Free Snow Hill by Mark Sanderson

steel floor.
    “Harry?”
    He hunkered down and looked underneath the hanging meat. Nothing.
    Johnny was about to close the foot-thick door when he realised that the freezer was much larger than he had originally thought. There was a panel of light switches by the door. Only one of them had been turned on. He flicked on all the others and gasped.
    The cold-store was vast. Its duckboards stretched on and on. In the distance he could make out another door, which presumably led to the underground rail depot that allowed dead livestock to be unloaded directly off the train. The ice-chamber was filled to capacity. Although the lights were bright, the mass of meat reduced their glare to a reddish glow. Gogg must have had second thoughts.
    The threshold of the fridge was a foot off the floor. Johnny tripped over it and fell head-first against the nearest side of beef. It was like hitting a brick wall. He swore and lay sprawled on the duckboards rubbing his brow.
    What sounded like an angry rattlesnake could now be heard above the hum. He had set the carousel of corpses in motion.
    The well-oiled ball-bearings spun round and round. The slaughtered animals slid past him one by one. Frosted sheep, headless pigs, hollow cows…and Harry.
    He was hanging from a hook which protruded from his neck. His head lolled to one side. The eyes stared at him glassily.
    There was something stuffed in his mouth. It looked like a fat, tropical slug: purple, red and yellow.
    Johnny was transfixed. Harry continued rolling towards him. He was naked. There was a black gash in his groin. Blood trickled down his thighs, streaked his calves and dripped off his hairy big toes. Nearer. Nearer. Johnny gazed into the bloated face.
    The boy had been made to eat his own genitals.
    Gagging, Johnny scrambled to his feet. He was now shaking with fear as well as cold. Whoever had butchered Harry might still be in the freezer. He had to get out.
    Too late. The door slammed in his face.
    He jumped back and yelled as Gogg brushed past him. He looked round wildly. There was no handle on this side of the door. Nor was there an alarm.
    One by one, the lights went out.

NINE
    Johnny hammered and hollered for all he was worth, but the door remained shut and the lights remained off. Slowly the swinging stiffs clicked to a stop. The vast chamber fell deafeningly quiet.
    Although he could no longer hear the massive generator, Johnny could still feel a muffled vibration. In such utter darkness it made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. It was like drowning in ink.
    Panic began to writhe in the pit of his stomach. He sat on the floor and strained his ears for the slightest noise. All he could hear was Gogg’s life-blood slowly ebbing away: tick, tick, tick. He was alone—that was something. The killer was not trapped in there with him.
    The temperature continued to fall.
    It would not be long before the staff turned up for work. However, if he could not hear them, they would not be able to hear his cries for help.
    His teeth sounded as though they were sending a mayday message in Morse code. It was too cold to sit around on the off-chance of being rescued. Besides, how long would the air last? Which would kill him first: suffocation or hypothermia? He wasn’t going to wait to find out. He had to keep moving.
    Perhaps the door at the other end of the freezer had a handle on the inside. Johnny began to crawl along the duckboards. He had no wish to bump into any more nasty surprises.
    His overcoat cushioned his knees a little, but his hands were unprotected. He rarely wore gloves: they were too restrictive. Each time he missed the edge of the board he left behind a layer of skin on the metal floor. A splinter sank under the nail of a forefinger, piercing the quick. He was almost relieved when his head finally butted the door.
    It was exactly the same as the one at the other end.
    Johnny crawled back the way he had come, this time using a none-too-clean