“Watch out!” Jorge shrieked, pointing ahead of the car.
Mancini completely lost control of the vehicle as they lurched right. The front tires bounced up the curb and the car accelerated across the sidewalk. The police car’s nose slammed into the glass frontage of a clothing store, totally obliterating the wide plate glass window. Mancini and Jorge rocked forward in their seats as the vehicle came to an abrupt halt, half enclosed inside the store window. The infected guy hurtled forward through the glass into the back of the store’s shop floor, as though he’d been propelled from a cannon.
“Ah, saints save us,” Jorge croaked, rapidly crossing himself.
“You okay?” Mancini asked.
Jorge studied the top half of himself then looked to his front. The windshield was completely cracked into a mass of small chips but still in place in the frame.
“Uh, I think so.”
“Let’s get the hell out of this car before those goons catch us up,” Mancini said, opening his door.
Screeches and howls echoed through the street from behind them. The infected were on their way. Mancini reached inside the car and took out the shotgun and the semi automatic rifle from the back foot well.
“Come on, Jorge, hurry it up,” Mancini hissed.
Jorge unstrapped his seat belt and went to open his door. Metal clunked against a solid structure and the door only opened a couple of inches.
“Something is blocking the door, Mancini,” Jorge whispered. “I can’t get out of this damn car.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
“Crawl across the seats and get your ass out through the driver’s door, Jorge,” Mancini instructed. “Come on, we don’t have time to fuck around here.”
Mancini moved his head out of the car’s interior when he heard a deep grown echo from the dark shadows at the rear of the store. The infected guy who’d been on the roof was still alive and in close proximity.
“Hell in a handcart,” Mancini groaned. “Won’t this son of a bitch ever die?” He scanned the blackness for signs of movement. “Move it, Jorge,” he hissed, without dropping his gaze from the shadows.
Jorge huffed and puffed as he slowly crawled across the front seat.
“My ankle is swelling up,” he groaned. “I need medical attention.”
Mancini ignored Jorge’s protests. He kept his eye on something twitching in the shadows and drawing closer between wrecked clothing dummies and overturned racks. Slowly, Mancini slung the semi automatic rifle over his shoulder. He’d already made the decision to use the pump action shotgun. It was a more effective weapon at close quarters.
Jorge flinched when a loud boom reverberated through the clothing store interior, and a brief orange flash illuminated around the shotgun barrel. Mancini fired again, taking out the infected guy, with the full blast of the shotgun as the creature emerged from the darkness. Jorge hauled himself from the car interior and glanced around the store.
“Did you get him?”
“I got him,” Mancini confirmed. “Let’s get going.”
They clambered through the demolished store window, with broken glass cracking beneath their feet.
“What about the cop in the trunk?” Jorge asked.
Mancini tapped the trunk cover with the shotgun barrel. “We’ll leave him in there. At least he’s safe for a while.” He glanced up and down the street and saw a gang of around a dozen infected rapidly heading their way. “Come on, Jorge. Get moving,” he barked and placed the shotgun on the ground between his feet, then slid the semi automatic off his shoulder.
Jorge hobbled down the street and Mancini let fly with a burst of gunfire at the approaching, roaring horde. A few of the infected dropped to the ground when the rounds ripped through their skulls, sending a plume of blood splattering across the nearby building fronts. Mancini fired another burst, eliminating a few more of the attackers. The chamber clicked empty and Mancini rapidly swapped magazines. Four of the infected were left standing and ran full pelt towards the spot where Mancini stood. He crouched and aimed then took out the remaining infected with four carefully executed shots.
Mancini scooped up the shotgun from the ground then turned and jogged to catch up with Jorge. Sirens from police vehicles wailed loudly from somewhere in the distance up ahead of them.
“We need to quickly get away from this place,” Jorge muttered.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Mancini growled. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for Christ knows how long.” Time seemed to be running away and he felt as though La Paz was a million miles away.
