The Ford Raptor bounced along the potholed dirt road.
Outside the windows, gray-blue waves crashed against the rocks, churning up white foam. Seagulls circled low overhead, letting out piercing cries.
After about twenty minutes, the truck stopped in front of a solitary lighthouse.
Its walls were weathered, most of the white paint peeling away. A two-story wooden house stood beside it. Behind the house were several unused guest cabins built from logs.
A gray-haired old man crouched beneath the porch, mending a torn fishing net. At the sound of their arrival, he stood, still holding a bone needle.
"Dad!" Arthur pushed open the door, jumped out, and strode over.
"Arthur? Why have you brought guests home?" Thomas Curry looked at the strangers getting out of the truck and awkwardly wiped his hands on his apron.
"Tourists from the city. They want to experience fishing-village life." Arthur lowered his voice. "They paid a lot. Clean up those empty cabins out back and let them stay a few days."
Thomas shot his son a reproachful look for taking money so recklessly, but still stepped forward to welcome them warmly.
"Welcome to Amnesty Bay. I'm Thomas Curry." The old man smiled sincerely and pointed at the cabins behind the house. "Nobody usually stays in them, but they're clean. I'll fetch fresh sheets and bedding."
"Sorry for the trouble." Yang Ming nodded politely.
The rooms were indeed clean, with a faint scent of pine rising from the wooden floors. An endless expanse of ocean lay outside the windows. Opening them brought the sound of the waves into sharp relief.
Selene tossed her luggage onto the bed and stretched.
"Much better than those moldy basements in Gotham," she remarked.
Maggie excitedly ran to the window, her eyes shining as she gazed at the ocean view.