About five miles out of town, the lights and sounds had faded and the darkness that crept around you was thick, like a paste.

You weren't necessarily a city kid, but city enough that there were always lights on.

The power shortages had bled the suburbs dry in the darkness was so absolute it felt like

a physical, immovable object.

Everyone was silent while you marched through the abandoned streets.

Contrary to what the movies had prepared you for, there weren't abandoned cars in the street

or charred out cars on the side of the road.

Like you, folks out this way waited for things to get better.

They kept just surviving, not doing anything drastic or wild, just keep going until things

improved.

And they never did.

The salt spray in the distance hit your nose.

You remember in the summer, if the wind blew the right way, you'd pick up the ocean breeze.

The city was on an inlet, a former shipping port,

but the sandy beaches had been left alone

because they flooded quickly and foundations never held for very long.

The beach belonged to the fishermen, and that's where you were headed.

If you're not from old fishing communities,

you'd think that fishing season ends in the winter,

but it doesn't.

The fishing season changes.

Pollock and cod, if the cod hadn't been driven completely away by overfishing and climate

...