Green Ice: A Deadly High

by Christian Fletcher

  “Is there any cure for this, Jorge?” Mancini asked. “Something like an antidote?”

  Jorge shook his head. “Not that I know of. As I said before, I was only involved with distribution. Luiz was the chemist but I doubt whether he knew the affects of the product would be so devastating. I’m sure he didn’t intend this to happen.”

  “Didn’t you try any samples or something?” Mancini asked.

  “We gave a few samples of the first batch to a couple of users back in LA but we didn’t try out or provide any samples of this new, refined batch to anybody.”

  “That figures,” Mancini huffed. “If you’d unleashed this shit in LA, you’d have one hell of a problem right now. Let’s just hope we can contain this situation before it becomes an outbreak of monu-fucking-mental proportions.” Mancini swiveled in his seat to take a half glimpse at Jorge. “You need to call Luiz and find out exactly what the fuck is going on and how many more samples of that green shit he sold on the road to La Paz.”

  Mancini took a glimpse beyond the tail end of the car and saw the pursuing gang of crazies recede into the distance.

  “We’ll pull over when we’ve put a few miles between us and those freaks and then you can make the call.”

  Jorge briefly nodded and Mancini turned his attention back to the road ahead. He shook his head and muttered under his breath. The enormity of the situation was rising with every mile they drove further towards their destination. Mancini knew they had to find the stash of green crystals and destroy them before the whole state of affairs became uncontrollable. A simple assignment was rapidly elevating from a pain in the ass and turning into one of the most difficult tasks of his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mancini drove onward for a further ten minutes, estimating he was roughly driving one mile per minute and pulled the car over onto the shoulder. He swiveled in his seat.

  “Okay, Jorge. Make that fucking call, right now,” he growled. “I’ve had about as much of this shit as I can take. We’re going to have those infected fuckers or the cops swarming all over us if we don’t get this total fucking mess cleared up real soon.” Mancini killed the engine and hauled himself from the driver’s seat. He walked up and down the shoulder beside the car, rolling his neck and arching his back, in attempt to alleviate the aches and pains pulsing throughout his body.

  Trey turned in his seat to check on Leticia. She sat motionless with her head forward, her hair flopping over her face.

  “You okay?” Trey whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes were tear stained and her run mascara had begun to dry in smears on her cheeks.

  “I’m never going to get back home, am I?” she muttered. “Those infected people are going to be everywhere.”

  Trey sighed. “We get this job done and do it right and we all get to go home.” He tried to sound credible but wasn’t totally convinced they could pull this assignment off without any of them getting killed in the process.

  “Talking of which, you need to make that call to Luiz right now, Jorge,” Mancini instructed, tossing Jorge his phone. His feet scuffed in the dust beside the Thunderbird as he impatiently strolled back and forth. “Make the call on my cell phone and don’t mention the fact we’re on our way down there. If you do warn him in any way, you’re a dead man. I’ll shoot you right here.” He drew his handgun and cocked it for effect.

  Leticia whimpered at the sight of the firearm so Trey helped her out from the car. The two of them took a slow walk along the shoulder, a few yards from the Thunderbird. Jorge stared at Mancini’s cell phone in his hands.

  “Okay, it’s just you and me now, Jorge,” Mancini said. “If you can’t remember his number, we’ll look through your old phone. It’s in the glove box if you need it.”

  “No, give me a second. I can remember the number,” Jorge stammered. “He may not reply if he doesn’t recognize the number though.”

  “Just damn well try it, Jorge, will you,” Mancini growled. “You’re starting to piss me off with all your bullshit.”

  Jorge nervously wiped sweat from his forehead and began punching the numbers into the cell phone. Mancini lit a cigarette and waited for Jorge to speak.

  “It’s gone to voice mail,” Jorge whispered, glancing up at Mancini.

  “Well, leave a message for him to call you back on this number, urgently. And make sure you speak in English.”

  Jorge nodded. “Luiz?...I have lost my original cell phone but I have a replacement. Call me back on this number when you get this message. I need to speak with you immediately about a very serious matter. I have to come to La Paz to find you. Things have gone very wrong, my friend. Call me back as soon as possible…please.” He cut the connection and handed Mancini back the phone. “That is all I could do.”

