Someone Else Can Use It

"Peace in Clivilius is measured in the space between Joel's last note and the moment Lois starts to growl—and that space is never as long as you'd like."

Lois's low growl, a sound laced with unease, jerked me from the fringes of sleep where the warmth of the dwindling campfire had lulled me into a light doze. My eyes snapped open, immediately seeking out the source of her distress. The growl was wrong—not playful, not territorial, but something deeper. Something primal. The kind of sound that makes the hair on your arms stand up before your brain can process why.

"Lois, what is it?" I hissed, my voice barely above a whisper, tension knotting in my stomach.

The night, devoid of stars, seemed to press in around us with an ominous weight. The fire had burned low, its light barely reaching beyond our immediate circle, and beyond that circle was nothing. Just blackness. Just the unknown. The darkness felt almost physical, a presence rather than an absence, and I found myself instinctively drawing closer to the dying flames as if their meagre warmth could offer protection against whatever lurked beyond.

Luke, roused from his own rest by the commotion, turned to face the gathering wind, an uneasy shadow flickering across his features. "The wind is picking up. Do you think it's another dust storm?"

His question, laden with weary resignation, mirrored my own concerns. But even as he spoke, I knew this was different. The wind didn't make Lois growl like that. The wind didn't make her hackles rise. We had weathered dust storms before, and she had never responded like this—never with this visceral, primal warning that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than instinct.

"I hope not," I murmured, my gaze fixed on Lois as I crouched beside her. Grasping her collar, I tried to glean some clue from the direction of her stare, but the night offered no answers, just an impenetrable darkness that seemed to thicken with our apprehension. Her muscles were rigid beneath her fur, coiled tight like a spring about to release. She knew something we didn't. She sensed something out there in the black—something that had triggered every protective instinct bred into her over thousands of generations.

"I think something's out there," Kain whispered, his voice threaded with tension that matched the tightness in my own chest.

His movement, cautious and deliberate, placed him between Luke and me—a protective stance that did little to ease the growing sense of dread. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. Wanted to dismiss the fear that was crawling up my spine like cold fingers. But the words wouldn't come. The evidence was too clear: Lois's rigid posture, her unbroken stare into the darkness, the low rumble that continued to vibrate through her chest.

The air around us seemed to thrum with anticipation, a silent prelude to an unknown threat. Our collective gaze, wide-eyed and searching, was drawn inexorably towards the void beyond the campfire's reach, where shadows merged with the blackness of the night. We stood there, the four of us, frozen in a tableau of fear and uncertainty.

Waiting.

Suddenly, Lois's bark shattered the tense quiet, a sharp, commanding sound that sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me. Her ferocity, unexpected and startling, tightened the coil of nerves in my gut, a visceral response to the perceived danger lurking just beyond our sight. The bark was aggressive, desperate—a warning and a challenge rolled into one. Whatever was out there, she was telling it that we were not easy prey.

"What's going on?" Glenda's voice, tinged with concern, emerged from the darkness behind us. Her approach, quick and purposeful, added another layer of urgency to the situation. "Why is Lois barking?"

"We don't know," I managed, my hand moving almost instinctively to soothe Lois, stroking her fur in a futile attempt to calm the growing agitation that rippled through her body. But she wouldn't be calmed. Whatever was out there, she could smell it, hear it, sense it in ways we couldn't. My touch, usually enough to settle her, might as well have been invisible.

"Probably just the wind picking up the dust," Luke ventured, his voice betraying a hint of hope that the disturbance was nothing more than a natural occurrence. He wanted to believe it. We all did.

Yet, as he spoke, a gust of wind whipped around us, sending a veil of dust swirling into the air, a bitter foretaste of what might be coming. I closed my eyes reflexively as the first wave assaulted us, fine particles pelting my face like a myriad of tiny darts.

Not this shit again!

The familiar frustration, a mix of resignation and annoyance, surged within me, a silent curse against the relentless elements we faced. But beneath the frustration was something else now. Something colder. The dust was an irritation. Whatever Lois was growling at was something worse. The two things—the gathering storm and the unseen threat—felt connected somehow, as if the chaos of one was covering the approach of the other.

"We'd better get inside the tents," Luke shouted, barely audible over the gust of wind. His words spurred us into action, the need for shelter becoming paramount.

