The Wild One

by Janet Gover

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Than what the hell are you doing shooting horses?’

  During the past few days Dan had asked himself the same question more times than he cared to count.

  ‘That’s park business … Miss?’

  ‘Quinn.’

  Dan blinked. His mind raced as he took in the photographer’s jacket and the expensive professional camera the woman in front of him was carrying. Surely this couldn’t be …

  ‘Miss Quinn. I’m Dan Mitchell.’ He thought about offering his hand for her to shake, but decided against it. Nothing about this woman suggested she was in the mood to be friendly, or even polite.

  ‘It’s just Quinn,’ she said absently, as if by habit before getting back to the matter at hand. ‘Why would a park ranger be shooting horses?’ she asked again.

  When she wasn’t angry and yelling, she had a voice as interesting as everything else about her. Low and strong. Sexy too, if he allowed himself to think about it. Which he wouldn’t.

  Dan cast a glance back down the gorge. The horses were long gone. He could forget about them for a while. Which meant he could turn his attention to the more pressing matter of Quinn.

  ‘This is park business, I’m afraid,’ he said, not really believing for an instant that she would let him get away with that.

  ‘It’s my business now.’

  ‘No, it’s not. But even if it was, I could point out that the brumbies are not native creatures. They are feral and they do a great deal of damage to the park. They are big, hard-hooved grazing animals in a place that can’t support them. They chop up the edges of the waterholes. They loosen the rocks and soil in the gullies and cause erosion. They overgraze the open plains. The National Parks and Wildlife Service is committed to preserving the native species and the wilderness here. That’s not something we can do if the brumbies continue to breed in the park.’

  Even to his own ears it sounded like he was reciting some official line out of a parks department policy statement. Which, of course, he was. He didn’t believe in what he was doing. The brumbies did damage the park, but that was no excuse for the orders he’d been given. There had to be some other reason behind the deadline he faced; a reason known only to the man who had given the order. It wasn’t the first time some faceless official had given him an order that left a bad taste in his mouth.

  ‘So you’re just going to shoot them?’ He could hear the contempt in her voice.

  ‘If you want to write to the Parks Minister, or take it up with your M.P, that would be your right. But in the meantime, I am just—’

  He stopped speaking. He had been about to say following orders. But that was no excuse for violence and cruelty. He’d fought that fight once before, in the dust of Iraq. He’d disobeyed his orders and his brothers-in-arms had paid dearly for that disobedience. He saw a small frown crease Quinn’s forehead. She could probably guess what he had not said but she could never understand what had stopped him from saying it.

  ‘I assume you have a vehicle parked nearby,’ he said.

  Quinn nodded.

  ‘It will be dark soon. There are campgrounds in the park. You need a camping permit if you want to stay. I can arrange that for you. If not …’

  She glared at him for a few seconds, and then turned on her heel. Dan watched her walk away. He could read the anger in the stiffness of her back and the clipped strides she took. She climbed back up the rock strewn slope. That was a tough climb. But not once did she pause for breath. He guessed it was her anger propelling her forward. But still, he was impressed.

  He had a feeling he hadn’t seen the last of her.

  His own vehicle was parked at the top of the plateau behind him, not all that far from the rock where he’d taken up his sniper’s position. He walked back to it, deep in thought. The drive back to the ranger station was so familiar he didn’t have to give it much conscious attention and before too long he was back at the place he called home.

  He walked to the overflowing bookshelf and pulled out a large hardbacked volume. He put it on the coffee table, where it fell open to a well-thumbed page. The photograph showed a waterfall plunging down a red rock cliff in a wild place not all that different from the gorge he’d just left. The sky in the photograph was impossibly blue. The water was so white it seemed to glow. He took a slow deep breath as he looked at the photograph and remembered the first time he’d opened this book.

