Green Ice: A Deadly High

by Christian Fletcher

  Jorge tumbled to the ground and landed heavily. He cried out in pain and clutched hold of his right ankle.

  Mancini aimed the rifle at the fourth attacker, a middle aged bald man and fired another killing round, striking the guy in his left eye. The infected crowd began to hustle forward towards Mancini. They were now more interested in him than the shredded, mutilated law agents on the ground. Mancini aimed the rifle into the infected crowd and squeezed the trigger but the mechanism clicked without firing a round.

  “Shit, the ammo’s out,” he hissed, realizing he should have checked the unconscious law agent for some spare magazines.

  Mancini had tucked his Heckler and Koch handgun in the back of his waistband and now the infected horde were closing in on him. He’d have to scale the fence in double quick time or try and stand and fight off at least two dozen thrashing assailants. The decision was a no-brainer; Mancini had to flee the scene.

  Flinging the empty rifle at his attackers, Mancini turned and took two big strides towards the fence. He leapt as high as he could and clung on to the wire mesh strips. The infected horde surged forward and a collection of hands grasped at Mancini’s trailing legs. He kicked out as he scaled the wall of wire mesh, expecting teeth to sink into his calves at any second.

  The fence rattled and bowed under the weight of the infected crowd, pushing and jostling to try and get at Mancini. He felt his heart rapidly hammering in his chest as he pulled himself up the wire links, with fingernails scraping the soles of his boots.

  Jorge scrabbled to his feet but hobbled on a damaged ankle. He moved out the way of the fence where Mancini would land, if he successfully climbed over the fence.

  Mancini kicked away a hand that grabbed hold of his left heel. He scrambled up the wire mesh and hooked his elbows over the roofing felt on top of the barbed wire, then swung his leg across the fence. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mancini sat astride the fence and glanced down at the gathered infected crowd below him.

  “Shitting death,” he mumbled, before lifting his other leg over the top of the wire and dropping down to the ground on the other side of the fence. “At least those fuckers don’t seem to be able to climb,” he rasped to himself.

  The infected horde furiously rattled the fence, trying to pull the wire mesh away from their post fittings. Mancini glanced around the immediate ground space before he sprung to his feet.

  “Come on, Jorge. We need to find our way back to the damn Thunderbird as quick as possible.” Mancini started to move but turned around when he realized Jorge wasn’t keeping pace.

  Jorge’s face was screwed in pain and he hobbled on his right ankle.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mancini muttered.

  “I turned my ankle over when I landed,” Jorge groaned with a grimace. “It hurts like hell.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jorge,” Mancini sighed. “You really are a walking fuck up, you know that?”

  “I…I’m struggling to walk. I don’t think I can make it back to the car.”

  “No other options available, Jorge,” Mancini snapped. “We walk or we get eaten. Simple as that.”

  “All right, I’ll try,” Jorge rasped and hobbled a couple of steps towards Mancini.

  “We need to figure out where the hell we are in conjunction to the Thunderbird,” Mancini said. “But first of all, we need to get as far away from here as possible before those goons bust through that wire fence.” Mancini jabbed a thumb behind him.

  Jorge nodded and limped after Mancini, who strode a few paces into the darkness.

  “Looks as though we’re on some kind of waste ground,” Mancini said, studying a couple of rusting, discarded washing machines, standing side by side.

  The area stretched the few yards they could actually see and beyond into the inky darkness.

  “I don’t like this,” Mancini muttered. “We’re too exposed out here. Did you see which way Trey and Leticia went?”

  “No, I didn’t see them go,” Jorge grunted. “I was too busy staring down the barrel of a gun to notice them take off.”

  “Fair point,” Mancini said. “I was kind of doing the same thing myself.” He scanned the foreground for any sign of movement as they walked. The screams and yells of the infected at the fence line behind them grew quieter.

  “Sounds like they’ve given up on us,” Jorge muttered, nodding over his shoulder.

  Mancini turned his head. “Either that or they’ve found a way through the fence,” he said.

