Among the Gum Trees

When the team got back to Sydney, something was off with Josh. He’d seen action before, but this was his first time losing a teammate. He sat silently in meetings, responding only when spoken to, his once-playful demeanour completely gone. After a week, Reiko finally pulled him aside.

“Josh, what’s going on with you? Are you sleeping?” she asked him directly, concern sharpening her tone.

He only shook his head, jaw clenched tight. Ten minutes later, he was in Richard’s office, staring blankly at a wall while the older man sighed and leaned forward.

“You’re taking time off,” Richard said firmly. “Effective immediately.”

Everything felt numb. Josh didn’t argue. He didn’t even care. The truth was, he hadn’t slept properly since they got back. Just fitful microsleeps filled with bloody nightmares—visions of Red’s lifeless body staring at him with blank, accusatory eyes. He’d wake with his claws digging into the sheets.

Loud sounds started to spike his nerves. Crowds made him feel like prey. One day, in an elevator, a tough-looking stranger stared at him too long and Josh growled—deep and involuntary. The man had wet himself before fleeing, and Josh had stood frozen, horrified by his own loss of control. That wasn’t Good Boy behaviour. That was feral. That was dangerous.

He packed a small bag at his apartment, then caught a bus to the airport. At the Qantas service counter, he bought a one-way ticket to Sydney.

Richard hadn’t told him how long he should take. He’d just said, “Listen buddy, you might not act like it, but you’re one of the top portal agents in the world. We need you at your best, and that's the end of the discussion. I don’t care if it takes a week or a year. You have fully paid leave starting now.”

In the lounge, Josh scrolled through his contacts, lingering on the names:

Amanda

Amara

Bernie

Chris

Darya

David

Eleny

Francis

Glenn

Jules

There was no Dad. No Mum. Both had disowned him after his transformation. “You’re not our son,” they’d said. “You died when you touched that gate.” They’d meant it.

Josh had always suspected he was a mistake. A burden. That suspicion was now fact.

He tapped on Glenn and took a deep breath.

Three rings, then a familiar graveled voice answered, warm despite its rasp.

“G’day mate.”

“Hi Uncle Glenn, how are you?” Josh asked, trying for casual.

“Cut the bloody bullshit, Josh. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’m at the airport. Can I come stay a while?”

“Mate…” Glenn sighed, the silence thick for a moment. “You know that’s a stupid question. Pick me up a carton of Woodstock, a deck of Winnie Blues, and a slab of New on your way in, and that’s your room and board paid for the week.”

Josh chuckled through the tightness in his chest.

“I’m not bloody joking mate—don’t forget the smokes. Oh, and a lighter.”

“You’ve got it, boss.”

“Yeah? You coming out to work with me and the crew or just sitting on your ass all day?”

“I’ll work,” Josh replied, voice firmer now.

“Good. See you soon, mate. Love ya.” Glenn hung up before Josh could reply.

Josh stared at the black screen for a long moment, then finally boarded his flight. For the first time in days, something in his chest felt just a little lighter.

***

The flight was uneventful. He touched down in Sydney and caught a train on the Western Line, bypassing the polished glitz of Darling Harbour and the skyline of the CBD. He stared out the window at graffiti-stained walls, tired suburbs, and row after row of brick bungalows.

At Blacktown, he transferred to the Penrith line. Then from Penrith, he rode it to the very end—Richmond. There, the familiar sight of the McDonald’s car park greeted him, now less sketchy than he remembered. Gentrification had brought hip cafés and new paint to the old town.

He boarded a long-haul coach and messaged Glenn as they passed through Bathurst. Six hours later, he stepped off the bus in Orange. The scent of dry grass and fresh soil hit him as the familiar old Hilux Ute pulled up, dust trailing behind.

His uncle stepped out and enveloped him in a rough hug that smelled of woodsmoke, diesel, and eucalyptus. Josh hugged him back hard.

Glenn Smith was in his fifties, still broad-shouldered and wiry with muscle. His red flannel shirt was stained at the cuffs, and his boots looked like they could tell stories of droughts, floods, and everything in between.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

They didn’t talk at first. They just drove. For fifteen minutes, the road unspooled behind them until the lights of town disappeared.

As they passed the sign for Blayney, Glenn finally spoke.

“Well?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about that deadshit brother of mine?” Glenn growled. “What’d he say after the transformation?”

Josh’s voice cracked. “He said I was no longer his son. Mum backed him.”

“Good. There. He fucking said it.” Glenn slammed the wheel with his palm. “Let’s make it official.”

He pulled the Ute over, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder. He took a deep breath then turned to face Josh.

“You’re my son. You’ve always been my son. You have a family. You have cousins and people who love you, Josh.”

Josh broke. His head fell forward as sobs racked his chest.

Glenn reached over and gave him a rough shoulder squeeze.

They sat there for a minute as Josh cried. Glenn just wound down his window and lit a cigarette, giving Josh a minute.