  Mancini sighed and replaced his phone back into his pants pocket. He made the handgun safe and stuffed it back into his waistband. They’d have to keep trying to call Luiz at every opportunity. Traveling to La Paz without knowing his location was going to be a big waste of time.

  “You better hope he calls you right back, Jorge or we’re all in deep shit.”

  Mancini climbed back into the driver’s seat and honked the horn. Trey and Leticia turned back to the Thunderbird and Mancini waved for them to return.

  “Well? Do we know where we’re going or what?” Trey asked when they drew closer.

  Mancini sighed. “Not exactly. Luiz isn’t answering his cell phone.”

  “Ah, man. That really sucks. You sure this dude is calling the right number?” He flashed Jorge a conceited glance. “He could be like, trying to jerk us off.”

  Leticia hesitantly crawled into the backseat alongside Jorge. Mancini turned to look at him.

  “I don’t think he’s even that stupid. Are you, Jorge?”

  Jorge nodded. “No, I called him. You heard me leave a message. It was the correct number, I’m certain of it.”

  Trey spat into the dust before he slumped back into the passenger seat. “I’m sick of this shit,” he muttered.

  Mancini felt the same way but felt he had to maintain an air of professionalism so he kept his own thoughts to himself. He fired up the engine and rolled the car back onto the road, glancing in the rear view mirror for any sign of the advancing bunch of crazies from the village behind them.

  The highway remained clear of traffic and people. They drove through sporadic settlements of small houses and acres of dusty, barren land, with partial patches of trees and cactus plants.

  “We’ll probably need to gas up before we hit La Paz,” Trey said. Mancini nodded in acknowledgement. Trey reached into the glove box and took out the map. He studied the route to La Paz. “Holy crap, this damn highway dog legs right across the whole peninsula, man. We’ll be driving right out of our way to get where we need to be.”

  “I figured as much,” Mancini groaned. He took out his cell phone from his pants pocket and checked the messages. Luiz still hadn’t returned the call and he began to worry what the hell had gone down with the cartel and the green crystals. Mancini turned on the stereo and played the Surf Rock CDs once again. He leaned across the seats and took out Jorge’s cell phone from the glove box. The screen was cracked and the display looked a little fuzzy. Mancini scrolled through the contact list and found Luiz’s number. He checked the digits matched to the call Jorge had made on his own phone. He pressed the call button on Jorge’s damaged phone but the screen immediately went blank. The cell phone was definitely broken. Mancini tossed it back into the glove box and slammed the cover closed.

  They stopped to grab some food at a small store further down the highway and Trey took over the driving duties once they pulled back onto the road. Traffic on the highway seemed non-existent and Mancini wondered why the whole area was so desolate. Trey pulled into a garage a few miles further down the road, rolling the Thunderbird to a standstill next to the gas pumps.

  “Is this place even open for business?” he said, glancing around the dark int
erior of the station.

  “I’m not so sure,” Mancini muttered. “Let’s get out and take a look around, but be on your guard.”

  Trey cut the engine and got out of the car. “Hello? Anybody around?” He shrugged then opened the gas tank cover and inserted the nozzle from the pump. The gas started to pump into the tank when he applied the trigger. “It seems to be pumping fine,” he said to Mancini. “Hey, maybe we can gas up for free.”

  Mancini wasn’t so sure. Although the place was eerily silent, he felt as though they were being watched. “This don’t feel right,” he muttered, placing his hand on the butt of his firearm inside his waistband.

  Trey stayed beside the pump but Mancini cautiously stepped forward toward the station, squinting to try and see through the darkened plate glass window to the interior. He stopped when he noticed a pool of blood on the ground, a few feet from the station doorway. The door remained open a fraction of an inch and Mancini heard the whirr of refrigerators and the air conditioning system inside the building. The power was still on but the interior lights were out. He trod a few steps closer to the door and nudged it open a few further inches, then took a couple of backward paces.

