Hope Echoes

by Shannon Curtis

  Hope Echoes

  Shannon Curtis

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Hope Echoes

  Shannon Curtis

  Blue lights in the red dust...

  Echo Springs on the edge of the outback – a town where everyone knows your name, and your business. But the wholesome country living and welcoming community aren’t what they used to be. Echo Springs has a dark underbelly, and it is seeping ever outward.

  Jacinta Buchanan understands stress. Between trying to keep the family farm going and convince her father that she’s the best (and only) option to take over permanently, she has a lot on her plate. So when one of the old mines on the property blows up, killing a local teenager, she can barely hold it together. But finding out that she’s a suspect and the cop sent to investigate her is her brother’s best friend is the absolute last straw.

  Country cop Mac Hudson is used to disappointment. He’s watched friends, classmates, townspeople he likes and respects cross the line time and time again, and it’s his job to dole out the consequences. But discovering that Jac Buchanan has a meth lab on her property is an unexpected blow, so when she hatches a plan to prove her innocence and draw out the real culprits, he agrees to go along. But there’s a darkness on Bull’s Run that runs deeper than they expect and a darkness in Echo Springs that stretches further than they can imagine. In their quest for the truth, Jacinta and Mac will have to risk the town they both love and the future they’re only beginning to imagine.

  About the Author

  SHANNON CURTIS has worked as a copywriter, business consultant, admin manager, customer service rep, logistics co-ordinator, dangerous goods handler, event planner, switch bitch and betting agent, and decided to try writing a story like those she loved to read when she found herself at home after the birth of her first child. Her books in both paranormal and romantic suspense genres have won awards nationally and internationally, judged by both readers and writers. Now she spends entirely too much time daydreaming about hunky heroes and malicious murders — for her books, of course! She loves reading, loves writing, and loves hearing from her readers, so visit her at www.shannoncurtis.com and say hi!

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my extended family in the bush for the inspiration and experiences that led to this story, as well as Leisl Leighton, Daniel de Lorne and TJ Hamilton for being a great bunch of brainstorming, entertaining and talented writers to work with!

  I’d also like to thank the team at Meth Lab Cleaners Australia, for the information and assistance they provided in the research for this novel. You guys are fantastic.

  The fictional town of Echo Springs has a neighbour in Bourke, another small town in north-west NSW. Bourke has been first in Australia in trialling a Justice Reinvestment Program, which brings the community together with service providers to find better partnerships in reducing offending and making the community safe. You can find out more about the Maranguka Justice Reinvestment Program, including ways to support it, at http://www.justreinvest.org.au/.

  This book is dedicated to all those farmers who are doing it tough, and who have to battle the banks as well as a changing environment and challenging political landscape. You have my respect, admiration, gratitude and awe.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing...

  Chapter One

  Jac Buchanan jolted at the dull roar that echoed across the paddocks. She dropped the clamp she was positioning on the pipes she’d just glued together, and swore. Ray, her kelpie cross, started trotting to and fro, staring off into the distance and barking a warning. Jac picked up the clamp and quickly set it on the pipes, then placed the connection gently into the trench.

  Heart pounding, she pushed her hat back to wipe the perspiration off her forehead, then lowered it against the glare of the sun. She stared into the distance. What the hell was that? Her gaze snagged on a plume of black smoke that trailed up over the ridge. Oh. Crap.

  She picked up her shovel and tossed it into the tray of her red ute, then ran up the rise to the base of the windmill she was repairing.

  She scanned the horizon, her eyes widening when she saw the flash of orange in the distance, followed by the muted kaboom. ‘Bloody hell.’ It looked like something was happening down at Dick.

  Ray barked excitedly and scampered along the ridge line. She whistled as she ran back to the ute. Within minutes she was bumping along the track that led to the far paddock gate. The ute shuddered as she rolled across the cattle grid, not slowing down at all. Tyres skidded on the track, kicking up a cloud of dust, red under the hot afternoon sun, as she drove across the paddocks, angling cross-country for the gates. Ray barked from the back, and she checked her mirror to make sure the dog was still in the tray. He was.

  She crossed the four outer paddocks, then shuddered along the dirt track in the direction of what now seemed to be a rising cloud of dark smoke. Otherwise the sky was clear, cloudless. She kept an eye out for any stray roos, braking hard when one bounded alongside her car for a few metres before cutting across the track.

  She shook her head grimly. Bloody roos. Fence-mangling, bumper-denting bloody roos.

  She crested a rise in the track, her jaw dropping when she saw what lay below. Pulling the ute to a shuddering stop, she grabbed the satellite phone from the car’s centre console, and ran. Bloody friggin’ hell.

  A white Audi was parked near Dick’s entrance. Jac’s frown deepened. The mine had been closed for years—long before she was born. Who the hell reopened it? Damn it. Smoke billowed out of the entrance, and flames licked along the wooden beams that supported the structure. She held up the phone and dialled Scott Nielsen, her station manager.

  ‘Jacinta, did you hear—’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. There’s a fire out here at Dick. I need you to bring the tanker, ASAP.’

