by Michelle Ann King
Jana found the body--stumbled across it, literally--on the beach, sticking out of the grey sand like a sculpture. Or an art installation, like the ones they used to have in the streets and parks back when this was still part of civilization. Something commemorative, or symbolic, or just beautiful.
The body wasn't beautiful. Although there could have been an argument for commemorative. Somebody died there, after all. And that wasn't an everyday occurrence. Not any more.
"What were you doing here?" the guard asked her.
"Nothing. Just walking."
His eyes narrowed into a look of suspicion and clear disbelief. People didn't "just walk" anywhere these days, especially not along the shores of the spawning area. The babies were always born hungry.