  “Hello? Anybody in there?” Nobody replied and Mancini took a brief glance back at Trey, standing by the gas pumps.

  He sensed a flash of movement, emerging from the dark gas station. Mancini instinctively recoiled, bracing himself for an oncoming attack. A man with a wild mop of curly black hair and a blood encrusted, scowling face lurched towards Mancini from the doorway. His torn, gray colored shirt was also streaked with blood and his bulging eyes resembled dark, ebony pools.

  “Watch out,” Trey yelled.

  “Shit,” Mancini hissed, raising his handgun. He fired a shot, which caught the onrushing man in the side of his neck. The round skimmed through flesh and soft tissue, leaving a bloody fissure in its wake. The infected guy jerked sideways but continued his rapid approach.

  Mancini knew the shot would have taken the guy down if he’d been in a normal state but the infection, caused by the mysterious green crystals supplied the host with almost super human capabilities. He fired another shot but the infected guy bundled into him as his finger squeezed the trigger. The round cut through the attackers guts but wasn’t enough to stop his forward momentum. The blood soaked man hit Mancini with the full force of his body weight. Mancini felt the breath leave his body as he lost his balance and toppled over backwards. He lost his grip on the firearm and it clattered away from him across the concrete ground. The infected guy landed on top of him, snarling and growling like a rabid dog.

  Trey shouted something Mancini didn’t hear, he was too busy trying to keep the infected guy’s snaffling jaws away from his face. He jammed the heel of his hand beneath the man’s chin, lifting his head as far away from his face as his strength would muster.

  The infected guy tore at Mancini’s clothing with his hands as he scrabbled on top of his intended prey. Mancini grabbed the man’s hair with his free hand and wrenched his head in a sideways motion. The man’s teeth clattered together, producing an audible clicking sound. Mancini gripped the bottom of his attacker’s chin and the top of his hair. He rapidly jerked the man’s skull around in a half circle motion and heard the crunching noise of vertebrae and spinal column cracking.

  The man jerked then became limp but his eyes still remained open. Mancini pushed the infected guy’s body off of him and shimmied across the concrete, away from the blood soaked creature to his left. He glanced around for his gun and saw it beside the gas station wall. Mancini scooped up the firearm and aimed the barrel at the man lying on the ground a few yards from him.

  Trey tentatively approached the gas station, moving out of Mancini’s line of fire.

  “You okay, man?” he called out.

  “Never better,” Mancini croaked, then fired a shot into the infected guy’s head. Blood splattered in a surge onto the concrete, as the man’s head jerked sideways.

  Trey stopped in his tracks, his face white and his mouth gaping open. He glanced back at the Thunderbird to check Leticia and Jorge weren’t under any kind of attack.

  Mancini hauled himself to his feet, aiming his handgun at the open gas station door. He briefly glanced back to Trey. “I guess you were right, Trey. It looks like gas is free at this station today.”

  Trey nodded. “I guess,” he muttered. “Are you still going inside there?” He nodded towards the gas station door.

  Mancini turned his head back towards the building. “Do we need anything?”

  Trey shrugged.

  “Let’s get back in the car,” Mancini sighed. He started to walk across the forecourt but stopped when he heard his cell phone ring.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mancini plucked his phone from his pocket and studied the number on the screen. The call was from a previous number dialed but with no name. He hurried alongside the Thunderbird and thrust the cell phone at Jorge in the backseat.

  “Is this Luiz calling?” he barked.

  Jorge stared at him with a shocked expression before he looked at the phone screen.

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Then answer the fucking call.” Mancini tossed Jorge the phone. “And speak in English.”

  Jorge caught the phone and fumbled it between his hands before he pressed the receive call button.

  “Hello…Luiz?”

  Mancini heard the tinny sound of somebody yelling on the line. Jorge screwed his face up and held the phone away from his head.

  “What’s he saying?” Mancini hissed.

  Jorge glanced at the cell phone then back towards Mancini. “I don’t think it is Luiz but he says he is trapped inside the house.” He shrugged and shook his head.

  “Is he still in La Paz? Get the address,” Mancini barked.