  “You think?” Jorge rasped, his eyes widening with alarm. “I won’t be able to run for it if they chase us. I’m dead meat, Mancini.”

  “You better hope and pray they don’t find a way through, Jorge.”

  Mancini bent down and picked up a thin length of timber lying on the ground. He tossed the wood at Jorge.

  “You can use that thing as a kind of crutch. You won’t out run the crazy folk but at least you can take the weight off your bad ankle.”

  Jorge leaned on the timber and used it as he walked. “It kind of works, I suppose,” he muttered, still grimacing in pain.

  “Stop whining, Jorge,” Mancini sighed. “At least you’re still alive. That’s more than can be said for those agents back there.”

  “Yes, I’m still alive at the moment, but for how long?” Jorge groaned.

  “I think we should head to our left,” Mancini said, pointing the way. “That route should take us back to the main street we were heading for, before we got delayed. I sure hope Trey and Leticia made it back to the car okay.”

  “They’ll be long gone out of this shit hole town, if they had any sense,” Jorge mumbled.

  Mancini shook his head and carried on walking. He led the way, heading to their left through piles of rubble, a few discarded TV sets with broken screens and general fly tipped household junk. Jorge followed, hobbling on his make shift crutch. The moonlight illuminated the waste ground in an eerie, silvery glow that cast deep shadows amongst the piles of trash.

  Mancini headed for a row of buildings that looked as though they were lining a roadway to the front. He stopped at the mouth of a brick walled alleyway, steeped in shadows, running along the rear of the buildings.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Jorge whispered, when he caught up with Mancini.

  Mancini drew his handgun and hunched over, staring intently down the alleyway.

  “I don’t want to get snarled up in that alley,” he said. “If we go down there, I want to make sure we’re not going to be ambushed halfway through.”

  Jorge glanced behind them when he heard a rattling sound. “I don’t think we have much choice about going through the alley,” he hissed.

  “What?” Mancini turned his head to follow Jorge’s gaze. The moonlight shone across the waste ground and he saw several staggering figures making their way through the trash piles, heading in their direction.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “All right, let’s go,” Mancini rumbled. “Just keep your eyes peeled for any hostiles coming at us.”

  Jorge nodded, glancing around nervously. It seemed the infected were crawling out from everywhere around them.

  Mancini led the way through the dark alley, stepping forward cautiously. He knew they couldn’t afford to hang around too long or the pursuing contaminated would catch them up. The alley stank of rotten food and stale urine and Mancini guessed people used it as an extension of the trash filled waste ground behind them. He glanced back and saw Jorge was starting to lag behind.

  “Hurry it up, Jorge,” he hissed.

  Jorge grunted some inaudible protest but quickened his hobbling pace.

  A stray cat leapt out of a trash can leaning against the wall to their right. Mancini and Jorge both stopped in their tracks, startled by the sudden movement and the noise of the trash can lid clanging to the ground.

  “Holy shit,” Jorge hissed. “That scared the crap out of me.”

  “Yeah, well, there are worse things than damn cats around this place,” Man
cini muttered. “Come on, let’s get moving. The sound of that trash can lid will have alerted all the crazy bastards in the vicinity to our whereabouts.” He glanced beyond Jorge’s shoulder, back to the alley entrance. No infected approached and he couldn’t see the waste ground from their position.

  Mancini peered around the corner of the brick wall at the opposite end of the alleyway. He saw an empty street with the law agents vehicles still parked in the center of the road, around twenty yards to their left. No agents patrolled the area and Mancini couldn’t see anybody inside the vehicles.

  “We’ll take a look through those cars,” Mancini said. “You never know what we might find. Cop cars are a treasure trove of equipment and stuff.”

  “All right but make it quick,” Jorge huffed. “I need to rest my ankle.”

  Mancini cautiously padded into the gloomy street, keeping amongst the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Jorge plodded after him, grimacing at every painful step.

