Atherton's head was barely above the water. His eyes were wild with fear. He pawed at the ice, trying to scramble back up to safety, but the sharp edges sliced his gloves and his hands and his wrists into ribbons. He watched his blood flow onto the shimmering icy surface of the lake.

He let out one heartbreaking wail before the current gripped him and pulled him down. He disappeared from sight.

The other skaters could not believe their eyes. They stood up, looking all around, wondering what to do next.

Suddenly, right below Thorn's feet, a face appeared, pressed flat against the under surface of the ice. It was Atherton. His eyes were open wide, pleading. His bloodied fists beat feebly at the ice. There was a scream, or what looked like a scream, before he was towed away again, kicking and clawing at the thick sheet of ice above him like a man trying to pound his way out from under a huge heavy glass wall.

For a while they were able to keep track of Atherton by the line of pink stains he left behind him under the ice.

The skaters, galvanized into desperate, futile action, raced along the surface of the lake, following the path of the freezing, drowning man. They battered the thick surface of the ice with their hockey sticks, trying to break through, trying to get to the man who floated under the ice in the water below them.

Damien finally broke free of Buher and raced to join the others. In desperation, Thorn pounded at the ice with the sharp edges of his skate blades, trying to kick his way through.

Under the ice, Atherton was beginning to suffocate. Through the thick prism of the ice above him, he could see the shadowy forms of the people trying to help him, and he could hear their muted cries. But he could not get through to them.

His lungs were bursting, beginning to fill up with icy water.

But then up ahead he thought he could make out a light, a circle of brightness in the otherwise murky water. It was a tree, growing out of the side of the riverbank, up through the ice, and into the air! With what little consciousness he had left, Atherton began to pray.

Miraculously, he was swept up into the opening.

Damien was the first to see him. There he is!' he shouted.

The skaters rushed toward the tree, skidding to a halt far enough away so that they didn't all go tumbling into the ice. Atherton's head poked up through the opening, his face hideously distorted, his mouth open and gaping like a harpooned fish as he struggled violently for air.

'We're coming!' shouted Thorn, as he and Damien inched themselves forward on the precariously thin ice. They reached out for the dying man.