The Camp

“Sometimes the quietest places make the loudest memories.”

The ground crunched and shifted under our feet, sending little clouds of dust swirling around my ankles. It coated the tops of my shoes and made my socks itch, but I didn’t dare stop to brush it off. Grandma’s grip hadn’t loosened. If anything, it had gotten tighter, her fingers wrapped so firmly around mine it felt like my bones might crack. But I still didn’t ask her to let go. I was more afraid of what might happen if she did.

My body was starting to feel like it didn’t belong to me anymore. My knees wobbled with each step. My throat burned, and my cheeks were stiff with dried tears. I wanted to lie down, right there in the dust, and sleep until someone told me everything was alright. But no one was saying that. And the quiet between Grandma’s breaths was louder than anything I’d ever heard.

“Mummy...” I whispered, more breath than voice. Saying her name made the ache worse, like pressing on a bruise I couldn’t see. “I want Mummy.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Grandma said, not looking down at me. Her voice was frayed, barely holding together, and it made something inside me wobble. “We’ll find her. We’ll... we’ll get everyone safe.”

But she didn’t sound sure. Not really.

Grandma stopped so suddenly that I nearly crashed into her side. She turned, crouched in front of me, and gripped my shoulders.

“Rose,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, her voice urgent but low. “I need you to be very brave for a bit longer, okay? I know you’re tired, I know you’re scared, but we’re nearly there.”

I nodded automatically, though my chin was trembling too hard to speak. I didn’t feel brave. I felt like everything inside me was made of paper.

“Let’s go, Rose,” she said again, straightening quickly. She didn’t wait for me to move—just grabbed my hand again and started pulling me forward at a jog.

I stumbled to keep up, the rhythm jarring through my legs. I could hear her breathing harder now, the unevenness of it, and I wondered if grown-ups got scared the same way kids did, or if they just hid it better.

“Jerome! Charles!” Grandma’s voice cracked the air like a whip as we approached a small encampment. “Jerome! Charles, are you here?”

I felt my heart pounding wildly, pushing against my ribs like it wanted to escape. I couldn’t stop the thought spinning through my head like a bad song: What if no one comes? What if Daddy doesn’t come? What if we’re alone?

Someone finally came running out of one of the tents—a tall woman with long blonde hair tied back in a messy braid that bounced against her back as she moved. Her face was flushed, eyes wide, and she looked like she'd come out in the middle of doing something important. She skidded to a stop in front of us, her gaze flicking from Grandma to me and back again.

“What is it?” she asked, breathless. Her voice was firm but strained, like she already suspected it was something bad.

Grandma gripped my hand tighter than ever and spoke so fast I barely understood the words. “There’s been an accident at the Portal,” she said, and her voice cracked right in the middle like a plate breaking in two.

The woman froze. Her whole body went still for a beat before her expression changed. The colour drained from her face like someone had pulled a plug inside her. “What type of accident?” she asked, but her feet were already moving, backing toward the tent before the words had even finished coming out of her mouth.

“A car accident...” Grandma said. But her voice was thin and wobbly, like it might fall apart if she tried to say anything more. Her mouth opened again, but no more words came out—just a sound, quiet and hurt, like someone trying not to sob.

I looked up at her, my stomach tight and my eyes starting to sting. I didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it was the kind of bad that made grown-ups scared. Really scared. Grandma looked like she was trying to stay standing even though the wind could’ve knocked her over.

The woman stepped forward again, more urgently now. “How bad?”

Grandma didn’t answer right away. She stared at the ground like she was trying to find the right words hidden in the dust. Then she finally whispered, “A school bus has flipped.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Fuck,” she muttered, like the word had slipped out before she could catch it.

I flinched. I'd only heard that word once before—when Daddy dropped a toolbox on his foot. Mum had told him off for saying it. Hearing it now made my chest feel tight. It meant this wasn’t just bad. It was worse.

