The Legend of Ataneq Nanuq

by Jack Dey

  Suddenly the story was starting to make sense and Bjarni now knew why she had been so secretive and scared, finding it difficult to trust anyone. Bjarni spoke for the first time.

  “So you and Shtiya, along with the other dogs, saw an opportunity to escape and ended up here. Did you have any idea where you were going?”

  Anunya shook her head. “I have never known anything but bars and confinement and being told what to do. I have to admit the open wilderness scared me and I hadn’t even considered running away from what I had known all my life. Shtiya saw the opportunity for freedom and ran the other dogs and didn’t stop for nearly two days. When he finally stopped running, the dogs were exhausted and we were deep in the Greenlandic wilderness and in dire straits. I hid under the thick furs the wife had been using, while the dogs hunted down some little creatures and ate them. Shtiya tried to make me eat some of the raw meat he had captured, but I just couldn’t. I hadn’t eaten for nearly a week when Shtiya found you and the rest, you know.”

  Bjarni drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Anunya’s story had affected him profoundly. “Well, that’s some run your dogs did. You covered nearly 1800 kilometres across some pretty inhospitable territory.”

  Anunya suddenly looked vulnerable, considering her immediate future and then she spoke. “I am grateful for the way you have cared for me and my dogs. I have no idea what to do from here.”

  Bjarni read the fear in her eyes and the silent plea for help. It was the first time she had met his eyes since her story began.

  “Well, Anunya, you aren’t in any fit state to be wandering the wilderness looking for your father, especially if you have no idea who he is or where to find him. My guess is that the man who bought you will be looking for you too, and will stop at nothing to recapture you and the dogs. You are safe here for the moment. Let’s see what we can figure out.”

  Anunya’s tense shoulders drooped in relief at Bjarni’s words, as if a huge load had been removed from them and for the first time, a cautious smile lit her damaged face. The old man had accepted her story and seemed to be ready to help her in the quest to regain her life.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 28

  Katu’s conservatism and negative attitude towards Bruun’s ability to survive in the wilderness was starting to grate on Bruun’s nerves. After all, he was young and fit and able to outfox anything the tundra could throw at him. He tossed and turned on the mattress in the kitchen, listening to the wind howl through the wooden rafters and the occasional explosive bump as ice and snow detached from the high raked roof and clattered to the ground outside. Light and heat escaped around the partially closed stove door and danced in hypnotic movements on the walls and ceiling, illuminating Bruun’s pack and meagre belongings scattered untidily over the kitchen floor. He rolled over again, hoping to fall asleep, but sleep just wouldn’t cooperate and frustration moved in instead.

  Bruun stared at his pack as the wheels of a despondent mind began to rotate and a fledgling plan formed in the dark recesses of Bruun’s recklessness. He kicked off the highly insulated survival sleeping bag and raised himself onto an elbow, staring at his pack while remembering Katu had avoided all of his casual questions about the elusive wild men of the wilderness. Feeling like Katu was treating him like an imbecile and the information he wanted was not forthcoming, he came to an abrupt decision.

  He lifted himself from the mattress and hastily collected his scattered belongings into a pile and stuffed them into his pack, then crept out into the business part of the outpost and began to gather tinned food from the shelves. His eyes settled on a rifle rack, while Katu’s threatening words came back to his mind.

  Do you have a rifle, Mr Bruun? I do and I know how to use it!

  Bruun swallowed hard at the memory of the threat and eyed a new bolt-action rifle encased in the wall rack. As he lifted it down from the rack, the price tag swung lazily and dangled from an elastic band attached to the trigger. It felt good in his hands, nicely balanced and comfortable for his lanky frame. In the dim light, he checked the sights of the gun on a light fixture on the opposite wall, as if he was hunting game.

