Prophecy by David Seltzer

these questions. Perhaps it was man’s need to question that was the source of his torment. Were there no questions, nothing would go unanswered. Perhaps his own life was the same as the mayfly’s, with no more purpose, beyond that which he invented, than to perpetuate life itself.
    “Look at the birds,” Maggie whispered.
    “Mayflies,” Rob answered. Then he took her hand and they stepped into the small rowboat that Isely had left for them. He had left a car as well, so they could be free to move from the cabin to town or throughout the forest at any time they wished. Were it not for the violence at the blockade, it all would have been ideal. But Rob and Maggie felt wounded now. Perhaps irreparably so.
    Their small outboard motor hummed as the boat cut a wedge in the unbroken surface of the water; the birds dove around them, and fish jumped from the water, unaffected by their intrusion. Before them, in the middle of the lake, stood a small island, the pinnacle of an aquatic mountain that barely broke the surface and supported a small grove of pine trees. On
     
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    the island stood a single cabin. It was small, made of logs and mortar, with a front porch that led onto a dock, which was illuminated by a flickering signal light.
    “Looks nice,” Maggie said as their boat inched through the water. But, in fact, it did not. It looked isolated and foreboding. The cabin was silent and dark, as though it had been uninhabited for years.
    “Hold out that oar, okay?”
    She followed Rob’s directions, keeping the boat from bumping the dock. They tied the boat and sat for a moment in silence. It was so quiet, they could hear each other breathe.
    “We’ve got to snap out of this,” Rob said quietly.
    “I know.”
    They stepped out of the boat; the shuffling of their feet on the dock resounded in the air around them.
    The sky was streaked with orange; a pale blue backdrop was sneaking into gray. The moon was faint and almost full, hazed behind a tangle of mayflies, rising in a cloud above the lake. Rob paused and looked up at them before entering the cabin.
    “Well. This isn’t bad,” Maggie said with relief. Rob quickly moved to a kerosene lantern. It lit with a hiss and they gazed at each other across its stark, white light.
    “Look at the fireplace,” Rob said.
    It was made of stone and occupied one entire wall.
    “Wow,” was all Maggie could say.
    “It’s not bad, Maggie. The place is really nice.”
    She forced a brave smile. “It really is, isn’t it?”
    “It’s beautiful.”
    Rob explored the cupboards and found that someone had taken great pains to see that the cabin was well stocked and comfortable for their arrival. There was everything there that they could possibly need. Canned goods, hammer and nails, an ax, candles and matches, a first-aid kit, even a game of Scrabble. There was a new couch and chair in front of the fireplace, a freshly cleaned gas stove, an old-fashioned icebox with a block of ice in it, and large jugs of
     
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    bottled water standing on the sink in the kitchen area.
    The entire cabin was just one large room, but the kitchen area was lower than the living room, and the sleeping loft above it created a half ceiling. Maggie climbed the narrow, stairwell to the loft and found a double bed with a down comforter, tucked just beneath the eaves. It looked welcoming, and calmed her apprehension. She walked to the loft railing and looked down at Rob.
    “No bathroom?” she asked.
    “Guess not.”
    “Yoiks.”
    “Too rugged?”
    “Nah,” Maggie responded bravely.
    “No light switches up there, are there?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Guess we go native.”
    “Guess we do.”
    “You up to it?”
    “You bet.”
    They paused.
    “Margaret?”
    “Yes, sir?”
    “It’s going to be nice.”
    “I know it will.”
    They both set to work; Maggie unpacked while Rob lighted another kerosene lantern, then started a fire in the gargantuan fireplace. There were two canoe