Trey was first to reach the Thunderbird. He held the keys in his hand ready to fire up the engine.
“Come on, Jorge, we have to go. The whole plan has gone to rat shit but you might be able to help us find a…” Trey stopped talking when he saw Jorge and realized he wasn’t capable of hearing anything anymore. Jorge looked as though he had a second mouth, stretched wide open in a blood soaked smile where his throat was slit. His eyes remained open and his face was pale white.
Trey slammed the side of the Thunderbird with the flat of his hand. “That motherfucker,” he yelled.
Trey spun around when he heard the rumble of a vehicle engine approaching. Sonny was going to pay. He slung the rifle off his shoulder, crouched in a kneeling position in front of the Thunderbird trunk and aimed down the scope. The pickup truck was fitted with dark tinted windows and Trey couldn’t see Sonny inside the cab. Fuck it, no matter, he thought.
Trey fired a shot. The round cannoned off the crash bars and ricocheted away. Sonny obviously knew he was being fired at and began to weave the truck in slalom, left and right, whooping in ecstasy as he reloaded the Uzi.
“I love this shit!” Sonny hollered, punching the cab roof.
Trey fired again, this time hitting the windshield but the round hit high up in the top left of the glass. It wouldn’t have troubled the driver.
Sonny laughed aloud, ducking behind the wheel as the bullet whipped through the cab, high over his right shoulder.
Trey attempted to compose himself and try to shake off the fatigue and the increasing effects of a fever. He aimed to the right side of the windshield and squeezed the trigger. The mechanism clicked but didn’t discharge a round. Trey cocked back the slide and saw the magazine was empty and he had no full spares. He’d given them all to Leticia.
“Ah, shit,” he groaned.
Sonny read Trey’s body language as he rolled the pickup truck to a halt, with the front crash bars six inches from Trey’s head. Sonny jumped out of the cab and waved Mancini down from the truck bed with the reloaded Uzi. Mancini clambered down and Sonny ushered him to stand beside Trey.
“I’ll take that, Punchy,” Sonny growled, tearing the semi automatic rifle from Trey’s grasp. He tossed the rifle over the side of the ridge beyond the front of the Thunderbird, where the sea lapped over the beach. “And I thought you and me were best of buddies.”
“Why didn’t you go?” Mancini hissed at Trey. He glanced into the Thunderbird’s rear and saw Jorge’s corpse, sprawled across the seat. He turned back to Sonny. “You got to him first, huh?”
Sonny nodded. “We had a nice little talk. He didn’t speak very highly of you guys though.”
Shrieks and squawks drifted from further back down the road as the infected crowd poured out of the open gates and pounded over the blacktop towards the parked vehicles.
“Okay, we don’t have a whole lot of time to waste, so open up that T-Bird trunk and hand over the cash,” Sonny commanded, flicking the Uzi barrel up and down. “Jeez, I can’t believe it was right under my nose all this time.”
Trey flashed Mancini a glance before he reluctantly turned to the Thunderbird trunk and unlocked it with his keys. He opened the trunk lid revealing the two holdalls inside.
“Toss me the keys, kid,” Sonny demanded.
Trey pulled the keys out of the lock and hurled them at Sonny, thinking he should have thrown them over the side of the embankment before he’d unlocked the trunk. At least, that way Sonny wouldn’t have got away with the cash. The bunch of keys hit Sonny on his shoulder and fell onto the dusty shoulder.
“Now, that wasn’t too polite, Punchy.” He bent down to pick up the keys and Mancini took a step forward. “Uh-uh, don’t you fucking dare,” Sonny growled, aiming the Uzi at Mancini’s chest.
Sonny kept his eyes on Mancini as he crouched and retrieved the keys. He stood up and tossed the car keys over the edge of the ridge, where he’d disposed of the rifle. He was anticipating torturing Mancini for a while before he killed him but now decided to abandon those plans. Instead, he’d take the cash and leave these two jerks for the crazy heads to feast on. What could be worse than being eaten alive?
“Okay, toss those bags onto the ground in front of me, Punchy,” Sonny growled at Trey.