The noise of the police sirens ebbed away but was replaced by the wailing sound of infected people from the side streets and shadows. Jorge and Mancini glanced around their immediate surroundings but couldn’t see anybody lurking nearby. They slowly trudged by dark stores, bars and small hotels with locked doors and shuttered windows. Mancini led with Jorge shuffling along a few paces behind.
Mancini took a right turn through a side street and saw some police barricades scattered on the ground. The orange lights still flashed, casting an eerie glow around the empty street.
“Hey, these look like the barriers we pulled over when we drove down here,” he said.
“So, we’re nearly back at the place where we left the car?” Jorge gasped. His injured ankle was becoming more painful with every step.
“I guess so,” Mancini muttered. “If we just keep going down this street, we should find the T-Bird. I’m not so sure about finding Trey and Leticia though.”
The streets and surroundings started to look a little more familiar and Mancini was certain they were on the right track. He still had reservations about how they were going to escape as Trey took the keys with him when they fled the scene. But relocating the Thunderbird was a small step in the right direction.
Mancini quickened his pace and Jorge began to lag behind.
“Hey, wait up, Mancini. I can’t keep up with you.”
“Come on, Jorge. Move your ass,” Mancini growled. “A little further, then you can rest up for a while.”
“You’re the guy with all the guns. I’ll be in trouble if you leave me too far behind,” Jorge called.
Mancini turned back to face Jorge. “Keep your damn voice down, will you? The whole fucking neighborhood can hear you whining.”
Jorge stopped dead in his tracks.
“Why have you stopped moving, Jorge? Stop fucking around, you hear me?” Mancini hissed.
Jorge’s gaze was firmly fixed on something in the distance. Mancini noticed Jorge’s face drop and his eyes bulge in horror.
“What the hell?” Mancini spun around to see for himself what had caused Jorge to cease plowing forward. He saw something moving in the shadows near a store front to their right. Then something caught his eye on the opposite side of the street.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Mancini gripped the stock of the shotgun and raised the barrel level with his waist. He followed the shadowy figures as they squirmed around in the near darkness. Jorge shuffled closer and stood behind Mancini.
“What are you going to do?” Jorge whispered.
“Shoot whoever comes out of the shadows first,” Mancini grunted. He took a brief glance further up the street and could just about see the tail end of the Thunderbird in the distance. Nobody lurked near the car as far as he could see and the trunk with all the cash inside was still closed. At least they hadn’t been robbed or the T-Bird hadn’t been towed.
Mancini edged forward and Jorge closely followed behind. Mancini switched his aim between each side of the road, keeping a close eye on the movement in the shadows. He felt a chill run down his spine even though the night air was warm and arid. Mancini shifted left, stepping off the curb and treading cautiously along the center of the road.
“Can I use your handgun?” Jorge asked in a hushed, barely audible tone.
“You’re kidding, right?” Mancini hissed. “Last time you had a gun, you threatened to shoot me with it, remember?”
Jorge muttered some kind of noise that sounded like an admission of guilt. Mancini was more concerned with who or what was lurking in the shadows either side of them. They drew level with the dark recess of the store doorway to their right and Mancini peered into the shadows. He saw at least three figures huddled over what looked like a carcass on the ground beside the glass door. The shadowy figures snarled and snaffled, shaking their heads as they clustered around a body on the ground. The nearest of the infected humans was a woman in a white, blood stained dress and the other two looked like males, both with short dark hair. Their faces were barely visible amongst the gore strewn from the corpse beneath them.
“What the hell are they doing?” Jorge whispered.
“Obviously, they’re dining out tonight,” Mancini growled. “As long as they’re munching their way through that stiff, they won’t bother us.”
Mancini and Jorge trod slowly forward, beyond the store on their right. Mancini turned his attention to the movement in the shadows to their left. He pointed the shotgun barrel at the shape squirming around in the doorway. As they drew closer, the figure in the doorway became slightly more visible in the pale moonlight. Mancini squinted into the shadows and saw a woman dressed in light colored clothes, standing against the metal roller shutters covering the store’s front doorway. Her long black hair swayed around her head as her whole body seemed to be convulsing violently in shuddering spasms. The woman jerked against the roller shutters, causing a metallic clattering sound when she rocked backwards.
