Green Ice: A Deadly High

by Christian Fletcher

  Flashlight beams swathed across the ladder and the floor space beneath the hatch opening. Mancini heard voices from the room above him. The law agents would soon be making their way down the ladder and he’d be trapped inside the bar room. Mancini had two options. He could either try and hide and risk being caught or try and escape the bar through the back route, assuming there was an alternative exit.

  “Fuck it,” Mancini hissed, turning towards the rear of the bar.

  He rushed into the murky shadows near the bar counter and used the mirrored columns as cover. The flashlights beams flicked around the floor under the hatch and Mancini saw a pair of black boots on the top rungs. He kept in the shadow and crept towards the back of the room. The law enforcement guys talked to each other in hushed tones at the top of the hatch.

  Mancini silently bypassed the bottom of the ladder and headed into the murkiness to the rear, unsure if any possible escape routes or hazards lay ahead.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The bar room seemed hot and airless to Mancini as he pressed on further into the darkness. He felt sweat running down his back and face while he slowly padded forward with his arms held out in front of him.

  The law agents on the ladder and around the top of the hatch were obviously discussing the best way to tackle the problem. They knew Mancini was armed but probably weren’t sure if he was infected. They’d decided to eradicate him anyhow, that much was certain. It was probable that the law agents, whichever department they worked for, were going to wipe out the entire population of civilians who were left within the cordoned zone.

  Mancini’s fingers touched the rough porous surface of an exposed brick wall. He felt his way across the bricks and discovered a recess in the wall. The recess was just about wide enough for him to hold out his arms and touch the walls on either side of him. Mancini sincerely hoped the recess or corridor led to an exit access.

  The flashlight beams around the hatch flickered back and forth and the guy on the ladder started to descend. Mancini hurried further into the recessed corridor and felt a cool breeze on his face. He saw the flashlights sweeping around the bar room floor before the light disappeared from sight when he took a right angled right turn within the corridor. Mancini followed his route and felt the breeze grow stronger on his face.

  Deciding he was far enough away and out of sight of the armed law agents, he felt in his pocket and took out his Zippo lighter. The corridor lit up in an orange glow once Mancini ignited the lighter flame. He saw a trolley, loaded with various types of glasses parked a few inches from his position. He blew a sigh of relief with the knowledge he would have walked straight into it if he hadn’t lit his lighter.

  Mancini stepped around the trolley and made his way further down the corridor. He heard voices behind him and knew the law agents would also soon discover the recessed corridor. Raising the lighter to head height, Mancini saw a pair of wooden double doors with glass upper panels. The doors stood slightly open and the breeze blowing through the two inch gap caused the lighter flame to flicker. Mancini headed straight for the doorway, ignoring the voices growing in volume behind him. He put his free hand on the push bar but recoiled in shock when he saw a face appear at the opposite side of the glass.

  “Where have you been, man? We’ve been waiting for you, for like an hour or something,” Trey whispered through the door.

  Mancini composed himself when he recognized who the figure was. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “Those goons are right behind us.”

  Trey nodded and pulled open one of the doors. Mancini stepped through the threshold and welcomed the scent of fresh, cool air. He followed Trey as they crept around the back of the building through a narrow courtyard, stacked with crates of empty beer bottles and silver barrels. Two figures loomed out of the darkness and Mancini recognized Jorge and Leticia lurking beside a wire meshed gate. An eight foot high fence constructed of similar crisscrossed wire ran horizontally either side of the gate. Silhouettes of other buildings cast dark shadows in the soupy blackness beyond the fence line.

  “You left Jorge alone with Leticia?” Mancini whispered, amazed at his colleague’s lack of professionalism. “He could have made a break for it and we’d never have found him in the dark.”

  “Take a look around you, man,” Trey huffed, as they approached the gate. “He’s not going to want to go anyplace on his own around here.”