  ‘Dick?’ Scott was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither do I, Scott. I have a car parked here and nobody with it, and Dick is going up in flames. Bring the tanker, I’ll call the firies.’ She disconnected the call, and then called Toby Grimshaw, the local fire inspector for the rural fire brigade and good friend to her father.

  ‘Grimshaw.’ The voice was rough, deep, as though the smoke of too many bushfires had given his throat a permanent husky tone, and she was so glad to hear it.

  ‘Toby, it’s Jac. We have a fire here at Bulls’ Run, on the south-west range. Dick’s mine entrance.’

  Bulls’ Run sheep and cattle station spread out over a number of old copper mines, and her grandfather had named them after the tunnels used in The Great Escape—Tom, Dick and Harry, with a George closer to home. Grandma got to the name the others, being Brandy, Sherry and good ol’ Ginny. Grandma’s wish to name them after the ladies’ Saturday evening sippers had been a running joke in the family, but the local community had adopted the names—when anyone remembered they existed.

  ‘Brushfire?’

  Jac hesitated, eyeing some of the bushes that were even now catching fire. ‘Some brush, but this—I don’t know what this is. Looks like an explosion of some sort inside the mine.’

  ‘Inside the mine?’

  Jac could understand his surprise. These mines hadn’t been used in over two generations. ‘Yep.�
��

  ‘Okay, I’ll get a unit out there.’

  ‘Toby—’ Jac bit her lip, shaking her head. ‘Toby, someone’s in there. I have a car parked here, and nobody in sight.’

  ‘Stay out, Jac. Those supports are old and rotting, and you’d be looking at a tunnel collapse at any time. Then we’d have to look for you and whoever else. Stay put until we get there—but call in the cops. We might need them.’

  Toby disconnected the call, not giving her the opportunity to argue. Jac held the phone to her forehead. God, this was awful. Someone was in there, possibly stuck, and she had no way of knowing who, where, or how many. She put a call in to the local police station, and caught Ben Fields, an old acquaintance, and quickly explained what was going on. He told her he’d organise assistance, but to stand clear and wait, then he hung up.

  Wait. Jac shook her head. It was a twenty-five minute drive just to the Bulls’ Run front gate, with another five minutes at a good clip to get near the house, and a ten- to fifteen-minute drive over a dirt track along the fence line to get to this point. Even if the cops and firies ignored all legal speed limits, they’d probably only shave off about fifteen minutes from the full trip. Whoever owned that car didn’t have another half-hour to wait for help to get to them. She approached the entrance, squinting through the smoke.

  ‘Hello? Anyone in there? Can you hear me?’

  She ducked, trying to get under the arching flames that were being caught by the soft breeze outside. Despite her repeated calls, nobody answered.

  She ran back to her ute and pulled out the shovel she’d used earlier that day. Ray was barking and whining, wanting to get in on the action, but she ordered him to stay. She didn’t want her dog running into the blaze.

  Jac hurried over to a small burning shrub and scooped up some dirt, shovelling it over the shrub to cover the flames. She made her way closer to the entrance, trying to kill each flame she encountered. Her eyes began to itch, and she coughed at the smoke. In moments, her eyes were blurry and it felt like razors were attacking her throat. She had to back away. Whatever was burning inside, it wasn’t ordinary smoke that was coming out. Black smoke. This wasn’t a bushfire. She shrugged out of her plaid shirt and tied it over her nose and mouth as an improvised mask, then did what she could to control the blaze from spreading. She slapped at the burning embers that drifted through the air to land on her arms, singlet top and jeans.

  Jac turned when she heard the engine of the approaching tanker over the roar of the flames. She saw Scott’s grim face through the window and waved him over.

  ‘I don’t know what’s burning down there,’ she yelled hoarsely, ‘but it doesn’t seem like your normal wood fire.’ Scott shrugged out of his shirt and did the same as Jac, tying it around his face as a mask before heading to the back of the tanker.

  Jac helped him unravel the hose. They moved in unison, dragging the hose out to the entrance of the tunnel. Scott braced himself, planting his feet shoulder width apart, and she ran back to the tanker to turn the red wheel.

  They’d run this drill a hundred times, despite Scott’s complaints that they knew what they had to do. As soon as she heard the water enter the hose, she ran up to help brace Scott against the force. Scott flicked the lever open, and water spewed from the outlet, spraying over the brush near the entrance. She didn’t know how long they stood there, but it seemed they were winning the battle against the spreading fire.

  ‘Try to get closer,’ Jac called out to him.

  Scott shook his head. ‘Are you crazy? We don’t know where the source is—this fire could have been burning for days.’

  ‘There are people still in there,’ she yelled back at him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his face shocked. He looked back at the fire, and she could feel his shoulders tense. Slowly, they crept forward, aiming the stream of water at the entrance of the tunnel.

  The ground shuddered, and a fireball rolled out of the entrance. Scott dropped the hose and turned, diving to the ground and taking Jac with him. She landed heavily as flames bucked and roiled over the top of them.

  In the distance, she heard the scream of the rural fire brigade sirens, battling for supremacy over the shriek of police sirens.