“What the fuck…?” Jorge whispered.
“Don’t make a sound,” Mancini hissed. “She’s turning into one of those fucked up freaks.”
Mancini slowly pressed forward, keeping his eye on the convulsing female. The Thunderbird was around twenty-five yards away but seemed a long distance due to the hazards around them. Mancini wiped sweat away from his eyes with his sleeve. His throat and mouth were dry and he longed for a long, cold drink. Shrieks and wails from the infected grew louder from somewhere close by. Mancini felt the tension racking up. Even reaching the Thunderbird wouldn’t guarantee their immediate safety.
A shrill, loud scream followed by the sound of smashing glass caused Mancini and Jorge to swivel to their right. A woman screeched in shock and agony as she plummeted from a second floor window above the street. Mancini briefly glimpsed the terrified expression on her face before she hit the sidewalk with a sickening crunch of breaking bones. Glass shards from the broken window above tinkled onto the road and the sidewalk around the woman’s prone body.
“Holy shit!” Jorge gasped, grabbing the back of Mancini’s shirt.
Mancini shrugged off Jorge’s grip and slowly moved closer to the twitching body. He covered the woman with the shotgun in case she suddenly sprang to her feet and launched an attack. As Mancini drew close, he noticed the woman’s eyes fluttering and she mumbled incoherent words. She wore a dark blue cropped blue top and denim pants and her neck and left shoulder were peppered with bite marks, with the flesh surrounding the wounds mangled and torn.
The sound of a few more glass chips falling from above caused Mancini to glance upwards. A skinny man, wearing a torn white vest crouched on the window sill glaring down at him with blackened eyeballs. The man scowled and hissed and swiped the air with his fingers. Mancini raised the shotgun but the guy leapt from the window before he had the chance to fire the weapon.
The infected guy landed on both feet without stumbling, amongst the broken glass on the sidewalk. He stood in a hunched position, around three feet away from Mancini. Jorge gasped and shuffled back a few paces. The infected man opened his mouth and emitted a low, throaty rasp, with his gaze firmly fixed on Mancini.
“Infierno en llamas!” Jorge muttered.
Mancini didn’t have the time to ask or care what the English translation for Jorge’s comment was. The infected man’s face screwed up in rage and he roared loudly, moving his head forward towards Mancini. In a split second, Mancini knew he had to resolve the situation. He didn’t want to fire the shotgun, as the loud noise would alert more of the infected but knew he didn’t have much choice. The infected guy raised his arms above his head and took a step forward. Mancini knew he couldn’t readjust his aim in time so he swung the butt of the shotgun up and around in an arc. The solid aluminum surface of the Mossberg shotgun butt firmly connected with the side of the infected guy’s jaw. The heavy blow would have rendered a normal person unconscious but the man’s strength and durability were heightened due to the infection.
Mancini took a pace backward, leveled the shotgun and fired. The blast propelled the infected guy backwards. Small pellets ripped through his chest, leaving a large gaping, bloody hole in the center of his rib cage. He went down heavily on his back on the sidewalk but instantly attempted to regain his feet. Mancini immediately felt in his pocket, withdrew a fistful of cartridges and reloaded the weapon. He cocked the slide at the exact same time as the infected guy stood up again, preparing to carry out a fresh attack.
Mancini raised the shotgun barrel a little higher, aiming at the guy’s blood soaked face. He braced himself against the recoil then fired again. The infected guy’s head exploded under the extreme force of the shotgun blast, sending clumps of shattered skull, clotted blood and brain matter splattering onto the sidewalk. The remainder of the infected man’s body rocked backwards and hit the ground heavily.
As Mancini reloaded the shotgun, he heard retching noises from behind him. He spun around to see Jorge bent double and vomiting onto the blacktop. A high pitched screeching echoed around the narrow street and Mancini saw the woman, who was previously convulsing in the store doorway to their left, now running towards them. She was currently a fully fledged member of the crazy, blood-thirsty killers and one hundred percent infected by the virus.
