Death Echo

edge of the upper aft deck, waited until the dinghy was tethered, and asked, “You want to take it off the lifting tackle now?”
    â€œYes. Give me a foot of line.”
    The lifting arm spit out a bit of steel cable, Mac unhooked the tackle from three rings on the dinghy, and told Emma to bring it up.
    â€œSlow!” he said, ducking the swinging, heavy snap rings at the end of the lifting tackle.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œNo problem. When the cable is in, unhook the tackle and stow it in the box to your left. Then—real carefully—pull the controller plug out of its socket and stow the controller on top of the straps for now.”
    Emma struggled a bit with the trio of straps and the heavy snap ring on the lift arm, but got everything put away as Mac wanted.
    â€œReady,” she said.
    â€œPut on something with long sleeves and legs. Gloves, if you have some. We’ve got some brush to cut before we’re done.”
    She looked over the side. Mac was loading an ax, a pruning saw, a big reel of green netting, and a bunch of spare netting into the dinghy.
    â€œNow what?” she asked.
    â€œWe back Blackbird in there.”
    He pointed over his shoulder at a small indentation in the shoreline close to where they had anchored. The little “dog hole” was nearly concealed by the buffer of trees and brush that arched out over it like a lanai.
    â€œIt won’t fit,” she said flatly.
    â€œLike I said last night, trust me.”
    She shut up.
    For a minute.
    â€œIs that hole deep enough?” she asked.
    Mac’s laughter floated up.
    â€œMacKenzie, get your mind out of your pants!”
    â€œDon’t worry, babe. I can multitask. The water next to the rock face is thirty feet deep. More than enough ‘hole.’”
    â€œWhatever you say, Captain Babe.”
    â€œChange clothes, then come down here and hold the dinghy while I back Blackbird into the hole.”
    Emma heard the big engines fire up while she pulled on long pants and a long-sleeved T. By the time she stepped out onto thedeck, Mac had the pod control in his hand and was heading for the bow. He worked the foot pedal to ease out anchor chain and backed Blackbird with the pod control at the same time.
    He wasn’t kidding about multitasking, she thought.
    â€œBring the dinghy forward as I back us in,” he said, without looking away from the stern of Blackbird.
    â€œAye, aye, sir.”
    And she meant it. No sarcasm, no joke. The man was damn good with a boat.
    She dragged the dinghy alongside Blackbird in the water until she was at the bow. “This is as far as the dinghy goes.”
    â€œGood. I’m backing in.”
    Mac touched the throttle, let off, touched, let off, until Blackbird slowly, carefully, backed into its rocky berth. Tree limbs, saplings, and springy, low-growing brush gave way, then flowed back over the boat like water. When the swim step was about ten feet from shore, he put the pod controls in neutral and dumped a hundred feet of anchor chain down on the bottom to hold the boat.
    Then he waited.
    â€œIt’s a jungle up here,” Emma said, looking at the enfolding vegetation. “Tell me nothing is poisonous.”
    â€œNothing is poisonous,” Mac repeated dutifully.
    She wasn’t reassured.
    â€œI’m going to put out a stern tie,” Mac said. “Bring the dinghy back here.”
    Emma started to ask what a stern tie was, then shut up and brought the dinghy back. She watched while he put a reel of line on the stern rail, pulled the dinghy around to the swim step, grabbed the line, and stepped aboard the dinghy. A shove had it moving to the end of its long tether, which got Mac ashore.
    He scrambled up the steep, rocky rise only until he found a good boulder to pull the line around. Then he brought the free end back to one of Blackbird’ s stern cleats and tied off the reel end of the lineon the opposite stern cleat. When that was done, he ran midship lines to nearby trees, tied off, and called it good.
    Wind rushed and sighed and combed the trees. Pushed at the boat. Pushed harder, from a different direction.
    Blackbird didn’t wander.
    â€œI wouldn’t recommend trying this on your own,” Mac said finally. “This is an emergency kind of setup.”
    â€œIs this an emergency?”
    â€œYeah. I’m fed to the teeth with being a mushroom.”
    â€œI’m right there in the dark,