12
Trudy parked where the pavement ended, looking out over miles of gray, sandy beach. Bruce’s motorcycle sat resting on its stand; beads of rainwater covered the purple gas tank and dripped off the chrome pipes that ran down the side of the massive bike. She could see that the waves across the horizon were light now, but the sky boiled with alternating light and dark clouds, as if an unseen war was going on in the sky.
The town had buried a yellow, diamond-shaped sign on a steel post in the brown earth where the pavement ended. The sign screamed “Warning!” in large, block letters with a couple of small-font paragraphs beneath that she couldn’t quite read. Probably some s**t about watch out for high surf. A little late for Sharon.
Opening the car door, she was immediately swamped by the
