Into the Fire (6 page)

‘What do you mean, kids all over the place?’

‘Two kids missing; another kid spotted out on
Golden Ridge on the other side of town chasing a horse.’

‘Horse?’

‘That’s what I said. Now, what are we going to do with you?’ the policeman said, looking down at E.D.

‘I’m heading back home. It’s just there. See?’ Before the policeman had time to protest, E.D. was back on the seat and careering off down the dirt road to his house.

Mario saw him and ran over to the bike. ‘Everything okay?’

‘It was a wallaby.’

‘Well, put the bike in the shed and go inside. We’re just keeping an eye on spot fires. I’ll call you if you’re needed.’

‘Mario, there’s someone on Golden Ridge chasing a horse.’

‘A horse?’ Mario’s eyebrows shot up. ‘It’ll be alright: Golden Ridge isn’t anywhere near the fires.’

E.D. looked at his brother. Mario knew what he was thinking. ‘You think you know who it is. You want to go and help?’

E.D. nodded. ‘I can go out the front; I’ll be travelling away from the fire. I’d be safer out there than here.’

Mario nodded. ‘That’s true.’ He chewed his lip for a moment. ‘Well, we’re under control here for the moment. Once you get that horse, you stay put.’

Before Mario had finished his sentence, E.D. had already turned the bike and was going down the driveway. He revved it hard and flew along the line of nature strips. It felt good to be heading away from the fire.

‘Hang on, Angus,’ he said into the wind. ‘I’m coming.’

Ling moved to the door and peered out of the library office as Hannah continued listening, the phone pressed to her ear. A woman was speaking. Hannah recognised the voice—it belonged to Mrs Hastings.

‘The fires are actually keeping the police away and I think she can be used to our advantage, though I doubt that will be necessary.’

‘The distraction of the fires is certainly timely but is Derwent’s Hut secure?’ Hannah held her breath as she listened to a man speaking on the other end of the line.

‘It’s on the eastern side of town and won’t be a problem.’ Hannah heard Mrs Hastings laugh.

‘And have you heard from our couriers?’

‘No, but that’s not a concern. Has our Moroccan friend been in touch? He’s not the only buyer, you know.’

‘I am aware of that. Not as yet, but he will.’

‘One moment. I think there’s someone…’

‘Patricia? Hello?’ Hannah listened to the man’s heavy breathing coming down the phone line. From somewhere inside the library she heard a door close.

‘Hannah?’ Ling whispered, running back into the room. ‘There’s someone coming. Should we go and ask about Gabby?’ Hannah pressed the mouthpiece against her shirt, shaking her head and pointing to the phone. Another red light came on. Was someone else listening in? Mrs Hastings’ voice came on the line again.

‘Don’t worry. The people who committed this crime will be caught and punished and we’ll get the brooch back.’

‘What on—?’

‘I must go now. There’s someone waiting out the front of the building.’ Suddenly the girls were aware of footsteps approaching in the distance from the corridor outside. Hannah put down the receiver, taking care to ensure that it didn’t settle properly back into its holder. It had just occurred to Hannah that Mrs Hastings
probably suspected that someone was eavesdropping on her conversation. If Mrs Hastings found the receiver off the hook when she checked the phone, it might make her think she was mistaken.

Then Hannah had another thought. She raced over to the security system her father had installed. Surely the tape would have information on it? Footage of the thief stealing the brooch? She pressed the eject button but nothing happened. Maybe the police had taken it already. Or had the thieves stolen it themselves?

And then she remembered. Some sort of code was needed to get the tapes out. But what was it? No one could get the tape out without the code.

Ling interrupted her thoughts by waving frantically. The footsteps were getting closer. Hannah grabbed Ling’s hand and together they scurried out of the larger office and back into the tiny room full of old newspapers.

They heard someone entering the office. ‘Is there someone here?’ Mrs Hastings called. The girls held their breath. They had wedged themselves behind a stack of boxes in the corner near the door. Outside the wind lashed the trees causing a branch to scrape violently
against the glass of the small window high above them.

There was a faint rustle as Mrs Hastings picked up the receiver of the phone. Straining their ears, Hannah and Ling just made out a high-pitched beeping, then a click as Mrs Hastings replaced the phone on the cradle. A moment later she left the room. The girls listened to her footsteps gradually fading.

‘Hannah, this is stupid. We need to talk to her, not hide from her. She’s the librarian.’

‘No, she’s the thief!’

‘What are you talking about? Gabby’s missing. She might have seen her.’