  Six months out of the military. Eight months back from Iraq. He hadn’t been adjusting. It wasn’t just the nights that were hard to take, although they’d been the worst. The nights when a girl’s dark eyes haunted him and he woke sweating, hearing her screams. The days were pretty rough too, when he had to try to lead a normal life, among people who didn’t know what it was like to fear for your life every second of the day. Who didn’t know what it was like to have blood on your hands. Loud noises bothered him. Silence was equally hard to take. He hadn’t needed the doctors and counsellors to tell him what was wrong. He knew only too well.

  He had walked the streets of Sydney like a man lost, staring down at the pavement so he didn’t have to look at the faces of the people around him. His unorthodox discharge had separated him from his military brothers and the help he might have received there. The reasons behind that discharge separated him from everyone else. His family tried to understand, but they couldn’t. How could they? They had never stared down the barrel of a rifle and been ordered to destroy an innocent life. He was slowly being smothered by a world that no longer seemed to have a place for someone like him.

  Then one day, by chance, he’d found himself staring at a book in the window of a bookshop. It was propped open to show two glorious colour photographs. One photo was of a red rock gorge, with a narrow waterfall. The falling waters looked like a ghostly veil over the face of the cliff. At the base of the waterfall, the vegetation was dark green velvet. It was a beautiful image, and powerful. Something in that photograph spoke to Dan and before he really knew what he was doing, he was inside the shop, paying a ridiculous amount of money for a large glossy coffee table book even though his tiny flat had no coffee table. In fact, his tiny flat had very little to make it seem like a home, because it wasn’t a home. It was just the place where he ate and slept. He’d taken the book back to those empty rooms and stared at the photos for hours. That night, the nightmares had been just a little less violent. Just a little less painful. The next day he had sought out the National Parks department and applied for a job.

  He flicked the pages of the book on the coffee table. Something about these photographs had spoken to him. Had somehow reached into the darkest parts of his battered soul and lit just the smallest spark of light. They had led him to this place of sanctuary. Over the months, his nightmares had eased. The girl’s face still haunted him, but there were moments when he could almost forget what had happened that day in Iraq. Almost forget what he had done.

  He traced the name at the base of the photo with one finger. Quinn. There was no author photo in the book. It had never occurred to him that Quinn might be a woman. A beautiful woman with hair the colour of a Banksia flower and eyes that could warm a frosty morning. A crazy woman who would face down an armed man in the middle of nowhere, without a second thought, to save a wild horse.

  She had saved him once too, without knowing it, when her book led him here.

  Today she had saved him again, by sending the brumbies beyond the reach of his rifle. At least for the next couple of days. After that …

  It was too much to hope she might do it again.

  Chapter Five

  How did a man like that get a job as a park ranger? What sort of a park ranger shoots horses?

  Quinn was still running a full head of steam as she parked the Hummer outside the Coorah Creek Hotel. The drive back had been uneventful, if probably faster than was entirely legal. When Quinn was angry she didn’t pay much attention to things like the speed limit. In her head she re-ran the confrontation with Dan Mitchell
– again and again. Getting a little bit angrier each time.

  Shooting horses? That wasn’t what being a park ranger was all about. He should be preserving the wildlife, not killing it. Just because the brumbies weren’t native, that was no reason to slaughter them! And if Dan Mitchell thought she was just going to sit back and let him do it, he was very much mistaken.

  The bar was almost empty when she walked in. There was no sign of Trish Warren, for which Quinn was thankful. Not that she had anything against the publican’s wife; she just wasn’t in the mood for her chatter. She took a few minutes to fetch her laptop from her room then found a seat at one end of the bar. A man she hadn’t seen earlier approached.

  ‘You must be Quinn,’ he said. ‘The Warrens told me to expect you. They are out this evening. I’m Jack North, filling in as barman. What can I get you?’

  ‘A beer, thanks.’ Quinn pulled out her camera. In a few moments she had the camera and laptop connected and was downloading the day’s photos. Not that she had taken many. It was just something she trained herself to do. Every night she compiled that day’s shots. Most days there was nothing there to excite her interest. She was a professional photographer. Most of her shots were good. But good wasn’t enough. The sort of shots she was looking for were rare, but when they came …

  ‘Here you go. I’ll just put it on the room tab.’

