“Hey, boy.” Dingo? Hyena? What?

Without moving his eyes he found and zipped opened his pack. Using both hands, he groped for and found the opened foil packet. He broke a sliver off the bar and slowly produced it, extending it to arm’s length. Eyeing it and him suspiciously, the dog shifted forward, straining, smelling – and salivating.

“Hungry, fellah?” David shook the morsel slightly.

The scavenger backed up stiffly, growling, but kept its nose up.

“Okay, suit yourself – crunchy it is.” He tossed it between its paws, startling the creature. It recovered quickly and snuffled noisily, roiling the sand around it. Overcome, it snatched it up.

David folded his arms around his knees. This is going to be good.

The animal worked the piece herky-jerky at the side of his jaw until it began to expand and liquefy. Its eyes widened and it alternated chewing and gulping to stay even, hacking as it threatened to overwhelm it. Finally, relieved, it choked the last bit down and wiped all the viscous goo from its teeth and dewlaps with its tongue. David saw satisfaction in its relaxing face – maybe even a fleeting, indifferent smile.

David removed the packet, pushed himself to a knee and held it out, waving it back and forth slowly. Straining, the mongrel pushed its twitching nose toward it, never letting its eyes leave David’s. It snatched it away and, tail down, seemed to acknowledge David’s generosity before it raced away and crested the slight dune up the beach to their right. David gave brief chase until the dog disappeared into a group of squat, whitewashed buildings.

So much for companionship. He stretched and drew in a deep breath – realizing only then how sweetly the air met his lungs. He opened his eyes wide and they filled with clear, brilliant blue. Pure and clear – good sign. His reconnaissance was interrupted by the memory of Rehab’s injunction. Right – helmet on. He trotted back to his belongings and yanked the headgear on, pressing the buttons. It snugged itself gently to his head. Though mirror-coated outside, the visor was transparent through his entire visual field. He cocked his head toward the surf; the earpieces compromised his hearing slightly. Much less than the old Walkman. David confirmed north against the sun’s position and shouldered his pack. Instinct told him to hug the coast, so he followed the tide line until he was forced northeast by a small bay, sheltered behind a jetty. He encountered a rail line that he followed around the water until he reached a platoon of industrial buildings fronted to the west by foresaken wharves. Choosing a paved route sheltered by the buildings – Wharf Drive; very helpful – he maintained a quick pace until the street opened up and cut left. Hugging the last structure at its northeast corner, he checked for any sign of activity and continued. Inland ahead was a decayed beachfront community – dead vegetation, no movement or sound. He made a beeline in, stopping at the first intersection.

“Hello!” He cupped his hands. “HeeelllOOOO!”

Echoes. He pounded his fists on his hips. Where the fuck IS everybody? ‘Hide in Plain Sight.’ Why?

David took Wharf Drive until it ended at the beach and turned northwest again. Another 1,000 feet and he was under a pier that bore no decipherable signage. Dead ahead was what he guessed used to be a park, judging by the remaining quadrants of asphalt, moribund palms, and grayed-out lifeguard tower. He climbed up. Doffing his helmet, he stood, turned inland, and began an east-to-west scan through his binoculars. He found nothing familiar, other than mute delapidation, until he looked due west, where he just made out three canted stacks above a distant, gleaming superstructure.

Queen Mary? Goddamn – I’m almost home!

David clambered down and sprinted northeast to find the closest Pacific Coast Highway bridge.

He figured he’d covered the five-plus miles from what had to be Seal Beach, around Queensland Bay to Long Beach Harbor, in less than two hours. All along the way, it was the same story. From the tony waterfront properties and marinas of Alamitos Bay and Naples to Rainbow Harbor, everything was comatose. A few once-proud private vessels still lay at anchor, mostly swamped or sunk, masts and keels jutting out of the water at odd angles. Oddly, he’d seen no automobiles or light trucks anywhere. The skyline and infrastructure of the city abutting the Harbor appeared less distressed. but just as lifeless. Nothing had stirred.

David made his way across the remains of Shoreline Aquatic Park to the water, to scout the industrial peninsula where the great lady was permanently berthed. She appeared perfectly maintained and there was movement on the ground around her. Double-articulated tour buses moved toward her side from Queens Highway. His heart leapt. People! Through his glasses he traced them coming and going, directly from I-710 south down onto South Scenic Harbor Drive and back again on Queens Highway South. Once he’d waited long enough to see that none of the inbound buses used Queen’s Way Bridge, he estimated that the closest he’d be to a passenger’s eyes before getting off the bridge at the other end would be about 500 feet. He swung his optics back to the lot and watched until all the vehicles he could see were emptied and parked, or not taking on passengers. He covered the 350 yards to the other side in a mad duck-walk, once again grateful for his bodily upgrade. His eyes on the Highway, he straddled the rail at the base of the ramp, jumped, and rolled into the scrub at its base. He checked, darted across Queensway Drive, and followed the shoreline past a defunct resort condominium and marina complex.

It was about a half-mile before he could drop into a small field and low-crawl through two rows of mature trees, until he reached the west end of the ship’s parking lot. David took a draught of the amber liquid and settled himself to spy.