Trey flashed him a scowl but turned and slid the holdalls out from the trunk. He set them down at Sonny’s feet, like he’d demanded.
“All right, that’s good. Now, open them up nice and slow so I can see what’s inside those bags,” Sonny said. “Let’s see if you guys are full of shit or telling the truth.”
Trey crouched down, slightly in front of Mancini and slowly unzipped both holdalls. Mancini felt the outside of his pocket and slowly slipped his hand inside.
Sonny gaped at the rolls of dollar bills inside the holdalls.
“Holy mother of…” Sonny had lost his concentration for a split second. The sight of large piles of cash had sapped all his attention. It was the one second Mancini needed.
Mancini shoved Trey in the back as he lurched forward. Trey fell at Sonny’s feet and Mancini raised his hand, holding the can of pepper spray and aiming it at Sonny’s eyes. Sonny glanced up from the holdalls but didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. Mancini fired off a jet of the oily liquid from the canister that shot into Sonny’s face. Sonny instinctively closed his eyes against the spray of liquid but almost immediately felt his skin burn and his vision blurred over. His face creased against the pain and he cried out in a high pitched yelp.
Mancini gripped Sonny’s wrist with his free hand and violently twisted outwards so the Uzi faced away from him and Trey. Sonny howled once again when Mancini sharply brought up his knee to meet the wrist he tightly held. Trey heard an audible crack as Mancini’s knee shattered Sonny’s wrist. The Uzi clattered to the ground and Trey scrabbled through the dust to scoop up the discarded firearm.
Mancini released the empty pepper spray canister and balled his hand into a fist. He delivered a right cross punch, which thumped against Sonny’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Sonny slammed into the front of the pickup truck, smashing the back of his head against the crash bars then slithered down into a sitting position, dazed and temporarily blinded.
Mancini quickly turned back to the Thunderbird trunk, fished around and retrieved the Beretta M9 that previously belonged to Sonny. Mancini checked the magazine and made the weapon ready for firing.
“Close up those holdalls and get them into the pickup truck cab, Trey,” Mancini barked. “We’ll have to take his ride. We don’t have time to search for the T-Bird keys now.” He glanced back down the road and saw the crowd of infected hurtling towards them.
Trey dropped the Uzi and zipped up the bags then lifted them into the pickup truck cab on top of the ledge behind the seats, doing his best to ignore the pain in his wrist. He also retrieved their personal baggage, containing their passports from the Thunderbird trunk and tossed them on top of the holdalls. Mancini checked inside the cab and saw the package of green ice in the passenger seat foot well.
“Come on, Trey, let’s go. Where’s Leticia?”
Trey glanced up at Mancini through the open doors and his heartbroken expression told Mancini all he needed to know. Mancini didn’t say anything more on the subject.
“What about that sample of green ice we had?” Mancini gasped. “You said it was inside one of those CD cases.”
Trey grunted and nodded then rushed to the Thunderbird’s glove box. He scooped out the whole of his CD collection and tossed them inside the pickup truck cab. “I can’t remember where the hell it is but we’ll go through them on our way out of here,” he yelled.
Breathing heavily, Sonny had one last trick up his sleeve. He reached around his back and felt for the Luger butt in his waistband. He pushed his back against the crash bars, hauling himself to his feet. Those bastards weren’t going to get away easily. He waved the Luger around, trying to force his eyes open. He saw blurred shapes moving around in the
foreground and fired off a round. Unfortunately for Sonny, the shot was high and wide.
Mancini and Trey heard a gunshot and swung around to see Sonny staggering around in front of the pickup truck with a firearm in his left hand. Trey crouched behind the open door on the passenger side, avoiding the immediate line of fire. Mancini ducked down, aiming the Beretta M9 at Sonny. He fired once and the round hit Sonny in the hollow of his left shoulder. He screamed in pain as he spun around, the Luger spilling from his grasp and skidding through the dust.