  Trey had a point, Mancini conceded but if he’d been in Jorge’s position, he would have found any sort of make shift weapon, a discarded beer bottle or a loose piece of wire and taken Leticia hostage, forcing him and Trey to hand over their firearms and taking control of the situation. But that was Jorge, a quivering, inept lump, who wouldn’t know an opportunity if it bit him in the ass.

  “Let’s get the hell out of this place,” Mancini muttered, as he grabbed the sliding gate latch.

  “One problem,” Jorge whispered.

  Mancini ignored him and attempted to open the gate but the latch slid only around a quarter inch to the right before something blocked it opening fully. He squinted in the darkness and saw a chunky, rusty padlock looped through the latch.

  “Shit,” Mancini hissed. They couldn’t retrace their steps and the law agents would soon find the rear exit in their searching sweep. He glanced up at the top of the gate and the fence. A line of barbed wire ran the perimeter length, presumably to keep out thieves or undesirables. “We’ll have to go over the fence,” he sighed. “Only option available.”

  “I can’t climb up there,” Jorge protested, a little too loudly for Mancini’s liking. “And look at all that razor wire. We’ll be torn to shreds up there.”

  Mancini sighed deeply. “The alternative is to be gunned down by those guys without them hesitating.”

  “Let me talk to them,” Jorge hissed, nodding incessantly. “I’m sure they will realize we are not infected and we will not cause them a problem.”

  “I seriously doubt that, man,” Trey chipped in.

  “Let me explain very quickly, Jorge,” Mancini seethed. “We’re inside a quarantine zone, where all laws and rules of engagement have flown south. Those armed guys can do exactly what they please, which at the moment is gunning down anybody they see. Infected or not. So, move your ass up that damn fence.”

  Jorge visibly sagged, not relishing the task ahead.

  Mancini squinted in the darkness and glanced around at the dumpsters and piles of trash around the courtyard. He saw what looked like a torn flap of discarded roofing felt hanging from a corner of a loaded dumpster. Trey and Leticia attempted to scale the wire fence, rattling the frame while Jorge stood staring up at the barbed wire, steeling himself for the impending exertion. Mancini hurried to the dumpster and wrenched the piece of roofing felt from amongst the rest of the trash. Glass bottles and cans fell to the ground as Mancini hauled the strip of felt free. The sound of smashing glass echoed around the courtyard and Mancini knew they’d have to move over the fence at lightning speed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jorge hissed.

  Mancini tossed the roofing felt over the top of the barbed wire, between Trey and Leticia, who were positioned roughly half way up the fence.

  “Lean on the felt as you go over the top,” he instructed. “Get your ass climbing like a monkey, Jorge. Come on, what’s wrong with you?”

  Leticia wailed while she climbed, forcing her muscles to engage in physical exertion. Trey didn’t have much difficulty in scaling the mesh and reached the summit within a few seconds. He pressed down on the roofing felt, ensuring the barbed wire sagged beneath. He reached down with his arm and gripped Leticia’s hand, hauling her upwards to the top of the fence. Leticia crawled over the roofing felt and half jumped, half fell over the fence and landed on the ground below. Trey followed suit, landing comfortably on his feet on the other side of the boundary.

  “You go next, Jorge,” Mancini hissed, glancing behind him, back at the rear entrance of the bar. “Come on, hurry it up, asshole.�
� He waved his hands in an upward motion to try and persuade Jorge to get moving.

  Jorge timidly gripped the wire mesh and attempted to haul himself aloft. He managed to climb a few inches before slumping back to the ground.

  Mancini drew his handgun and impatiently jammed the barrel in the small of Jorge’s back. “Get up that fucking fence, Jorge, before I seriously hurt you.”

  “I’m trying,” Jorge bleated.

  “Hurry it up, man,” Trey hissed from the other side of the fence. “Those guys are going to be out here, like any damn minute.”

  Jorge rubbed his hands along his thighs, trying to wipe the sweat from his palms on his pants. “I can’t do it,” he wailed.

