"We should go to Georgia," Jack suggests. Recommends. States, even. He doesn't need a particular reason for wanting it; he's making a choice. "I want to see it."

He keeps his eyes on the road, and tries to keep his mind on his ongoing wrestling match with the steering. But his thoughts are already topside.

He pulls at the rudders that will tip them onto an upward course.

Below, near the seabed, something starts to move in their direction. Maybe a squid, maybe a fish.

It begins to pick up speed.