Six Months Pregnant

"My brother had crossed a line I didn't even know existed—and the worst part was realising it might have been necessary."

As I approached the camp, the unfamiliarity of the situation seemed to crystallise with the sight of the young man stepping outside the tent. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone trying not to disturb whatever was happening inside—which immediately made me wonder what exactly was happening inside. His footsteps were light, almost apologetic, and he eased the tent flap closed behind him with the gentleness of someone leaving a sickroom.

"What's going on in there?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued by the activities that were unfolding without my presence.

The man stopped in his tracks, clearly startled by my sudden question. His body tensed for a moment before he recognised me—or at least recognised that I wasn't a threat. It was then, for the first time, that I really took the opportunity to assess him from head to toe. He wasn't particularly tall—I estimated around five foot five, though he held himself in a way that made him seem larger—but what he lacked in height, he made up for in physical presence. His well-defined biceps hinted at a lifestyle more active than sedentary, suggesting agility and strength rather than sheer bulk. The kind of muscle that came from actual work rather than gym sessions. His forearms were tanned and weathered in a way that spoke of outdoor labour—the kind of tan you couldn't get from a beach holiday, the kind that came from years of working under the sun.

Luke has chosen well, it seems, I thought with an inward scoff, recognising the potential value this young man could bring to our precarious situation. If Luke had to kidnap someone—and apparently that was something Luke did now—at least he'd had the sense to kidnap someone useful. Someone who looked like they knew which end of a hammer to hold. Someone whose muscles weren't decorative.

"Glenda is going to do some surgery," he finally responded, his voice carrying a weight of seriousness that immediately drew my attention back to the matter at hand.

"Surgery?" I echoed.

On Joel. On the man who had grabbed me with impossible strength, whose eyes had opened and stared into mine despite the gaping wound in his throat. Surgery on someone who should already be dead. Surgery in a tent, in an alien dimension, with whatever limited supplies Luke had managed to bring through the Portal. The absurdity of it was almost overwhelming.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in a visible sign of nervousness. "Yeah. She is going to stitch his throat back together."

The simplicity of his statement belied the complexity of the procedure about to be undertaken. Stitch his throat back together. As if it were a torn shirt rather than a severed windpipe, as if Glenda had the proper equipment and sterile environment and everything else that surgery usually required. As if any of this made the slightest bit of sense. I had seen that wound. I had seen the flesh gaping open, the dark interior that should never be exposed to light. And now Glenda was going to sew it shut with whatever thread and needles she had on hand.

My chest constricted with a mix of anxiety and apprehension. "So, Glenda really thinks he might be alive?"

The idea seemed to hover on the edge of possibility, teetering between hope and disbelief. I had felt his hand grip my arm. I had seen his eyes open. But I had also seen his throat—that horrible wound, that impossible injury that no one should survive. The two realities couldn't coexist, and yet here we were, watching Glenda prepare to perform surgery on a man who was simultaneously dead and not dead.

"Yeah, I guess so," he shrugged, his nonchalance a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me.

Perhaps nonchalance was the only reasonable response when everything around you had become unreasonable. Perhaps when reality stopped making sense, you simply stopped expecting it to.

"Shit," I muttered, the situation's absurdity becoming more apparent with each passing moment. "This isn't making any sense."

"That's a bit of an understatement," he scoffed.

Fair point. Nothing about Clivilius made sense—not the Portal, not the night terrors, not the lagoon's strange effects, and certainly not dead men who grabbed your arm and opened their eyes to stare at you. We had left sense behind when we fell through that swirl of impossible colours.

Closing my eyes, I took a moment to breathe deeply, seeking a fleeting sense of calm. The air here tasted different from Earth's—cleaner in some ways, but with an undertone of something unfamiliar that I couldn't quite identify. Dust, perhaps. Or something stranger. It was then I realised I still hadn't caught the name of this new ally, this unknown variable in our increasingly complicated equation. We had been thrown together by circumstance, by Luke's machinations, and I didn't even know what to call him.

Extending my right hand toward him, I broke the ice. "Paul. I'm Luke's brother."