  Mancini ground his teeth, resisting the urge to shoot Jorge in the face. He’d seen guys like that before in the army during basic training. Guys who’d been all full of bravado but when it came to the crunch, they’d turned into whimpering defeatists. Those guys were soon shipped out of the military as they were deemed too soft for combat. Mancini had vowed to never have to rely on somebody like that, but now his immediate survival was being severely tested by a guy of the same ilk.

  Flashlight beams suddenly swathed over Jorge and Mancini and harshly barked instructions in Spanish boomed from behind the lights. It was too late. Jorge had fucked up big time.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Mancini and Jorge stood stock still, blinking against the bright halogen flashlight beams. They heard shuffling boots on concrete, moving closer towards them.

  “Run for it, Trey,” Mancini whispered. He didn’t know if his young companion had heard him but couldn’t see or hear if Trey and Leticia had moved or were still rooted to the spot on the opposite side of the wire fence.

  “They are telling us to turn towards the light,” Jorge grunted to Mancini. “They want you to drop you weapon and are instructing us to raise our hands above our heads.”

  Several scenarios raced through Mancini’s mind but none of them worked out in a favorable outcome. He slowly crouched and placed the Heckler and Koch on the ground beside him, straightened and raised his hands beside his head. Jorge held his hands behind the back of his skull, sweating and shaking like a condemned man. The law agents slowly shuffled forward, unrelentingly shining their flashlights at their targets. Mancini couldn’t understand why they hadn’t yet opened up with their semi automatics on them. Maybe they were intrigued why he and Jorge hadn’t immediately surrendered when they’d been spotted. People always look for a helping hand in a crisis, yet Mancini and Jorge had run in the opposite direction.

  Mancini decided to play it second by second. Every second he still hadn’t taken a bullet was a second gained. Unfortunately, he had to rely on Jorge for translation.

  “Tell them I’m an American U.S. Army Ranger, escorting an absconded prisoner back across the border,” Mancini whispered.

  “What?” Jorge hissed. “They won’t believe you.”

  “Tell them I’m on a Black Ops Mission.” Mancini thought the plan might bide him a few vital seconds and at least his bullshit story may cause a little confusion amongst the law agents. At worst, they’d both be shot dead on the spot.

  Jorge translated Mancini’s words, receiving a gruff response from behind the bright lights.

  “They say they need to see some form of ID,” Jorge whispered. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  Mancini didn’t really know. He was just trying to play for time. He didn’t possess any identification of any kind. His passport was back in the Thunderbird.

  “No ID,” he said. “Black Ops combatants carry no identity. They should know that.”

  The law agents babbled between themselves. Mancini’s story had at least caused some kind of ambiguity. Even if Trey and Leticia escaped the city, it would be a small victory.

  Boots shuffled on concrete and the three law agents lowered the flashlights slightly. They barked another set of questions.

  “They want to know if I am the prisoner,” Jorge translated. “And they say the U.S. Army has no authority to operate within Mexico. I told you, they don’t believe you.”

  “All right, just play along, Jorge,” Mancini muttered. “Tell them you’re the guy I’m trying to take back to the States.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t fucking know…hell, just tell them you robbed a store on an army base or something. Use your damn imagination, dickhead. I’m trying to keep us alive, for Christ’s sake. Help me out here, will you?”

  Jorge shrugged nervously and translated. Mancini glanced in Jorge’s direction and saw his face and shirt were drenched in nervous sweat. He didn’t know whether the story was going to work but best case scenario was to be hauled back to some police cell, in the safe part of the city. From there he could figure out another kind of strategy.

  A shadowy figure approached while two more hung back, covering Mancini and Jorge with their rifles. The flashlights pointed towards the ground providing enough illumination for the law agents to see what they were doing. A big guy with a thick moustache and a broad face beneath a black baseball cap and wearing black combat fatigues approached Mancini with an expression of angst on his face.

  The law agent muttered something Mancini didn’t understand. Mancini glanced to Jorge for a translation. Jorge opened his mouth to speak but didn’t utter a word. Instead, he turned his head and gazed into the distance when a high pitched wailing noise pierced through the night. Mancini glanced at the law agent then back at Jorge. They all knew what was coming.

