The three hundred yard journey turned Nick’s awkward gait into a heavy limp. We could have driven the distance in just over a minute, but the old cop didn’t want to give in to his discomfort – he was a fighter. On the way, he gave me a summary of the situation.

​

“Power in Shilsville is by several generators. To conserve fuel, we have one main refrigeration store in-town. It’s where we keep all meat and other stuff, plus where everyone can get ice.”

​

​“Who owns it?” I asked.

​

“No one. Or you could say, the Town owns it. Everyone comes in to take what they need and no more.”

“You’re able to operate just on trust? That’s pretty remarkable.”

​

“Folks here are good. We only survive by sticking together. Plus, I guess, if some damn fool did want to take extra frozen goods and stockpile them, they’d have nowhere to put them anyway.”

​

“Mmm.” I considered. “It’s a lot different than back in the city. There, if you don’t lock something up, it’s gone in seconds.”

​

“Well, maybe Shilsville isn’t so bad after all.”

​

He continued with his explanation after we turned a corner. “Martha came in late last night for some bacon to thaw for morning... and found the three stiffs. It freaked her out and she was pounding on my door minutes later.”

​

We reached the back of a former butcher shop. It was an ugly, one-storey brick building. A rusty sign had been nailed beside the steel door: ‘FREEZER’.

​

“This butcher had the biggest meat locker. The front of the shop now houses a generator to keep the Freezer running.” Nick gestured to a standing pipe near the doorway. “That’s clean drinking water. Anyone can get some and take it inside to make ice.”

​

I stepped forward and opened the door before Nick could. Well-oiled hinges compensated for the heavy weight of the door. A powerful draft of chilled air enveloped us, turning our breath to white vapour even before we crossed the threshold.

​

We stepped in and allowed the door to thud closed behind us. The chamber we entered measured about fifty feet wide by thirty deep, and it was well-lit from fluorescent strip-lighting in the ceiling. Cold air blasted in through overhead ducts. There were no hanging sides of meat; all the stock was cut into small pieces, wrapped, boxed and organised on rows of metal shelves. A second door in the far wall would let out into the original butcher shop. Everywhere was frosted. Smooth lumps of ice deformed the concrete floor here and there. Ice stalactites hung from above...

​

And in the open centre of the room, sat in a circle, were the three corpses.

​

They looked to be made more of ice than flesh. I wondered for a moment if they couldn’t be elaborate sculptures. But no, they were human. Three people, all sat cross-legged and looking into their rough circle, covered in layers of ice which blurred and distorted their identities. Worse still, they were literally frozen to the floor – sitting in rounded masses of ice that made them immovable.

​

“Now,” Nick drawled, “I ain’t no educated city-cop... But to me it looks like they each sat there, poured a bucket of water over their heads and waited to die.”

​

The three discarded buckets, now also frozen to the concrete, testified to his deduction.

​

I moved closer, too dumbfounded for words.

​

Nick added. “Now why can’t people just go shoot themselves if they wanna quit this life? This... this is seriously screwed up.”

​

Slowly, I paced around the ice-encrusted trio. I almost slipped twice on the slick floor. My professionalism forced me to finally speak.

​

“Two men, one woman,” I observed. “They seem to be wearing the same type of clothing. Grey overalls and dark shoes. No watches or jewellery on any of them...” I eyed my companion: “Have you been able to identify them?”

​

“They ain’t from Shilsville. I didn’t recognise them, but I still checked in with everyone here.” He indicated a wind-up radio on his belt. “Took some time, but I’m certain.”

​

“I don’t suppose they left a note..?”

​

“Nope. And I obviously couldn’t look for ID’s on them... without a chisel.”

​

I was looking at the frozen expressions of the dead now. Maybe they had thought freezing would be a quick, painless way to end their lives... It hadn’t been. Their mouths were open in silent, endless screams. Even their eyes were wide open.

​

“Jesus, what a way to go,” I hissed.

​

“And why come here to do it?” Nick asked. “Heck, how did they even know to come here at all? We’re not exactly in any holiday brochures.”

​

“It’s gotta be...” I hesitated, wanting to be certain of my belief: “... some kind of cult thing. The circle, the dousing in water, this manner of death... It’s ritualistic.”

​

“Maybe, but these folks had clearly never been to Shilsville before. So how did they plan this ‘ritual’ without knowing the town?”

​

My brow furrowed. “So it’s a suicide-method of convenience? They came into town at night, found access to your freezer-room and agreed to kill themselves this way?” I doubted that. “When was the last time someone was in here before Martha?”

​

“Just before nine o’clock... which puts these folks arriving and freezing themselves between nine and midnight.”

​

He was hugging himself in a vain effort to keep warm, and so, I realized, was I.

​

“Let’s get back outside,” I suggested.

​

I was happy to have the metal door clang shut and seal the frozen trio away from us.

​

“We need to get a doctor up here to formally pronounce,” I said. “And we need to examine the bodies. That means thawing them out.”

​

“Already in hand,” Nick replied. “Our local doctor – ‘Needles’ – should be here by now. And we have another freezer store being set up. This one’s already been raised from -40 to about -20... We’re due to start clearing the stuff out soon.”

​

“I take it you don’t have an ambulance in town...”

​

“Nor a morgue, nor anyone who could legally perform an autopsy.”

​

Nor could we phone for help from the next town.

​

“I’ll drive back to Thorstan and arrange everything. First, I’ll need to take photos of the scene. When I get back, I can take down formal statements from Martha, you and anyone else who has been involved.”

​

The radio on Nick’s belt chirped loudly. He snatched it loose, gave it a few winds to charge it further, and thumbed it on.

​

“Nick here,” he said simply.

​

Amid a hiss of static, a sharp male voice called back.

​

“It’s Mel. I’m down by the old bridge with Shaun. You’d better bring the city-cop with you, buddy. It’s a fucking bloodbath down here.”

​

The old cop eyed me.

​

“I hate your town,” I mumbled.

​

“We’re on our way,” Nick replied to Mel. “Radio the Doc, will you, and tell him to get himself over there too.”