Ship, the fifth. 

I climb a little dune. 

And there it is. 

My flashlight reveals torn sails and rotten wood. The moon hangs above, but not doing its job. In fact, it seems to be darker here than five yards back. 

The smell of the ocean drifts by again and I hear waves.

The desert wind blows steady. 

The singing stops and I see shadows moving along the ship wreck. 

It’s massive. It looks like a ship that would have carried stolen people to a new world or an army to an enemy country. 

The wind picks up, it’s cooler now. Mist hits my face. 

The singing starts again, this time behind me. This time close. 

Slowly I turn, letting the flashlight guide me. 

I see her. 

The teenage girl, without shoes, sitting on a rock singing and playing with the cops service weapon. 

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