‘Oh, I’m sure she has. We don’t want to talk with Mrs Hastings. It’s the police we need.’

‘Hannah, this is crazy. Let’s just ask. I saw her this morning. It was Mrs Hastings who organised the whole exhibition.’

‘You didn’t hear the phone conversation I just did.’

‘Conversation with who?’

‘It was Mrs Hastings and some man.’

‘So, what were they saying?’

‘Something about the fires being a distraction and couriers and a hut.’

‘A hut? Hannah, we don’t have time for this. Come on.’ Before Hannah could reply, Ling raced into the passageway, heading swiftly towards the main body of the library.

‘Oh, damn it,’ Hannah muttered, heading off after her. She pulled up quickly at the entrance to the library. Mrs Hastings was smiling stiffly at Ling. Beyond them, Hannah could see a group of people gathering outside the main entrance.

‘Good heavens,’ Mrs Hastings exclaimed, seeing Hannah suddenly emerge from the storeroom doorway. ‘What
is
going on here? How long have you been in the library? I thought it was empty. Where have you been hiding?’

‘We’re looking for our friend.’

‘And what on earth are
they
doing here?’ Mrs Hastings asked, noticing the commotion at the door. ‘I haven’t seen your friend. Were you in the office a few moments ago?’ She looked from Ling to Hannah.

‘No,’ Hannah said, stepping forwards. ‘We came in the emergency exit door near the big magazine stand. We only just arrived.’

‘I see. And are you carrying anything? Something that doesn’t belong to you?’

‘We didn’t steal the brooch,’ Ling cried. ‘I was there at the exhibition. I…’

‘It’s time you left.’ Mrs Hastings scowled. ‘Come along.’

Ling and Hannah followed Mrs Hastings to the main exit.

As she opened the door a reporter thrust a microphone under the librarian’s nose. ‘Mrs Hastings, what can you tell us about the disappearance of the gold brooch?’

‘This is a very stressful time for everyone here at the library and of course the police are stretched to the limit with the fires at the moment but I’m confident that the brooch will be recovered. I have no further comment to make.’

Hannah found herself stepping forwards. ‘There are security tapes that need to be checked. A new security system has just been installed, and—’

‘Young lady,’ Mrs Hastings bristled. ‘All the appropriate action by both the staff here and the local police is being undertaken.’

‘And has anything been found?’ The young reporter stole a brief look at her producer, who gave her the thumbs-up. He sensed a story was unfolding.

‘I’m not at liberty to say. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

‘My friend Gabby has gone missing. She was last seen here at the library,’ Hannah said,
staring at the blond-haired reporter. She swallowed, wondering if the interview was going live into thousands of people’s homes.

‘And who are you?’ the reporter said, throwing another glance at her producer. He nodded then whispered something to the cameraman.

‘Um, well my name is Hannah. My friend Ling here was at the exhibition opening and her cousin, Gabby, was with her. But Gabby left early and we found her sunglasses down in the offices.’

Ling stepped forwards, pulling the sunglasses out of her pocket. The camera zoomed in on them.

‘So, this girl, Gabby, was last seen inside the library?’

‘Yes.’

From the corner of her eye, Hannah noticed Mrs Hastings move quietly back to the library entrance. The producer followed her. They stopped to talk by the main entrance.

‘Okay, kids, listen up,’ the reporter said, moving the microphone down. ‘This is serious stuff. Are the police aware of all this?’

‘No,’ Hannah said.

‘Well, here’s your moment.’ The reporter nodded towards an approaching police car.
‘They’re either here to clear us out or to investigate the robbery.’

A police officer climbed out of the car. ‘You must all make your way to the community centre,’ she said. ‘The people in the centre are being taken out in buses while the main road east is still open. We need to check that this building is empty. Is the library unlocked?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Mrs Hastings said vaguely, looking about as if she’d lost something.

‘You’d think she’d be a bit happier to see the police here,’ Ling whispered.

Hannah nodded then walked over to the reporter, who was now packing away her microphone.‘We were in the library, looking for our friends. We found nothing but a pair of sunglasses but I overheard a phone conversation. It was a man talking to Mrs Hastings.’

‘I think you need to tell all this to the police,’ the reporter said.

‘Wait.’ Hannah pressed on. ‘It sounded secret. She said everything was under control, and that someone can be used to their advantage. I think she was meaning Gabby. She said that the couriers won’t be in touch till later, and something about a hut. Then she mentioned a buyer from Morocco and
whether contact had been made. And then she laughed.’

