Chapter Five

Bob’s first foray into his new environs started out relatively peacefully. Him reaching his initial destination with nary a nibble. None of the nearby fish paying him much notice as he slowly crept along the lakebed.

Something which turned out to be quite fortunate, given that the tumble of stone he’d aimed for lacked any hidey holes for him to make use of.

From there, feeling a bit braver, he decided to push on. Heading towards sources of cover when he came across them, but more frequently just trying to move in the original direction he’d chosen; it luckily having continued to head uphill at a decent gradient.

Despite his rather rude introduction to the local populous, he’d managed to spend most of the period – which had to have been a few hours now – almost entirely unmolested. The occasional testing nibble quickly abandoned when he forced himself to drop lifelessly to the sand below. Most fish not seeming to find his cloth-like texture appealing.

The larger issue, in fact, turned out to be moving forward in the first place.

The currents in the lake were strange. Less a pushing and pulling through the water, and more like what you’d expect if the entire area was experiencing a mild earthquake. A constant but fluctuating vibration which all too often upended him. Causing Bob to scramble in an attempt to both keep his footing and not lose track of what direction he’d been heading in. Or, more importantly, any of the few fragments of currency rattling around inside his hollow body.

He wasn’t sure what would happen if he lost any of them – whether he would lose his levels and traits or just be short on ‘experience’ – but he knew he had no interest in finding out.

All of this obviously would have been concerning enough, especially when combined with the still-present danger of local predators. What made it graduate from ‘concerning’ to ‘alarming’ however, was that the further uphill he went, the worse the turbulence got.

The occasional rumbling ‘impacts’ in the water soon became ever-present. Frequently lifting him from the ground entirely and leaving him tumbling helplessly through the water. His form usually coming to ground ten to fifteen feet back downhill.

It finally became more than he could handle near the two-hour mark of his journey. His body simply not heavy or strong enough to brace itself against the currents. Bob being forced to backtrack and begin skirting around the ‘shallower’ areas searching for less chaotic waters.

And it was during this search that he happened upon something which made his situation graduate from ‘alarming’ to ‘downright terrifying.’

During the last twenty minutes or so of travel, the bare sands he’d grown used to had begun giving way to areas filled with huge tangles of water-logged brush and other debris. Things which briefly elated him, given that they were a ready source of cover from the occasionally aggressive fish. That is, until he realized what their existence here likely meant.

Because the only way Bob could imagine the massive branches and shattered tree trunks he was seeing ending up here, at the bottom of an underground lake, was if the area above it had experienced catastrophic flooding.

Flooding which he quickly realized could potentially repeat itself at any moment.

As he continued slugging his way forward, Bob’s mind was assaulted by memories of his time in the cavern above. Remembering counting drops of water that soon turned to streams. And then to rivers. The flow never stopping. Easing at most to the steady drip he’d first awoken to.

On the upside, that was also the state it was at when the men arrived. The slow drops almost echoing their footsteps as they made their way down the tunnels. He also liked to think that they, for their own safety if nothing else, would have chosen a period of clear weather to enter the caverns. One without any coming storms which might sneak up and surprise them.

On the downside, Bob had just realized that those ‘slow drops’ flowing into the lake were also probably what was causing the ‘turbulence’ in its shallower areas. Meaning it would only get worse the longer he couldn’t figure out a way through them. Him not wanting to imagine what the area would look like in a real storm.

Or what would happen to him if he was here while one occurred.

Unfortunately, as important and time sensitive as this information might be, knowing it didn’t really change his plans; given that he was trying to find a way out of the lake anyway. Or his actions; given that he was already moving at his – admittedly less-than-impressive – top speed.

It did, however, place him under a fantastic amount of extra stress.

So much so that, as he rounded a large berm of sand and partially buried branches, he nearly missed the glimmer that appeared out of the corner of his eye.

Something else in Bob didn’t, however. A sudden sense of intensity overtaking him as his tasseled eye did an honest-to-god double-take. Attention immediately focused on the area where the glint of light had shone from.

For a few moments he saw nothing more than another tangle of wood and stone. His mind beginning to question his own behavior even as his eye continued almost independently scouring the pile of debris. Searching. For what, Bob didn’t know. And he was just about to tear it away before the glimmer appeared again. Allowing him to finally make out a curious shape hidden amongst the mess of branches.

It was a boot. One torn and shredded by whatever had brought it down here, its frayed material blending in with the slowly moldering twigs around it. The light, he realized, came from its final remaining buckle, twisting and tumbling on a barely-there strap in the lake’s mild discordance.

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Its final remaining copper buckle.

Bob was moving before he realized it. His fabric body inching itself forward in an almost expeditious manner. A strange mixture of hunger and avarice overcoming him as he made his way towards the destroyed piece of footwear, his focus never wavering.

He was almost half-way there before he finally noticed the mostly-skeletonized foot still sticking out the top of it.

The shock was enough to pull Bob out of whatever strange haze had overcome him. His form grinding to a halt as he finally realized what he was looking at. Experiencing a sense of phantom nausea as he took in the shattered bone and the few scraps of flesh which still clung to it.

Though, selfishly, Bob admitted that a part of that sick feeling might have less to do with any sympathy for the dead, and more with his sudden lapse of self-control. A lapse which felt like it was, at least in part, still ongoing.

He could still feel a bit of himself urging him forward. Trying to pull his eye away from the stark-white of human bone and over towards the square chunk of slowly-oxidizing metal. Not a big bit, admittedly. More like an itch on the brain than anything else. No worse than his old compulsions to check on the door locks or the stove, back on Earth.

But unlike those well-worn bits of OCD, these weren’t supposed to be there. Weren’t supposed to be cluttering up his head with thoughts of how delicious the copper buckle looked as it spun in the faint light. Or ridiculous, mounting concerns that something might snatch it away from him if he didn’t act quickly.

Bob briefly considered just turning away. At least in part to simply refuse the new feelings welling up in him. Leaving the buckle behind and continuing his search for an exit to the lake. Hopefully without moving another inch closer to any visibly rotting human remains.

The more practical portions of himself quickly pushed that idea aside, however. Unwilling to turn his non-existent nose up at any potential benefit given the terrible situation he currently found himself in. Even if the tiny part demanding he snatch it up and shove it down his gullet as quickly as possible was leaving the rest of him a bit… concerned.