Keepers of the Lost City

18 Welcome to Nekenhalle

In the bright morning sun, the two brothers left early and drove to Christchurch, on the eastern coast of South Island, where Cecil Harding planned to obtain the necessary medical materials to facilitate his rustic pathological examination. They were there by the time the doors opened, and Gary was astonished at the warm welcome his brother received from the local medical staff. For once, the plump older brother was the talkative one and Gary allowed him the limelight. After all, he was a doctor, and merited his younger brother’s respect.

Gary wandered through the facility, looking at the wall-mounted posters and paging through some of the AgriVet publications on the reception counter while he waited for Cecil to finish his business. He would never tell Cecil, but every free thought moment he had was brimming with shards of memory from the fateful day his father was taken. Gary prided himself on being a typical New Zealand bloke, a tough and masculine brute who had no time for sensitive feelings and therapy. Yet, he could not deny that those brief moments alone with his own mind was a cumbersome torture.

He could still hear Lewis screaming when he was dragged into the mountain, just like the tractor was pulled back into the darkness. Now and then, when he was not distracted, he remembered how he could briefly hear his father cry like a child, wailing hopelessly in the dark. Gary, the man’s man, could not come to terms with the level of terror that prompted him to be such a perfect coward. The way in which he dashed down that hill to escape the same fate as his father, would forever shame him.

Ringing switchboard phones and the conversations around him faded in favor of the unholy memories of how his father shouted his name, calling for his son to save him, as his voice gradually grew weaker. Thoughts of what took Lewis, of what it intended to do with him, would not allow Gary any peace. The sense of not knowing what had befallen his father after he slid over the black sand into the chasm, was the pinnacle of Gary’s despair.

Instead of proving he was as good as Bill Best, Gary did not come to his father’s aid during the attack. He simply scurried away like a cockroach, tripping over weeds and falling most of the way down. And still he rather took the hitching of the thorns to rip at his skin than to suffer similar pain and effort up by the mouth of the mountain, for the sake of his father’s life. The guilt was killing him.

“And now you want to see if they were poisoned like your dogs? My God, Cecil, I hope you can get to the bottom of this,” said Dr. Elaine Foxworth, as she accompanied Cecil out into the main reception lobby. He had relayed the entire story to her in her office and subsequently, she agreed to give him the instruments and material he needed on loan.

“We have to get to the bottom of this, Elaine,” he said. “I mean, the condition in which we find the animals, screams predator, but we all know there are no large predators in New Zealand. I mean, Christ, we have someone out there acting like a poacher, but only kills pets and livestock. I need to find out why, and only the carcasses will tell us that.”

“Well, you know the reason I am breaking the rules of the Veterinary Association to accommodate you, is because you have always taken veterinary science seriously. Now me, I am just satisfied saving pets and healing the sick puppies, while you are a true pioneer. You delve into the cellular secrets that could present solutions instead of just treating animals. Your father should be proud of you,” she rambled courteously. Gary smirked as his inner voice amused him. ‘She is clearly a fan. Wonder if she knows he is into cock.’

“This is my brother, Gary.” Without warning, Cecil suddenly introduced him to the busty, blond Elaine, catching him off guard. Gary felt stupid and unprepared, but he held his pose when he shook hands with the sexy veterinarian. “Nice to meet you,” was all he could utter at such short notice, but at least he did not stutter or say ‘fuck’ as readily as he did with Mrs. Cockran. Besides, with the tone Cecil introduced his brother with, and the accompanying leer, Gary knew he had to behave.

“You know, now that you mentioned animals getting poisoned,” Elaine told Cecil, “I believe our colleagues in Oz are having a time of it, hey?”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Haven’t you heard about the latest scourge over there? Apparently, some conservationist with a God-complex has now introduced poison capsules into a few dingoes, like a time bomb,” she said under her breath to maintain a professional demeanor in the public area.

“What?” he frowned.

“Some people there are ‘managing wildlife’, as they put it, in a controversial manner that has the conservation groups in uproar. To cull wild goats, they are sending in a handful of dingoes, due for extermination to do the job. Hey? How do you like that?” she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrow.

“You are shitting me,” Gary said.

“Nope, I swear, that is what they are doing. Now I am thinking, maybe that kind of poisoning is somehow involved here in New Zealand too. Maybe it is supposed to be a test. Maybe the poison was introduced by accident when one of those wildlife organizations introduced a tarnished specimen, if you know what I mean.”

“Holy shit,” Cecil gasped. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“You would have to call out the head of the wildlife association or something, mate,” Gary urged his brother in all sincerity.

