Into the Mist Page 6

  She strained to isolate birdsong over the jingling of packs and trudge of boots. Easy enough to detect the boisterous warbles of tui and bellbird carrying over the top-note chirps of a flighty fantail. A kākā chirruped somewhere nearby. The occasional turkey-like gobbles of native woodpigeon filtered through the trees, and then at last, she was not entirely sure… although it might’ve been… there it was again… the heart-shattering lament of a silver kōkako, some way off, but unmistakably beautiful. Jules strained for another chance to catch the sound… in that moment remembering why she loved the forest. It was so glorious. So vibrant.

  So alive!

  She looked skywards, marvelling at the branches of a silver beech draped in grey-green lichen, and breathed in the rich damp smell of detritus.

  So stupid! How could she have given this up? Being outdoors like this? The purity, the serenity of it. All this time Jules had been blaming the forest for what had happened to Sarah. For her own terrifying night on the ledge. The accident had been a one-off. A fluke. An unforeseeable act-of-God. It had never been the forest’s fault. If she hadn’t been so stubborn, she could’ve been enjoying all this rather than denying herself. It might’ve been therapeutic.

  Yes, of course she was frightened. Who wouldn’t be after what she’d gone through? The forest could be a dangerous place. But perhaps she’d held the grudge long enough.

  Jules caught the iridescent plumage of a tui as it hopped in the leathery branches of a five finger tree and, in spite of the weight of her pack, her step felt lighter.

  * * *

  Jugraj Singh grappled for a handhold. It wasn’t the first time today his feet had disappeared from beneath him. Leaning heavily on a tree trunk, Jug struggled to regain his balance. The steep banks were so slippery, and the descent was rutted with water channels. Already the tread in his boots was caked with red clay. It didn’t help that he was near the back of the group. Parts of the track had been eroded by their passage, the scuffs and skid marks making the going difficult.

  Jug envied the way Miller made easy work of the slope. The soldier was as wily as a mountain goat, descending in short, carefully-placed steps. Jug tried to emulate the man’s speedy technique, but a misstep sent him sliding on his bum again, his pack scraping the ground behind him.

  Shit!

  He skidded a few metres, but remembered to turn into the slope as he’d been trained, bringing his body close to the ground to slow his momentum.

  Still slipping…

  He dug his fingers into the clay, slid a bit further.

  Make a grab for something.

  A root.

  Bugger! Too smooth…

  A rock.

  Grab it!

  At last, his fall arrested, Jug paused, breathing heavily. That had been bloody close. Any further and he might’ve made it to the bottom before everyone else.

  He looked down the incline. Miller had opened up a bit of gap, leaving Jug behind. Jug tried not to beat himself up about it. Let’s face it, I’m at least twice Miller’s age. In fact, apart from the local guide, Jug was probably the eldest in the group and right now he was feeling every one of his 42 years, as slow as an old cart and just as rickety. He’d have thought going downhill would be easier, but his legs were quivering with fatigue. Stabilising muscles didn’t get much use when you stood all day working in a hospital. Well, they were getting a serious work-out now. On the plus side, there wouldn’t be much further to go today, but Jug was already dreading tomorrow’s hike. The second day always hurt more than the first.

  Jug made a mental note to hit the gym more often when he got back, and maybe cut down on the custard squares too. Priya’d be pleased. Since the scare with her brother, she’d been after him to take better care of himself. ‘Doctor, heal thyself,’ she was fond of quoting. Jug wouldn’t want to be in his brother-in-law’s shoes. With two kids in high school and one at intermediate, heart disease was the last thing he needed.

  Jug glanced forward. Miller was moving too far ahead. Soon Jug wouldn’t be able to follow the soldier’s footsteps. Better get a wriggle on or he’d have to find his own route to the bottom. With aching limbs, Jug grabbed hold of a supplejack vine and scrambled his way down the slope.

