heart will stop. And then you’ll die. Ha, ha!”
He had an evil grin on his face. Pep began to cry.
“Oh, don’t worry, Pep,” Archie Clone said. “This won’t take long. That’s the nice thing about hypothermia. It’s all over before you know it. That is so much more humane than a long, lingering death, don’t you think?”
Coke was shivering, and his feet were numb. But Pep was slightly smaller and lighter. She was feeling the effects of the freezing more severely. She could no longer move her fingers.
“Do something!” she told her brother.
Archie Clone pushed the handle back up. The flow of ice cream stopped. Coke and Pep were sitting there, with ice cream up to their necks.
Coke wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d made some progress cutting the rope with the Pez dispenser. He would need more time, though.
The only way to get out of the Mister Softee truck alive, he decided, was to keep this nut job talking. Coke would have to reason with him. It hadn’t worked with his dad, but it might work with someone whose mind was already twisted.
“I bet you were never one of the cool kids back in school, were you?” Coke asked Archie Clone. “The cool kids picked on you because of your red hair and your weight.”
Archie Clone wasn’t taking the bait.
“Now you’re one of the cool kids, aren’t you, Coke?” he replied. “Soon you’ll be so cool you’ll be frozen. Like frozen yogurt.”
“What is it with you and food?” Coke asked, shivering. “First you tried to cook us like french fries, and now you’re going to freeze us with ice cream. Maybe you have an eating disorder. Did you ever think of that? You’re seriously overweight. Do you wear hats all the time so people won’t notice how heavy you are?”
“Oh, do you like this hat?” Archie Clone asked. “It was one of the first ones in my collection.”
“You need help, man,” Coke said. “I think you may be bipolar.”
“Your amateurish attempts at psychology are amusing,” Archie Clone told Coke. “You would make a great shrink. That is, if you weren’t going to die within the hour.”
“Oh, I get it,” Coke said, almost smiling. “Food is killing you, so you decided to kill other people by using food. Is that what’s going on in that sick mind of yours?”
“Why … are you trying to analyze him?” Pep asked her brother. “He’s … a lunatic!”
But Pep was stuttering and slurring her words, so they could barely be understood. She was shivering violently. Coke didn’t have a lot of time. He was still sawing away at the rope behind his back.
“You should listen to your sister,” Archie Clone told Coke. “She’s a smart cookie. But right now, I’d say her body temperature has dipped to around ninety degrees. Her internal organs are shutting down, and she’s sounding like a drunk. I really don’t want to see her die.”
“So … you’re … going to … let me go?” Pep asked hopefully.
“No,” Archie Clone replied. “I still want you to die. I just don’t want to see you die. Death is so … morbid. I’m leaving. The authorities can pick up your bodies later.”
He pulled off the Mister Softee uniform and went back to the front of the truck.
“Ta-ta, twins,” he said as he opened the door. “I’ll think of you while I’m spending my million dollars.”
“Do something!” Pep yelled when Archie Clone was gone.
“I am doing something!”
A few seconds later, the edge of the Pez dispenser finally broke the last strand of the rope around Coke’s wrists. He freed his hands and stood up.
“How did you do that?” Pep asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Coke closed his eyes for a moment. He was dizzy, and realized he should not have stood up so quickly.
“Rock the tube!” Pep urged him.
It was a good idea. Coke struggled to put his hands on the top of the circular glass around him. Filled with gallons of ice cream, it was very heavy. But when he put weight on the left side, it
He had an evil grin on his face. Pep began to cry.
“Oh, don’t worry, Pep,” Archie Clone said. “This won’t take long. That’s the nice thing about hypothermia. It’s all over before you know it. That is so much more humane than a long, lingering death, don’t you think?”
Coke was shivering, and his feet were numb. But Pep was slightly smaller and lighter. She was feeling the effects of the freezing more severely. She could no longer move her fingers.
“Do something!” she told her brother.
Archie Clone pushed the handle back up. The flow of ice cream stopped. Coke and Pep were sitting there, with ice cream up to their necks.
Coke wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d made some progress cutting the rope with the Pez dispenser. He would need more time, though.
The only way to get out of the Mister Softee truck alive, he decided, was to keep this nut job talking. Coke would have to reason with him. It hadn’t worked with his dad, but it might work with someone whose mind was already twisted.
“I bet you were never one of the cool kids back in school, were you?” Coke asked Archie Clone. “The cool kids picked on you because of your red hair and your weight.”
Archie Clone wasn’t taking the bait.
“Now you’re one of the cool kids, aren’t you, Coke?” he replied. “Soon you’ll be so cool you’ll be frozen. Like frozen yogurt.”
“What is it with you and food?” Coke asked, shivering. “First you tried to cook us like french fries, and now you’re going to freeze us with ice cream. Maybe you have an eating disorder. Did you ever think of that? You’re seriously overweight. Do you wear hats all the time so people won’t notice how heavy you are?”
“Oh, do you like this hat?” Archie Clone asked. “It was one of the first ones in my collection.”
“You need help, man,” Coke said. “I think you may be bipolar.”
“Your amateurish attempts at psychology are amusing,” Archie Clone told Coke. “You would make a great shrink. That is, if you weren’t going to die within the hour.”
“Oh, I get it,” Coke said, almost smiling. “Food is killing you, so you decided to kill other people by using food. Is that what’s going on in that sick mind of yours?”
“Why … are you trying to analyze him?” Pep asked her brother. “He’s … a lunatic!”
But Pep was stuttering and slurring her words, so they could barely be understood. She was shivering violently. Coke didn’t have a lot of time. He was still sawing away at the rope behind his back.
“You should listen to your sister,” Archie Clone told Coke. “She’s a smart cookie. But right now, I’d say her body temperature has dipped to around ninety degrees. Her internal organs are shutting down, and she’s sounding like a drunk. I really don’t want to see her die.”
“So … you’re … going to … let me go?” Pep asked hopefully.
“No,” Archie Clone replied. “I still want you to die. I just don’t want to see you die. Death is so … morbid. I’m leaving. The authorities can pick up your bodies later.”
He pulled off the Mister Softee uniform and went back to the front of the truck.
“Ta-ta, twins,” he said as he opened the door. “I’ll think of you while I’m spending my million dollars.”
“Do something!” Pep yelled when Archie Clone was gone.
“I am doing something!”
A few seconds later, the edge of the Pez dispenser finally broke the last strand of the rope around Coke’s wrists. He freed his hands and stood up.
“How did you do that?” Pep asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Coke closed his eyes for a moment. He was dizzy, and realized he should not have stood up so quickly.
“Rock the tube!” Pep urged him.
It was a good idea. Coke struggled to put his hands on the top of the circular glass around him. Filled with gallons of ice cream, it was very heavy. But when he put weight on the left side, it
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