Green Ice: A Deadly High

by Christian Fletcher

  “I seriously doubt that,” Trey muttered.

  The gunman shepherded Trey and Leticia to the front windows and took a look out onto the main street. “Looks like the coast is all clear,” he said. He slid the Heckler and Koch into the back of his waistband and unbolted the front door.

  A wave of sand blew into the garage through the open door and scattered over the concrete floor. Trey and Leticia blinked against the daylight and wind fanned grit, feeling the heat of the sun on their faces.

  “All right, out you go,” the gunman said, flicking his Beretta towards the door. “Come on, get moving. I ‘aint got all day.”

  Trey and Leticia stepped out onto the street and looked each way to check no infected people were nearby. The gunman followed them outside into the sunlight. He whistled as he looked over the Thunderbird, admiring the restoration job and the interior. Trey and Leticia glanced nervously at the prone body beside the car, now partially covered with a light dusting of sand.

  “Okay, pop the hood and let’s take a look at the damage,” the gunman demanded, waving his Beretta impatiently.

  Trey released his hold on Leticia and slowly moved towards the driver’s side. He released the hood lever and propped up the dented cover with some difficulty. The gunman waved Leticia around to the front of the vehicle in order to cover both his captives with the firearm. Trey silently prayed the guy wouldn’t want to take a look in the trunk and see the holdalls full of cash. The sight of all that money might send the gunman over the edge and it was a strong possibility he’d execute them both right there and then.

  Leticia took another fleeting glance at the dead body, while Trey and the gunman studied the engine compartment.

  “Yep, the water hoses are all shot to shit,” the gunman confirmed.

  “Who was he?” Leticia asked.

  “Huh?” The gunman turned his head towards Leticia.

  “Who was the guy you shot?” She nodded towards the corpse.

  The gunman nonchalantly flapped his free hand. “Ah, just some son of a bitch who was pissing me off. He was holed up in the garage and wouldn’t let me fix up that pickup truck and take it away. Only needed a battery charge and it was good to go, man. Damn it, I offered him a free ride outta here, an all.” He hawked and spat into the sand in front of the Thunderbird. “Chances are that damn crate wouldn’t have made it more than a couple of miles out of town anyhow. But this baby could be a damn fine machine.” He pointed into the Thunderbird’s engine. “I reckon we can fix up this ride with a few new hoses. Shouldn’t take much more than an hour.”

  Trey felt his stomach jolt. He didn’t want to be hanging around outside for a minute, let alone an hour. He wondered where the hell Mancini and Jorge had got to. Surely, they wouldn’t have left him and Leticia stranded in the infested town.

  “So, what happened here?” he asked, his throat parched and dry. “What happened to all the townsfolk and how did you get here?”

  “Damned if I know what happened,” the gunman snapped. “I gotta ride into this town with a trucker. Seemed a good place to stop, like it was quiet an’ all. I was planning to stay in town for a while and lie low but that ‘aint gonna happen now. All these crazy bastards just seemed to come outta the woodwork like roaches, ya know?” He stared into space, replaying the events in his mind.

  “How long ago was that?” Trey asked. “How long have you been here?”

  The gunman shrugged. “A couple of days, maybe three.”

  The gunman was talking more freely now, with less aggression in his tone. Trey decided to keep him talking, trying to ease the tension. “Where are you from, man?”

  “North of here, that’s all you need to know.” He leant over the trunk, peering into the engine compartment again, mulling over what tools were required and the replacement hose sizes.

  Trey briefly considered smashing the hood cover down on the back of the gunman’s head but knew they’d be dead if he didn’t knock him unconscious on the first blow. He saw the butt of his Heckler and Koch poking from the back of his captor’s pants and slowly moved his hand towards the firearm.

  “What do they call you? I’m Trey and this is Leticia.”

  “Well, hallelujah and congratulations,” the gunman snarled. “I don’t give a shit what your god damn names are.” The hostility in his voice returned. He stood straight and whirled around, facing Trey and Leticia. “Sonny…my name is Sonny, not that it makes much difference to you. Now, come on. Let’s get these damn hoses and get to work on this thing.” He waved them back towards the garage with the gun barrel.