  This will do just fine, he thought. He knew once Katu found his stock missing and that Bruun had obviously stolen from him, Katu would try to follow Bruun, turning his threat into reality. He searched around for ammunition and grabbed a likely box then stuffed it into his jacket. Juggling the rifle and the canned food, he crept back into the kitchen and dropped his booty silently onto the mattress, all the time listening intently for sounds that Katu had discovered his treachery.

  Assured he had not been discovered, he stuffed the cans into a zippered compartment, rolled his sleeping bag into a tight cylinder and roped it to the top of his pack. Lastly, he dropped to the mattress and pulled on his lace-up insulated hiking boots, making sure they were tightly tied but comfortable enough for a long walk. He wiggled his toes and stretched his feet against the restraints of the nylon, satisfied the boots were comfortable and that the thick socks would insulate his feet against the cold.

  He grabbed for the pack and threw it over his shoulders, then threaded his arms through the straps and pulled it tight against his back. Bent forward to balance the burden of his pack, he searched around the kitchen to make sure he hadn’t left any of his belongings behind then grabbed up the bolt-action rifle from the mattress. The feel of the polished butt in his hands and the cold steel barrel gave him a new confidence.

  Considering the weight of his new situation, he checked his watch: 4am. It wouldn’t be light for hours and he had an advantage to put some distance behind him before Katu woke and came looking for him.

  Bruun carefully opened the door to the outpost but was almost pushed back inside as the wind tried to wrench it from his grip. Fighting for control, he slipped past the door and heaved it closed behind him, with a groan, then waited on the porch for a few minutes, watching and listening for signs that Katu had heard the ruckus and was about to put an end to him and his plans.

  Satisfied the only movement was the tenacious storm, Bruun climbed down the three wooden steps into the darkness and onto the frozen tundra ground. He leaned into the tumult while his boots squelched, trying to grip the new snow and make headway against the formidable, snowy maelstrom.

  *~*~*~*

  Katu yawned contentedly under the warmth of the heavy comforter, a gift from his supplier in Denmark. He would never have chosen the fluffy item for himself but he wasn’t going to say no to such a comfortable reward for his business patronage. Katu could still hear the relentless wailing outside; it hadn’t abated and was still as ferocious as when he’d retired for the night. The sun was up, but it was still bitterly cold beyond the warmth of his bed. He listened for any signs that Bruun had risen and was moving around. Hearing no evidence of movement, Katu decided Bruun was still asleep and for the first time in a long time, Katu rolled over, pulled the plush luxury over his head and drifted back to a warm, peaceful sleep.

  A sudden explosion of ice and snow slid from the roof outside just above Katu’s bed and crashed down on the outside of the wall only feet away from where he slept, making him jump at the sudden noise.

  Katu huffed at the intrusion to his sleep and then checked his watch, believing he had only slept for a short time. He jumped up at the sudden realisation he had been asleep for over two hours and it was fast approaching 10am. Katu hastily dressed for the day, pulling his favourite polar bear furs over his cold body and relaxed back into the well-worn familiar warmth, ready to start his day.

  Katu called from the bedroom as he pulled on his bearskin boots, “Bruun, are you up?!”

  No answer.

  He walked out into the kitchen and found Bruun’s mattress empty, while all of his untidy possessions were missing and the kitchen stove had gone out.

  Panic gripped Katu’s stomach, hoping Bruun hadn’t done what he suspected. He bent to feel for warm spots on the mattress, but it was cold. Katu’s mind did a mental che
ck then he hurried out into the store and peered around, noticing immediately the new bolt-action rifle was missing. He paced up and down the shelves, realising his meticulous stocking routine had been disturbed and gaping holes in some of Bruun’s favourite canned food was evident.

  He sighed angrily. “Stupid kid!” For the moment, Katu was more concerned for Bruun’s safety than for the stolen stock, although stealing from him didn’t sit well either.