  Jorge moved the phone closer to his mouth and spoke in Spanish but Mancini decided to let it pass. The situation on the caller’s end obviously wasn’t going well.

  “Who’s after him?” Mancini asked. “Is it the cops?”

  Jorge lifted a palm, indicating for Mancini to cease with his questions while he tried to listen to the hysterical caller. Mancini growled in frustration. Jorge talked for a few more seconds then he heard a bleeping sound from the phone. He studied the screen for a second.

  “He’s gone. The call was cut.”

  “Who was it and what did he say?” Mancini snapped, leaning into the car interior.

  Jorge handed Mancini the cell phone. “The line was bad and the guy was shouting a lot, which made it difficult to understand what he was saying but I got the general idea he was surrounded in the house by infected people.”

  “Who was he and why’d he have Luiz’s phone?”

  Jorge wiped sweat from his face. “He said he was Fernando Logrono, the cartel boss that Luiz went to visit, to try and do business with.”

  “And you believe it was him?”

  Jorge nodded. “I guess. He said the whole place has gone to hell down there.”

  “He’s still in his place in La Paz?”

  Jorge nodded.

  “And there are no cops there?”

  “Not from what he said. The cops would probably leave him to be mauled to death, even if he called them, anyhow.”

  “Okay, did he tell you the address, Jorge?”

  Jorge nodded. “He did. I explained who I was and Senor Logrono wants us to come and save him.”

  “All right, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Mancini nodded. “But what’s the address in La Paz, Jorge?”

  Jorge nervously smiled and wiped his face again with trembling hands. “I’ll tell you when we get closer to La Paz.”

  “What? Don’t jerk me around, Jorge,” Mancini seethed. He took a backward step and leveled his handgun at Jorge’s head.

  Leticia whimpered and tried to move out of the firing line, leaning forward in her seat. Jorge squirmed, blinking uncontrollably.

  “If I tell you the add
ress now, you no longer have any use for me and you’ll kill me anyhow. The address is my one bargaining chip. You keep me alive and I will lead you to the house in La Paz.”

  Mancini mulled over Jorge’s words. It made no difference to him if Jorge lived or died but he needed to find out exactly where he was headed if he was going to get close to resolving the situation. He lowered the handgun and returned it to his waistband.

  “All right, Jorge. You got yourself a deal but ‘lead’ is a very strong word for somebody in your position. I prefer the term ‘guide,’ if you know what I mean.”

  “Whatever, guys,” Trey said. “Can we continue this conversation while we’re on the road? I think we better skedaddle before we become lunch.”

  Mancini spun around to face Trey and saw he pointed at the gas station. Several figures emerged from the open store door and from the mechanical workshop, standing across the forecourt to the right of the pumps. The blood encrusted figures resembled humans but their eyes told a different story. Ripped clothes, horrific flesh wounds on various parts of their bodies, combined with glaring, ebony eyeballs were enough evidence to indicate the whole bunch of people were infected. Mancini did a brief head count while he drew his firearm.

  “Twenty-one,” he muttered. Too many animated bodies to take on with a couple of small arms handguns.

  The hunched, blood stained creatures emitted low grunts and moved slowly in different directions, as though they were stalking their prey before the all out assault.

  “Trey, get that pump nozzle out of the gas tank,” Mancini hissed.

  Trey gulped and nodded, edging his way to the side of his car. Mancini raised his Heckler & Koch, aiming at the main body of the infected. They began to spread out and fan themselves into a horizontal line, closing the angles around the Thunderbird.

  “Hurry it up, Trey,” Mancini growled.

  The infected crowd trod forward, closer to the gas pumps.

  Trey fumbled with the gas nozzle, wrenching it from the tank and tossing it to the ground. He hurriedly jumped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. The roar of the Thunderbird’s muffler, echoing below the canopy above the gas pumps seemed to invigorate the infected crowd’s hostilities. They rushed at the car in a collective mass, shrieking, snarling and growling with their arms raised and fingers outstretched, resembling hooked claws. Their blood stained faces twisted and contorted in frenzy as they bore down on their prey.