‘That sounds very strange,’ said the reporter, a look of doubt on her face.

‘Do you know where Derwent is?’

‘Derwent?’

‘I’m not sure but it could be the name of the place where the brooch is. Is it a city?’

‘I’m not sure. No, I don’t think so.’ The reporter frowned. ‘This is all very peculiar. We’re actually here to cover the fires, so we have to stick to that at the moment. Talk to the police about your missing friend and then get to the community centre.’

‘Time to move on, everyone,’ a man called, leaning out his car window. ‘This fire is moving fast.’

‘That girl’s going back inside,’ the reporter said as she finished packing up their gear.

‘Hannah!’ Ling cried, watching as Hannah rushed back into the library. The policewoman went after her. Mrs Hastings paused and then hurried in as well, Ling hot on her heels.

King was keen to gallop. All day he’d been in his paddock watching the truck coming and going, watching the other horses being put in the paddocks. The air smelt strange; everything was different. When Angus leaped on his back, King took off like he was on the racetrack. He swerved around the open gate, nearly unseating his rider.

‘Hang on, King.’ Angus leaned over the horse’s neck, stroking him firmly. ‘Save your energy. We’ll catch him.’ He steered the gelding up the driveway and onto the road.

In front of them, the young chestnut colt was galloping out of control. Angus could tell by the way its head was up and its tail was high that it was still frightened. Maybe the sound of the other horse behind it was making
things worse but Angus couldn’t help that. He kept thinking about his dad risking his life to save the horse.

At the bottom of the road was a T-intersection. To the left, the road twisted and turned back to the town of Teasdale. To the right, the road was gravel, and snaked its way towards Golden Ridge. Angus bit his lip and pushed King harder. If he could get the colt to turn left, the tangle of houses and properties and fences might slow it down. But if it turned right, it might disappear into the open country and then the bush.

King put on a burst of speed and slowly they gained on the colt. But they weren’t quick enough. It reached the intersection, veered violently to the right and galloped off in the direction of the hills—and the thick bush.

Swearing, Angus turned King to the right. The road was rougher and they had to slow down. Sweat was breaking out on the horse’s neck, and his coat felt hot and sticky under Angus’ legs. The heat was already unbearable, and they were getting hotter. Angus nearly pulled his horse up. What was he thinking? He was risking his own horse’s health for the sake of someone else’s untried racehorse.

All of a sudden, the young horse propped in the middle of the road. It reared, swerved again, and cantered off on the grassy verge. On the hot dirt road in front of King and Angus was a long brown snake, head up and ready to strike. The colt had scared it in its travels and now it was angry. Before they could stop, the horse and the boy were on it.

King did the best he could. He leaped high, jumping the snake like it was a large log. Angus crouched over his neck, watching the brown head as it reared then lashed out at King. Had the snake sunk its fangs into the horse’s lower leg? King landed heavily on the road and kept galloping. Angus gave a sob. If the snake had bitten the horse, the pounding of his blood would sweep the poison through King’s body in no time at all. Even if he stopped him right now, it would probably be too late. He tried anyway, hauling on the lead rope that he’d tied quickly to King’s headstall, but the horse didn’t slow. Instead King wrenched hard at the rope, ripping it out of Angus’ hands, causing it to unravel where Angus had tied it. Now the rope dangled down out of the boy’s reach.

The colt came back onto the road, galloping at full flight. King followed. Angus leaned as far
forwards as possible to try and grab the rope, but he couldn’t get it. All he could do was hang on and hope the horse slowed soon.

They were near the end of open farmland, where the fences disappeared and the bush began. It was thick bush too, that hadn’t been cleared since early settler days. A decade ago, the state government had declared it a regional park and had stopped woodcutting and any other destructive activities. The trees were thick and the scrubby shrubs made a coarse underlayer. Surely the colt would keep to the road.

It didn’t. Something made the young horse leave the road and follow a kangaroo track into the bush. Maybe it was the chance to run in the shade, away from the heat of the bare gravel road. Or maybe it thought it would be safer among the trees. Whatever the reason, it turned and King followed.

They seemed to go for ages, winding in and out of trees and rocks, making their way further and further up the hill. Angus lost any sense of where he was. Every time he tried to look up, twigs snapped on his face. He kept low on King’s neck and waited for the hill to get the better of the bolting animal.