The infected horde closed in and was less than ten yards away. Mancini jumped into the cab and fired up the pickup truck whilst Trey slammed his passenger door shut. Mancini thumped the transmission into drive, slammed his boot down hard on the gas pedal and spun the steering wheel hard right. The crash bars narrowly missed the Thunderbird’s trunk and the back wheels spun in the dirt. The pickup truck roared forward onto the highway blacktop.
Mancini glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the infected surrounding Sonny in the center of the road. Sonny’s mouth hung open in an unheard scream and his eyes were red and swollen. He sunk to his knees on the blacktop and disappeared from view beneath a mass of frenzied infected bodies.
Mancini breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the highway ahead of him. He felt in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter and offered the pack to Trey. Trey took one without speaking and Mancini flicked open his Zippo. Trey lit his smoke and continued to gaze out of the side window.
“I’m sorry about Leticia. She was a nice girl, I know you liked her.”
“It don’t matter anyhow, man,” Trey muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. He turned his gaze back to Mancini. “We’ve all got to die sometime, right?”
Mancini shrugged. “Sure, but we got shit to do before that happens.”
Trey rolled up his left sleeve. “I don’t think so, man.”
Mancini turned his head and saw a reddened swelling around a bite mark on Trey’s forearm.
Chapter Eighty
Mancini turned off the highway and drove back along the dirt track. Trey’s condition deteriorated rapidly as they bounced along the uneven trail. He cried out in pain, holding his stomach and sweat rolled off him in waves. Mancini noticed Trey’s face grew paler and the poor kid looked as though he was already a corpse. He knew they wouldn’t find a cure in time and Trey would be lucky to survive until the end of the dirt track.
“It feels likes snakes are crawling through my guts, man,” Trey wailed, clutching his stomach.
Mancini glanced across the cab and saw the veins in Trey’s head squirming and pulsing as though they were trying to break through the skin.
“How long ago did you get bit? You might have a while before the infection takes hold of you,” Mancini said, doing his best to try and provide Trey with a little comfort.
“I got tagged in that damn gatehouse, man. I should have known that guy was infected,” Trey wailed. “I should have wasted him before he got me. The fucker was just sitting there in a chair, all peaceful and quiet like he was dead. Then the stinking bastard just got up and tagged me.”
“Hang on in there, Trey. It’ll be a better ride once we’re through this damn trail.”
“No, it’s no good, it’s no good.” Trey was close to tears. “You need to stop and let me out. You know what’s going to happen if you don’t, man.”
Mancini slowed the pickup truck as they drew up at the wooden bridge.
“Just give me one of those guns and let me out here, will you?” Trey groaned. “I always did like the water.”
Mancini stopped the truck and glanced over at Trey. He couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. “We never did get to go for that surf, did we?” He handed the Beretta M9 across the seat.
Trey forced a smile as he took the handgun. “Maybe in the next life, man.”
Mancini nodded. “You bet.”
He proffered his hand and Trey bent down and snapped his jaws close to Mancini’s fingers. Mancini quickly withdrew his hand and flashed a quizzical stare.
“Sorry, man. Just fucking with you,” Trey said, before wailing and grimacing due to a fresh wave of pain in his stomach. “It’s certainly been an interesting few days, though.” This time he offered Mancini his hand.
“No biting,” Mancini scolded and shook Trey’s hand. He noticed Trey’s palm was cold and clammy and almost soaked with sweat.
Trey reached for the door handle. “Go find that cure, Big Guy. You’re the bomb.”
Mancini smiled and nodded as Trey stumbled out from the cab. Trey closed the passenger door and Mancini rolled the vehicle forward. He was around half way across the bridge when he heard a single gunshot echo across the sandy ground.
“Goodbye, Trey,” Mancini muttered, trying to swallow away a lump in his throat.
Once he was clear of the trail, Mancini searched through the cab and found a plug in phone charger. He connected up his cell phone and called Reinbeck, receiving no reply so he left an angry message on the voice mail. A few miles further down the highway, he called the number he had for the mysterious Hector, to forewarn the guy he had the cash and the package of green ice. Predictably, Hector didn’t answer his call either.