  The law agent’s vehicles still had their headlamps on and the blue and red lights still whirred around on the top of the roofs. Mancini tried the driver’s door on the lead vehicle but found it was locked. He tried the second vehicle with a similar outcome. Not for the first time, Mancini regretted not rifling through the law agent’s pockets after he’d rendered him unconscious.

  “All locked up, huh?” Jorge asked.

  Mancini tucked his handgun back inside his waistband and tried to open the vehicle’s trunks but they were also locked.

  “Just a thought. I figured we could use some flashlights and night sticks if they had them inside the cars,” Mancini said.

  A male voice called out from the side street where they had originally walked through. Mancini and Jorge swiveled around to face the source of the voice. They saw the body of the guy the law agents had gunned down, still lying on the blacktop. Two infected people crouched beside the corpse, feeding on the guy’s mutilated internal organs. A tall, thin law agent, clad in black combat clothing and a flak jacket strapped around his torso, strolled briskly back towards the vehicles. He aimed his semi automatic rifle at the two infected people huddled next to the corpse and opened fire. Both infected jolted then slumped to the ground, eliminated with a single headshot each.

  Jorge glanced nervously at Mancini as the law agent strode towards them. “I didn’t know there was another one of them left standing,” he muttered.

  “Stay cool,” Mancini whispered. “The guy is probably spooked. My guess is he stayed with the vehicles when the rest of them chased after us.”

  The law agent pointed his rifle at Jorge and Mancini and spoke directly to them in Spanish. He was young and lean but his eyes were wide and he looked anxious.

  “He wants to know why we are roaming around the area after curfew hours,” Jorge translated.

  Mancini felt slightly relieved. At least the guy either hadn’t recognized them or hadn’t seen them before.

  “Just tell him we’re lost and trying to get out of the city,” Mancini said.

  The law agent pointed his rifle barrel at Jorge’s make shift crutch and asked him a question in a menacing tone. Jorge’s face dropped and he looked extremely worried.

  “What is it? What did he say?” Mancini asked. His hand slowly moved around his back and gripped the butt of his Heckler and Koch.

  “He wants to know why my leg is bad. He thinks I’ve been bitten by the infected.”

  Mancini knew the situation was heading to a bad place. He had to intervene. The law agent took a couple of backward paces and leveled his rifle at Jorge’s chest. Reluctantly, Mancini whipped the Heckler and Koch from his waistband and around to his front. He instinctively aimed and fired one shot at the young law agent. The round ripped through the guy’s bicep and the force knocked him off his feet.

  Jorge stumbled backwards against the side of the police vehicle. He was shocked and surprised by Mancini’s accomplishments and the speed of his reactions. Mancini kept his firearm aimed at the felled law agent and moved at speed towards him. He picked up the rifle from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. The law agent groaned and writhed in pain on the blacktop, clamping a hand over his gunshot wound.

  “Tell him I’m sorry I had to do that,” Mancini said. “But he was going to shoot us.”

  Jorge composed himself and translated Mancini’s apology. The law agent spat some response that Mancini didn’t need translating. He knew it wasn’t any words of wisdom or an acceptance of his apology.

  Wails and screeches of infected people from somewhere nearby reverberated around the street.

  “They’re coming,” Jorge muttered. “We have to go.”

  “Hang on a moment,” Mancini grunted. He crouched over the injured law agent and searched through his utility belt and his pockets. He took a flashlight, a can of pepper spray, a set of cuffs, some spare magazines for the semi automatic and a set of keys for one of the police vehicles.

  “What are you going to do?” Jorge asked.

  Mancini handed him the flashlight, stuffed the spare magazines, cuffs and pepper spray into the side pockets of his pants and marched towards the police car, holding the key fob. He depressed the button on the fob and the car at the rear clunked as the doors unlocked.

  “We’re hitching a ride,” Mancini muttered. “Get inside.”

  “What about him?” Jorge asked, nodding at the injured law agent. “Are we just going to leave him here for the crazy people to rip apart?”