“Stay down,” Mancini barked at Jorge and re-aimed the shotgun.
Jorge sunk lower, kneeling on the road with his head bent forward. Mancini raised the shotgun, pressing the butt firmly into his shoulder and fired. The blast hit the woman full in the face and the impact lifted her briefly off her feet, accompanied by a cluster spray of blood and brain. She landed with a soggy splat on the road, a few yards from where Jorge still crouched down.
Mancini glanced around the street, searching for any more would be predators. The huddle of infected still gnawed their victim in the doorway a few yards further down the road.
“Let’s get moving, Jorge,” Mancini insisted, whilst reloading the shotgun. “Those gunshots will have alerted every damn crazy bastard and cop to our location in this crappy city. The Thunderbird is right up ahead.” He pointed further up the street.
“You sure?” Jorge asked, squinting into the night as he rose to his feet.
“I’m certain sure. Let’s see if we can catch up with Trey and Leticia. I just hope they made it back there okay, otherwise we’re in deep shit.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Jorge hobbled along the road, following Mancini as he cautiously padded towards the rear end of the stationary Thunderbird. Mancini checked over the interior, covering the space with the shotgun. Nobody occupied the car and the trunk was still locked but there was no sign of Trey or Leticia.
Mancini reached into his pocket, took out his cell phone and called Trey’s number. The ringtone rang onto voice mail and Mancini left a short message.
“Trey, we’re back at the T-Bird. Make it back here as quickly as possible as we need to get our asses out of this city in double quick time.” He snapped his phone shut and replaced it in his pocket. “I hope he gets that damn message real soon,” he muttered.
Jorge slumped into the back seat and rested his injured ankle along the passenger seat headrest. “What are we going to do if Trey doesn’t return?” he sighed.
Mancini glanced up and down the street. He lit a cigarette and studied the car still blocking the Thunderbird’s exit route.
“We need to get this piece of shit out the way before we can go any
further, with or without Trey,” he said. The steering lock was engaged and the street lamp prevented them from pushing the Nissan any further forward.
Mancini’s hot-wiring skills were a little rusty but he thought he could try and refresh his memory by attempting to start the Nissan blocking their path. He opened the driver’s door and placed the shotgun and the semi automatic rifle across the passenger seat. The Nissan was an older model and fairly beaten up so Mancini doubted whether the car was fitted with any alarm systems or immobilizers, preventing the ignition from being hot-wired.
The plastic cover on the steering column came away easily enough and Mancini reached into his pocket for the flashlight he’d taken from the law agent. He turned it on and shone the light beam over the collection of different colored wires. Leaning to the side of the steering column, Mancini ran his fingers through the wires and selected the bundle running to the battery, ignition and starter then pulled the bunch aside. He pulled out the red wires and bit off a strip of the plastic insulation coating at both ends, then twisted the wire together to join them in a knot.
Jorge coughed and Mancini sat up and looked through the windshield to check the street was still clear of infected. Jorge leaned back in his seat with his head resting against the padding.
“Keep a good eye out for hostiles, Jorge,” Mancini said.
Jorge sat up slightly and turned to look at Mancini. “I’d feel better if I had a gun of some sort.”
“That ‘aint happening,” Mancini muttered and turned his gaze back to the wires inside the steering column. He held the flashlight between his teeth and leaned over in his seat.
Mancini hesitated. He was faced with the tricky part. He’d shock himself with an electrical blast from the battery if he didn’t connect the ignition and the starter wires in the correct order. Deciding to try the brown wire first, he bit off an end of the plastic coating and wrapped the strands around the red battery cable. Mancini didn’t feel the effects of any electrical shocks and breathed a sigh of relief when the dash lights lit up along the control panel. The Nissan was now primed to start. Mancini gripped the yellow wire and flicked the protruding strand at the end against the connected battery wire. A few orange sparks brightly lit the interior of the car and the engine turned over.
Green Ice: A Deadly High Page 27