"Come, Lois," Glenda called, her voice firm yet laced with concern as she attempted to pierce the dog's focus.

But Lois, her body taut with alertness, growled again, her gaze locked onto the unseen threat lurking within the veil of darkness that enveloped us. She wouldn't move. Wouldn't be commanded. Every fibre of her being was focused on something in that darkness, something we couldn't see. I had never seen her disobey Glenda before—the bond between them was too strong, the training too ingrained. Whatever she sensed out there, it was important enough to override everything else.

"Duke! Get back here!" The urgency in Jamie's voice was palpable as he burst from his tent, his movements hurried and frantic as he tried to reclaim control over Duke, who, caught in the grip of some instinctual need, had dashed out into the night.

Two dogs now, both sensing what we could not. Both trying to warn us of something our dull human senses couldn't detect. The realisation sent a fresh wave of fear through me. Animals knew things. They sensed earthquakes before they hit, fled from tsunamis before the waves arrived. If both dogs were this agitated, something was very, very wrong.

As the initial wave of dust settled, I rubbed at my eyes vigorously, the irritation of the fine grains a minor but immediate concern amidst the escalating tension. Blinking rapidly, I sought relief and clarity in equal measure. My vision swam with tears and grit, the world reduced to blurred shapes and dancing shadows.

"Shit! We're surrounded!" Kain exclaimed, his voice edged with panic. He inched closer to the fire, seeking its dubious safety as if its light could ward off whatever threat lay beyond.

Surrounded?

The word echoed ominously in my mind as I squinted into the darkness, testing the effectiveness of my efforts to clear my vision. Surrounded by what? The darkness itself seemed alive now, pressing in on us from all sides, hungry and patient. I strained to see what Kain had seen, but the night offered nothing—just endless black that seemed to swallow the feeble light of our dying fire.

"What's going on?" Karen emerged from the final tent, her voice tinged with panic that demanded an explanation we were all grappling to understand.

Just as my sight began to return to me, I turned towards her, intending to offer some semblance of reassurance. "I think it's just a dust—"

My attempt at explanation was cut short.

Kain gasped, a sound that drew my gaze back to the desert's expanse. In that moment, the faint glow of the Portal's bright, rainbow colours flickered across the dunes, an ephemeral dance of light that was as beautiful as it was baffling. The colours painted the dust in impossible hues—purple and green and gold, swirling together like something from a fever dream. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, swallowed once more by the night.

My blood ran cold. The Portal. Someone was using the Portal. But Luke was here, standing beside me. I could feel his presence, hear his breathing. He wasn't over there. He wasn't activating anything.

"Is that Luke?" Karen asked, confusion evident in her voice.

"I'm right here," Luke responded, and even in the darkness I could hear the way his voice faltered, the way the words caught in his throat.

A shiver ran through me, the chill of fear mingled with something deeper—a dawning horror at the implications of what we had just witnessed.

Then who the hell is it?

The question burned in my mind like a brand. Someone else could use the Portal. Someone else was here, in the darkness, moving through our world without our knowledge or permission. All this time, we had assumed Luke was the only one—the gatekeeper, the sole connection between this world and Earth. The implications of that assumption being wrong crashed over me like ice water, leaving me gasping.

"Duke, stop barking!" Jamie's command cut sharply through the night, his voice strained with urgency. But his plea was drowned out by Lois's renewed growling, a deep, ominous sound that seemed to resonate with the growing unease around us. Both dogs now, barking and growling, their warnings overlapping into a cacophony of animal terror that set my teeth on edge.

Then, without warning, a chilling scream shattered the silence—a sound so terrifying and out of place that it sent a visceral wave of fear rippling through the camp. The primal part of my brain, the part governed by instinct rather than reason, tensed for action. The scream was inhuman. Wrong. A shriek that didn't belong to any creature I had ever heard—not in documentaries, not in zoos, not in nightmares. It was the sound of something that shouldn't exist, something that had no place in any world I understood.

"Lois!" Glenda screamed, her voice a mix of panic and desperation as Lois, propelled by some unknown instinct, bolted into the darkness.

My reaction was immediate and thoughtless; I lunged forward in a futile attempt to catch her, my fingers grasping at nothing but air. She was gone—swallowed by the night in an instant, her barking growing fainter with each passing second.

