Cold Dead Hands

by Jeff Strand

  "You're being condescending."

  Barry sighed. The mist from his breath reminded him that he wished he had a cigarette. "You know what? Fine. I won't interact with you anymore. I'm not in charge here; I'm just the one with the biggest mouth. Whatever you feel you need to say to the group, go ahead and say it."

  "I don't need your permission," said Syllabus.

  Barry decided that it was time to ignore this creep. There was a zero percent chance that this conversation would end with Syllabus saying, "Goodness, I must apologize for my atrocious behavior!" It would end with Barry trying very hard not to crack him over the head with a frozen turkey. It was okay. He didn't need to get in the last word.

  Everybody was quiet for a couple of minutes, except for some sniffling. At least they had elbowroom. Not a lot of elbowroom—the freezer wasn't designed for ten people to be hanging out inside—and if this did turn into a marathon waiting session, things were going to start to feel mighty cramped.

  But for all they knew, the attackers were already lying in pools of their own blood. Concerns about claustrophobia and hypothermia and suffocation could wait. In terms of being stuck in this freezer for an extended period of time, Barry's only true concern right now was that he wished he'd peed before the carnage began.

  He owned a cell phone, but really only used it as a phone, and only then if absolutely necessary. He liked to look at people when he talked to them. This video chat crap didn't count. Barry understood the advantages to being able to send text messages, and if he thought his ex-wife gave a shit that he was in mortal danger he might send her one to assure her that he was currently okay. Otherwise, he was happy to be part of a generation that grew up without cell phones, and he'd let the younger people in the freezer worry about monitoring the Internet.

  "Hmmm," said Mrs. Anderson, frowning at her phone.

  "What?"

  "They think they've identified the three culprits." She gestured at Barry with her phone. "Take a look. They already know who all three of them are."

  Barry walked over to her. The headline said Florida Grocery Store Attackers Identified.

  The accompanying graphic had four pictures.

  Mrs. Anderson raised an eyebrow at him, as if to convey the message that he should not say this out loud.

  The pictures were obviously very small on her cell phone screen, but it was still easy to identify the faces of the man with the axe and the man with the broken bottle. The third man, another guy in his early twenties, was presumably the one with the crossbow.

  The fourth was Chad, who stood ten feet away, still twitching and sweating.

  TWO

  Barry tried not to give anything away, even though he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. They didn't have much time to figure this out. One of the other people tapping away at their cell phones would see this, too, and they might just start pointing and screaming.

  Obviously, this could be inaccurate. Information about the culprits that found its way online this soon couldn't be the result of careful, thorough research, so the vetting process could've been as simple as, "Hey, we saw this guy walking into the store; he must be one of the attackers!" Later they could say, "Whoopsie, were we wrong? Sorry, dude."

  Therefore, they couldn't just grab Chad and bash his brains out against the steel floor.

  Everybody had sort of spread out the way you do when you're on an elevator. Syllabus was standing near the far wall, and Minnie was close to him, and then there was Chad. If Barry could get the other two to walk over to him, Chad would be easier to deal with.

  "Hey, Syllabus, Minnie, check this out," said Barry, pointing to Mrs. Anderson's cell phone screen. "You're famous!"

  Minnie, looking confused, walked over to him. Syllabus, who apparently was never going to make anything easy, also looked confused but stayed where he was. "What's it say?"

  "It doesn't say anything. It's just a picture of you."

  "Hold it up."

  Asshole.

  "If you don't care, then never mind," said Barry. "I'm sorry that I started talking to you again so soon after saying that I wouldn't. My mistake."

  Barry worried that this whole exchange might seem suspicious to Chad. It didn't matter, though, because Vanessa suddenly pointed at Chad and shouted, "He's one of them!"

  Everybody stepped away from him. Barry was sure this was going to turn into their own private hostage situation, but Chad backed up against the far wall while Syllabus moved past him and joined the crowd of the others.