  Trey sighed, knowing his chance of escape had gone. “Are we just going to work on the car right here, out in the open?” he stammered.

  The gunman or Sonny, as he called himself, glanced up and down the street looking for any hostiles. “I don’t see any crazy horses at the moment, but that don’t mean they won’t be back.”

  “Exactly,” Trey said. “We’d be better to fix up the ride inside the garage over that second inspection pit.” He knew their chances of immediate survival would be better out in the open but they wouldn’t last long in the town without a working vehicle. As a long term survival strategy, Trey decided it best to get his T-Bird up and running, then re-think his options.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “What the hell are you doing, Jorge?” Mancini hollered.

  Sweat poured down Jorge’s face but he remained standing over Mancini with the firearm pointed directly at his chest. “Get up,” he snapped. “Get to your feet, you pig bastard.”

  Mancini slowly hauled himself up to a standing position, wincing at the pain in his knee while raising his hands beside his head. “What the hell has got into you, Jorge?” he muttered. “I thought we were batting on the same team here?”

  Jorge rapidly shook his head. “Nah, you’d have killed me the moment we found that house in La Paz. I know you, Mancini; you’d have shot me like a lame dog.”

  Mancini sighed. Jorge was probably right. He would have executed Jorge the moment the situation was resolved but couldn’t admit that fact.

  “The game has changed, Jorge. You know that. This is no longer a search and destroy mission. It’s bigger than that now. We need to work together to resolve this thing.”

  Jorge laughed in a throaty wheeze and Mancini knew he wasn’t buying his story.

  “I don’t need you at all, Mancini. I have all the cash I need to get out of Mexico,” Jorge said, grinning maliciously and taking a step closer to Mancini.

  “So, where are you going to go, Jorge? How far do you think you’ll get with all that stolen cash and the cops and authorities all over the damn place?” Mancini hissed. “This is all going to blow up into a national disaster and be all across the news, if we don’t stop it.”

  “It’s too late,” Jorge yelled, leaning into Mancini’s face. “It’s too late to stop any of it. Look what it has done to a small town like this. Soon whole cities will be infected and the epidemic will spread across the whole of North and South America and perhaps the whole world, in a very short space of time. Don’t you understand? We have to get away while we still can.”

  “We?” Mancini repeated. “It looks like you’re bailing out on me, Jorge.”

  “Ah, you can do what you want,” Jorge spat, waving his hand in the air. “Go and find Luiz or Logrono and get yourself killed in La Paz. I don’t care. Either way, they’ll kill you if you show up there. Me, I’m using my head and getting out of here.”

  “To where, Jorge?” Mancini barked. “You just said it yourself, nowhere is safe with these fucked up crystals around, infecting everybody. You can’t just duck your head in the sand and hope this all goes away.”

  “I know that!” Jorge screamed. He backed away, glaring into Mancini’s eyes. “Let’s just search for those car keys, shall we?” He ushered Mancini into the room where the infected man had sprang from. “We’ll start looking in here.”

  Mancini shook his head and slowly walked into the ro
om. He decided to play along with Jorge’s plans for the moment. Jorge followed, training the firearm at the small of Mancini’s back. Mancini worried that Jorge had become an instantly changed man since he’d acquired the firearm and the balance of power had shifted.

  The rotting stench increased the second Mancini entered the room. He flapped at clouds of buzzing flies circling around his head.

  “Holy Mother of…” Jorge whispered, as he tailed Mancini into the stinking room.

  The remains of a big black dog lay on the floor beside a blood encrusted couch, sitting against the back wall. The animal’s carcass lay on its side and the flesh was torn from its belly. Guts and intestines spilled from the wound and the fur and skin was torn open exposing the dog’s rib cage.

  “Ah, I think I’m going to puke,” Jorge gasped.

