Green Ice: A Deadly High (25 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

The gunman flashed his Beretta in a sideways motion,
ushering Trey and Leticia towards the garage front door. Trey wrapped his left arm around Leticia’s shoulders and slowly edged his way to the front of the garage.

“What if there are more of those crazy fuckers out there?” Trey stammered. “They’ll come after us before we get time to fix the car, man.”

The gunman slipped the two cell phones into his jeans pocket and grabbed Trey’s Heckler and Koch from the work bench, holding a loaded firearm in each hand.

“They won’t get by me,” he hissed. “We’ve got a shit load of parts in here so we should be able to get that car going again.”
He took a fleeting look around the garage, moving his head in a circular motion. “There’s all sorts of shit we can use in this place.” He returned his gaze to Trey and Leticia. “Come on, kids. Cheer up, guys, it’s your lucky day. I’m a dabster at fixing up auto engines so you got nothing to worry about.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Trey muttered. 

The gunman shepherded Trey and Leticia to the front windows and took a look out onto the main street. “Looks like the coast is all clear,” he said. He slid the Heckler and Koch into the back of his waistband and unbolted the front door.

A wave of sand blew into the garage through the open door and scattered over the concrete floor.
Trey and Leticia blinked against the daylight and wind fanned grit, feeling the heat of the sun on their faces. 

“All right, out you go,” the gunman said, flicking his Beretta towards the door. “Come on,
get moving. I ‘aint got all day.”

Trey and Leticia stepped out
onto the street and looked each way to check no infected people were nearby. The gunman followed them outside into the sunlight. He whistled as he looked over the Thunderbird, admiring the restoration job and the interior. Trey and Leticia glanced nervously at the prone body beside the car, now partially covered with a light dusting of sand.

“Okay, pop the
hood and let’s take a look at the damage,” the gunman demanded, waving his Beretta impatiently.

Trey released his hold on Leticia and slowly moved towards the driver’s side. He released the hood lever and propped up the dented cover with some difficulty. The gunman waved Leticia around to the front of the vehicle in order to cover both his captives with the firearm.
Trey silently prayed the guy wouldn’t want to take a look in the trunk and see the holdalls full of cash. The sight of all that money might send the gunman over the edge and it was a strong possibility he’d execute them both right there and then.  

Leticia took another fleeting glance at the dead body
, while Trey and the gunman studied the engine compartment.

“Yep, the water hoses are all shot to shit,” the gunman confirmed.

“Who was he?” Leticia asked.

“Huh?” The gunman turned his head towards Leticia.

“Who was the guy you shot?” She nodded towards the corpse.

The gunman nonchalantly flapped his free hand.
“Ah, just some son of a bitch who was pissing me off. He was holed up in the garage and wouldn’t let me fix up that pickup truck and take it away. Only needed a battery charge and it was good to go, man. Damn it, I offered him a free ride outta here, an all.” He hawked and spat into the sand in front of the Thunderbird. “Chances are that damn crate wouldn’t have made it more than a couple of miles out of town anyhow. But this baby could be a damn fine machine.” He pointed into the Thunderbird’s engine. “I reckon we can fix up this ride with a few new hoses. Shouldn’t take much more than an hour.” 

Trey
felt his stomach jolt. He didn’t want to be hanging around outside for a minute, let alone an hour. He wondered where the hell Mancini and Jorge had got to. Surely, they wouldn’t have left him and Leticia stranded in the infested town.

“So, what happened here?” he asked, his throat parched and dry. “What happened to all the townsfolk and how did you get here?”

“Damned if I know what happened,” the gunman snapped. “I gotta ride into this town with a trucker. Seemed a good place to stop, like it was quiet an’ all. I was planning to stay in town for a while and lie low but that ‘aint gonna happen now. All these crazy bastards just seemed to come outta the woodwork like roaches, ya know?”  He stared into space, replaying the events in his mind.

“How long ago was that?”
Trey asked. “How long have you been here?”

The gunman shrugged.
“A couple of days, maybe three.”

The gunman was talking more freely now, with less aggression in his tone.
Trey decided to keep him talking, trying to ease the tension. “Where are you from, man?”

“North of here, that’s all you need to know.” He leant over the trunk, peering into the engine compartment again, mulling over what tools were required and the replacement hose sizes.

Trey briefly considered smashing the hood cover down on the back of the gunman’s head but knew they’d be dead if he didn’t knock him unconscious on the first blow. He saw the butt of his Heckler and Koch poking from the back of his captor’s pants and slowly moved his hand towards the firearm.

“What do they call you? I’m Trey and this is Leticia.”

“Well, hallelujah and congratulations,” the gunman snarled. “I don’t give a shit what your god damn names are.” The hostility in his voice returned. He stood straight and whirled around, facing Trey and Leticia. “Sonny…my name is Sonny, not that it makes much difference to you. Now, come on. Let’s get these damn hoses and get to work on this thing.” He waved them back towards the garage with the gun barrel.

Trey sighed, knowing his chance of escape had gone.
“Are we just going to work on the car right here, out in the open?” he stammered.

The gunman or Sonny, as he called himself, glanced up and down the street looking for any hostiles. “I don’t see any crazy horses at the moment
, but that don’t mean they won’t be back.”

“Exactly,” Trey said. “We’d be better
to fix up the ride inside the garage over that second inspection pit.” He knew their chances of immediate survival would be better out in the open but they wouldn’t last long in the town without a working vehicle. As a long term survival strategy, Trey decided it best to get his T-Bird up and running, then re-think his options.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“What the hell are you doing, Jorge?” Mancini hollered.