There was a moment of hesitation, a brief interlude where uncertainty and alliance weighed equally in the balance. I could see him processing the information—Luke's brother. The brother of the man who had pushed him into another dimension. Whatever he thought of Luke, it might well colour his thoughts of me. I wouldn't blame him if he refused the handshake. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with anyone related to the man who had stolen his life.

Then, his grip met mine, firm and resolute. "Kain," he introduced himself.

The handshake was the grip of someone who worked with his hands—calloused, strong, decisive. Not the soft grip of office workers, not the performative squeeze of businessmen trying to establish dominance. Just an honest handshake, the kind that meant something. In that silent exchange, there was a recognition of the shared trials we were about to face. Kain—his name now a fixture in the tapestry of our struggle—represented both an unknown factor and a potential asset.

"You know Jamie then?" I found myself asking, curiosity piqued as I released Kain's hand. He had called out to Uncle Jamie at the lagoon. The word uncle had registered but hadn't fully computed in the chaos of everything else that was happening.

"Yeah, he's my uncle," Kain replied.

"I see," I said, absorbing this new information. The family tree was getting complicated.

"So, how did you end up here?" I probed further, eager to understand the sequence of events that had led Kain to us. I needed to know what Luke had done, how far my brother had gone in his desperate recruitment of bodies for this settlement. I needed to know if Luke was still the brother I thought I knew, or if Clivilius had changed him into something else entirely.

Kain huffed, a prelude to the story he was about to share. The sound carried exhaustion, resignation, and perhaps a hint of anger he was working to suppress. His jaw tightened briefly before he began speaking.

"My mother sent me to check on Uncle Jamie. She hadn't been able to contact him for a few days. So, I went over and Uncle Jamie wasn't there. Luke told me that he was out and would be back soon. And that's when it got weird."

"Weird?" I echoed, my interest piqued. Though weird seemed like a mild word for anything involving Luke these days.

Kain tilted his head, as if sifting through his memories for the details that would best explain his experience. His eyes went slightly unfocused, the way people's eyes do when they're replaying events in their mind.

"Well..." he began, hesitation lacing his voice before he paused again, collecting his thoughts. "Well, I was about to leave but then Luke suggested I hang around and wait for Uncle Jamie to get home. He insisted that he wouldn't be much longer."

I couldn't help but interject. "Well, that doesn't seem too weird."

Before the full weight of our reality crashed back down upon me. Jamie would never be going home—a fact that cast a shadow over Kain's seemingly mundane encounter. None of us would be going home. That was the whole point of this place, the whole horror of it. Jamie had been trapped here for three days, and Luke had been telling Kain to wait for an uncle who would never return. Had Luke been stalling? Had he been planning even then?

The realisation hit me with a pang of guilt. In our world, now skewed by mysterious Portals, Guardians, and the looming threat of an unknown assailant, what constituted as 'weird' had taken on a whole new meaning. Kain's story, under any other circumstances, might have seemed like a simple case of miscommunication or perhaps a mild inconvenience. Yet, here and now, it was a thread in a larger tapestry of confusion, danger, and the unknown.

Kain's frown deepened, the lines between his eyebrows etching themselves into his skin. "I guess not. But then I had to go to the bathroom, and when I came out, Luke asked if I minded helping him with something downstairs. I can't even remember what he wanted now. It all happened so quickly. As we approached the top of the stairs, there was a bright flash of colour when Luke slid the door open and then I felt something shove me in the back. I'm pretty certain it was Luke."

My face contorted in concentration, trying to piece together Luke's actions with the brother I knew. The brother I thought I knew. The man who apparently pushed people through dimensional Portals without warning or consent. Shoved. Luke had shoved this young man through a Portal to another dimension the same way you might shove someone into a swimming pool. Casually. Quickly. Without giving him a chance to resist or question or say goodbye to anyone he loved.

"So, Luke had no idea that you were coming?"

The question lingered in the air, a futile attempt to find logic in what seemed to be a hastily executed plan. Perhaps if Luke had planned this, had known Kain was arriving, it would somehow make it better. More calculated. Less reckless. Less like my brother had simply seen an opportunity and seized it without thought for the consequences.

"I don't think so," Kain replied.

