As they rounded the point, heading towards the huge maze of wooden piers that made up the marina, they saw red-and-blue pinpricks of ambulance lights and police cars, far in the distance, down on the northern beach.

‘What’s gone on there?’ called Ned over the sound of the engine.

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ said Ahab.

Shacktown residents were notorious gossips, and even this early the marina was stirring.

Ned eased them into their berth, and Ahab left him to moor the boat, jumping onto the slick timber pier, catch bag in hand.

He approached a huddle of fishermen who were talking among themselves, dressed in thick waterproof gear.

‘Ho!’ called Ahab. ‘A no-go today, boys! Black Wind’s on its way . . .’

‘Ahab!’ said one of the men, as the others broke apart. ‘Have you heard?’

‘What’s happened?’

‘They found Forest. Forest Dempsey!’

Ahab dropped the catch bag.

The fishermen edged away from the look in his eyes.

CHAPTER 2

MACKEREL

Sucking on his vape, Mackerel Dempsey stood far away from the entrance to Shacktown Police Station, as was polite. The grape flavour of the vapour filled his mouth and burned his throat, tasting like Nerds lollies. The cloud hovered in front of him before slowly dissipating in the faintly menacing breeze. The station had been renovated to seem friendly and inviting, etchings of seabirds swirling along the windows to make tourists feel safe.

An early-morning tour bus rumbled by, a red double-decker, the top open to the elements. It was full of wide-brimmed hats and cameras. A sunburned woman waved at Mack, cheerful. The side of the bus read: SEE TASMANIA? SEA TASMANIA.

He waved back and took another puff. He always put off entering the cop station as long as he could.

A narrow isthmus of land, Eaglehawk Neck was 50 kilometres east of Hobart and halfway down the Tasman Peninsula. Swamping that land, engulfing it like umbrellas on a crowded beach, was Shacktown. The area offered stunning views, unique geology, the tallest sea cliffs in Australia and some of the largest sea caves ever explored – and plenty that were unexplored. There were green parks and white beaches, shops and cafés, danger and folklore. Shacktown had something for everyone. Worth the drive.

The Shacktown locals were a large part of the appeal, their attitude towards tourists one of fondness. They opened their homes as Airbnbs without qualms, invited strangers on the beach back to the cafés for lunch, forced travellers to sign their guestbooks, or, if they didn’t have them handy, gave out their address and insisted on postcards from their next destination or a Facebook friend request.