Finally the track narrowed, and low-hanging branches swiped at the horses as they passed. At least it made the colt slow down. The young horse went quickly from a gallop to a fast trot and then at last, as a large branch blocked the track, to a walk. King slowed as well and Angus could grab the dangling rope. King didn’t protest as he was pulled to a stop, his flanks heaving. The young horse in front of him stopped too.

Angus slipped from King’s back. Branches scratched him as he jumped down, and his knee jarred when he landed on the ground. He was ferociously hot and desperately thirsty but the chance of finding any water seemed pretty remote in the dry, baking bush. Carefully, he ran his hand down each of King’s legs looking for puncture marks, but the gelding’s legs were clean. Angus rested his head on the big horse’s neck and sighed. ‘Lucky, King. That was really close.’

Now for the young colt. Angus draped King’s lead rope over the gelding’s neck, confident that he wouldn’t stray far, then approached the young colt. It shivered as he reached out a hand to rub along its neck but stayed still, letting Angus catch hold of its headstall.

‘So, here we are,’ whispered Angus to the horse. ‘In the middle of the bush, without any water, while a fire swirls in around us.’

The bush was quiet except for the sounds of cicadas. Heat rose from the ground and radiated from the hot bodies of the horses. But Angus was grateful for one thing: there wasn’t any smoke. The sky above them may have been hazy and yellow, yet he couldn’t smell anything that indicated the fire was close.

‘We need to get out of here.’ Angus turned to King and the horse pricked his ears at him. ‘Any idea where we are, King?’

The horse took a step towards him and Angus reached over to unclip the lead rope. He reclipped it on the young horse’s headstall and led it out into a small clearing. King followed and stood waiting patiently.

Angus thought hard. This area was unfamiliar to him. Sometimes he rode King over this way but they always kept to the tracks. He was pretty sure they’d never been this far up the hill. The bush was too thick to see where they were; all Angus saw when he looked around was more trees. They were well and truly lost.

But maybe they weren’t. Horses were meant to be good at finding their way home. Angus had
heard stories of bushmen lost in the high country letting their horses take the lead, and those same horses eventually making their way home with their riders safely on their backs. He looked over at King. Maybe his horse knew the way home.

There was only one way to find out. Keeping the young horse on the lead, Angus used a tree stump to climb onto King’s back. The horse started walking as soon as the boy was on, the colt following meekly behind. Angus didn’t say anything and was careful to keep his legs loose on King’s side so that the horse wasn’t being guided at all.

King kept following the hill upwards. Sometimes he was on an animal track but sometimes he left it to step directly through the bush. A couple of times they had to stop to untangle the lead rope from a branch but as soon as that was done, the big horse walked on. Angus didn’t make a sound, hoping desperately that King knew where he was heading. Going up the hill didn’t feel right to the boy but he had decided to trust the horse wherever he took them.

The heat got worse as they went. Both horses snorted frequently as they walked, shaking their
heads free of flies. With each footstep, dust rose, making Angus cough. Finding it hard to breathe through his nose, he kept his mouth open, and wondered how long they could continue without a drink.

Just when he thought he would have to stop King and turn him around—surely they couldn’t keep going up the hill?—the horse stopped himself. Angus looked up. Through the trees ahead, something glinted. Something brown. And wet. A dam!

Angus gave King a nudge with his calves and they trotted around the last trees and straight into the water. The cool, dark wet soaked through Angus’ jeans and he slid off King’s back and under the water. It was a dark dam, full of tannin from gum leaves, but Angus thought it tasted amazing. He came up out of the water like a cork, making King snort and the young colt jump. Angus just laughed. ‘It isn’t home, King, but it’s good enough for the moment!’

They spent nearly ten minutes in the water, Angus floating on his back until he was cold, the horses happy to stand belly-deep and drink. Gradually, the problem of getting home loomed again in his mind and Angus staggered out of the
dam and sat on the bank, rivers of water running out of his clothes.

That’s when he saw the hut. It was directly in front of the dam and blended in with the bush. Angus could tell, though, that it had been built fairly recently because a pile of cut-down branches was stacked behind it, the edges of the wood marked with chainsaw teeth. It wasn’t an early pioneer’s hut although it had been fashioned out of bark and logs. Best of all, a wide bush track led away from it, pointing the way down the hill to home.

Angus left the horses and ran around the edge of the dam. He made his way through a stand of gum trees and stood at the door of the hut. ‘Derwent’s Hut,’ he read out aloud.

And nearly died when he heard a voice.

‘Angus? Thank God you’re here!’