“To make you feel better, you’re not even the weirdest bastard in the family. Wait till you see what your cousins manifested.”

Josh blinked away tears. “Wait—what?”

Glenn just grinned and started driving again.

***

It was late when they passed through the hamlet of Trunkey Creek and up the gravel road to the family farm. The massive hayshed loomed like a cathedral in the dark, its corrugated iron catching the moonlight. Josh stepped out, boots crunching on familiar earth.

Inside the house, light and laughter poured from the kitchen. The moment Josh entered, three of his cousins leapt to their feet.

“Josh!” shouted little Ben, now taller than he remembered. He jumped into Josh’s arms with a crushing hug. “You’re absolutely jacked!”

Josh laughed. “You’re heavier than you used to be!”

The second eldest Bruce, now towering and broad-shouldered, pulled Josh into a bear hug. Josh could tell immediately—manifestation. Strength. Heavy.

Tiff stood with her arms crossed, face set in a familiar scowl. She gave him a solid pat on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, buttercup. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. I’m not dealing with moody staff.”

Josh smiled with just his lips, giving Glenn a side-eye.

“She’s the man now,” Glenn said proudly. “Running the whole bloody farm.”

“You bloody bet I am,” Tiff snapped back, chin lifted with pride.

Robert came last, yawning as he offered a quiet nod. He was massive. Josh had to look up.

“Cuz,” Robert said, embracing him. His voice had dropped a register since Josh last saw him.

“Damn, is that your manifestation or our genes?”

“All natural.”

“Tiff and I are the only ones who manifested,” Bruce added. “Might be because we’re older, I’m not sure. You’ll see tomorrow.”

“It’s late,” Tiff cut in. “Bed. Now.”

Ben groaned but obeyed. Bruce ruffled his hair as he herded him toward the hallway.

Josh said goodnight and headed to the guest room. The bed was the same one he’d slept in as a teen during long, lonely summers. His parents had sent him here to get him “out of the house.”

Now it was the only place that felt like home.

He lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the country was heavy and full of ghosts. Eventually, he drifted into broken sleep, haunted but safe.

***

Josh woke to the lowing of cattle and the distant sound of boots crunching gravel. The first morning sun stretched long beams through the thin curtains, dust motes drifting like slow-motion sparks in the golden light.

He’d only managed a few hours of broken sleep, but for the first time in days, he hadn’t dreamed of Red.

Pulling on a flannel shirt and borrowed jeans, Josh padded barefoot through the house to the kitchen, where the smell of frying bacon and wood smoke greeted him. Glenn was at the stove, spatula in hand, humming off-key to Cold Chisel playing softly from an ancient radio.

“Morning” Glenn grunted without turning. “Tiff’s been up since five. Already yelled at two blokes and fixed a pump.”

“Morning,” Josh replied, voice rough.

His cousins were scattered around the table, loading up plates. Ben offered him toast with a sleepy smile, and Bruce gave a nod of approval.

After breakfast, they headed out. The farm was alive with movement: calves bawled from holding pens, wind rattled through dry trees, and the scent of manure, hay, and eucalyptus mixed in the air.

Josh fell into the rhythm quickly. Muscle memory from his youth guided him—stacking feed, checking fences, scraping mud from boots. It was honest work. Hard, repetitive, grounding.

But the real surprise came just after smoko.

Bruce led Josh to the south paddock where a skittish bull had broken free. “You’ll want to see this,” he said with a grin.

Tiff and Robert were already there, flanking the animal. Tiff raised her hand. In a blink, her entire forearm transformed—her skin hardened into a kind of bark-like exoskeleton, fingers elongating into gnarled wooden claws. She slammed her hand into the ground.

Thick roots erupted from the soil, curling like fingers around the bull’s legs. The animal struggled but couldn’t move.

“Druid type,” she said flatly, catching Josh’s stunned look. “But it only works when I’m touching earth.”

Then Bruce stepped up, and the air shimmered around his body. For a second, his outline blurred—then he moved.

Fast.

One second he was beside Josh, the next he was at the bull’s side, wrapping a rope around its neck in a blur of motion. “Speed enhancement. Only in bursts. Burns calories like crazy.”

“That's mental!” Josh said, laughing, the first real laugh he’d had in weeks.

The bull was calmed and led back, and the cousins fell back into banter. Josh found himself easing into it, the laughter contagious. Something was shifting inside him—not a cure, but a start.

Later, while helping Glenn replace a busted trough, the old man finally spoke.

“You're quieter than you were as a kid.”

“Got a lot in my head,” Josh replied.

“I don’t need to know all of it. Just know this place is here when you need it. Even when you don’t.”

They stood in silence a while, the only sound the creak of metal and slosh of water.

That night, they lit a fire pit and cooked dinner over coals. Tiff broke out a deck of cards, Bruce handed out beers, and Robert tuned an old guitar. Josh sat with his back to the fire, staring into the stars. For once, his heartbeat was steady. No sirens. No missions. Just family.