  "There are four of them!" said Vanessa. "He's one!"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," said Chad.

  "It's online."

  "And you believe that?"

  "True or not, we have to deal with it," said Barry.

  "We could use him for leverage," said Mrs. Anderson. "Tell the others that we'll kill him if they don't let us go."

  Trevor shook his head. "He's no leverage. Four young fellas come into a grocery store and start randomly attacking people, they don't have an exit strategy. This ends in suicide. They don't care what we do to him."

  "It's not true," Chad insisted. "What site are you on? I was running away from those fuckers just like the rest of you."

  "I don't suppose anybody has a spare set of handcuffs?" asked Barry.

  "If I'm one of them, where are my weapons?" Chad asked.

  "You could have dropped them," said Vanessa.

  "Why would I drop my weapons and then run in here with you? It doesn't make any sense! Are you people already going to turn into a paranoid mob? We've only been in here a few minutes!"

  "We're not paranoid if it's true," said Vanessa.

  "It's not true. It's ridiculous."

  "Everybody take a deep breath," said Barry. "I agree that it doesn't make any sense for you to be in here with us, and I'm sure we're all completely aware that the information we're seeing could be wrong. But, Chad, I'm sure you understand that we can't just ignore this. We need to keep ourselves safe."

  "By killing me?"

  "Nobody said a thing about killing you. Here's my perspective: one unarmed man against the other nine of us does not pose a threat. Are we all in agreement?"

  "I agree with that," said Trevor. Nobody else said anything, but nobody contradicted him.

  "So we need to make sure you're unarmed. And unfortunately, that means you have to take off your clothes."

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "No."

  "I'm not going to strip in a freezer."

  "Then we have to consider you a threat."

  "This is bullshit."

  "If the Internet is wrong, then yes, it's extremely unfair. Can't help that. Sorry."

  Barry supposed that they could just frisk the guy, but if he did have a weapon, somebody could get a knife to the throat during the pat down.

  "Just let me leave, then."

  "We didn't let Vanessa leave. We sure as hell aren't going to let you."

  "You're all going to feel really fucking stupid later."

  "Not as stupid as we'll feel if you kill somebody. We're not going to make you stand around naked. We just need to verify that you're no danger to us."

  Chad spun around and kicked the wall. "Fuck!" He turned back around, clenched his hands into fists, and squeezed his eyes shut. He looked like every blood vessel in his body was going to simultaneously burst.

  He opened his eyes and spoke so quickly that it was a little hard to understand him. "Yes, I'm with them. I never wanted to go along with it. They made me. Once the attack started I couldn't deal with it. I dropped my belt, threw down my machete, and ran."

  "We need to knock him out," said Vanessa. "Make sure he doesn't have a gun."

  "I don't have one," said Chad. "That's the whole point. Gun control is bullshit. You can do a mass killing just as easily without them. If somebody wants to kill people, they'll do it, no matter what kind of freedom-stealing laws you try to pass. That's what we're trying to prove. You don't need guns or exp
losives."

  "But you didn't actually kill anybody," said Barry.

  "Shut the fuck up! It's harder than it looks! But we will. The others probably already have. There'll be dead bodies scattered all over this place. You want to take away the rights of Americans? It doesn't make you any safer!"

  Why had Chad confessed? He had to have a weapon.

  "You want to kill me?" asked Chad. "Go ahead. Tear me limb to limb. Here, I'll give you a knife to help out."

  Chad knelt down and pulled up his pant leg. This was the point where they all should have rushed him, but nobody wanted to get stabbed. By the time Barry realized that it was not a knife, but rather a small pistol, Chad had already removed it from the holster and was pointing it at the group.

  "I thought you weren't using guns," said Barry.

  "This was for the suicide. If we got caught, we'd shoot ourselves."

  "Well, you're caught, so..."

  "Shut up!"

  "If you shoot us, you'll undermine your whole motive," said Barry. "This will be just another mass shooting. You'll be forgotten by tomorrow."

