������Brushing her hand across her eyes, she stood up. The wind tugged at her hair, whipping the long blond strands about her face. Her blue eyes were grey today. Her gaze swept across the beach, littered with logs.

������The tide was turning, heading out. The water was a flat, cold, slate grey reflecting a sunless sky. The dawn air sent a chill down her spine. The water sloshed against her black rubber boots. They sucked out of the muddy sand as she turned to head for the jeep.

������The jugs of murky water samples were heavy, banging against her legs. Thump, thump, thump, the pails banged. Her shoulders drooped and she staggered under the weight.

������She started to climb the winding path from the littered beach up through the bushes to the car park up top. She stopped and turned, looking for her dog. There was only one set of footprints in the sand. There was no dog. The dog was gone, hit by a car last week and killed.

������The car park up top was rarely used this time of year. The March winds tore at her coat. She twisted the key in the lock, the door creaked open on protesting hinges. The old, blue jeep had seen better days. She heaved the heavy jugs of murky water up through the air in an arc to land with a heavy thunk on the floor of the passenger seat. It used to be the dog's seat. It was still covered with strands of the dog's long, silky hair. It still smelled like wet dog.

������She climbed up into the driver's seat, pulling the protesting door shut. The engine sputtered, growled and rolled over into a choked roar. Blue smoke spilled from the rusty tail pipes, caked with brown mud. She shoved in the clutch, revved the tired v-eight and backed out of the car park on the hill into the winding turn of the road. The murky water in the jugs went slosh, slosh, slosh.

������The truck ground its gears down, coming around the winding turn of the road. There was no time to stop. The momentum carried the truck and the old jeep, joined as one across the road to the edge. The truck stopped. The jeep rolled over the edge. The murky water in the jugs lay upside down in the jeep, murkier than before.

������She unfurled her hand, reaching out. She crawled out of the bent jeep, twisted on its side in the bushes; bent like a discarded tin can. She stumbled down the path towards beach, her boots following the path.

������The ebbing tide left the cold sand wet. The wind was insistently tugging her hair across her face. For a moment she saw the dog in front of her. The dog turned and walked ahead a few paces. She looked down. There were fresh large footprints, round and firm, in the wet hard sand in front of her.