Dawn was a long time coming. Jahmin sat at the base of the tree and watched as grey fingers of cold light crept through the foliage.
He’d been trying to meditate, reasoning that his overwrought brain needed respite, even if his body didn’t. Occasionally he managed to achieve a blank nothingness that was almost like sleep, but each time he couldn’t sustain it for more than a few minutes before a thought intruded of a large shadow relentlessly advancing, vibrating with a sickening pulse, causing dread and fear …
He climbed the tree to get his bearings, wondering again about that dark line intersecting the bush, before slithering down and heading off.
This time he didn’t run. He was closer now and he needed to take more care, not just blunder on. Broken branches, trampled foliage, footprints in soft earth – all would give him away.
He stepped on a branch, and it cracked loudly. A kererū took flight with an ungainly lurch, its plump body straining to make height. He forced himself to stand still, to take a virtual breather. All the care was making him clumsy, and he could have sworn he’d heard voices …
He flattened himself in the ferns just as two men dressed in black came into view. If they hadn’t been talking, he might not have noticed them until it was too late, their uniforms effectively blending into the early morning shadows. They were moving like soldiers, but they looked like surfers, dressed in sleek wetsuits with skullcaps on their heads, the only incongruity the heavy boots on their feet. Not trampers. Not DOC workers. And definitely not Search and Rescue.
‘It’s just a job,’ one was saying – an older voice, with a hint of an Australian accent. ‘As long as I get paid, I don’t care.’
The other one grunted and kicked at the dirt, scuffing up the shiny leather of his boots.
‘You’re here till noon,’ the first continued, much to Jahmin’s dismay. ‘Then RTB. That’s return to base,’ he explained.
‘I know what RTB means.’
Jahmin felt a little tickle by his ear. Carefully he turned his head. A big brown wētā was sitting right next to his face, so close that its feelers had brushed against his skin. It gazed at him with its beady black eyes and took another step forward. Jahmin’s eyes bulged and instinctively he jerked back, rustling the ferns.
The two guards immediately fell silent.
The wētā scuttled back into the undergrowth.
Jahmin froze, his mind racing. He could run, fight or play dead. Three equally shit options. Why hadn’t he planned for this? He’d just been going on instinct. He hadn’t even talked it over with the others, just ploughed ahead, wanting to get some distance between him and Rocky. He’d done what he’d always done, acted without thought for the consequences.
The men brushed against the ferns. A heavy boot came down just inches from his nose. They were going to find him …
A piping whistle sounded from beyond a little grove of nīkau palms. The younger guy let out a relieved breath as other weka called back in response, filling the bush with a chorus of sound.
‘Scared, were ya?’ A bark of laughter.
‘Yeah, terrified,’ the younger one said, but the bravado sounded forced. ‘Shouldn’t you be going now?’
‘Take care of yourself, noob,’ the older one said as he walked off. ‘There’s lots of birds around here.’
‘Ha ha.’ The boot moved, disappearing back through the ferns.
Jahmin carefully raised his head, craning his neck to get a view through the foliage, but he couldn’t see anything. He could hear the guy, though, crashing through the undergrowth, the need for stealth apparently over now that the older guard had gone.
Silence. Jahmin sat up and peeked through the fronds. The guy was taking a slash against a tree.
Slowly, bent double, Jahmin slipped out from the ferns and edged around the nīkau. He couldn’t resist firing a look over his shoulder. The guy was stepping back from the tree, zipping up his suit.
Jahmin ducked under some spiky branches and jerked backwards as his backpack snagged. He tugged at it hard and the branch snapped, the sound echoing through the quiet forest.
The guy’s head shot up, his hands frozen on his crotch, his eyes fixed on Jahmin. In that brief moment, time seemed to stretch out between them as thin as bubblegum, holding them motionless.
‘Hey!’ the guy called.
Jahmin spun and darted into the bush. The trees slid past as he ran, the pack thumping against his back. He made a right turn, hoping he was running parallel to the river, away from the ship and the guards, away from Camp Sinkhole and everyone there. And where had that old dude got to?
He could hear the young guy pounding hard behind him, his breath laboured. Whoever he was, he wasn’t very fit. Jahmin felt a surge of hope. He could easily outrun the guy, he was Zombie Man!
He pumped harder and risked another look over his shoulder. The guy had slipped further back. Jahmin grinned. He could outrun anyone! Too late he saw the ditch opening out in front of him. He tried to leap it but his balance was off, and he landed awkwardly, slamming to the ground on the other side. Panting, the young guy jumped the ditch and reached Jahmin’s side, his face rosy with excitement.
‘Well, whaddaya know,’ he said. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