  The beer was very cold.

  ‘The Warrens said you were out at Tyangi,’ Jack said.

  Did everyone in this town talk incessantly? Quinn made a non-committal noise of agreement.

  Jack took the hint and moved away to serve one of the other patrons.

  Sipping her beer, Quinn began flicking through the day’s shots. She had taken a few general views of the gorge before the brumbies appeared. There was nothing there to excite. She moved on to the shots of the wild horses. There weren’t many. There hadn’t been enough time. There were no special shots – but there were enough good shots to bring back the emotions she had experienced when she first saw the wild horses.

  Like most young girls, Quinn had gone through a pony phase. She’d read books about ponies and dreamed dreams about ponies. But growing up in an inner Brisbane suburb did not lend itself to pony ownership. When she was about thirteen, she was given the gift that changed her life. Her father gave her a small camera. Ponies were instantly forgotten in her wonder at this new toy.

  But today that girlish love of ponies had been stirred again – not by some child’s fantasy of a well-groomed, ribbon-winning pet, but by horses that were truly wild creatures. Something about them had moved her. Despite their unkempt manes and dusty coats, they were beautiful in their own way. Slowly she flicked through the photos. There was a shot of a mare, bending her head to gently touch her foal. Another of a young colt, hovering on the edge of the herd like a teenager seeking approval. She clicked to the next shot. She had captured the stallion close up. His broad strong head with its dramatic white blaze was quite spectacular. He looked arrogant and proud. She liked that. What she hadn’t liked was the fear that showed in their body language and faces as they made their way carefully towards the water. They’d been hesitant and wary. Wild creatures shouldn’t be afraid. They should own the wilderness they were a part of. Quinn now knew the source of their fear.

  She clicked the next shot onto her laptop screen as her anger flared again.

  The man’s face was hidden in the shadow cast by his broad-brimmed hat. He was crouched, half hidden behind a dark red chunk of sandstone. The rock was almost the colour of dried blood. While the man was just a dark silhouette, the rifle in his hands was not. The barrel of the gun was as clear as the threat it represented and it was pointed down into the gorge, where the horses were gathered just looking for something to drink. Quinn felt her anger flare anew as she looked at the photo.

  She wasn’t going to let that man shoot those magnificent horses.

  ‘Can I get you another?’ The barman was back. ‘Are you looking to eat?’

  ‘Is Ellen cooking?’ a voice called from the other end of the bar.

  ‘Yep,’ Jack answered. ‘More of her beef bourguignon.’

  ‘I’ll have some of that,’ another man chimed in quickly.

  ‘There’s plenty to go around,’ Jack replied. He leaned forward to get a clearer view of Quinn’s laptop screen.

  ‘Is that Dan Mitchell?’

  ‘Yes.’ Quinn didn’t even try to keep the disgust out of her voice.

  ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s shooting the brumbies – or, at least, he was going to but I disturbed him.’

  ‘He was afraid that was going to happen,’ Jack said.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Sure I do. Around here, everyone knows everyone.’ Jack grinned. ‘He’s relatively new. Only been here for three years. He’s a good man. I helped him pull an injured girl out of the Tyangi caves last year. He loves that park. Works really hard to keep it safe. We haven’t had any big bushfires out there since he took over. He keeps a pretty close eye on the tourists. Not just to keep them safe, but also to make sure they don’t do any damage.’

  ‘Oh.’ After what she’d seen today, Quinn had trouble believing such a glowing reference.

  ‘Yeah. He’s known for a while that he has to do something about the horses. They’re really a problem. No predators, you see. They just breed unchecked. When the population gets too big, they do a tremendous amount of damage to the park. But the horses suffer too. They starve to death in the dry years. The parks department is looking for an easy way out. Shooting is the quickest and cheapest way of dealing with it. Tyangi is a small park – not one of the famous ones. There aren’t many horses there. Dan was hoping they might just let it be. Looks like he was wrong.’