Cecil was contemplating the suggestion, under the influence of all the new information he just got from Elaine. His brother was not wrong either, he realized. “That is a good idea,” Cecil said. “I’ll call Mr. Olden. He is the senior manager of the Wilderness Society. Maybe he could assist us in locating the origin of this poison.”

“Good idea,” Elaine smiled. “According to the people at the media branch of the Wildlife office, Olden has been actively battling this dingo poison thing for some time. He was looking for the suppliers of the poison, I know, so that he could launch a global legal battle on these people.”

“Great, then he will know what to do,” Cecil confirmed. “As soon as I know what is poisoning these animals I can have a bit more credence when I contact him.”

“But that still doesn’t tell us why they are mutilating the livestock,” Gary added the first genuine contribution to the relevant conversation. For a moment, he actually sounded mature.

“That is alright,” Elaine answered. “As soon as we know the strain of venom used, we will know if it corroborated with the ongoing cases in Australia.”

“Alright, then, let’s get going, bro,” Cecil told Gary. Both picked up the large boxes containing the borrowed forensic apparatus and bid the forthcoming Dr. Foxworth goodbye.

“Fuck me, but it is hot today!” Gary was heard exclaiming in the parking lot.

“Great. Just when I thought you would not embarrass me,” Cecil complained as they loaded the boxes in the SUV.

“Come on, don’t tell me this heat is not making your skin melt,” Gary defended.

Cecil sighed. “Get in the car, Gary.”

The sweltering day was no kinder on the search party that Sgt. Anaru had gathered. They arrived at the station at 7am, had a quick breakfast of sandwiches and coffee and completed the roll call from Const. Ballin’s clipboard. A heatwave had been predicted for most of South Island, but it was not due until a few days later. Then again, nature did not care for mortal predictions, and by the moaning of the men and discomfort of most living creatures it was safe to assume that it had arrived prematurely.

“Right friends, it is time to go out to Nekenhalle and see if we can find Mr. Harding!” Sgt. Anaru declared from the cement fence wall he was perched on. His brow glimmered with sweat, and under his damp black curls, his neck was drenched in perspiration that stained the top of his uniform collar. “Now this is going to be Day 1 of the search for Mr. Harding. Depending on how meticulously we comb the area around the house and mountain, we will add another day or two onto the search.”

The men were fanning themselves with rolled up newspapers and hats, most of them wearing T-shirts and jeans with good hiking boots. Although their attire was on the thick side, the boots and jeans were imperative for protection. New Zealand may have had no large predators or snakes, but it had plenty that could hurt a man up in the bush. Ticks and mosquitoes could not beat denim and hiking boots were necessary for obvious reasons.

“Now, we have a water car coming up with us, so don’t worry about getting thirsty. As you might know, this particular farm does have a small dam, but it is on the other side of the hill, through thick brush and matagouri. So don’t be stupid and wander off, else we will be looking for you tomorrow,” the charismatic officer continued. “Take your canteens to the water car before we start the search, people! We will not have time to mess around too much looking for water, so carry it with you and hydrate as you need it, alright?”

A resounding answer of ‘yes, sir’ echoed through the small cement parking area before they all dispersed to their respective vehicles. It was a relatively smooth ride up to the farm. Dispatch had contacted Sgt. Anaru to inform him that Dr. Harding would be available to join the search the following day, if need be.

“Why? Is he still in Christchurch?” he asked the dispatch officer as they traversed the snaking road toward the infamous mountain that marked Nekenhalle on the watery looking horizon.

“On their way back, sir,” dispatch replied. “His brother is going to come join the search, though, as soon as they are back.”

“Very good, thanks,” the sergeant answered. He looked at Const. Ballin. “Heather, you alright, love?”

“I’m not going to lie, Mick. I am fucking terrified, but it feels much better having all these blokes with us,” Const. Ballin admitted. He placed his large, calloused hand on hers and pressed affectionately.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to my fiancé, would I?” he smiled.

Heather scoffed and smiled. “Anything almost happened to me yesterday.”

Sgt. Anaru kissed her hand and countered smoothly, “Yes, but it didn’t, did it?”

Soon after, the bonnet of the police vehicle reared its nose over the last rise of the road and the entrance to Nekenhalle became visible. Heather’s heart started beating faster as she leaned forward to look up at it. “There it is — the gates of hell.”

Sgt. Anaru agreed with her, but he did not say it. Const. Ballin did not need her fears affirmed by his concurrence. The vehicles crowded the normally barren and desolate shoulder of the road until one of the men used his bolt cutter to dislodge the heavy padlock. He unwrapped the enormous chain from the frame, but it took three men to push the gates open. The sound that erupted from the antique hinges started all those who heard it; a loud screech that sounded like a crying woman in the jaws of steel cogs, a most abhorrent welcome to Nekenhalle.