“What the hell is it?” I asked, getting out, then hurried to help her as she shouldered her rifle and gripped the thing by a fin.
“Seriously?” she asked. The sand loosened and slid from its hull as we pulled the object upright. “It’s a Seabreacher.” She stood back and dusted her hands. “Sort of a jet ski, only enclosed. It—people use it to dive under the water ... then breach the surface, like a dolphin.”
I stood and looked at it—at the Seabreacher. “Okay. Great. And this helps us—”
“Don’t be obtuse.” She moved forward and tried the hatch handle, which turned—then opened the cockpit, slowly. “Seats two. Might even be able to slip in a third. Knew a guy before the Flashback, said he could pilot his all the way to Miami. That’s what I meant by, ‘Don’t be obtuse.’ It means we’re not stuck
