Sera and the men were absolutely mesmerized by what they were watching from the hallway window in front of them.
A gray seal torpedoed through the green-black water, sleek and curious as it leaped out of surface of the ocean. Then, it veered away when a shape bigger than it slid into view.
The knife-curve of a shark's dorsal fin cut a line before it was gone; a second later its pale belly flashed as it rolled on some private errand of its own.
Farther out, sea lions barked—a rough, foghorn sound bouncing strangely off glass and water—and hauled themselves onto a floating plywood raft that had once been a fence. They sat like fat old men, miserable and defiant, their whiskers slicked flat.
Between them, among them, the dead moved with their wrong, patient motions. In the water, they were not clumsy. They sculled, they drifted, they found the tower and traced it with open hands.
