Green Ice: A Deadly High (36 page)

“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 survival 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.

Jorge tumbled to the ground and landed heavily. He cried out in pain and clutched hold of his right ankle.

Mancini aimed the rifle at the fourth attacker, a middle aged bald man and fired another killing round, striking the guy in his left eye.
The infected crowd began to hustle forward towards Mancini. They were now more interested in him than the shredded, mutilated law agents on the ground. Mancini aimed the rifle into the infected crowd and squeezed the trigger but the mechanism clicked without firing a round.

“Shit, the ammo’s out,” he hissed
, realizing he should have checked the unconscious law agent for some spare magazines.

Mancini had tucked his Heckler and Koch handgun in the back of his waistband and now the infected horde were closing in on him. He’d have to scale the fence in double quick time or try and stand and fight off at least two dozen thrashing assailants.
The decision was a no-brainer; Mancini had to flee the scene.

Flinging the empty rifle at his attackers, Mancini turned and took two big strides towards the fence. He leapt as high as he could and clung on to the wire mesh strips. The infected horde surged forward and a collection of hands grasped at Mancini’s trailing legs.
He kicked out as he scaled the wall of wire mesh, expecting teeth to sink into his calves at any second.

The fence rattled and bowed under the weight of the infected crowd, pushing and jostling to try and get at Mancini.
He felt his heart rapidly hammering in his chest as he pulled himself up the wire links, with fingernails scraping the soles of his boots.

Jorge scrabbled to his feet but hobbled on a damaged ankle. He moved out the way of the fence where Mancini would land, if he successfully climbed over the fence.

Mancini kicked away a hand that grabbed hold of his left heel. He scrambled up the wire mesh and hooked his elbows over the roofing felt on top of the barbed wire, then swung his leg across the fence. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mancini sat astride the fence and glanced down at the gathered infected crowd below him.

“Shitting death,” he mumbled, before lifting his other leg over the top of the wire and dropping down to the ground on the other side of the fence.
“At least those fuckers don’t seem to be able to climb,” he rasped to himself.

The infected horde furiously rattled the fence, trying to pull the wire mesh away from their post fittings.
Mancini glanced around the immediate ground space before he sprung to his feet.

“Come on, Jorge. We need to find our way back to the damn Thunderbird as quick as possible.” Mancini started to move but turned around when he realized Jorge wasn’t keeping pace.

Jorge’s face was screwed in pain and he hobbled on his right ankle.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mancini muttered.

“I turned my ankle over when I landed,” Jorge groaned with a grimace. “It hurts like hell.”

“Jesus Christ, Jorge,” Mancini sighed. “You really are a walking fuck up, you know that?”

“I…I’m struggling to walk. I don’t think I can make it back to the car.”

“No other options available, Jorge,” Mancini snapped. “We walk or we get eaten.
Simple as that.”

“All right, I’ll try,” Jorge rasped and hobbled a couple of steps towards Mancini.

“We need to figure out where the hell we are in conjunction to the Thunderbird,” Mancini said. “But first of all, we need to get as far away from here as possible before those goons bust through that wire fence.” Mancini jabbed a thumb behind him.

Jorge nodded and limped after Mancini, who strode a few paces into the darkness.

“Looks as though we’re on some kind of waste ground,” Mancini said, studying a couple of rusting, discarded washing machines, standing side by side.

The area stretched the few yards they could actually see and beyond into the inky darkness.

“I don’t like this,” Mancini muttered. “We’re too exposed out here. Did you see which way Trey and Leticia went?”

“No, I didn’t see them go,” Jorge grunted. “I was too busy staring down the barrel of a gun to notice them take off.”

“Fair point,” Mancini said. “I was kind of doing the same thing myself.” He scanned the foreground for any sign of movement as they walked. The screams and yells of the infected at the fence line behind them grew quieter.

“Sounds like they’ve given up on us,” Jorge muttered, nodding over his shoulder.

Mancini turned his head. “Either that or they’ve found a way through the fence,” he said.

“You think?” Jorge rasped, his eyes widening with alarm. “I won’t be able to run for it if they chase us. I’m dead meat, Mancini.”

“You better hope and pray they don’t find a way through, Jorge.”

Mancini bent down and picked up a thin length of timber lying on the ground. He tossed the wood at Jorge.

“You can use that thing as a kind of crutch. You won’t out run the crazy folk but at least you can take the weight off your bad ankle.”

Jorge leaned on the timber and used it as he walked. “It kind of works, I suppose,” he muttered, still grimacing in pain.

“Stop whining, Jorge,” Mancini sighed. “At least you’re still alive. That’s more than can be said for those agents back there.”

“Yes, I’m still alive at the moment, but for how long?” Jorge groaned.

“I think we should head to our left,” Mancini said, pointing the way. “That route should take us back to the main street we were heading for
, before we got delayed. I sure hope Trey and Leticia made it back to the car okay.”

“They’ll be long gone out of this shit
hole town, if they had any sense,” Jorge mumbled.

Mancini shook his head and carried on walking.
He led the way, heading to their left through piles of rubble, a few discarded TV sets with broken screens and general fly tipped household junk. Jorge followed, hobbling on his make shift crutch. The moonlight illuminated the waste ground in an eerie, silvery glow that cast deep shadows amongst the piles of trash.

Mancini headed for a row of buildings that looked as though they were lining a roadway
to the front. He stopped at the mouth of a brick walled alleyway, steeped in shadows, running along the rear of the buildings.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jorge whispered, when he caught up with Mancini.

Mancini drew his handgun and hunched over, staring intently down the alleyway.

“I don’t want to get snarled up in that alley,” he said. “If we go down there, I want to make sure we’re not going to be ambushed halfway through.”

Jorge glanced behind them when he heard a rattling sound. “I don’t think we have much choice about going through the alley,” he hissed.

“What?” Mancini turned his head to follow Jorge’s gaze.
The moonlight shone across the waste ground and he saw several staggering figures making their way through the trash piles, heading in their direction.