The sound of the ice breaking shouldn’t have been so loud, but it was. It was as if it was moaning a protest before opening its jaws to swallow the man. Otho’s heart stopped. “No!”
For half a second, he stood immobilized, then he dug into his pocket for his phone and called the emergency service center. He slid down on his stomach and crawled over the ice while waiting for the call to connect.
A sharp intake of air was all he heard from the man as he hurried the best he could. A woman talking in a clear, calm voice answered.
“A man has gone through the ice of the river.” Otho almost hung up before adding, “By River Cove on Lakeside Lane in Snowmelt.” He disconnected. He probably should have said more, but the man was freezing to death or drowning. With the pulse drumming in his ears, he pictured the man sliding in under the ice. His breath froze, and he pushed himself forward.
The edge of the hole came closer. The black water looked alive, angry, and threatening as it tried to pull the man under. Only his head and part of his shoulders remained above the surface. His skin was white, not pale, white. His lips blue, his eyes wide, and his body stiff. Otho dragged himself forward, spreading his weight over as large an area as possible.
“Easy.” He was talking to himself as much as to the man. “Can you grab the edge?”
He still had about four feet to go to where the water lapped at the ice, but he didn’t know how much closer he dared move. The man’s wide eyes latched on to his, and Otho forced a calm expression to his face. “Good.”
The man had done nothing, but Otho figured he couldn’t go wrong with praise. “Now can you try to swim?”
He didn’t move, did nothing but stare at Otho.
“Come closer and try to put your elbows on the ice.”
The man continued to stare and his dark lashes were turning whiter by the second. Damn, he needed out of the cold. Otho crawled closer, listening to the ice as he did. His heart was hammering in his throat. If he went through the ice, he would curse himself his entire afterlife—if there was one.
“Come on.” Desperation seeped into his voice. Reaching out, he realized he was still clutching his phone. Dropping it, it slid over the ice closer to the hole. The man looked at the moving phone, his brows furrowed.
“Here, don’t mind the phone, come to me.”
The man turned back to him, his entire body quaking in the water, making it lick at the ice. With a sloshing sound, he raised an arm over the surface, his hand as pale as the snow, and tried to heave himself up. He failed and slid back into the black water. Otho held his breath and forced himself forward. He curled his fingers around the man’s wrist and pulled.
Nothing happened. The skin was wet and Otho’s hold awkward. The man tried again and Otho hauled him closer. The ice broke under the man’s elbow and Otho hurried to propel himself backward. He didn’t let go of the man’s wrist, he couldn’t, not now.
Water soaked the snow under his arms and chest and his breath froze in his lungs. The roar in his head was deafening and fear unlike any he’d ever experienced swamped his brain.
All that mattered was to get off the ice.
Otho pulled at the man with one hand and pushed himself backward with the other. The man kicked, his legs coming out of the water, and Otho’s phone fell into the river. It didn’t matter, the important thing was that the man was out of the water and the ice held.
For a moment, everything stilled. Otho didn’t move, and the man didn’t either, then he moaned.
“Are you okay? Can you move?”
“It’s so warm up here. Burning.”
Otho narrowed his eyes. The man had stopped shivering. Not good. “Come on.” He tugged at the man’s wrist. “Crawl.”
The man made some clumsy attempts to follow the order and Otho pulled him along as fast as he could while he scrambled to get a grip on something, anything. The wet snow made the ice slippery, but, as soon as they reached an area that hadn’t soaked up any water, it was easier to move.
When they were closer to the shore, he stood and dragged the man onto his feet. The ice should hold, and, if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be more than waist-deep here.
He took the man’s arm and wrapped it around his neck while winding his left arm around the man’s waist. He was taller than Otho had thought, not as tall as Otho, but almost. “What’s your name?”
“Mason.”
“Nice to meet you, Mason.” Otho kept a firm grip on him. The way Mason’s legs buckled now and then was not reassuring. “I’m Otho.”
Mason didn’t respond, but Otho didn’t care. He kept his gaze locked on his cabin, each step brought them a little closer to warmth and dry clothes.