Driven by a surge of adrenaline and an acute sense of responsibility—for Lois, for Glenda, for all of us—I took off after her, my feet pounding against the cold, unforgiving ground. The night around me was a blur of motion, the wind howling in my ears as it whipped against my skin, each gust feeling like countless needles pricking my flesh. I couldn't see. Couldn't think. Could only run, chasing the sound of barking that grew fainter with every stride.

The first hill, a mere obstacle in the path of my frenzied pursuit, came and went with surprising ease, my legs carrying me with a speed and agility I hadn't known I possessed. Fear does that—unlocks reserves you didn't know you had, pushes you past limits you thought were fixed. I had never been athletic, never been fast. But terror made me both.

It was not until I crested the second hill that reality caught up with me—the ground suddenly giving way beneath my feet, sending me tumbling down the slope in a chaotic slide. Sand and dust invaded my clothing, filling every space, every crease, making my skin itch and burn. I rolled and slid, arms flailing, completely out of control, the world spinning around me in a vertigo of darkness and grit.

"Glenda!" My shout, half-filled with concern, half with disorientation, was met with the sound of her grunting—evidence that she too was battling the treacherous terrain.

She had followed me. Into the darkness. Into whatever waited out here. The knowledge was both comforting and terrifying—comforting because I wasn't alone, terrifying because now we were both exposed, both vulnerable, both far from the meagre safety of the camp.

"Are you—" I began.

My voice trailed off as another scream pierced the night, this one followed by a brief but intense explosion of colour across the sky. The Portal again—someone coming through, or going. The spectacle was mesmerising yet fleeting, the rainbow hues painting the dust for just a moment before disappearing and plunging everything back into an oppressive darkness.

The darkness was so complete, so suffocating, that for a moment I felt as though I was being swallowed whole by it. My breaths came in short, panicked gasps, as if the blackness itself was tangible, pressing in on me from all sides. I struggled to find my bearings, my head spinning not just from the fall but from the sheer disorientation of being lost in an endless night. I couldn't tell which way was up. Couldn't tell where the camp was. Couldn't tell if the next step would send me tumbling into a ravine or walking straight into whatever had made that inhuman shriek.

My arm jerked back instinctively, the sudden contact in the pitch darkness setting off a flare of panic in my already heightened state.

"It's me," Glenda said, her voice a familiar anchor in the chaos as she grasped my arm again, this time with a reassuring firmness.

The unexpected glow from her other hand cut through the darkness, a beacon of light in the form of a phone. The screen's glow seemed impossibly bright after the complete blackness, and I had to squint against it.

"Where the hell did you get that?" The question burst from me, surprise overtaking my concern for a moment. Glenda, to my knowledge, had been as disconnected from modern conveniences as the rest of us since arriving in Clivilius. The sight of a phone in this setting was as jarring as it was inexplicable.

"I found it face down in the dust, over there, near the Portal," she explained, her words quick, her grip on my arm unyielding.

The mention of the Portal, coupled with the discovery of the phone, knotted my stomach with a mix of curiosity and dread. Someone had been here. Someone had dropped this phone. Someone who could use the Portal—someone who wasn't Luke. The evidence of another presence, another intruder, was now literally in Glenda's hand, its screen glowing with borrowed light.

With Glenda's assistance, I found my footing, standing upright just in time to witness the Portal's giant screen come alive with vibrant colours. It was a spectacle that demanded attention, yet offered no solace in the surreal turn our night had taken. The swirling hues painted the dust around us in impossible shades of purple and green and gold, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

"Everyone okay?" Luke's voice, arriving from the shadows, brought temporary relief.

"I think so," I managed to respond, my attempt to catch Glenda's eye failing in the enveloping darkness. The realisation that visibility depended entirely on direct light was disconcerting, adding a layer of isolation to our already precarious situation. We were blind out here. Helpless.

"Good. I'm going in," Luke declared with a resolve that left no room for debate.

His statement, as sudden as it was decisive, left me momentarily speechless. Before I could formulate a question or a protest, he was gone, swallowed by the night and the mesmerising display of the Portal. Going where? To find whoever else had been using it? To chase whatever had made that sound? The questions multiplied in my mind, but Luke was already beyond hearing them.

"Lois! Stay!" Glenda commanded, her voice firm and authoritative, snapping me back to the immediate concerns. She released my arm, her attention now fully on Lois, ensuring the dog's obedience in the midst of unfolding uncertainties.