The idea that Luke had orchestrated this without prior knowledge of Kain's visit added an element of spontaneity to his actions that was both intriguing and disconcerting. Luke had seen an opportunity—a young, fit man standing in his house—and he had taken it. Pushed him through a Portal to an alien dimension without so much as a warning. Without asking. Without explaining. Just a shove in the back and suddenly Kain's entire life was over.

A grimace took over my expression as I processed Kain's account. The realisation that Luke might have acted impulsively, or perhaps with a calculated risk, left me torn between concern and a begrudging admiration.

Perhaps my brother is far more devious than I anticipated.

The thought was unsettling, yet in our current predicament, Luke's audacity could indeed prove to be an asset. The notion that we had an extra set of hands, especially under such bizarre circumstances, was undeniably a point in our favour. We needed people. We needed help. And Kain, with his evident strength and practical demeanour, was exactly the kind of person we needed.

But then again, Luke had essentially kidnapped the poor guy, and he couldn't be older than twenty-five. The ethical implications of Luke's actions weighed heavily on me, casting a shadow over the relief of having Kain with us. This wasn't immigration. This wasn't recruitment. This was abduction. This was forcing someone into a situation they hadn't chosen, couldn't escape, and might never understand.

Is Luke spiralling out of control?

The question echoed in my mind, a haunting possibility that I couldn't entirely dismiss. My brother, the Guardian. My brother, the kidnapper. My brother, who kept secrets about murdered sons and hostile forces and God knows what else. The Luke I had known growing up—the annoying little brother who borrowed my things without asking, who told terrible jokes, who called me on birthdays and sometimes forgot—that Luke seemed to be disappearing, replaced by someone I didn't recognise. Someone capable of pushing strangers through dimensional Portals without a second thought.

The complexity of our situation seemed to grow with each passing moment, each new revelation adding to the tangled maze of motives, actions, and consequences we found ourselves in. As I stood there, contemplating the moral quandary that Luke's actions presented, I couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards Kain. Despite the unexpected manner of his arrival, he was now part of our group, thrust into the unknown just as we were. Just as I was. None of us had chosen this—except perhaps Luke, and even his choices seemed driven by forces I didn't understand.

"I'm sorry for what my brother has done. I really am," I found myself saying, the weight of Luke's actions pressing heavily upon me.

My apology, sincere as it was, felt inadequate under the circumstances, a meagre offering in the face of Kain's unforeseen ordeal. What could words possibly repair? Luke had stolen this man from his life, from everyone who loved him, and dropped him into an alien world with no way back. Sorry didn't begin to cover it. Sorry was what you said when you stepped on someone's foot, not when your brother kidnapped them to another dimension.

Kain's response was a shrug, a non-verbal expression that spoke volumes of his current state of resignation or perhaps confusion. It was hard to tell which. Perhaps both. His shoulders rose and fell with a heaviness that suggested he hadn't yet found words for what he was feeling.

"So, if your mother sent you, does that mean you still live with her?" I ventured cautiously, aware that each question unwrapped another layer of Kain's life, revealing the stakes involved for him personally.

At the mention of his living situation, Kain's eyes began to swell with emotion. The tough exterior cracked, just slightly, revealing something raw beneath. His jaw worked for a moment, fighting against whatever was rising in his throat.

"Both me and my fiancée live with my parents," he revealed, his voice carrying a tremor of vulnerability that struck a chord within me.

A fiancée. Someone waiting for him. Someone who would be wondering where he'd gone, why he hadn't come home, why he wasn't answering his phone. Someone who loved him, who was planning a future with him, who had no idea that future had just been stolen.

"What's her name?" I probed gently, feeling a bond of empathy towards Kain's predicament deepen.

"Brianne," he replied, the simplicity of his answer belying the complexity of emotions behind it.

The way he said her name—soft, reverent—told me everything about how he felt about her. It was the way I used to say Claire's name, back when things were good between us. Back before the arguments and the silences and the slow erosion of everything we'd built together. Kain still had that. Kain still loved someone with his whole heart. And Luke had torn him away from her.

"She's six months pregnant."

"Shit."

