Sam loved the sea, always had. He supposed in another age he could have been a sailor, now it was really too late and too dangerous. It was the middle of spring and already getting uncomfortably hot in Key West. Almost past time to move north to his summer residence at Cape Cod, he figured. It was also a safer place to spend hurricane season than on the exposed southern tip of Florida. He gazed out on the beautiful ocean as The Pack barked and ran, playing in the surf. His dogs made him smile; he didn't want to think about where he would be without them. The little car was packed; they wouldn't go too far before walking would be necessary. Sam had tried several times to clear a path along the Seven Mile Bridge, but it was an impossible task. He imagined that span would be clogged with old cars until it collapsed from rust hundreds of years from now. At least the cars weren't filled with bodies. Most of the refugees had made it off of the bridge before dying...or jumped into the ocean.
