Cutting the net was out of the question; a new one cost more than Arthur’s bank account held. Losing his gear meant the end of his career and a one-way ticket to the soup kitchen. He looked at the diving tank strapped to the mast, usually reserved for clearing the propeller. The water was freezing, but the depth was manageable as long as he kept his head. He had to go down and manually untangle the mesh from whatever had snagged it on the seafloor.
As he donned the neoprene suit, he focused on the mechanical task ahead, knowing he had to be careful and take his time to avoid any mistakes in the dark. He bit down on the mouthpiece and rolled backward into the water. The shock of the cold hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath. He descended steadily into the murky green twilight, following the vibrating steel cable toward the seabed.
As he reached the snag, he saw his net was bunched up against a jagged reef, but as he moved to free the heavy cords, his flashlight caught the shape of an old diving suit slumped nearby, resting on top of a strange, shimmering mound.