Mancini didn’t take any chances while driving back along the Trans Peninsula Highway. He drove with his cell phone on a route finder application and skirted around any major towns or cities. He only stopped to gas up at deserted stations and didn’t stop to offer rides or to help anybody broken down on the roadside. He slept for only short periods of no more than thirty minutes at a time in lay-bys, with no buildings or signs of life for miles around. He ate from the cans of pork and beans that Sonny or whoever had previously owned the truck had left in a bag inside the cab.
Mancini played Trey’s Surf Rock CDs on the stereo, partly as a mark of respect and partly to find the green ice sample hidden inside one of the covers. Eventually, he found the small bag containing a small number of green crystals. Mancini had to stop the pickup truck at a deserted roadside and study the contents. He couldn’t figure out how such a small amount of product could cause so much devastation. Mancini briefly toyed with the idea of trying the narcotic himself. What did he seriously have to lose? He grunted and wailed in emotional denial, tossing the small bag onto the passenger seat. Trey’s sweaty, tortured face kept on flashing through his mind.
Mancini hadn’t cried since his mother’s funeral but tears streamed down his cheeks as he plowed on through the desert in the truck. Trey and Leticia were good kids and had given up their lives attempting to right a terrible wrong. The thought of their good intentions made Mancini sob even more.
When Mancini hit the city limits of Ensenada, he stopped on the shoulder, composed himself and tried calling Hector again. The call rang out with no reply. He tried calling Eddie Reinbeck’s number but didn’t expect a response. Mancini was about to cut the connection when a frantic voice answered the call.
“Yeah?” the voice said in a hushed tone.
“Eddie? Is that you? Oh, thank god,” Mancini sighed. “Listen, I got the merchandise but I’ve lost my guy, Trey along the way. Jorge is gone too.”
“You got the shit back?” Eddie hissed.
“Yeah, I got it, Eddie but I can’t get a hold of the guy in Ensenada I’m supposed to deliver it to. He won’t answer my calls.”
“The best thing you can do with that green shit is set fire to the whole pile of the god damn stuff,” Eddie snapped.
“What? Eddie, I’ve been through hell to get…” Mancini stopped talking when he realized he was talking to a dead line. “What the hell crawled up your ass, Eddie?” he muttered as he closed his cell phone.
Mancini bypassed Ensenada, taking a back route around the city then took a detour off the main highway, before he reached the outskirts of Tijuana. He made a note of the GPS coordinates on his phone and took a shovel from the truck bed. Mancini dug a six foot hole in the sandy soil beside a large rock. He tossed the array of spa
re firearms, ammunition and the package of green ice, including the small sample on top of the cash in the holdalls then dumped them into the hole. He filled in the soil and hurriedly jumped back into the pickup truck cab. No way was he going to attempt to cross the border with a whole load of illegal firearms and narcotics.
Mancini took a diverted route around Tijuana city center and headed back to the U.S. Border. The streets seemed unusually quiet and only a few people scurried along the sidewalks, looking terrified as they moved from different buildings.
Mancini felt increasingly uneasy as he neared the border. The tensed line of people and vehicles he’d witnessed when previously crossing the border had simply vanished.
Only a stream of wrecked, abandoned vehicles lined the road up to the border gates and Mancini slowly drove through the narrow gap between the lanes, nudging cars out of the way. No border vehicles of patrols of guys stood around the gates checking passports. The place was totally deserted.
Mancini thought he’d be relieved to be back on U.S. soil but now he was worried. He clicked on the radio and tuned through the channels until he found somebody talking in an official manner.
“The CDC have advised people to stay in their homes and not to venture outside,” the voice on the radio said. “A cure for the infection is being worked on but has not yet yielded any positive results. Do not attempt to approach the infected or try and reason with them. They will attack the living on sight, which will increase the spread of infection.”
“Fuck,” Mancini spat. He jammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a thin woman with long straggly brown hair, who was being chased across the road by a hefty man in a white vest, covered in blood and bite marks. They seemed totally oblivious to the speeding truck.
Mancini sat in the idling cab, staring ahead through the windshield at the wreckage of burning vehicles and mutilated bodies further down the gridlocked San Diego Freeway.
Green Ice: A Deadly High Page 37