  * * *

  Te Urewera Forest, First Campsite, Day One

  McKenna kept them to the schedule they’d set at his morning briefing. By mid-afternoon they’d arrived at a grassy camp area near a small creek – the Department of Conservation hut to the rear of the site. Jules saw the sergeant have a quick word with de Haas, who waved him off. Then, a few minutes later, the geologist announced, “We’ll set up camp here. I’ll take the hut.” Everyone dropped their packs, making off to select their tent sites.

  “What say we pitch our tent here?” Louise suggested.

  Jules considered the spot. They were on the leeward side of a small knoll at the edge of the campsite, and a stone’s throw from the hut. “Looks as good as any.”

  Crouching, she began to brush stray sticks and stones from underfoot. It may have been years since she’d been in the field, but not so long that she’d forgotten to search for sharp objects that could damage the tent fabric.

  “So what’s your story, Louise?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing much to tell,” Louise answered. She dropped a few strands of grass in the air to check the wind direction.

  Still bent, Jules flicked a broken twig into the trees. She’d sleep better without that poking into her. “No-one at home?”

  “There was, but we broke up a while back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s no great loss,” said Louise, taking the tent out of its bag and shaking the fabric free. “I joined a film festival club instead. A group of us meet up once a week at someone’s place to watch and critique films. A highly satisfying alternative: the dialogue is better, and conflict gets resolved by the end of the movie.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Although it was a bit of a blow when he ran off with my best friend,” she confided.

  Piecing together sections of fibreglass tent pole, Jules grimaced. “Ouch!”

  “Uhuh. Not very original, is it? What about you? Are you married?”

  Jules snorted. “No. The only person waiting at home for me is a cat named Mr Cato, and to be fair, ours is more a master and slave relationship.”

  “At least you know where you’re at with him.” Louise held the door of the dome away from the wind, while Jules pushed the tent poles through the fabric sleeves.

  “Oh no, he’s cheating on me, too,” Jules said over the top of the dome. “He’s been seen leaving my neighbour’s place right after breakfast.” Stopping what she was doing for a second, she put her hand to her mouth and feigned a conspiratorial whisper. “I caught him rubbing himself up against her.”

  “No!” Louise exclaimed. “The cad!”

  They were still laughing as they pegout the dome and put up the flysheet.

  * * *

  Jules zipped her jacket against the early evening chill. The group sat dotted around a campfire, getting to know each other. Inevitably, the conversation returned to this morning’s roadblock.

  “Most people around these parts know Rawiri Temera by reputation,” said Nathan Kerei from his perch on a fallen log. “Some are even a bit scared of him. He’s well-known for being a matakite—”

  “A what?” interrupted Ben.

  “A matakite. It’s a fortune-teller or soothsayer,” Coolie told the Australian quietly.

  “Okay,” Ben replied.

  “He seemed very agitated,” said Louise, sitting cross-legged on the groundsheet beside Jules. Opposite them, on the other side of the fire, McKenna whittled a piece of wood, while the communications officer, Anaru Winters, propped up against a backpack, was trying to read a battered version of To Kill a Mockingbird in the waning light.

  “A lot of people put stock in what the old man says. They reckon the next time Taupō is about to blow, Tem
era will be the one to tell us,” said Kerei.

  Ben laughed. “The last time Taupō erupted, the whole world knew about it. 186 AD if I remember rightly. There were reports of ash as far away as Greece.”

  “Well, there’ll be no need for crack-pot fortune tellers then,” de Haas snapped. “GNS has teams of scientists dedicated to monitoring volcanic activity. That old man is nothing but a trouble maker. I told him as much. He was trying to stop us – a legitimate Government Task Force – from entering the park.”

  Coolie butted in. “With all due respect, Doctor, these are their lands. The Ngāi Tūhoe held out, refused to sign the Treaty of Waitangi.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Trigger said. “That they’re not subject to the same rules as the rest of us?”

  Kerei nodded. “For some, yes.”

  “They may not have signed the Treaty, but it didn’t stop them taking an enormous settlement from the government, did it?” said Singh. “What was it? 170 million?”