Before I could ask what was happening, the woman spun around and ran, shouting for someone named Jamie as she disappeared back into the tent.

Suddenly everything got louder—people calling out, the thud of boots on dirt, zippers unzipping. Even the tents sounded louder, flapping and snapping in the wind like sails on a stormy sea.

My head felt too full, like it was packed with fog and noise and fear. I pressed my face into Grandma’s sleeve, breathing in the smell of lavender and dust and something metallic I didn’t recognise.

I didn’t cry—not yet. But my fingers curled tightly into her clothes, and I wished more than anything that someone would pick me up and carry me far away from whatever was happening. Far away to a world where buses didn’t crash, and Mummy wasn’t missing, and grown-ups didn’t look so scared.

Grandma crouched down in front of me, her hands warm on my shoulders. “Daddy will be here soon, Rose,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost like a lullaby. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she kept blinking like something was stuck in them, but I knew it was just the tears she didn’t want to let fall. Her mouth was tight, like she was trying to hold everything together with just her lips.

I nodded, even though my throat was too sore to say anything back. I wanted to believe her—I really did—but the wrong feeling inside me was still there, heavy and quiet like a stone dropped in a pond that never made a splash.

Without another word, Grandma picked me up. Her arms held me close, and I could hear her breath hitching a little as she walked us to the motorhome. The dust crunched under her boots, and even that sound felt tired, like it didn’t want to be loud anymore.

When the motorhome door creaked open, the noise seemed too big, like it didn’t belong in a place where everything else was tense and quiet. I flinched, and Grandma paused, rubbing my back softly with one hand.

“Inside, Rose,” she murmured, setting me down gently on the bottom step.

I climbed up, feeling like my legs were full of sand. Everything felt slower now, like time was stretching too thin. I slid into the seat by the little table and hugged my knees up to my chest, letting my feet dangle and swing. The cushion was squishy and old, and there was a little crack in the leather surface. I ran my finger along it over and over, tracing the line like it was a secret map.

Behind me, Grandma closed the door with a soft thud and tugged all the curtains shut. The inside of the motorhome dimmed, the light now soft and greyish, and it made me feel even smaller. The kind of light that made you want to whisper, like you were inside a storm and had to be careful not to wake it.

“Daddy will bring Mack,” she said again, kneeling in front of me so I could see her eyes. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

I nodded again, but my mouth quivered. I didn’t believe her. Not fully. Not when I could still hear the shouting outside, the sounds of fear and running and something breaking. Not when I kept seeing Mummy’s face in my mind—lost, frightened, reaching.

“I want Daddy,” I whispered, my voice thin and wobbly.

“I know,” she said, and she pulled me into her arms. Her hug was tight, not too tight, just enough to let me know she was really there.

We sat together on the bench seat, and I leaned into her, curling up against her side. She put her arm around me, and her hand found my hair, stroking it gently in that way that made my eyes feel heavy even when I wasn’t tired.

Outside, the world went on without us. Voices rose and fell. Footsteps thudded. The canvas of tents snapped in the wind. But inside the motorhome, it was quiet and still, like we were in a bubble made of soft air and waiting.

I tried to close my eyes, but pictures kept flashing in the dark—of the silver car spinning, the crash, the big bus landing like a monster from the sky. Of Mummy flying into the air and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I sniffled, the sound loud in the quiet.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

Grandma’s arm tightened around me. “I know, sweetheart,” she said. Her voice was calm now, but not fake. It was the kind of calm that comes from someone who’s scared too but decides to be brave for both of you. “But I’m here, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Her promise floated around me like a blanket. I pressed my face into her jumper and let her hand move slowly through my hair. My eyes began to close on their own, too heavy to fight anymore.

But the heaviness in my chest stayed. It didn’t leave, not even when I started to drift into that floaty place between waking and sleep. I wanted Daddy. I wanted Mack. I wanted Mummy to be alright.

And more than anything, I wanted to go home. But I didn’t know if that was something we could ever do again.