  "Then don't make me undermine my motive." Chad waved his gun between several people, as if trying to decide whom to shoot. "You," he said to either Mrs. Anderson or Minnie. "Get over here."

  "Who do you mean?" asked Barry.

  "The bitch who wouldn't say her first name."

  "I'm not moving," said Mrs. Anderson.

  "I would."

  "Take me instead," said Mr. Anderson. "I won't give you any trouble."

  "Neither will she, if she's smart."

  Mrs. Anderson shook her head. "You'll just have—"

  Chad shot her in the face. There was no spray of bone fragments or brain matter, just blood, but her body immediately dropped to the floor.

  Everybody screamed.

  Mr. Anderson rushed at Chad. Only a few feet separated the two men, and had he been just a bit faster, Mr. Anderson actually might have made it. Instead, he took a bullet point-blank to the forehead. This time, there was a spray of bone fragments and brain matter.

  The mass screaming continued as Mr. Anderson collapsed. His body struck a shelf, and then he hit the metal floor so hard that were he not already dead, he almost certainly would've died from a cracked skull or a broken neck.

  "Everybody shut up!" Chad shouted. "Nobody make a sound! The next person who makes a peep dies too!"

  The screaming stopped, although there was still plenty of whimpering and sniffling, which apparently Chad did not categorize as a "peep."

  Barry wanted to tell him what a horrible mistake he'd made, but it wasn't worth getting shot in the face. And Chad probably knew this; it wasn't all that insightful of an observation.

  "Look what you made me do! You've ruined everything!" Chad kicked Mr. Anderson in the head, doing further damage.

  If Barry believed that Chad was going to execute the rest of them, it would be worth having everybody rush at him, since he couldn't shoot them all. But he'd take a less cynical approach and assume that this situation could still be diffused without anybody else dying.

  Barry raised his hand.

  Chad looked surprised by the gesture and unsure of how to respond. He blinked a couple of times. "What?"

  "May I speak?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'm sorry this happened. She should have listened to you. It was stupid on her part."

  "It sure was."

  "None of the rest of us are that stupid. Nobody else needs to die."

  "Yes, they do."

  "No, we can work this out. We'll let you leave. We'll just yank out the broom, open the door, and you can join your friends."

  Chad vigorously shook his head. "I screwed everything up. I wasn't supposed to shoot anybody. That's not how this was supposed to go. I ruined it. I ruined everything. You made me ruin everything."

  "They'll never know."

  "Of course they will! We've got two head-shot corpses in the freezer!"

  "Yes, but your friends are planning to kill themselves, right? They won't know what happened. They'll be dead."

  "He speaks the truth," said Trevor.

  "But the rest of the world will know! My friends will have died for nothing!"

  "Whatever happens in here doesn't change what they're doing out there," said Barry. "I'm sure they're killing plenty of people without using guns. What happened to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson won't dilute your message."

  "Yes, it will."

  Barry agreed that, yes, it would, but he couldn't come out and say that. "So, okay...how about this? We're in close quarters. Accidents could happen. We'll say that one of us killed them while trying to shoot you."

  Chad gaped at him for a moment. "What kind of dumb shit is that?"

  "Hey, I'm working with what we've got. You've already shot two people. There's nothing you can do about that. Why make things worse?"

  "I have to make up for it," said Chad. "I have to prove our message to the world. The rest of you have to die." He walked over to a shelf and picked up a metal tray. He turned it sideways, spilling several steaks onto the floor, then pointed the pistol at Barry. "Get over here."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm going to beat you to death with this tray."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me."

  "You're forcing me at gunpoint to walk over there so you can beat me to death with a tray? To prove that you don't need guns to kill people?"

  "I'll worry about how that sounds. Get over here."

  Barry wasn't sure what to do. He certainly didn't want to meet Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's fate, but given the choice between a bullet to the brain and a metal tray repeatedly to the skull, he'd take the bullet. He felt like he was going to throw up. If he shouted, "Get him!" would the others join him, or would he rush at Chad solo?