  “It’s always about money,” said Trigger. “Remember when that tribe in the Waikato manipulated Transit New Zealand into re-routing State Highway One—”

  “That was the Ngāti Naho,” said Nathan Kerei quickly.

  “Whoever,” Trigger said, continuing. “All of a sudden the tribe’s oldies, the kaumātua, get all riled up, demanding their taniwha be placated, and next thing, the tribe gets a fat little pay-out. No offence to you, Nathan and Taine, I know these are your people we’re talking about, but the way I see it, anytime anyone wants to put in a road, build a bridge, whatever, along come the local Māori digging up some old taniwha and demanding their cut.”

  “Small price to pay for two centuries of disruption to our way of life,” Kerei said, his cheeks twitching.

  Jules glanced at McKenna. The sergeant had stopped his whittling, slipping his carving, and the knife, into his pocket.

  “Well, the land is never really owned by anyone, is it? Only borrowed until the next generation comes along to take over its guardianship,” Richard said.

  Jules grinned at him. They both knew Richard’s sentence was lifted straight from a Landsafe policy document.

  “170 million,” whistled Miller. “That’s better than winning Lotto.”

  “It’s a lot of money,” agreed Singh, stretching out the band of his watch. “That kind of coin would fund the army for a few years.” He laughed. “We might’ve avoided last year’s IMPing programme.”

  “IMPing?” Richard asked.

  “Army short-hand. Means making an endangered species out of certain personnel. Warrant Officers mostly: First and Second Class. The army’s been retiring them as a cost cutting measure.”

  “Tell me about it. You want to see the budget cuts in science. Isn’t that right, Jules?” Richard said. “These days we’re so busy jumping through funding hoops, there’s no time left to do any science.”

  Nearby, several birds broke cover, their silhouettes flapping away over the canopy.

  A shout reverberated around the campsite.

  Chapter 8

  Taine and Coolie were the first to get there. Behind a copse of scrawny mānukā, Eriksen and Lefty were locked together and rolling about on the ground. Eriksen, heavier by about ten kilos, had Lefty in a rear chin lock straight out of the World Wrestling Federation handbook – his knee forced into the middle of Lefty’s back with his forearm wrapped around his neck, Eriksen pulled back with all his weight.

  Lefty swung blindly for his opponent, but the hold had him immobilised.

  “Eriksen, let him go!” Taine roared, but Eriksen maintained the hold. Lefty’s face was turning purple. “That’s an order, soldier!”

  Glaring, Eriksen released the green skin. Kicked him away.

  Lefty collapsed on the ground, holding his throat and panting noisily.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Neither man answered.

  “Eriksen!”

  “Nothing, Boss. It’s personal.”

  “Lefty?” Lolling in the grass, Lefty gave Taine a small nod. Whatever it was, both men had decided to keep it to themselves.

  “Well, if it’s personal,” Taine said, “it can wait until the assignment is over. You can kill each other then. In the meantime, I’ll expect you to behave in a manner appropriate to soldiers of the NZDF. Am I clear!” He looked first at Eriksen then at Lefty. Not waiting for their confirmation, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the campfire.

  “Nothing more to see people…” he heard Coolie say to the onlookers behind him.

  Now Taine noticed de Haas was dogging him, skip-walking to keep pace.

  “McKenna.”

  “Yes.” Taine didn’t break his stride.

  “Well, aren’t you going to do something about them?” de Haas demanded.

  “Like what?”

  “Like punish them? Set an example for the others.”

  “They said it was a personal matter.” Taine said.

  “But they were fighting.”

  Taine whirled to face the geologist, and found himself looking down on the man’s bald patch. “They’re soldiers. They’re trained to fight, Dr de Haas.”

  “It’s not good enough. I want those men punished.”

  Taine felt his nostrils flare. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Sergeant McKenna, I hope I don’t have to remind you that I am the leader of this Task Force?”De Haas drew himself up to his full height and jutted his chin out.

  So this is the way it’s going to go, is it?

