—when someone was late home, or when news on the telly wasn’t what she'd wanted to hear. A line made of worry.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” she said at last. Her voice was quiet but steady, like she’d practised the answer in her head before saying it aloud. “We’ll go back to camp first. Daddy’s going to bring Mack. We’ll all be together soon.”

I nodded, because it felt like the right thing to do. But inside, something tugged. A little knot tightening behind my ribs.

What if Mack doesn’t come? What if Daddy stays to wait and never follows? What if we’re already too far from everything that matters?

I tried to squash the questions, bury them under my feet like the dust we were kicking up with every step.

Then the ground shifted.

It was barely more than a tremble at first—a flutter beneath my shoes, like the earth had taken a sudden breath. But it was enough to make me stumble, and I grabbed for Grandma’s arm instinctively.

“Stay close, Rose,” she said sharply. Her fingers closed around my shoulder, guiding me back to her side. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it had an edge I hadn’t heard before. Not fear exactly. Not yet. But something close. Something watchful.

I pressed into her side, clutching Ribbons tighter against my chest. I could feel the thump of my own heart in my palms. The silence had changed. It wasn’t empty anymore—it was waiting.

And then, without warning, something arrived.

There was no sound before it, no engine, no rumble in the distance. One heartbeat the space behind us was nothing but dust and sky—and the next, it was there.

A motorhome. Gleaming silver and too clean for this dusty place. It didn’t drive up from the horizon. It didn’t roll in from a hidden road. It simply appeared, dropping out of nowhere like a toy being placed on a giant, invisible board.

Thud.

The whole ground jumped under my feet as its wheels hit the red dirt, bouncing once before settling into place. A cloud of dust billowed out in every direction, cloaking the scene in a momentary haze.

I coughed and blinked against the grit. Grandma pulled me behind her, shielding me with one arm as she stared at the thing like she was trying to decide whether it was miracle or menace.

“What is it?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer. Just reached for the pendant around her neck and held it tight between her fingers like it was a shield. Or a signal.

I peeked out from behind her arm as the dust began to settle.

The motorhome didn’t move. Its windows gleamed, catching the bright sunshine.

Then the door clicked. And began to open. And Mummy appeared.

My breath caught like a hiccup halfway through my chest, and before I even realised I’d moved, my legs were running—propelled by instinct, by joy, by the raw need to reach her.

“Mummy!” I cried, my voice soaring across the dry air like a paper plane tossed with hope.

But I didn’t get far. Grandma’s arm shot out like a barrier, her hand clamping around my wrist with a strength that surprised me.

“Wait, Rose,” she urged. “Just wait.”

I didn’t understand. Mummy was right there—alive, real, not very far away. Her figure stood framed in the open doorway of the strange silver motorhome, backlit by shadows, the wind catching her shirt and pulling it gently around her.

But something was wrong.

Her hair was tangled and unbrushed, clinging to her temples like ivy. Her face was pale and pinched, lips slightly open as though she couldn’t catch her breath. And there was a red mark—a smear or a bruise—just above her left eyebrow, angry and out of place on her otherwise familiar face. It wasn’t bleeding, but it looked fresh.

She didn’t look like my mummy from this morning, sitting beneath a jacaranda tree in the park with her sunglasses and her careful sandwiches. She looked… hollow. Like she was made of paper and might tear if the wind blew too hard.

“Mack?” she called out, her voice dry and searching. She looked over her shoulder, as if expecting him to appear behind her. But no one came.

Beside me, Grandma went very still. “Claire!” she called sharply, her voice cracking like a whip. “Where’s Mack?”

Mummy didn’t answer. She just stood there, half in the motorhome, half hanging out, swaying a little, her eyes wide and glassy like she was staring at something far away. Her feet didn’t move. Her hands gripped the sides of the doorframe.

Something about her silence made my chest ache. I didn’t know what was happening, but the look on her face scared me more than anything ever had.

Then, like lightning cleaving a tree, the world split open again.

The shriek of tyres tore through the air—an impossible sound in this barren, dusty place. My eyes whipped sideways, just in time to see a silver car bursting through the colourful swirls of the portal, which had reappeared, as if it had been flung from the sky. It hit the ground hard, the wheels skidding and bouncing on impact.

And then came the crunch.

The front of the car slammed into the side of the motorhome, metal hitting metal with a sound so loud it felt like something cracked inside my body. The whole vehicle rocked violently, the door banging against its hinges.

My lungs forgot how to breathe.

“Mack!” Mummy screamed, her voice high and broken.

Her hands gripped the doorframe tighter as the fore of the car’s impact tried to send her tumbling back inside the motorhome.

“Stay here, Rose,” Grandma said, her voice thick now, like she was trying not to cry. She wrapped her arms around me so tightly it hurt—but I didn’t push her away.

I buried my face in her jumper. I clung to it, shutting my eyes against the chaos. I didn’t want to see the shattered pieces. I didn’t want to hear Mummy crying or metal groaning or anything else that didn’t belong in a world where families were supposed to stick together and picnics ended with sleepy car rides home.

“It’s okay,” Grandma whispered over and over, her fingers stroking through my hair. “I’ve got you, darling. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

But I wasn’t. Not really.

Because somewhere inside that wreckage was Mack. And Mummy was barely hanging on. And Daddy stood there frozen in place.

And the world—the real world—was tearing apart at the seams.

Before I could even catch my breath, the ground lurched again—this time with a violent jolt that felt like the earth had bucked beneath us. I looked up just in time to see it: a massive bus hurtling through the portal, impossibly fast and heavy, like a boulder tossed by a furious god. It smashed into the silver car and the side of the motorhome with an impact that made the very sky seem to shatter.

The sound—it wasn’t just loud, it was everywhere. A ripping, tearing roar that pierced my ears and crashed through my bones. The ground jolted underfoot, and dust exploded in every direction, a dirty mushroom cloud swallowing the wreckage whole.

One second, Mummy was there. The next, she was gone.

“Mummy!” I screamed, panic surging through me like ice water in my veins. But the dust devoured my cry. It swallowed everything—my voice, the world, the last sliver of calm I’d been clinging to.

Grandma’s arms were suddenly around me, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing. She held me so tightly that I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly. “Don’t look, Rose,” she said into my ear, her voice shaking like loose glass. “Just hold on to me.”

I buried my face in her shoulder, pressing my cheek into the soft, familiar knit of her jumper. It smelled like home, like safety—but nothing felt safe anymore. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out. But the sounds still came—awful, impossible sounds.

The screech of metal folding in on itself. The sickening crunch of something being crushed. And beneath it all, the cries—shouted names, sharp gasps, one voice howling out in a way that didn’t sound human.

Images flashed in my mind, unbidden and too vivid: Mummy being thrown from the motorhome steps. The roof caving in. The wheels of the bus skidding sideways, ploughing through everything. People running, maybe shouting, maybe screaming—too far to help, too close to stop it.

I shook with every breath, my hands balled into fists against Grandma’s jumper, my legs wrapping around her waist like I could somehow climb inside her and hide forever.

“It’s okay,” she whispered again and again, her voice thin and desperate. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But I didn’t feel okay. I felt like I was unravelling. Like this place—wherever we were—was coming apart. And we were trapped in the middle of it.