  A shadow like human shape, with gangly arms and legs, leapt from the blackness. The figure barged into the nearest law agent, attacking with thrashing fingers and gnashing teeth. The law agent shrieked and fired an ineffective and inaccurate burst of rounds from his semi automatic. He went down under the weight of his snarling assailant and wailed in terror as gnarled fingernails tore at his cheeks and neck.

  The law agent who stood in front of Mancini and Jorge spun around to watch the carnage. He yelled at the third agent, who butted his rifle into the infected guy’s head, attempting to knock the aggressor off of his comrade.

  Two more snarling, growling figures loomed out of the darkness and jumped on the law agent who hunched over the grappling pair on the ground. The second agent yelled in pain as teeth and fingernails ripped through the skin on his neck and face. The infected attackers roared as they bit and tore at the felled law agent in a feeding frenzy.

  Mancini seized his chance. The remaining law agent stood with his back turned to Mancini and Jorge. Mancini scooped up his handgun then rushed forward and wrapped his left arm around the law agent’s throat in a tight, vice like grip. The law agent gurgled and Mancini grabbed the stock of the semi automatic rifle with his right hand, forcing the barrel down to point at the ground.

  The law agent squeezed the trigger, firing off a couple of rounds, which ricocheted off the concrete and pinged around the courtyard.

  “Last chance, Jorge,” Mancini grunted. “Get your ass up that fucking fence.”

  Jorge nodded, turned and gritted his teeth as he scaled the wire fence.

  Mancini didn’t want to kill the law agent in his grasp but he couldn’t leave him in a conscious state. Whatever he was going to do, he knew he had to hurry. More infected jostled into the courtyard and smelling fresh blood, they dived on top of the two felled law agents, who screamed when teeth and fingers tore into their flesh. Mancini squeezed the guy’s throat until he wasn’t struggling any more. He felt his neck and found a faint but distinctive pulse. The guy wasn’t dead, at least.

  Mancini pulled the semi automatic rifle free from the guy’s limp grasp and let him slump back against his chest. He slid his arms either side of the law agent’s torso and dragged him to the open dumpster.

  Jorge struggled but managed to maintain a hand and foothold to clamber his way up the wire meshed fence. Mancini hauled the unconscious law agent into the dumpster and slammed the lid shut. Maybe the guy would have a sporting chance of su
rvival when he awoke.

  Jorge hauled himself higher, grunting with exertion and sweating profusely. He reached the top and threw his arms over the roofing felt covering the line of barbed wire. Breathing heavily, he grunted as he lifted his leg over the top of the fence.

  “Hurry it up, Jorge,” Mancini hissed, closely eyeing the gathering numbers of infected now swarming into the courtyard.

  “Let me just get my breath,” Jorge rasped.

  “Fuck you and your breath,” Mancini seethed. “Get over that damn fence, now.”

  A group of four infected personnel bypassed the gory bloodbath on the ground and made their way, hunched and stalking towards Mancini. The moonlight illuminated their faces, scowling and baring their teeth, as though they were feral beasts closing in on their prey for the kill.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Mancini raised the semi automatic rifle while he edged his way to position himself directly beneath Jorge, who sat astride the top of the wire fence. The four infected personnel fanned out around Mancini. He aimed the rifle at the nearest assailant’s head and fired one round. A plume of blood jetted from the back of the infected woman’s skull as the round ripped through skin, bone and brain matter. He readjusted his aim and took out the next infected person, who was a short stout guy, dressed only in a pair of jog pants.

  More of the infected bustled through the bar’s rear doors, alerted by the screams of the dying law agents and the gunfire. Mancini realized the horde must have followed them into the building through the fire escape. He fired off another killing round at an infected teenage girl with long dark hair, who lunged at him, hissing and chomping her teeth. He glanced up at the top of the fence and saw Jorge sliding down to the opposite side.

  “Thank Christ, take your time, why don’t you?” Mancini muttered.