  He really, really, really wished he'd peed before the attacks began.

  "Coming through, coming through," said Dana. She'd been closest to the door, and because of her girth it was hard for her to get through the crowd. "Please don't shoot me," she told Chad.

  "I won't."

  "I work with troubled kids."

  "Are you calling me a troubled kid?"

  "No. What I mean is that I work with people who have problems. It's not insulting to say that right now you have a problem, is it?"

  Chad shook his head. "No."

  "Then let's find a solution that works for all of us."

  "Your psyche games aren't going to work on me."

  "I'm not playing games," said Dana. "I'm trying to help you sort this out."

  "There's nothing to sort out. The cops aren't going to say, 'Well, gee, he only murdered two out of nine, that's not so bad.' Sorry, but there's no solution that works out for both of us."

  "Yes, there is. You leave the freezer. Rejoin your friends."

  "So what you're saying is that you want me to go out and kill other people instead?"

  "No."

  "That's what it sounds like."

  "That's not what the young lady is trying to say," said Trevor.

  Chad pointed the gun at him. "You don't have permission to speak."

  Trevor nodded.

  Chad pointed the gun at Dana. "I don't like you. I don't like Barry, either, but I like you even less. So if you don't want me to beat your fat ass to death with this tray, I'd advise you to stop trying to help."

  Dana looked at the floor and said nothing.

  "How about this?" Chad asked. "Does anybody want to volunteer? Anybody want to take one for the team? Hmmm? Anybody?"

  Everybody avoided eye contact with him, including Barry.

  "You sure? Hey, for all we know, the FBI is about to bust down the door. If you volunteer, you may be sacrificing yourself to save the others. Pretty fuckin' noble. What do you say? Just put your hand up high in the air where I can see it."

  There was a long moment of silence. Then Trevor raised his hand.

  "Seriously?" asked Chad.

  "Yeah. Like I sa
id, I've lived a long, full life. Maybe this is how God wants me to go out."

  "Well, screw that," said Chad. "I'm not killing a black dude. At least not if I let a bunch of white people live. That might make this look like a racial thing." He pointed the gun at Pete. "Send the little kid over here."

  "What?" asked Dana.

  "The little kid. That's right, he knows I'm talking to him. Send him over here."

  Pete's mouth fell open. He stood there, motionless.

  "Come on, Chad," said Barry. "You have to understand how utterly messed up and deranged that is."

  "Yep. Sure do."

  "You can't kill a kid."

  "Not your choice. It's mine. And if I don't get a volunteer, I'm killing the kid."

  "Everybody will say how cowardly that is."

  Chad shrugged. "This isn't about bravery. It'll sure draw attention away from the two people I shot, huh? What's his name? Peter? Pete? Get over here, Pete. I know you hear me."

  "This is the wrong decision," said Barry. "You're in a position where every decision needs to be a winner, and I assure you, this is the wrong one."

  "Pete? You think I'm playing around?"

  "We're not going to let this happen," said Barry. "You can't kill all of us."

  "Nope, I sure can't. But I can kill a lot of you. More than one, at least. And it could be any of you. Is it worth the risk? You don't even know this kid. He could be a rotten little shit. Looks pretty rotten to me. Bet he's cooked his share of ants with a magnifying glass."

  Dana stepped in front of Pete.

  "I'll shoot him right through you," said Chad.

  "Now!" shouted Minnie, rushing forward. She was the only one to truly rush forward, although technically Barry and Trevor both stepped forward. Trevor most likely would have rushed forward if he were younger. Barry would have rushed forward if he were braver.

  Chad looked surprised that anyone had charged at him, and for a second didn't seem to know what to do. That second was enough. Minnie grabbed him by the arm, the one that held the gun, and gave it a good twist. Then she slammed his arm against the shelf. A piece of bone burst through the skin between his wrist and elbow. Chad howled in pain as he dropped the gun.