Green Ice: A Deadly High (44 page)

Trey’s face fell. “I thought you said a whole bunch of
badasses were going to come down here and help us out, man? Are we supposed to take on the cartel guys and half the Mexican Army as well as all those crazy infected bastards?” Trey shook his head incredulously and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “We ‘aint going to pull this off, man. No way.”

Mancini sighed and leaned on the hood of the Thunderbird with his head flopping forward
, feeling like a beaten man. He thought there had to be way through the city and a way to solve this issue. There was always a way. But they’d ground to a dead end.

Trey huffed, tossing his coffee cup onto the ground then stood with his arms folded leaning against the driver’s door. Leticia stared at the ground with an expression of despair on her face. The atmosphere was one of collective gloom.   

“The place you are looking for is on the
Carretera Escenica
route, a mile or so to the north of the city. It is on a hillside overlooking the sea,” Jorge said. “I just want an end to all this, one way or another.”

Mancini glanced up at Jorge and moved hurriedly to the glove box, retrieving the map. He opened it out across the hood and found La Paz then followed the northern road routes with his finger, pinpointing
Carretera Escenica.

“The
Scenic Road
,” Leticia muttered.

“Excuse me?” Mancini asked, briefly turning his attention away from the map.

“Carretera Escenica means scenic road,” she explained.

“Okay, that’s great,” Mancini said
, with a little more enthusiasm washing over him. He returned his gaze back to the map. Now they had a location, they just had to figure out a route that bypassed the hub of the city.

A bright yellow pickup truck
, with blackened glass windows slowly drove by and stopped on the shoulder a few yards further down from the trailer. The driver let the engine rumble in neutral as he watched the occupants of the Thunderbird in his rear view mirror.  

“Man, I could use a leak,” Trey mumbled.

“There is a cubicle beside the trailer,” Leticia said, pointing the way.

Trey strode towards the plastic, portable bathroom and Leticia followed. When they returned, Jorge moaned he needed to also pay a visit and insisted Trey helped him over the rough terrain. Mancini continued to study the map strewn across the hood while smoking a cigarette.

La Paz sat on the east side of a crescent shaped bay. The Gulf of California sat to the north and west and the main highway circled around the city center. An estuary ran through the south side of the city, cutting it in two. The main highway followed a route over the estuary and back across again slightly further on. Mancini assumed the river crossing was in the form of bridges, which was going to cause a problem. Without knowing exactly where the blockades were positioned, it was impossible to plot a clear route around the city.

Jorge, Trey and Leticia returned from the bathroom cubicle and all three of them looked suitably disgusted. Jorge hobbled along, leaning on Trey with his arm wrapped around the younger man’s shoulder.

“Ah, man, that place stinks,” Trey protested.

Mancini ignored Trey’s gripes and pointed to the map. “We need to find a route around the city where the cops aren’t likely to have any road blocks set up. You try and figure out a route while I pay a visit to this luxurious bathroom of yours.” He slapped Trey on the shoulder and headed for the cubicle.

Trey and Leticia eased Jorge into the Thunderbird’s backseat and stood side by side, gazing over the map of La Paz.

Mancini entered the small cubicle. He did his best to ignore the overpowering stench of human waste and slapped at the cloud of flies buzzing in a circle. He relieved his bladder and washed his face in the small sink
then stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. The easy thing to do in their current predicament was turn around and head back to the States but they were so close to their goal, whatever the outcome was destined to be.

The guy from the beverage trailer strode towards the Thunderbird, muttering under his breath. He picked up the discarded Styrofoam cups from the ground and pointed to a trash bin to the right of the trailer. Leticia offered an apology and the guy gazed beyond her at the map spread over the hood. He moved closer and stood beside Trey, who was still trying to figure out a workable route to the north of La Paz.

“You can do this,” Mancini muttered to his own reflection. “You got to stop this damn infection spreading any further.” He clenched his fists and bumped the cubicle walls either side of the mirror. “There is always a way.” Mancini turned and exited the stinking cubicle.

