“You did the right thing,” Rowdy interrupts, then squints in the direction of the lake. “Which hut?”
“I’ll take you.” Jake nods to the shore, where I can just make out the shape of a snowmachine. “Fire department’s on their way. They’ve been busy tonight.”
I follow Rowdy back to his rig. From a gear bag behind the seat, he pulls out a pair of insulated coveralls. He’s about to step into them when he tosses them across the seat.
“Put those on,” he says in a gruff tone.
“Why? What about you?”
He steps into a pair of rain pants and trades his Stetson for a wool cap. “Can’t have you dying of hypothermia.”
We meet at the back of his rig where he attaches a forensics kit then climbs on. I get on behind him and grab the handles.
The trip across the ice is quick, but the wind whipping across the barren expanse of the lake finds every gap in my clothing, chilling me with each passing minute. I can’t imagine how Rowdy’s staying warm in a pair of rain pants and his parka.
Four gumdrop-shaped tent structures emerge from the darkness as we near the center of the lake, spaced about a hundred yards apart. Two yellow, one black, and one red. Jake slows, easing up outside one of the yellow ones.
I brace myself for what’s to come. From what I gathered during the drive here, the fishing guide was drilling a new hole for one of the guests when it got tangled in what he thought at first was some kind of vegetation. So he drilled a different hole, but this time he hit something solid. Thinking it was some kind of debris, he tried to cut it out with an ice saw.
A gust of wind barrels across the lake, kicking up the new snow. The tent staked into the ice feels out of place, like a spaceship crash-landed in some apocalyptic landscape plagued by an endless winter.
My boots sink into the deep snow as I step off the sled. Rowdy grabs his kit, and hands me a battery-operated auxiliary light to carry.We follow Jake leading the way with a flashlight around the side of the yellow tent, its walls rattling in the stiff wind. It’s a wonder anyone was even out here fishing today with this storm brewing, but ice fishermen can be a little over the top.
On the other side of the tent, Jake unzips the door flap, then disappears inside the space. I step in last and zip the tent shut behind us. The wind shakes the walls, but it’s much quieter in here, and a good twenty degrees warmer. They’ve added a closed cell foam padding floor to insulate guests while they fish. Sometimes these tents have elaborate living areas and heaters for camping on the ice, but it appears this one is only for day use.
I turn on the light, which illuminates two small holes in the ice, spaced ten feet apart, and a bigger hole shaped like a comma in between them, with soupy yellowish slush filling the gaps. I hope the yellow is due to the glow from the lamp and the color of the tent and not something else.
“Rick said her shoulder and her long hair were embedded in the ice, like she was floating just below the surface as it froze over.” Jake points to the corkscrew electric drill set to the side. “You’re welcome to use that.”
Kneeling near the holes, Rowdy sets down his kit, then looks up at Jake. “You don’t have to stay.”
He gives a rueful shake of his head. “In all my years, nothin’ like this has ever happened.”
“She’s likely been in the water for a while,” Rowdy says. “Certainly since before it froze.”
Jake nods, looking everywhere but at the holes in the ice. “Okay. I’ll…go wait for the fire department.”
After he leaves, Rowdy reaches for the drill. “We only have to confirm a few details and document, then the rescue crews will get her out.”
I join him, the mat stiff under my knees despite the padded coveralls he loaned me. “Why isn’t the sheriff outhere with us?”
“Because he’s lazy.”
I huff a laugh, but Rowdy’s already pointing the drill into the ice.
It takes us a good twenty minutes of drilling and hacking to find the edges of the ice that have her captive. We scoop up the chunks and slush around the area so we can isolate her. My gloves are soaked in seconds, hands going numb and stiff, and the lake water and ice we’re splashing onto the foam mats soaks through the coveralls.
I don’t know how this girl ended up frozen in the lake ice, but there’s a sense of shared determination to get her out of it as soon as possible. She deserves at least that much.
“Do you think she drowned?” I ask, huffing hard as we scoop more slush.
“Possible. Odd that no one reported it though.”
He’s right. Someone has to be missing this girl.
Rowdy rocks back on his heels. “Okay. Hold the light for me.”
I tilt the light so it’s shining into the open seam of water, our echoing breaths mixing with the rattle of the tent walls. Rowdy slips off his soaked gloves and replaces them with a pair of nitrile ones. Bracing off the other side of our hole, he reaches under the ice.