"Whoa!" Kain's yell, a jolt of alarm in the enveloping darkness, snapped my focus back to immediate danger. His voice, though near, seemed to come from a place shrouded in an impenetrable blackness that my eyes couldn't pierce. Something was happening. Something was wrong.

Lois, ever vigilant, responded with a renewed growl, her body tense and ready. Whatever she sensed, it was still out there. Still close.

"She's baring teeth," Glenda said, her voice tinged with surprise and concern. The protective instinct in the dog was something I'd seen before, but never to this extent. She was ready to kill. Ready to die. Whatever she sensed out there, it was worth fighting—worth everything.

"Shit!" The expletive burst from me as another gust of wind, laden with dust, assaulted us. I raised an arm in a futile attempt to shield my face, the gritty particles stinging my eyes and skin. The world dissolved into chaos—wind and dust and darkness, the three elements conspiring to blind us, to disorient us, to make us vulnerable.

Then, cutting through the howl of the wind, came Kain's scream—a sound so filled with pain and terror that it rooted me to the spot. My heart hammered against my ribcage, fear spreading through me like wildfire.

What the fuck!

The thought was an echo of my own disbelief and horror. That wasn't a scream of surprise. That was a scream of agony. Something had hurt him. Something had attacked him. In the darkness, while we stood helpless, something had found Kain and torn into him.

The beam from the phone in Glenda's hand became our only source of light, flickering erratically across the ground and sky as she waved it around, desperately trying to locate Kain.

"Kain!" she called, her voice a mix of fear and urgency.

But there was no response, only the howling wind and the oppressive darkness that seemed to swallow her calls. The light caught nothing but swirling dust and empty ground. No Kain. No attacker. Nothing.

The taste of bile burned at the back of my throat, a physical manifestation of the terror that gripped me. Memories of our first night in Clivilius surged forward, unwelcome and terrifying in their intensity. The shapes in the darkness. The feeling of being hunted by something that had no name. I fought to push them back, to regain some semblance of control over my fear, but they clung to me like cobwebs, sticky and persistent.

"Where are you, Kain?" The words choked out of me, a plea into the darkness that felt eerily reminiscent of another night, another name.

Rose!

The parallel was unnerving, a haunting reminder of past fears that had never truly left me. That first night, when I had screamed for my daughter in the darkness, when I had thought I heard her voice calling back to me. The terror I had felt then was the same terror I felt now—the helplessness of not knowing, of not being able to protect, of being utterly powerless against forces I couldn't see or understand. Rose was safe, back on Earth, but the echo of that fear never fully faded.

Am I going as crazy now as I was then?

The question spun in my head, a dizzying mix of doubt and fear. The lines between reality and nightmare seemed to blur, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The tangible fear, the physical discomfort of the dust, and the psychological torment of not knowing Kain's fate combined to create a situation that felt all too real, yet surreal in its torture.

"I see tracks," Glenda's voice pierced through the tumultuous backdrop of the wind, offering a glimmer of hope. "Lois found him!"

The relief that washed over me was palpable, a brief respite from the gnawing fear that had taken root in my chest.

We've got him!

Yet, almost immediately, my relief was tempered by a spike of anxiety. The urgency of the situation demanded clarity, and despite the dread that tightened its grip around my heart, I found myself voicing the question that loomed in my mind.

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, but his leg is wounded. Come help me move him."

Glenda's call came back, a mix of urgency and command that spurred me into action. The panic that had flavoured her earlier cries had now morphed into a focused determination, a testament to her resilience. She had found him. He was alive. But wounded—wounded by something in the darkness.

"My leg!" Kain's scream, a raw expression of pain, spurred me forward, my feet finding strength despite the swirling dust and the ever-increasing ferocity of the wind. His voice was hoarse, broken by sobs, and the sound of it carved something loose in my chest.

As I reached Glenda and Kain, the reality of the situation struck me with full force.

"I think it's bleeding," Kain managed between sobs, the fear and pain in his voice cutting through me.

"It is," Glenda confirmed, the phone's light casting an unforgiving glow on the injury.

The sight that greeted me—a deep gash oozing blood across Kain's thigh—sent a jolt of shock through my system. The severity of the wound was alarming. This wasn't a scratch. This wasn't an accident. Something had torn into him. Something with claws or teeth or blades. The flesh was ragged, the blood dark and flowing freely, soaking into his jeans and pooling in the dust beneath him. I had seen injuries before—workplace accidents, minor scrapes—but nothing like this. Nothing that spoke so clearly of violence, of predation.

