Putting on his windbreaker, John stormed onto the porch of the stone ruins they and Mary affectionately called the `Temporary Shelter`, giving a swift kick to the sweetly dozing dog.
With a yelp, the dog darted into its kennel, and John was already at the lake shore — leaning over the water, inspecting the murky surface. He hadn`t come here this early in a long time — since he had stopped fishing.
The lake teemed with new species that had invaded the ecosystem a few years ago, after the deployment of massive underwater life-restoration devices. Once, while cleaning the catch, Mary had nearly fallen victim to a parasite living inside a fish. It wrapped its tentacles around her throat, strangling her, until John severed its head.
His father, a fisherman like his grandfather, called this broth the `Lake of Life.` John smirked. `Soon the tide...` he thought, and habitually fiddled with his tooth, staring at his reflection.
Since he stopped fishing here, he had explored the surroundings for food and fresh water. He discovered a clean water well, and once, on a homemade raft, found nesting areas for the coastal seagulls.
This time, the tooth didn`t resist and stayed in his hand. But John wasn`t worried about the tooth — or even Mary, and certainly not his useless dog. The cursed box had tormented him for months — ever since he found it in the caves during low tide.
It was an ordinary box with an ornate lock — unusually heavy, made of extremely tough wood. Even a huge boulder only scratched it slightly. John`s patience lasted just long enough to press the lock buttons aimlessly, watching with hatred as the white light darted back and forth.
Day after day, he came here and spent hours in the cool cave, lost in oblivion, trying in vain to solve the puzzle.
`These marks on the walls aren`t random!` he insisted to the crying Mary.
Indeed, many notches led to the box, some dating back before the Collapse. Then a brutal war had wiped out nearly all life on the planet. A handful of people survived in shelters — only to drag a miserable existence in radioactive wastelands, once oases of civilization.
`Even if you open it, what good would it do? Anything edible would have long been eaten by worms or mold. What if you grab your father`s net again?`
John refused to listen and ran onto the porch. Mary didn`t follow. He returned only when she was asleep, to vanish again the next morning and come back at dusk with the tide.
This time was no exception. The white lights on the box flickered back and forth. John quickly lost his temper and, as usual, headed deeper into the caves — searching for new clues.
He had to crawl for a long time, feeling the stone scrape his back. Then the ceiling opened up, the space widened, and he quickened his pace. Soon he reached the final landmark — a used scuba tank. Over centuries it had rusted through and became home to crustaceans — until John found and ate them for dinner.
He felt a small crab in a niche and instinctively pocketed it. `The tide`s coming,` he thought. But his legs carried him forward. Moments later, he ran — scraping his palms, falling, rising again. A thought rang in his head: `You have to run back, John. Back.`
The water began to rise — first quietly, almost unnoticed. He barely felt it until it touched his ankles. Then he stopped and looked back. Almost no strength remained to return. By the narrow stretch, passing dry was impossible — water blocked the way. His heart thumped. Following the instinct was a mistake. He had to go forward. Surely, these caves led somewhere.
Panic hit suddenly. John dashed back — or rather, swam, as water reached his chest and kept rising. Feverishly scanning, he chose the highest dome, took a breath, and dove. He surfaced in the only possible spot — under a vault, where an air pocket remained. Grabbing sharp stalactites, he struggled against the current. His fingers slipped, skin tore. At one point he took off the windbreaker and tied himself to a ledge with trembling hands. When the knot held, he sank into heavy oblivion.
Later, he was sure he had dreamed: the box opened, revealing something blinding, alive, pulsating with light. Mary laughed. John cried with happiness, standing over the open lid. Then the sound of water grew louder. Mary vanished first. The box followed. Then the cave.
John awoke to someone tugging insistently at his pant leg underwater. Surprisingly, it was bright, the light seeming to come from the water itself. Suddenly, razor-sharp jaws cut through flesh, tearing a huge chunk from his thigh. John didn`t scream immediately — water slammed his throat before air. He flailed upward, but something heavy yanked him back. The light blinded him — cold, dead, pulsing.
From the depths, a maw stared at him — wider than his chest. Rows of translucent, needle-like teeth opened and closed in thick silence, his blood swirling between them in red ribbons. Pain arrived delayed, in full: his thigh felt scalded and torn by a hook. He thrashed, kicked, but his foot slipped on slippery skin. Light came from it — above the maw swayed a long flexible appendage with a pulsating orb of murky white light.
The lure.
The creature pulled him down. Water closed over his head, the world thick and slow, lungs burning. `Not here… not like this.` He blindly groped and suddenly felt something smooth, tense, alive. The lure quivered in his fingers. The fish struggled, light flared. John grabbed the appendage with both hands and pulled. At first, nothing happened. Then something clicked inside the creature, light went haywire, water around exploded in chaos. The tail hit his chest, lungs cramped. He screamed — and water filled his mouth. Then he yanked with all his strength, putting everything — fear, pain, anger at the box, at the Collapse, at himself — into the motion.
Something cracked. The lure tore off. Light vanished instantly, the world went black. The creature writhed in spasms, its mouth closing past him. John, blind in the dark, pushed off its head and surged upward.
The surface ripped open with air and cold. He spat water and blood and shouted — truly this time. Dawn had come as he crawled ashore, leaving a dark trail. In one hand, he still held the slippery, limp lure; in the other, the angler itself. Tonight, he and Mary would eat.
He lay for a long time, staring at the gray sky. His heart raced unevenly, tripping. Tomorrow he would regain strength. Tomorrow he would descend into the caves again, and this time he would not stop — he would go forward to the very end. John closed his eyes and suddenly realized he was laughing. The laugh was hoarse, almost silent — and strangely calm. As if everything had already been decided.