Death Echo

She unwrapped the sandwich, used it to hold down the long hairs, and set the foil in the sink. Then she went head-down in the trash. Metal clashed as she shook the container. She found several cans that were fairly round. Apparently one of the cousins didn’t need to exercise his manhood by crushing beer cans.
    Her belly pack yielded dental floss. The med kit had some thin tape.
    She attacked a beer can with the wicked, serrated edge of Mac’s knife, sawing off the top.
    â€œYou’ll ruin the blade,” Mac said.
    â€œBetter the blade than your left nut.”
    He opened his mouth, then decided to shut up. It was hard to disagree with her on that one.
    Mac concentrated on getting Blackbird into position to use the big ship as a radar shield. It was making good speed. Almost too good. The oddly laden yacht would be working hard to get into place and vanish into its radar shadow. But it had to be done. The closer they got to the populated southern portions of Vancouver Island, the more likely an encounter with Canadian Coasties became.
    Especially if Lovich and Amanar were too angry or stupid to take the out Emma had given them.
    Despite the boat’s roller-coaster ride, Emma cut herself only twice—once on the ragged edge of the can, once on Mac’s knife. Neither cut interfered with her work. Nor did the relentless throb of her headache. As she finished each piece, she put it in the galley sink for safekeeping.
    By the time she was ready to assemble her experiment, the sink held two one-inch squares of foil with a hole in the center, a length of dental floss, and the butchered beer can. Carefully she cut and laid out thin strips of tape from the med kit.
    Now came the finicky, time-eating part.
    She picked up a hair from beneath the sandwich and went to work. The motion of the boat didn’t make her job any easier. Neither did the pounding in her head that made her want to close her eyes. But she finally managed to tie a knot, then two, then two more. With grim intensity, she concentrated on assembling the unlikely device.
    Twice she had to start over.
    â€œYes!” she said as the last bit of tape finally went on.
    Mac glanced over and didn’t see a reason for her cheer. Unless half of a beer can was something to howl over. Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking straight. His head felt like it belonged to someone else.
    I should put the steering on the joystick.
    Oh, yeah. Real bright, Mac told himself. You know the joystick so well, you’ll pitch-pole us first chance you get.
    And he was getting the chance about every five seconds.
    He felt reality begin to slide away from him. Deliberately he rapped his cast against the wheel. Not too hard. Just hard enough for the pain to clear his head. The wake-up trick wouldn’t work forever, but he didn’t need forever. Just long enough to get Blackbird home.
    Mac realized Emma had been calling his name. “What?”
    She held up the half of the beer can she had worked on. He squinted, blinked, and saw that she had used Temuri’s hair to tie two squares of tinfoil to the strand of dental floss she had stretched over the open end of the can.
    â€œWhat…is that?” he managed.
    â€œA backcountry Geiger counter.”
    â€œOne of us is crazy.”
    â€œWait,” she said.
    Quickly she rubbed Temuri’s comb over the cloth on her leg, then touched each foil square. The pieces of foil jumped apart and dangled separately on nearly invisible tethers of human hair.
    â€œStatic electricity,” Emma explained. “If we introduce a source of radiation, the squares will lose their charge and fall back together.”
    He stared at her in confusion.
    â€œDo you think I went through Temuri’s pocket and yanked some hair for kicks and giggles?” she asked. “We had a field course in nuclear physics at the Farm. A senior scientist from Oak Ridge taught us how to make a radiation counter. I never really thought much about it again until I saw that sandwich.”
    Mac shook his head hard, trying to clear it. For a few moments the world came back into something like focus.
    â€œWe can look for radiation…with tinfoil, hair, and a comb?” he asked.
    â€œDon’t forget the floss and tape.”
    â€œJudas H. Priest.”
    Emma ignored him, put on the ear protectors, and opened the hatch. She fell as much as used the steps to get down, but landed on her feet, head ringing like a