Into the Mist Page 25

  “Sarah, my friend, was in front of me. She disappeared. Just like that. One moment she was there and the next…

  “There was a subsidence.” She swallowed. “Sarah fell in. Instead of grabbing for her, I snatched at the air for a handhold, something, anything to stop myself from falling too. I caught hold of a lancewood. They have serrated leaves, so my hands were shredded.” She looked at her palms, almost expecting the cuts to still be there. “But it was just a sapling and eventually the roots gave way.” She gave a grim chuckle. “I was holding on to it when I fell. I waited to hit the bottom, but I never did. Instead, I stopped and found myself perched on a ledge…” Jules trailed off.

  “Luckily, only the two of us were caught out, and I was better off than poor Sarah. I stayed on that tiny shelf for two days. When they pulled me to the surface, I was fine; some minor dehydration, a few lacerations and a twisted wrist. Nothing like Sarah. The only thing I really damaged was my confidence.”

  Taine’s face was stony. “Jules, you don’t have to do it. We’ll find another way.”

  Jules leaned across the gap and took his hand, almost crumbling when he curled his fingers around hers. “It’s okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Jules…” he started.

  “No, I have to. We have to. Sampson can’t be allowed to carry on. He’s adapting to his environment, Taine. The moa isn’t here anymore, so he’s looking for new food sources. It isn’t too hard to work out that he’s developing a taste for people.”

  Releasing her hand, Taine stood and stepped away, his eyes boring into hers. “And the cliff?”

  “Perhaps it’s not the cliff that frightens me so much as the consequences. Since the accident Sarah’s never been the same. Every day is a torture for her. I’m a coward really. I don’t have her strength. Faced with that, I’d rather die.”

  “Jules, I won’t let you die. I promise.”

  Looking down, she discovered she’s been twisting her hands in her lap. She clasped them together now, forcing them to be still. “But that’s just the point, Taine. If I fall, or if Sampson gets me, I think I’d prefer that you did.”

  Chapter 27

  Te Urewera Forest, Day Five

  Taine called everyone together.

  “We’ll go with Miller’s suggestion. A diversion’s the only way to get Jug out. Eriksen, I’d like you to head up the escape team. Up to you how you get the stretcher out of the cave—” He tilted his chin towards the hole in the roof. “The lift or the water slide – take your pick. Once you’re out, Nathan will see you out of the forest. I suggest you head south, away from Sampson’s main hunting grounds. Maybe try to connect with the Waikaremoana Track – there’s more likely to be help there. Get DoC to close the park, at least until you hear from us. Tell them whatever you need. Separatists, whatever.”

  “And if we don’t hear anything?”

  “Then assume we’re not coming and Sampson is lording over the forest. Major Arnold will debrief you. You need to tell him everything. He’ll take it from there. Lefty and Miller, you’ll go with Eriksen to carry the stretcher.”

  “Read—”

  “Put me on the diversion team, sir.”

  Taine didn’t have to ask Trigger. He waved his rifle for yes. Taine was relieved. Trigger might not approve of the plan, but he’d always had Taine’s back.

  Foster piped up. “You forgot to mention Jules and me.”

  Taine couldn’t help himself. “You might like to be on my team, Dr Foster, in case we’re able to capture it. I thought we could retrieve the net that you and Dr de Haas were making—”

  At the mention of de Haas, Foster blanched, perhaps because the last time anyone saw the geologist his entrails had been strewn across the forest floor. “Um… I think I’d prefer to be sure Jules gets out safely.”

  “I’m staying, Richard,” Jules said.

  Foster gaped at her. “After telling me it was too dangerous?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly. Squaring her shoulders she looked away, ending the discussion.

  “Dr Foster?” Taine prompted.

  Richard waved his hand dismissively. “Take the net if you want it. I’ll go back with Eriksen.” He stalked back to the fire.

  “So how do we make sure Sampson follows you, and not us?” Lefty asked when Foster had gone.

  It was a good question, and one Taine didn’t have the answer to.