  Even Mancini’s hardened stomach knotted up at the sight of the shredded dog. He quickly scanned the room looking for the VW car keys. An old TV set sat on a rickety looking table opposite the couch and a bookshelf with a distinct lack of publications on the shelves held no sign of any keys.

  “They’re not in here,” Mancini spluttered, swatting at the flies. “Let’s just get out of this stinking room, Jorge.”

  “All right,” Jorge croaked, holding his free hand over his mouth and nose. “Come on then, hurry it up, move yourself, Mancini.”

  Mancini turned and made for the door leading back into the hallway. Jorge followed and closed the door behind them, spluttering into his hand.

  “Maybe you’re right, Jorge,” Mancini huffed. “Maybe that car doesn’t belong to the guy in this house.” He knew Jorge was rattled at the sight of the mutilated dog and tried to further unnerve his mental state.

  “Maybe you should shut up,” Jorge snapped. “We haven’t finished searching yet. We’ll stop when I say, not you.” He gazed around the hallway, deciding which room to search next. His eyes fell on the infected man’s corpse laying splayed out on the tiles. “Perhaps this guy still has the car keys in his pants pocket. You should search him.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere near that filthy piece of shit,” Mancini said, shaking his head.

  “Do it or I’ll shoot you in the face, right here in this stinking hall,” Jorge seethed through clenched teeth. He jabbed the gun barrel at Mancini for effect. “I don’t have anything to lose by killing you, Mancini.”

  Mancini glared at Jorge but reluctantly approached the dead body. He winced when he crouched next to the blood spattered cadaver and turned his head to one side when he rifled through the dead guy’s front pockets of his torn jog pants. Mancini noticed what looked like teeth punctures in the material of the guy’s clothing and hoped the bites were inflicted by the dog, going down fighting.

  “Hurry it up,” Jorge hissed.

  “All right, I’m doing my damn best here,” Mancini protested. The time would come when Jorge was off guard and he could overpower him, reclaim his handgun and teach the son of a bitch a lesson. Mancini couldn’t kill him immediately. He had to find out that address in La Paz. Maybe he’d torture him a little to find out the information he needed. Jorge was definitely a dead man walking after pulling this latest shenanigan.

  “Are they there?” Jorge persisted.

  Mancini pulled out the guy’s wallet but no keys. He held up the leather bound wallet for Jorge to see. Jorge snatched the wallet from Mancini’s grasp and opened it up.

  “Try his other pockets and do it quickly,” Jorge snarled, rifling through the wallet. He took the guy’s driving license and other forms of ID and slipped them into his own pockets. “Those might be useful when I’m getting away from here,” he muttered.

  Mancini plunged his hand inside the dead guy’s other pocket and heard something metallic rattling inside. He took a quick glance at the man’s blood strewn face and half expected him to suddenly lurch back to life and resume his attack.

  “Come on, Mancini,” Jorge persisted, jabbing the gun barrel at the side of Mancini’s face. “Search him faster. I want to get out of here. The place is giving me the creeps.” He tossed the wallet onto the floor behind them.

  Mancini’s fingers touched something metallic and he heard a jangle sound. He wrapped his thumb and forefinger around a bunch of keys and pulled them from the guy’s pocket. He held up the bunch by the chrome fob, next to the side of his head.

  “A-ha! I knew they were here someplace,” Jorge crowed, snatching the keys from Mancini. He searched through the bunch and found an elongated key with “VW” etched on the bow. “Okay, I’m out of here. But first, you will hand over your cell phone.” He took a couple of backward steps. “Stay on your knees and slide it to me across the floor.”

  Mancini slowly took out his cell phone and reluctantly complied. Jorge quickly stooped down and scooped up the device. Mancini suddenly wondered whether Jorge would go the whole nine yards and shoot him in the back. At first, he didn’t think he had the balls but now he was close to freedom, the circumstances had changed.

  “Only one last thing to say, Mancini – Close your eyes and pray to whatever God you believe in - Adios, amigo.”

  Mancini faced the front door, waiting for the killing gunshot to come his way.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Starting the Thunderbird had proved difficult. The engine turned over but didn’t fire up on the first few attempts. Trey grew increasingly nervous about the amount of noise the whine of the starter motor and the rattling engine made when Sonny turned the ignition key.