  Mancini thought for a moment. He didn’t really want to leave the guy at the mercy of the infected but knew they couldn’t risk taking him along.

  “Get up,” Mancini growled, waving the barrel of his handgun up and down to indicate what he meant.

  The law agent groaned and grimaced while he hauled himself to his feet. His hand still covered the gunshot wound and blood ran through his fingers and down the front of his shirt. Mancini kept his firearm trained on the law agent and ushered him towards the trunk of the police car. Mancini pressed another button on the key fob to open the trunk. He checked the interior and took out a pump action shotgun and some spare shells.

  “Nice piece,” he muttered to himself, admiring the shotgun while checking it was loaded. He glanced at the law agent then nodded to the trunk interior. The law agent shook his head. “Okay, get in the trunk or stay here. It’s entirely up to you,” Mancini growled.

  Snarling and growling noises coming from the side street, broke the silence. Mancini and Jorge glanced down the side street and saw around a dozen infected people move at speed out from the shadows and head in their direction. They’d obviously heard the gunshot and were immediately attracted to the noise. Several infected also made their way back down the fire escape staircase at the side of the bar.

  “Shit, we need to go,” Jorge spluttered and hobbled towards the passenger side of the police car. He opened the door and swore and groaned in pain as he clambered inside.

  “It’s make your mind up time,” Mancini said to the law agent.

  The law agent turned his head and saw the rapidly approaching bunch of infected. He groaned and folded himself inside the trunk.

  “Good choice,” Mancini said and closed the trunk lid. He hurried to the driver’s side door and jumped into the seat.

  The infected gaggle ran through the side street, cutting the distance between them and the police cars. Mancini fired up the engine, selected drive and put his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The leading infected people leapt onto the exterior of the stationary police car and ran across the roof. Two contaminated men sprang from the top of the immobile police vehicle and jumped at the moving car Mancini drove. One of the infected landed on the roof of Mancini’s police vehicle and the other thumped onto the top of the trunk.

  “Looks like we’ve picked up some unwanted passengers,” Mancini growled, as they sped from the side street.

  Jorge swiveled in his seat and glanced through the back window. He saw a snarling young guy crouching on the trunk and c
lawing the glass. Metallic thumps and bangs came from the roof and Jorge looked up through the sun visor and saw a tousled haired guy peering down at him.

  “They’re all over the car,” Jorge whimpered.

  “I know that,” Mancini muttered. “Time for a bit of evasive driving.” He sharply twisted the steering wheel from left to right. The police car violently rocked from side to side and the infected guy crouched on the trunk lost his balance and clattered onto the roadway, rolling across the blacktop. The second infected man clung to the frame of the blue and red lights, maintaining his position on top of the car.

  Mancini rounded a corner, the tires screeched as the vehicle fishtailed across the roadway. The infected guy still clung on to the light’s structure on the roof. He clawed the sun visor with one hand while he clung to the metal light frame with the other.

  “It’s still up there on the roof,” Jorge screeched.

  Mancini sped up as he fought the slide and regained control of the police car. He hit the brakes hard and the vehicle screeched to a halt. The street outside the car seemed calm and quiet.

  “Has he gone?” Mancini asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jorge whispered. “I didn’t hear him roll off the car.”

  Mancini revved the engine. “Let’s get going. We’ll try a right turn up ahead at the end of this road.” He pointed through the windshield.

  The side window on the driver’s side imploded, showering Mancini and Jorge with small chips of glass. A pair of hands reached through the shattered window and grabbed Mancini’s left arm and shoulder. The upside down head of the infected guy lurched through the open window, with teeth clattering together, attempting to chomp at Mancini’s face.

  “The guy is still up there on the roof,” Jorge wailed.

  “No shit,” Mancini spluttered, trying to bat off the grasping hands clawing at his neck. His foot pressed harder down on the gas pedal and the police car shot forward. He tried to keep the steering wheel level with the road but it spun out of his grasp as the infected guy’s hands scrabbled around his upper body.