  “If Sampson were smaller, I might have an idea,” Nathan said. “Our people used to use a wind instrument, a pūrerehua, to bring lizards out of hiding. They’re attracted by its sound, like a moth’s wings.”

  Trigger rolled his eyes. “More legends.”

  Nathan rubbed a hand across his burgeoning beard. “It’s not a legend; just something Māori people have always known. A bit like using mānukā to help with pain,” he said, lifting his eyes to Jug.

  Taine frowned. A bullroarer? He’d played his bullroarer for Jules, in the other cave, before the Sphenodon had tracked them there. What if it hadn’t tracked them? What if Taine had summoned it?

  Taine took his carving out of his pocket, unwound its flax cord, and turned it over in his hand.

  * * *

  Richard pulled her aside, yanking hard on her elbow.

  “Ow, Richard, you’re hurting—”

  “You can’t do this,” he said.

  “I have to.”

  “Ten years. Ten!” he spat. “Doesn’t our friendship mean anything to you?”

  “That’s not fair. You know it does. I—”

  “Spare me the bullshit. I ask you to help me capture it – just to help – and you say, ‘oh, no, it’s too dangerous!’” He flapped a hand near his face, like a Victorian lady having the vapours. “But Sergeant McKenna asks,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “a man you’ve only known for four days, and that’s okay? Jesus, Jules, can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s using you as bait. Bait!”

  Jules looked at Richard, his face contorted in anger. He was right. Was she really so shallow that she could be taken in by a handsome face and a decent set of abs? She was bait. She could die. Why had she agreed to do it?

  Turning her head, Jules glanced at Taine, who was connecting the flax cord of his bullroarer to a nylon rope. Deep in thought, his jaw twitched.

  Because he makes me feel safe, that’s why.

  Abruptly, she was wrenched about, Richard twisting hard on her wrist, dragging her arm across her body so her face was close to his. “Jules. Come back with me. We’re a pair, you and I. I can’t lose you.”

  “Richard, no. I’m sorry...”

  He tightened his grip on her wrist. His breath was hot in her face. A fleck of his spittle landed on her cheek.

  “Let me go.”

  “You’re sorry? You owe me, Jules. All these years; I’ve been propping you up. You’re an average scientist bordering on mediocre. You wouldn’t even have this job if it weren’t for me. And don’t think it’ll be there waiting for you when you come back ‒ excuse me, that is if you come back—”

  She slapped him, the smack of her palm on his cheek reverberating in the cavern.

  He stared at her a moment, his fringe flopping in his eyes, then pushed her away. “Fuck you, then,” he hissed.

  Eriksen stood and took a step in their direction. “Jules, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Richard turned on his heel and stalked off.

  Rubbing at her wrist Jules watched him go. She really was sorry. All these years… Richard had never had her heart, and now he never would.

  * * *

  Te Urewera Forest, Near the Second Campsite

  Taine checked his watch; time to get started. Eriksen would be impatient to get his group underway. Taine paused to look at Jules, further along at the edge of the narrow ravine. She had to be terrified, standing on a clifftop served up as kitty meal for the giant Sphenodon. Perhaps sensing his gaze, she looked over and, smiling, gave him a little wave.

  Nothing was going to happen to h
er.

  Turning away, Taine took the bullroarer from his pocket, and unravelled the flaxen string.

  * * *

  This is shit. It’s never going to work.

  Sitting in the beech tree on the edge of the cliff, Foster’s net laid out on the ground below him, its free end in his hand, Trigger felt like Wile E Coyote with the latest Acme invention. They might as well have been facing Goliath with a fucking slingshot. Give him mortar fire and snipers any day. At least with guns, it was a clean death.

  Was that it then? Was he afraid to die? He shifted his bum, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the branch. He never used to think so. But then, maybe he’d never been so close to dying before either. No, it wasn’t the dying, or even how he died that bothered him. You signed up for a career as a soldier; you knew it was a possibility. If a sniper took you out, you’d be dead before you hit the ground. One second you were okay, and the next, dead. Quick, silent, painless. But this Sphenodon was a different kind of enemy. With Sampson, you saw your death coming and it wasn’t pretty. Shredded muscle, cracked bones, guts spattered everywhere. Trigger wasn’t afraid to die, he just didn’t want to witness it.