The word escaped my lips before I could censor the reaction, my eyes widening in shock. Six months pregnant. Kain had been torn away from a woman carrying his child. His first child, presumably. A baby he might never see, never hold, never watch take its first steps or speak its first words. A child who would grow up without a father, who would ask questions that Brianne couldn't answer, who would wonder why Daddy never came home.

The horror of it settled into my chest like a physical weight. Three months from now, Brianne would give birth alone. Would raise a child alone. Would have to explain, somehow, that the father had simply vanished one day and never returned. And Kain would be here, in this alien world, knowing that his child existed somewhere he couldn't reach. Knowing that every milestone—first smile, first word, first step—was happening without him.

Did Luke know that when he pushed Kain?

The question haunted me, echoing the fear that Luke's actions might have repercussions far beyond what I initially realised.

I hoped not. Luke could do some serious familial damage.

Yet, the uneasy feeling twisting in my gut suggested otherwise. My brother may be erratic at times, but ignorance was not a trait he possessed. Luke noticed things. Luke planned things. If Kain had mentioned Brianne, had mentioned the pregnancy in casual conversation before that shove—Luke would have known. And he had pushed anyway. Had looked at a man whose child was three months from being born and had decided that his need for labour was more important than that child's need for a father.

The thought made me sick.

"Is there really no way to go back home?"

Kain's voice, tinged with a mix of hope and despair, broke through my ruminations. The question I'd asked myself a hundred times. The question that kept me awake at night, that haunted every moment I allowed myself to think about Claire and the children. The question that had no good answer, only the brutal truth of our imprisonment.

I shook my head, the gesture laden with regret. "Not that we know of."

The finality of my words hung between us, a brutal reminder of the uncertain future we faced. No way back. Trapped here, in this alien world, while life on Earth continued without us. While Brianne's belly grew and the baby kicked and the due date approached. While Mack and Rose wondered why Daddy hadn't come home. While everyone we loved slowly, inevitably, learned to live without us.

Kain's heavy sigh was a palpable release of pent-up tension, his gaze dropping as he grappled with his situation. I recognised that look. I'd worn it myself these past few days—the moment when the reality of permanence settles in, when denial finally loses its grip and you're left with nothing but the cold, hard truth of your circumstances. His shoulders sagged. His hands hung limp at his sides. For a moment, he looked smaller than he had before, diminished by the weight of what he'd just understood.

The furrow deepened across my forehead as I contemplated our next steps. We couldn't stand here forever, drowning in the magnitude of what Luke had done. We had work to do. We had survival to manage. We had a dead man being stitched back together in a tent, and supplies to organise, and concrete to pour, and a thousand other tasks that wouldn't wait for our grief to pass.

"I know this is an unfortunate situation," I started, choosing my words with care.

Unfortunate. The understatement of the century. Unfortunate was missing your flight. Unfortunate was getting caught in the rain. This was devastation. This was the destruction of everything Kain had built and planned and hoped for.

"But the truth is, Jamie and I could really use your help right now."

I paused, watching Kain intently, gauging his reaction, preparing myself for any possible refusal or resentment. He had every right to refuse. Every right to tell me to go to hell, that my brother had done this to him and he owed us nothing. Every right to sit down in the dust and refuse to move until someone found a way to send him home. I wouldn't have blamed him. I might have done the same, in his position.

To my relief, and slight surprise, Kain slowly raised his head, a glimmer of resolve in his eyes. Something had shifted in his expression—not acceptance, exactly, but determination. The decision to keep moving forward rather than collapse under the weight of what he'd lost. The choice to do something rather than nothing, even if the something felt meaningless against the scale of his loss.

"What can I do to help?"

A faint smile began to form on my lips, a rare moment of relief in an endless sea of crisis.

Well, that was easier than I expected.

But even as I felt gratitude for his willingness, I couldn't shake the guilt that accompanied it. Kain was helping us because he had no other choice. Because Luke had stolen his options along with his freedom. Because staying busy was probably the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

"Follow me," I said, leading the way.

And as Kain fell into step beside me, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of man my brother had become—and whether I would even recognise him anymore if I looked closely enough to see the truth.