  “I’m fully aware of the chain of command here, Doctor. However, Privates Wright and Eriksen are New Zealand Defence Force personnel,” Taine said, keeping his voice even, “which makes their conduct my responsibility.”

  De Haas snorted. “Yes, exactly, and we’ve just seen how well that worked out.”

  “Nothing more than a friendly altercation,” Taine said. A pulse throbbed at his temple. “Think of it as a bit of high-jinks on the first night of school camp. I’ve told them to put a lid on it.”

  Like a school marm, the geologist put his hands on his hips. “I won’t have your men jeopardising the success of my expedition. If you can’t keep them under control—”

  “As I said, I’ve told them to put a lid on it,” Taine said coolly. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  * * *

  De Haas bailed up Jules and Louise on their way back to their tent.

  “You and Dr Asher will share the hut with Dr Foster and myself, Louise. Given the altercation earlier, I’ve decided it would be best,” he said, hooking his index fingers in the air to punctuate the word altercation.

  He’s decided?

  The pained expression that flitted across Louise’s face told Jules her tent-mate wasn’t keen either. If they let him bully them now, he’d likely keep it up for the rest of the trip. Best to tell him politely they were nobody’s dishrag.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to sleep in my tent, Dr de Haas,” Jules said. She threw him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I’m a bit self-conscious about… um… men sleeping in the same room as me.”

  “Nonsense. This is a field expedition.”

  “I’d really feel a lot happier.”

  “Dr Asher, I can’t be responsible for your safety if you insist on sleeping in the tent. I’m concerned about McKenna’s ability to keep his men under control.”

  “I think Sergeant McKenna will vouch—”

  His face reddening, the geologist cut Jules off. “You’ll both sleep in the hut.”

  “I’m sure the two of us will be quite safe if we’re together,” Louise said in a rush. “We’ve pitched our tent within calling distance of the hut. See? If there’s any trouble, we’ll shout.”

  “That’s settled then,” said Jules. Taking Louise’s arm, she threw her sweetest smile at de Haas. “Have a good night, Doctor.”

  De Haas’ eyes narrowed. “Very well,” he said, his lips thin, and stalked off towards the hut.

/>   * * *

  Taine pulled Coolie aside. “Any idea what’s going on with those two?” he said, inclining his head in the direction of Eriksen and Lefty. Across the campsite, the soldiers – both on sentry duty – were glaring at each other like a couple of stags about to lock horns.

  Coolie nodded. “I had a talk with Anaru, who had the lowdown from Lefty.”

  “And?”

  “It’s Sheryl.”

  Taine should’ve seen it coming. Sheryl Howell. A pretty girl with a thing for men in uniform. Sheryl was rumoured to have ‘dated’ more than one or two of the guys at the Linton base over recent months, including Adrian Eriksen.

  The problem was, she was Lefty’s sister.

  “She’s pregnant,” Coolie added.

  Taine figured as much. “Let me guess. She’s naming Eriksen.”

  “Uhuh. Only he’s denying it. Doesn’t believe the kid’s his. He told Anaru he’s not about to raise some other guy’s brat just because the battalion bike fingered him.”

  McKenna groaned inwardly. “And Eriksen’s reaction has Lefty outraged about the slight to his sister,” he said, summing up the situation.

  “You have to admit, Sheryl likes her fun.”

  “Even so, no man wants to see his sister’s name dragged through the dirt. Well, let’s hope they suck it up until we get back. De Haas has us pegged as undisciplined rabble as it is.”

  * * *

  It was mid-morning on the second day when Jules got her first fright – a hunter startling her by stepping out of the bush to her right.

  Māori, he was fat with a broad nose, his skin the same gnarled texture of the adjacent beech trunks. A grimy yellow charity bandana tied loosely around his thick neck, he was carrying a small pig slung across his shoulders. A muscled pig dog, its jowls wobbling, ran silently at his heels. The hunter acknowledged the group with a sharp tilt of his head. The mongrel wagged its tail.