  He strode for the kitchen again and removed his semi-automatic rifle from his hidden gun cupboard, grabbed a loaded clip and forced it into the gun’s breech. He strode back to the bedroom and grabbed the keys for the snowmobile, hoping it would start in the frozen conditions. Tracking Bruun would test Katu’s skill to the limit, especially since he would be expecting Katu’s backlash at such a stupid mission, on foot and into the depths of the wilderness during a howling gale. To make things worse, Bruun would be trying to hide from him and Katu held grave concerns that all he would find would be a frozen corpse.

  Aware of the desperate situation and that time was critical, Katu threw open the outside doors to the room sheltering the snowmobile from the cold outside air, thrust the key into the ignition and cranked the starter. The starter groaned at first and then eventually gathered speed, winding the cold engine over and over. Katu pulled the choke fully out and the engine spluttered and then stalled.

  “Come on, girl,” Katu hissed and tried the starter again.

  Finally the engine caught, spluttering until Katu pushed the choke partially open again, leaving white clouds of water vapour and humidity trailing from the exhaust and hanging lazily in the frozen atmosphere.

  With no time to waste, Katu selected reverse, gunned the cold engine and steered the machine out into the howling wind. Stopping by the porch, the snowmobile’s engine rolled and rocked until it had developed enough warmth to finally idle smoothly. He tried to find some trace of evidence as to which direction Bruun had chosen and he peered out into the north, thinking Liverpool Land may have been his desired route until he remembered Bruun’s comment describing Bjarni Kleist as the legendary wild man. Katu figured if Bruun had studied Bjarni’s situation, he would also know in which general direction to start the process of locating him.

  With Katu’s decision settled, he kicked up the throttle aggressively and the snowmobile surged into gear and started towards the northwest in the direction of Scoresby Land. He opened the throttle wide and settled his body into the comfortable seat of the machine while a small rooster-tail of snow exuberantly trailed out the back of the machine as it ploughed through areas of thick powder and sped towards the wide open tundra.

  Depending on Bruun’s lead, it shouldn’t be too hard for the machine to catch up with someone on foot, he thought.

  Almost an hour of high speed travel had passed, cutting through vast track of frozen tundra while Katu began to second-guess his decision to head northwest. He hadn’t seen any tracks or signs that Bruun had passed by the direction he was travelling, and the wind-driven snow was making tracking more and more difficult. His face was numb with cold, and icicles formed and hung from his fur hood, eyebrows and face scarf.

  Up ahead, a rock overhang sheltered the path from the driving wind. This was exactly the break that Katu was looking for and if Bruun had made it this far, he may be sheltering in the lee of the outcrop, or at least left some tracks that could give an indication of what condition he was in. The outcrop would confirm Katu’s decision to travel northwest and whether he had anticipated Bruun’s intentions correctly.

  As the rocky outcrop came into view, the wind’s ferocity was divided and there in front of Katu, laid out like a road map, were footprints leading past the calm lee and disappearing back into the storm.

  Katu’s gamble on Bruun’s direction appeared to have paid off.

  Throttling back, the snowmobile drifted to an abrupt stop beside the tracks. Katu dismounted cautiously, leaving the engine running. He checked the footprints carefully, hoping to gain insight into Bruun’s condition. Bruun’s tracks stamped confidently into the snow, giving Katu the impression he was still in good physical condition. But he wondered how long Bruun could keep up the pace in such an appalling storm, while the wind chill dropped the temperature dramatically as nightfall crept ever closer.

  Katu turned towards the snowmobile and took a few steps, when something in his periphery caught his eye. He turned back in the direction of the end of the rock wall, just before Bruun’s footsteps left the shelter of the outcrop and faded back into the wind. He bent to examine another track, overstamping Bruun’s.

  The implications of what he was seeing made him gasp and he stumbled backwards, away from the print in shocked horror. The sheer size of the track caused the fear in Katu to rise as he examined the massive paw print. He had never seen a pad print so big before and the track was obviously following Bruun’s.

