In the shock of it, he lost hold of the auger, and it vanished into the dark below. He thrashed, surfaced, and tried to pull himself up onto the edge of the broken ice.
He clawed at the slick rim with fingers already going numb, but the ice kept crumbling under his hands. The river pulled at him, dragging his heavy body lower with every second.
His winter clothes—coat, layers, boots—soaked through at once and turned into dead weight. Each passing moment made them heavier.
Frank gasped for air, feeling his muscles seize from the cold. Every desperate movement burned up what little strength he had left.
The water stabbed through him, reaching under every layer. Dark spots floated across his vision, and the sounds of the winter morning grew distant and dull.
He tried to call out, but all that came from his throat was a weak, broken groan. Wind threw dry snow into his face while he fought to stay above water.
In those moments, his whole life seemed to flash through his mind. And with terrible clarity he understood one thing: he was not getting out of that hole by himself.
There was no one else in sight for hundreds of yards. Fog, who had been a little way off when the ice broke, raced along the edge of the opening in a panic.