  From where she was standing on the edge of the ravine, Jules gave Taine a wave. Trigger snorted quietly. Imagine Taine thinking he hadn’t noticed. Not hard to see those two had a thing for each other. They could be good together. Trigger hoped they got a chance. He hoped Taine wouldn’t let her slip through his fingers. Maybe facing down this monster would make his sergeant realise just how little time there was in life. Taine was a good soldier, and Trigger trusted him, but it wasn’t like he’d never made a mistake before.

  A few metres away, in another beech, Read signalled that they were ready.

  Trigger closed his eyes a moment. “Beep beep,” he muttered under his breath.

  * * *

  Rotorua township

  The morepork was at his window again. Tonight the cry was tremulous. Poignant. Maybe Temera only thought that because he was frightened. Maybe the cry was as it’d always been. In any case, he wished he could blot out the sound.

  No point resisting.

  He got up, leaving his old body slumbering, and stepped into the spirit world, where once again he was a young boy chasing barefoot through the bush.

  Tonight the morepork was leading him deep into the forest. At first the trail was wide and he flew along, breaking newly-spun cobwebs heavy with dew, but soon the undergrowth thickened and he was forced to pick his route carefully, brushing past ferns and climbing through the twisted black netting of the pirita-supplejack vines. Deeper into the forest, dense stretches of mānukā slowed him down, their woody grey stems scratching at his face and hands.

  “This is getting old, my friend,” he grumbled under his breath. But the owl simply urged him on until finally, after what seemed hours, they came to a ravine where a heap of boulders teetered on the verge.

  “Here?”

  The morepork hooted.

  “I don’t see what…” But then, on the other side, Temera saw the woman, standing on her own at the edge of the chasm. He knew her! She was there that day when Temera and Wayne had tried to intercept the group as they’d entered the forest. Temera recalled she’d got down from the vehicle and stood at the side of the road. So, she was with the army. With the warrior.

  McKenna.

  What are they trying to do? Sacrifice her?

  Because the taniwha was coming. Temera couldn’t see or hear it, but already his heart was pounding with the knowledge.

  The warrior, not far from her on the edge of the narrow ravine, was twirling a rope around his head. There was something attached.

  A pūrerehua!

  That’s why the beast was coming. McKenna was summoning it. Hypnotising the monster with its music, like a snake charmer bedazzling a serpent.

  Temera lifted his hand to the pūrerehua at his neck. Was that why he’d felt compelled to make his own wind instrument? No, there must have been more to it than that. He focused hard on the object in McKenna’s hand, stilling time so its image reached him. Shuddering with effort, he pulled the picture into his core, to a place where he could examine it. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for long. Just a few seconds at best. He forced himself to put the woman out of his mind, to concentrate on the pūrerehua. Turning it in his core, he studied it hard. Yes, the patterned surface of the instrument was the same as his own. Temera was sure of it. He recognised the large swirls and tight coils etched into the wood grain. Even the resin tang of the wood was familiar. The shape. The tiny dog’s-tooth notches. The size.

  Releasing the image, Temera sat down abruptly. The ground was sodden. He was gonna have a wet arse. He wondered if back in his bed, he might have had an accident. He shook his head at that, angry with himself. A woman’s life was in danger and all he could think about was whether or not he’d pissed in his bed?

  Think!

  McKenna was using a pūrerehua, a twin of his own. What did it mean? In the near distance, a tremor rippled through the ground. And on the wind came a faint hiss. Temera closed his eyes…

  * * *

  Te Urewera Forest, Near the Second Campsite

  Taine’s bullroarer droned on.

  Trigger glanced back into the forest and caught the movement of something big coming through the trees. It was working. Sampson was on his way. Trigger kept his eyes on the creature’s passage. Seeing it snake its way closer unnerved him. They’d never seen Sampson approach this way. Up until now the animal had always been stealthy, cunning. Maybe even more invisible than Coolie. But today the Sphenodon was making no secret of its arrival. Why? Was Taine really calling it? Trigger doubted it. More likely, it knew they had nothing to touch it; that their weapons were useless against it, and that all they had in their arsenal was a flimsy net, a girl, and an ancient whistle.

