One by one the others followed, vanishing into the blur of green water beyond the barrier, each disappearing fin sinking into me a little more.
Final.
Because it undeniably—irreversibly—was.
When the last dorsal fin slipped beneath the surface and into the open sea, Callan lowered the lever. The gate slid shut with a deep metallic thud.
The tank stretched out before us, enormous and empty.
Neither of us spoke.
Callan exhaled.
“Well,” he whispered. “That’s done.”
I swallowed against the knot in my throat.
“Yeah.”
Done.
We walked back, our footsteps echoing louder than they should have through the building.
Frank remained; he drifted through the massive central tank that ran the full height of the Aquarium, the tall column of water stretching from the bottom level up through the spiral walkways. Slow. That ancient, unhurried way he had of moving through the world, like time answered to him and not the other way around.
Callan rested his arms on the railing, watching him glide through the dim water below.
“If things get bad,” he said after a moment, “we’ll release him too.”
I looked down at the enormous animal circling beneath us. Frank had lived in captivity a long time—maybe too long.
But even so, his chances stood better in the ocean than trapped here once the food ran out. The world changed, and people didn’t build aquariums to last through the end of it.
Frank turned gracefully in the water, light catching along his broad back before he disappeared again into the deeper shadows.
Callan pushed off the railing.
“Come on. We should keep working.”
I took one last look at the tank.
At the shape drifting somewhere down in that quiet dark, I turned and followed Callan, carrying with me the steady, certain knowledge that eventually—
Frank would go home too.
* * *
That night we climbed the ladder to the roof like we had every evening since we first contacted the fishing boat—our new routine.
The sun was sinking low over the ocean as the wind pushed a cold breeze across the rooftop. Callan crouched beside the marine radio, turning the knobs while I stood near the edge of the building, watching the dark water stretch past the marina and into nothing.
Every night we called, and every night the SS Mariner answered.
Callan keyed the mic.
“This is Bay City Aquarium calling SS Mariner. Come back.”
Static crackled through the speaker.