  Quinn didn’t respond. Dan Mitchell might have hoped he wouldn’t be ordered to shoot the horses, but from what she’d seen, he had been. But that didn’t mean he had to do it. Nor did it mean she had to sit by and watch.

  ‘So, do you want some of the beef?’ Jack asked. ‘If you do, tell me now. When Ellen cooks the food vanishes pretty fast.’

  It was served pretty fast too. Just a few minutes later a small blonde woman appeared carry a steaming plate. As she walked in, Jack’s face lit up and his smile grew even broader. Ellen smiled back. Quinn noticed the woman’s shape. She was obviously pregnant. Very pregnant. Maybe that explained the glow on her face. A glow that was reflected in Jack’s eyes.

  Quinn felt a familiar cold shaft of pain. The memories were never very far away. She closed her eyes for a second, forcing those memories back into the tiny locked corner of her brain where they didn’t hurt very much. She tried to avoid looking at anyone as she ate.

  The food was good – much better than she had expected in a small outback pub. She drank another beer and began to focus on the job at hand. Making full use of the Wi-Fi the publican had been so proud of, she started with the simplest of Google searches that led her on and on. She learned a lot about brumbies and national parks and why the two did not get along. And she started thinking.

  Close to ten o’clock, Jack indicated that it was almost time to close the bar. Quinn suddenly realised that her day had been very long. She desperately wanted a hot shower. But she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She walked out to her Hummer. The back of the vehicle was lined with custom-built polished wood lockers, and the boxes that filled every bit of space were of the same make. It was an efficient and clever use of every available square centimetre of space. Quinn hadn’t built the interior. She’d bought it like this from another photographer, but it suited her perfectly. Those boxes and lockers contained everything she needed, from a camp stove to knitting needles. She opened one of them to remove some clothes and her wash bag. From another she took a cloth bag, from which dangled a length of soft yellow wool. Her fingers passed briefly over a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper in the same locker, before she locked the car again and headed up to her room.

  The hot shower
was as good as she had hoped. She slipped into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, and opened the door onto the wide veranda. The night air slowly seeped into the room, bringing with it the night sounds of the outback. She could hear the ticking of the tin roof cooling after the day’s heat, and in the background the cicada song, waxing and waning as more insects joined the nightly chorus. What she did not hear was the sound of traffic. Or other people. She liked the peace and quiet.

  Sleep was going to elude her. There were too many thoughts racing through her mind. She opened the bag she had retrieved from the car and removed needles and a ball of pale yellow yarn. She ran her eyes over the small garment slowly taking shape, and settled herself into a chair.

  The sound of the clicking needles floated out into the night.

  Chapter Six

  Dan was about to walk out the door, when the ringing of the phone stopped him. He turned back to answer it.

  ‘Tyangi Crossing ranger station.’

  ‘Is that Dan Mitchell?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘This is Thomas Lawson.’

  Dan’s heart sank. He recognised the name. It had been at the bottom of the e-mail that had launched this new nightmare. If only he had left a few minutes earlier.

  ‘Hello, superintendent.’

  ‘I’m calling because you have not replied to my latest e-mail. About the brumbies. I want to know what’s going on.’

  Dan’s mind raced, looking for a suitable reply.

  ‘I’ve been working on it, sir.’ He sounded like a raw cadet trying to make excuses to a superior officer.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I have found where the brumbies go to water. I was there last night, but I was interrupted by a park visitor.’ That wasn’t a lie.

  ‘Be careful. We want to avoid any bad publicity. You have my authority to close the park, if necessary, for a day or two. Just get the job done.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You have a deadline, Mitchell. This has to be dealt with before the Minister’s visit at the end of month. He needs to announce that the park is free of feral animals. It’s an important part of his re-election campaign.’