  Bjarni’s description, just a few short weeks ago, of a single, powerful blow that had killed a large nanuq sent shivers up his spine. Bjarni was right all along and now he had witnessed the unbelievable evidence firsthand. If this monster could kill another huge bear with a single blow, it was no wonder Bjarni lived with the nightmare of his encounter with the beast.

  Katu stared, horrified at the massive pad print just millimetres away from where he stood and its intent, clearly following Bruun. The consequence of the print numbed his mind and fear prickled at his back while his lips incredulously mouthed the words.

  “Ataneq Nanuq.”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 29

  Doctor Allan Brooks puzzled over the file in front of him. He had never seen anything like this before. The blood work showed nothing but normal numbers: erythrocytes around fifty percent; leukocytes a robust one percent; a strong representation of thrombocytes; and the plasma showed healthy signs of sugars, hormones, antibodies and protein. But yet the patient complained of overwhelming, profound listlessness – almost a paralysis; feeling violently ill; pain; nausea; dizziness; noise and light intolerance; increased chest pressure – she described it as being like a sumo wrestler sitting on her torso; and a total lack of energy. There wasn’t proof of the patient’s complaints reflected in any of the tests and it just didn’t add up although they did show some signs of post-exertional malaise; orthostatic intolerance; cognitive dysfunction; fever; sweating; as well as heart rate, blood pressure and circulating blood volume level abnormalities.

  He turned towards his desk computer and clicked on the rod of Asclepius icon, the current represented medical insignia, and the programme opened with a screen sized snake curled around a rod, rotating in front of the doctor. The programme eventually asked for a login code so Brooks complied and punched in his hospital password. After a brief pause, the programme cleared his access and a complex search page appeared, impatiently punctuated by a flashing cursor requiring him to fill in the parameters of his request. Brooks sighed and typed in the patient details and symptoms, followed by the results of the blood work, pushed enter and waited for a result. After a while, a list of possible contenders displayed on the screen.

  Brooks started at the top of the list, clicking open each file and carefully examining the description of each disease. He quickly rejected most of the list and was left with the last two possibilities: Lyme’s disease and myalgic encephalomyelitis. He shifted on his chair and then rested the mouse over Lyme’s disease and clicked it open. Immediately a warning page confronted Brooks and he read through the statement with great dread.

  Clinicians confronted with patients describing the symptoms associated with this syndrome should be cautious. Before proceeding with any diagnosis or prescribing medication for symptoms, the physician should first conduct a full psychiatric evaluation as this apparent disorder has been thoroughly researched and the results have been proven to be of a psychosomatic nature.

  Doctors disregarding the advice of the DBD and the Institute for Medical Diagnostics run the risk of disciplinary action and the
suspension of their medical licence, together with the cost of patient care. Patient care, other than that associated with a legitimate psychiatric institution, will not be covered by the medical insurer.

  This psychosomatic condition has its roots in clinical depression and is regarded as a psychiatric disorder, culminating in the patient’s unwillingness or an inability to deal with the stresses of life. This condition should not be dealt with in any medical form other than a psychosomatic framework.

  Brooks was stunned and clicked open the page associated with myalgic encephalomyelitis and read the same warning. He compared the symptoms listed on the pages and they were very similar, only that Lyme’s disease had allegedly been attributed to the bite of a dermacentor, whereas discredited researchers could find no fanciful origin or carrier for myalgic encephalomyelitis.

  What on earth is a dermacentor? Brooks puzzled, then flicked open another search engine, carefully tracing down the list of possibilities until he found what he was looking for. Dermacentor – Category: Mite or Tick; Common name: Tick, Brooks read and then turned the information over in his mind, flopping back into his office chair and not sure what to make of the new knowledge he now possessed.

  In light of the threat contained within the warning, it was time to turn the case of Shayden Glenn over to his superiors to make a decision. The young girl had already consumed large amounts of hospital resources and if she had the syndrome Brooks suspected, the hospital would need to refer her case to a psychiatric institution for further treatment and demand that her guardian pay the extensive costs associated with her little game of deceit.