  Eventually, the engine fired and Trey opened the sliding doors in front of the vacant inspection pit. He flung the pile of tires aside and glanced nervously up and down the street, expecting to see an army of infected lurching towards them. Surprisingly, no contaminated people emerged from the main or side streets and Trey wondered where the hell they’d all gone.

  Sonny drove the Thunderbird inside the garage nose first and Trey slammed the doors closed after Leticia hurried inside.

  “Okay, let’s get to work,” Sonny sighed, leaping out of the driver’s seat. He marched over to the big red sets of drawers, holding assortments of tools and picked out the ones he needed. Leticia stood next to Trey with her arms folded across her chest. Sonny set the selected tools down on a work bench beside the front of the Thunderbird.

  “Come on, open up the hood again, will ya?” Sonny called, as he searched through the racks and shelves containing various spare vehicle parts.

  Trey moved towards the Thunderbird hood but Leticia grabbed his arm as he walked by. She quickly glanced at Sonny, who was searching through a cardboard box on one of the shelves fixed to the rear wall.

  “We need to do something,” Leticia whispered, leaning close to Trey. “He’s going to kill us if we don’t escape.”

  Trey nodded. “We’ll be okay, I promise,” he muttered.

  “Hurry it up, Sweetheart. Open the god damn hood,” Sonny shouted across the garage.

  Trey reached down and briefly squeezed Leticia’s hand. He forced a smile before moving to the front of the car and opening the hood. Leticia shuffled alongside him and he realized she was still terrified.

  “Out of the way, give me some room,” Sonny demanded, as he barged his way between Trey and Leticia with a bunch of black rubber hoses in his hands.

  Trey glanced at Sonny and noticed both butts of the handguns protruded from the front of his waistband. He thought about going for one of the firearms but again he decided against it. He didn’t want to rile the guy and any botched escape attempt would end badly for him and Leticia.

  “Stand over there and let me work,” Sonny instructed, gesturing to the side wall of the workshop.

  Trey and Leticia shuffled to the wall and leaned against the concrete blocks. Trey wanted a cigarette but remembered Mancini had the only pack. Sonny muttered and cussed under his breath as he fiddled around inside the engine compartment. He tossed several split hoses onto the ground beside the front of the car.

  Leticia motioned with her he
ad towards the large sliding door. Trey interpreted her signal as a gesture to make a run for it. He glanced at the doors but knew they’d never get them open in time and Sonny could aim and shoot at them before they even reached the exit.

  Maybe Sonny wouldn’t kill them after he’d fixed the Thunderbird, Trey thought. Maybe he’d need them as a kind of shield. Sonny could obviously use a handgun and perhaps he’d keep them safe from the gangs of infected people roaming the whole of the Baja Peninsula. He and Leticia might even be onto a good thing.

  The noise of something banging against the sliding doors jolted Trey from his inner thoughts. Leticia emitted a single shrill screech at the thumping sound. Sonny looked up from the engine compartment with a concerned expression on his face.

  “Quiet, you all,” he hissed.

  The three of them stood in tension filled silence, waiting to hear if the sound returned. Leticia gasped in shock when a hand smacked against the front door window. They saw a figure looming against the other side of the glass.

  “Stay still,” Sonny whispered. “With any luck, it’ll go away real soon.”

  “How far are you from getting done, man?” Trey whispered in return.

  Sonny didn’t reply. He returned a grimace and flapped his hand, indicating for Trey to be silent. They heard a long moan from outside then several more thumps across the sliding door. Leticia whimpered and Trey wrapped his arms around her. He looked over to Sonny, who gave him a nod of acknowledgement before he returned to work furiously on the engine.

  The sliding door rattled in its frame and the hinges creaked. More thumping and banging continued on the outside panels and Sonny glanced up from the engine.

  “You did bolt that sliding door, didn’t you?” he whispered to Trey.

  Trey briskly nodded. “Do they know we’re in here?”