Glenda's gaze met mine, her eyes alight with a fierce determination that seemed to anchor me amidst the storm. "We have to move him out of this dust storm."

After a moment's hesitation, where the weight of the decision pressed heavily upon me, I nodded in agreement. The wound needed treatment. Kain needed shelter. And whatever had attacked him might still be out there, circling in the darkness, waiting for another opportunity.

"You hold the light, I'll help him," I offered, the plan forming amidst the turmoil of thoughts racing through my mind.

"Try not to let him put pressure on the leg," Glenda instructed, her tone steady and authoritative. The practicality of her advice grounded me, offering a semblance of control over the situation.

"Okay. We can take shelter at the Drop Zone for now," I suggested, the words laced with uncertainty.

The idea of exposing ourselves to the open, especially in our current vulnerable state, was daunting. Yet, the immediate need to seek refuge and address Kain's injury overshadowed the risks. The Drop Zone had the shed boxes—large enough to crouch behind, solid enough to provide some protection from the wind and the dust and whatever else was hunting us.

The truth of our predicament was chilling. Kain's leg bore a severe wound, the cause of which was shrouded in mystery, and here we were, caught in a dust storm, far from the safety and resources of our camp. The reality that we were navigating not just a physical landscape fraught with dangers, but also an unknown that had left one of our own injured, filled me with a deep-seated fear.

"We're going to stand," I declared to Kain, mustering as much confidence as I could into my voice.

With a firm grip behind his shoulders, I helped him to his feet, his weight leaning heavily against me. His injured leg made him awkward to support. But adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, lending me strength I didn't normally possess.

Together, we embarked on the precarious journey toward the Drop Zone, each step a testament to our collective determination, yet shadowed by an uncertainty that fate might yet turn against us. Kain groaned with every movement, his blood warm against my side where his leg pressed against me. The dust swirled around us, the wind howled, and somewhere in the darkness, something that could use the Portal—something that wasn't Luke—watched and waited.

As we moved, the Portal's giant screen cut through the darkness, a brief beacon in the night, its illumination lending a surreal quality to our surroundings. Then, Luke's voice reached us.

"Paul!" He called out, his voice cutting through the wind and darkness.

"We're almost at the Drop Zone," I shouted back, my voice straining against the storm, hoping my words reached him over the shifting sands.

"I need to check the house. I'll be back soon."

Luke's yell carried a sense of urgency, a mission of his own that left me with more questions than answers. My heart sank as the darkness reclaimed us, the brief interlude of light from the Portal fading as quickly as it had appeared.

If Luke hadn't gone home the first time, where did he go?

The question echoed in my mind, its answer deferred by the immediate needs of our precarious situation. Someone else had been here. Someone else could use the Portal. And now Luke was chasing them—or fleeing from them—leaving us alone in the dark with whatever had attacked Kain.

"Do you think we're safe here?" Kain asked once we had positioned ourselves among the shelter of the larger shed boxes, his wounded leg stretched out carefully in front of him.

The blood was still flowing, slower now but steady, and in the dim light of the phone screen, his face was pale with shock and pain.

"Lois hasn't growled once since we found you," I offered, clinging to the hope that the dog's calm demeanour was a reliable indicator of our safety. The reassurance I tried to provide was as much for my own sake as it was for Kain's, a way to anchor myself to a semblance of security amidst the tumultuous night. Lois lay beside us, panting but quiet, her earlier aggression replaced by an exhausted vigilance.

"As soon as the wind calms, we need to get back to camp. Kain's leg needs care," Glenda said, her voice ever practical, bringing our focus back to the immediate.

"Of course," I concurred, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on my shoulders.

As I leaned back against a box, the cold, hard surface offered little in the way of comfort. Yet, it provided a momentary respite, allowing me to gather my thoughts. My eyes continued their vigilant sweep of the landscape, searching for any hint of movement, any sign of danger that might emerge from the darkness.

The wind was beginning to die. The dust was settling. But the questions remained, swirling in my mind like the debris that had battered us.

What had attacked Kain? Who else could use the Portal? What was Luke not telling us?

And most terrifying of all—would they come back?