  It was here.

  Trigger glanced at Read and gave him the thumbs up.

  Just because the odds are stacked against us, doesn’t mean we have to roll over and give up.

  * * *

  Listening to the hum of McKenna’s pūrerehua, Temera took his own carving from around his neck and unrolled the string. When he was sure it was free from tangles, he lifted his arm and twirled it above his head, feeling a surge of excitement as it gathered pace, the cord whizzing though the air, making it sing. The voice of Temera’s own wairua resonated in his chest, in his head, and in his heart. Not sound, but the note was as pure as a spoon tapped on the side of a crystal glass.

  “McKenna,” he called.

  The soldier didn’t look Temera’s way. He made no sign to show he’d heard.

  There must have been something Temera missed. Was it the cadence? The size of the circles? Frustrated, Temera let the cord drop to the ground.

  A torpedo would have been easier.

  The morepork hooted, and Temera chuckled. “Yes, you’re right, my friend,” Temera told the owl. “My old mātua would agree with you: I’m too impatient, expecting everything to work on the first go.”

  He picked up his pūrerehua again, this time focusing hard on matching McKenna’s rhythm in spite of his shorter, nine-year-old arms. He gave himself over to the music, losing himself in its timbre and its resonance, finally realising that to speak to a living person from within the spirit realm, their two pūrerehua had to first harmonise in a duet of souls.

  “McKenna!”

  “Who’s that?”

  “A friend.”

  “Coolie?”

  Temera felt the voice quaver, as though McKenna’s pūrerehua had slowed, the cord quivering.

  “No, not Coolie.”

  “Who are you? Why don’t you show yourself?”

  “Because I’m not actually here. I’m in your head, carried to you through the music. But you could see me, or a form of me, if you concentrate hard and—”

  “I can’t see anything…”

  Temera sighed. They were not so different, he and McKenna. “It doesn’t matt
er. There’s no time to—”

  “Wait! I see you. But… you’re a boy!”

  “Yes, as you see me now, I’m nine years old.”

  “I don’t understand,” McKenna said, the hum becoming indistinct.

  “I can explain,” Temera said quickly, afraid to lose the link between them. “But it’s complicated and we don’t have time. I need you to do something…”

  “I can’t,” McKenna said, the hum muffled.

  “But I’m trying to help you,” Temera wailed. “With the taniwha.”

  The chord hummed, the song strong again. “What do you want?”

  “Have you seen Star Wars?”

  “Everyone’s seen Star Wars.”

  “You’re going to have to swing down into the ravine. When I say. And don’t aim for the clifftop, you need to go lower, below the net…”

  “This is crazy.”

  “You need to do it now.”

  Chapter 28

  Trigger held his breath as Sampson strolled onto the battleground. It waited a distance from the cliff, where the trees were thinner. Unhurried, it lifted its head and sniffed the air. Did it know they were waiting for him? Could it smell their fear?

  Amazing it can smell anything over the stench of its own rot and filth.

  On the edge of the ravine, Taine continued to play his instrument, its buzz like a mosquito behind Trigger’s eyes. Sweat trickled down his temples.

  Sampson had spied Jules. He started to run in her direction.

  Jesus.

  Even the beech tree trembled. Taine had better fucking know what he was doing. Jules’ face paled. She took a step back.

  “Not yet, not yet,” Trigger whispered. “It’s too soon!”

  The bullroarer whirred.

  Sampson approached Jules, approached the cliff. He was coming in fast. He wasn’t going to stop! But Trigger was wrong. The monster thundered to a halt not much more than a car length from Jules. Her chest rose and fell, but she didn’t move. Paralysed with fear? Trigger hoped not. She had to jump clear. Sampson stretched out a taloned foreleg, raking it lazily through the air. He hissed. Trigger’s heart pounded.