Sweat poured down Jorge’s face but he remained standing over Mancini with the firearm pointed directly at his chest. “Get up,” he snapped. “Get to your feet, you pig bastard.”

Mancini slowly hauled himself up to a standing position,
wincing at the pain in his knee while raising his hands beside his head. “What the hell has got into you, Jorge?” he muttered. “I thought we were batting on the same team here?”

Jorge rapidly shook his head. “Nah, you’d have killed me the moment we found that house in La Paz. I know you, Mancini; you’d have shot me like a lame dog.”

Mancini sighed. Jorge was probably right. He would have executed Jorge the moment the situation was resolved but couldn’t admit that fact.

“The game has changed, Jorge. You know that. This is no longer a search and destroy mission. It’s bigger than that now.
We need to work together to resolve this thing.”

Jorge laughed in a throaty wheeze and Mancini knew he wasn’t buying his story.

“I don’t need you at all, Mancini. I have all the cash I need to get out of Mexico,” Jorge said, grinning maliciously and taking a step closer to Mancini.

“So, where are you going to go, Jorge? How far do you think you’ll get with all that stolen cash and the cops and authorities all over the damn place?” Mancini hissed. “This is all going to blow up into a national disaster and be all across the news
, if we don’t stop it.”

“It’s too late,” Jorge yelled, leaning into Mancini’s face. “It’s too late to stop any of it. Look what it has done to a small town like this. Soon whole cities will be infected and the epidemic will spread across the whole of North and South America and perhaps the whole world
, in a very short space of time. Don’t you understand? We have to get away while we still can.”

“
We
?” Mancini repeated. “It looks like you’re bailing out on me, Jorge.”

“Ah, you can do what you want,” Jorge spat, waving his hand in the air. “Go and find
Luiz or Logrono and get yourself killed in La Paz. I don’t care. Either way, they’ll kill you if you show up there. Me, I’m using my head and getting out of here.”

“To where, Jorge?”
Mancini barked. “You just said it yourself, nowhere is safe with these fucked up crystals around, infecting everybody. You can’t just duck your head in the sand and hope this all goes away.”

“I know that!” Jorge screamed. He backed away, glaring into Mancini’s eyes. “Let’s just search for those car keys, shall we?” He ushered Mancini into the room where the infected man had sprang from. “We’ll start looking in here.”

Mancini shook his head and slowly walked into the room. He decided to play along with Jorge’s plans for the moment. Jorge followed, training the firearm at the small of Mancini’s back. Mancini worried that Jorge had become an instantly changed man since he’d acquired the firearm and the balance of power had shifted.

The rotting stench increased the second Mancini entered the room. He flapped at clouds of buzzing flies circl
ing around his head.

“Holy Mother of…” Jorge whispered, as he tailed Mancini into the stinking room.

The remains of a big black dog lay on the floor beside a blood encrusted couch, sitting against the back wall. The animal’s carcass lay on its side and the flesh was torn from its belly. Guts and intestines spilled from the wound and the fur and skin was torn open exposing the dog’s rib cage.

“Ah, I think I’m going to puke,” Jorge gasped.

Even Mancini’s hardened stomach knotted up at the sight of the shredded dog. He quickly scanned the room looking for the VW car keys. An old TV set sat on a rickety looking table opposite the couch and a bookshelf with a distinct lack of publications on the shelves held no sign of any keys.

“They’re not in here,” Mancini spluttered, swatting at the flies. “Let’s just get out of this stinking room, Jorge.”

“All right,” Jorge croaked, holding his free hand over his mouth and nose. “Come on then, hurry it up, move yourself, Mancini.”

Mancini turned and made for the door
leading back into the hallway. Jorge followed and closed the door behind them, spluttering into his hand.

“Maybe you’re right, Jorge,” Mancini huffed. “Maybe that car doesn’t belong to the guy in this house.”
He knew Jorge was rattled at the sight of the mutilated dog and tried to further unnerve his mental state.

“Maybe you should shut up,” Jorge snapped. “We haven’t finished searching yet. We’ll stop when I say, not you.”
He gazed around the hallway, deciding which room to search next. His eyes fell on the infected man’s corpse laying splayed out on the tiles. “Perhaps this guy still has the car keys in his pants pocket. You should search him.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere near that filthy piece of shit,” Mancini said, shaking his head.

“Do it or I’ll shoot you in the face, right here in this stinking hall,” Jorge seethed through clenched teeth. He jabbed the gun barrel at Mancini for effect. “I don’t have anything to lose by killing you, Mancini.”

Mancini glared at Jorge but reluctantly approached the dead body. He winced when he crouched next to the blood spattered cadaver and turned his head to one side when he rifled through the dead guy’s front pockets of his
torn jog pants. Mancini noticed what looked like teeth punctures in the material of the guy’s clothing and hoped the bites were inflicted by the dog, going down fighting.

“Hurry it up,” Jorge hissed.

“All right, I’m doing my damn best here,” Mancini protested. The time would come when Jorge was off guard and he could overpower him, reclaim his handgun and teach the son of a bitch a lesson. Mancini couldn’t kill him immediately. He had to find out that address in La Paz. Maybe he’d torture him a little to find out the information he needed. Jorge was definitely a dead man walking after pulling this latest shenanigan.