  ‘We have to get out of here, Jac,’ Scott yelled over the roar of the flames.

  Jac stared in horror at what was now a plume of fire blazing out of Dick’s entrance. Someone was down there. Bloody hell.

  A spray of water hit her in her back, a force that left her breathless, and she realised the hose was whipping around like a snake on crack. She rolled over to her feet and staggered to it. She dodged it briefly, then pounced, gritting her teeth as she wrestled with it.

  ‘Get your arse over here, Scott,’ she hollered, rolling with the hose.

  Scott swore loud in frustration, then pounced. Together, they regained control of the hose, each getting to their feet to train the water at the fire once more.

  The rural fire tanker pulled up, a cloud of dust billowing out before them. Jac sighed in relief when she saw the volunteers alight, all coated up. Most of the crew jumped into action, running around to the tank of water that looked at least double the size of the Bulls’ Run tanker. She saw Toby Grimshaw on the radio, barking orders back at command.

  She turned to look at the fire. It burned at least two storeys high, now.

  Yeah. They were going to need more trucks.

  Minutes later, the police arrived. She recognised Constable Smith, a guy who’d been a couple of years behind her at school, as he stopped to speak to the Toby, and from the looks of their expressions the conversation was serious.

  Smithy went back to the police car and leaned in through the window to snag the radio. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he bent his head, listening. He responded once more, then dropped the radio and jogged over to her.

  ‘We need you to step back, Jac,’ he told her, arms out.

  ‘Someone’s in there,’ she told him, using her chin to indicate the tunnel.

  He shook his head. ‘If they’re still alive, we’ll find them, but we need to stand clear. This looks chemical.’

  Jac frowned up at him. ‘What?’

  ‘That’s not a wood fire, Jac. We’ll start working on trying to get access, but this looks like a chemical fire, and until we figure out what kind of chemicals, we need you to stand clear.’

  ‘I’m shutting down the water,’ Scott yelled, then ran back to the tanker. In moments the weight and pull of the hose lightened, and she could consciously relax her arms and shoulders. Smithy ran to the back of the police car and opened the trunk, reaching in for some masks and yellow slickers. He ran back and offered her a mask. ‘Wear this, but stand back. When the paramedics get here, they’ll look you over.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she muttered to him, and he smiled.

  ‘Humour me.’

  She stood back, mask sitting awkwardly over her face, and she watched the rural brigade go into hazmat mode.

  More vehicles turned up, and flashing lights pulsed into the dimming sky. A car came jolting along the track, and her eyebrows rose as Hayden Terrance climbed out the car. She hadn’t seen her buddy for ages, but he didn’t even look in her direction, his attention solely focused on the burning tunnel.

  Leila Mayne was with him, her face drawn as she too tried to get toward the entrance. Jac called out to them, but her voice was muffled by the mask. She took a step forward, and Scott put his hand on her arm. She shot him a glare of frustration, then lifted the mask to call out to them. Hayden was now fighting with two of the cops, trying to get to the mine entrance despite the obvious fire hazard. She frowned. Why—?

  She heard the yells, could make out only one word. Brayden. Her blood chilled in her veins, and she glanced in horror at the inferno. Oh, god.

  She lifted the mask off her face, and took a step toward Hayden and called out to him, and then the ground shook. The mine entrance exploded, the force throwing her back, and then everything went blac
k.

  Chapter Two

  Mac Hudson braked, then got out of the car to open the gate. He drove over the cattle grid, then stopped the car again in order to get out and close the gate behind him. He didn’t want old man Buchanan to have a rupture over cows running loose. The man ran on a short fuse these days.

  He slowly drove up to the mine site, or what was left of it, the car rocking over the rough dirt track. He shook his head. He hadn’t been out to Bulls’ Run in years, not since his friend Jamie Buchanan left to serve in the army.

  The property was deceptive. The track that connected the homestead to the highway was well graded, and relatively smooth to drive on. Getting around the property was a different story. Sometimes the drive was little more than kangaroo or cow trails through the scrub. On this occasion, though, it was clear to see there’d been recent activity on the track.

  The car edged over the rise, and Mac braked. Bloody hell. The sun had yet to crest Echo Ridge in the distance, and the landscape still wore the purple haze of a dawn. It felt like another warm day on the horizon. He stared down at what remained of the mine entrance. The scrubby trees and bushes ended in a defined ring with a diameter of about twenty metres, which dipped about two metres below ground level, as though God had reached in and pulled a plug, and everything had subsided. There was a small, tapedoff opening in the ground. The yellow tape that had been staked around the site fluttered in the warm breeze. He could see the charred wooden supports that were strewn about, but the mouth of the mine was now gone, as though it had never been there.

  Mac gaped at the view. He’d heard the stories—from Leila, from the rural fire crew, and something dozy and slurred from Smithy as he recovered in hospital, but nothing quite prepared him for the reality of it.

  He could remember playing out here with Jamie. Remembered playing forts, cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers—hell, he even remembered playing bloody Robin Hood and his merry men, thanks to Jamie’s sister.