Field Trippin
Copyright© 2026 by Sci-FiTy1972
Chapter 5
Week 5 — Uluru
Day 1
They arrived into heat that didn’t press.
It waited.
The stone rose from the land without drama—no walls, no edges, no invitation. Just presence. Red and vast and unconcerned with them.
No one spoke for a long time.
The AirPods whispered fragments that felt useless here—ground, old, story—words that described nothing and everything at once.
Randy broke the silence carefully. “I don’t think this is a place where we ... do stuff.”
Tyler nodded. “I think we’re supposed to notice first.”
DeAndre didn’t answer. He was listening—not to sound, but to the absence of it. The way the wind moved differently closer to the stone. The way footsteps felt louder than they should.
They stayed close without agreeing to it.
No wandering. No curiosity drift.
That was new.
Day 2
Tension showed up quietly.
Not conflict—friction.
Eric kept starting sentences and letting them die. Randy smiled and stopped himself halfway through jokes. Tyler watched the sky more than the ground.
One of them—no one ever named who—walked too far.
Not recklessly. Not disobediently. Just far enough that the group thinned into a line instead of a circle.
The air didn’t change.
That was worse.
Tyler noticed first and raised a hand. Not urgent. Just enough.
They regrouped without comment.
That night, no one slept deeply.
Day 3
DeAndre waited until the light began to fail.
Not sunset—after. When color softened and the land stopped insisting on itself.
He set the speaker down carefully, not facing outward, but toward the ground between them. He didn’t check the volume twice. He set it low and left it there.
“This isn’t for us,” he said quietly. “It’s just ... something to sit on.”
No one argued.
He didn’t start with melody.
Just a pulse.
Slow. Even. Close to breath.
The sound didn’t carry far. It didn’t need to. It settled instead, like weight finding its place.
From somewhere nearby, rhythm answered—not louder, not competitive. Clapsticks. Wood on wood. Time measured without counting.
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