They washed ashore. On the Seas of Time as it were. Lost from after the Great War, and the Greater War, after that. Some fled. Some sought shelter. Some ran from persecution. Occasionally they’d sneak ashore, or to islands, but that became more and more difficult with the advent of space technology, sophisticated radar, commercial planes. It became harder to hide who they were. When they came from.
Some would stay frozen in time, as long as they could. Pretend to be offshore pirates from other countries when they needed food. Dive again with fresh blood lifted or bought from cruise ships. Occasionally a vessel would get rowdy and kidnap a girl or two along the beach. ‘Presumed dead. Rip Current. RIP,’ the headlines always read.