Trey, Leticia and the guy from the beverage trailer were stood in a huddle, talking beside the front of the Thunderbird when Mancini returned. The trailer guy was busy
gesticulating with his hands and Leticia translated to Trey. Trey looked intense, staring at the guy but nodded as Leticia spoke.

“What’s going down?” Mancini asked as he approached.

“This guy says there is a dirt track that circles around the city,” Jorge explained. “It was used by traveling merchants a long time ago, before the highway was built. Apparently, it still exists but isn’t in the best of conditions. He’s explaining the route to follow.”

“Way to go,” Mancini growled, pumping his fist.

The trailer guy pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled a line across the map in a semi circle around La Paz. He pinpointed one particular spot in the center of a thin strip of water and spoke in a low tone.

“Ah, that’s just great,” Jorge sighed. “He says we have to cross a small river but the bridge is very old and not very stable.”

Trey looked over the map and the trailer guy proffered his hand. Trey shook it and nodded his appreciation. The trailer guy turned and headed back to his window counter. 

“Are we good to go?” Mancini asked. “Jorge has briefed me with the details of what that guy was saying.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Trey muttered, folding up the map. “We may well get around the city but I still don’t see how we’re going to take on those cartel guys, where Jorge’s pal is hiding out.”

“Let’s worry about that when we get there,” Mancini said. “You ride in back, Leticia.”

Leticia nodded and clambered inside the car next to Jorge. Mancini jumped in the passenger side and Trey handed him the map as he took his position in the driver’s side. The Thunderbird engine growled into life when Trey turned the key. They pulled back onto the highway, waving farewell to the trailer guy.

Mancini unfolded the map on his lap and followed the route drawn crudely in pen ink.

“This trail starts around a mile further down the road,” he said. “We’ll have to keep our eyes open for the turn.”

“I hope this car can make it through the terrain,” Trey sighed. “From what that guy was saying, you need a
SUV to get across the track, not a classic, fifty year old car, man. We’ll be totally fucked if we get a break down miles from anyplace.”

“It’ll be fine, Trey,” Mancini said. “We don’t
exactly have a whole number of options to choose from right now.”

The driver of the bright yellow pickup truck got out of his cab and wandered over to the beverage trailer. He bought a coffee and a bottle of water then briefly conversed with the guy behind the counter. The trailer guy gestured once again, pointing down the highway. The pickup truck driver thanked him, took out a handgun from the back of his waistband, aimed at the trailer guy’s forehead and fired one round, killing him instantly.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Trey stopped the Thunderbird in the center of the highway. Both he and Mancini gazed at a narrow, dusty track to their right, leading across uneven, sandy barren ground. Mancini looked down at the map and back to the turning.

“You think this is it?” Trey asked.

“I guess it is,” Mancini muttered.

“You think we can make it across there, man?”

“We have to try,” Mancini sighed.

“Ah, god help us,” Trey groaned. “Give me one of those cigarettes, will you? I guess I’m going to need one.”

Mancini handed over a lit smoke and Trey put it between his lips before he turned the Thunderbird right onto the track. Jorge groaned as the rocking, side to side motion of the car jarred his ankle. Trey kept the speed to not much more than twenty miles an hour, hoping the rough terrain wouldn’t damage the car’s suspension. 

“Sorry, Jorge but you’re going to have to grin and bear this journey for a while,” Mancini said.

“I think he’s going to have to do more bearing than grinning,” Trey said, with a smirk.

“Or grimacing and bearing,” Mancini quipped.

“What?”

Mancini realized the humor was lost with Trey. “
Forget about it. How long is this trail anyhow?”

Trey glanced at Leticia behind him.

“He didn’t say exactly,” she said. “But the trail meets the highway on the north side of the city.”

Mancini studied the map and saw where the highway snaked around La Paz and connected with the coastal road.
“Best guess is this trail goes on for around twenty miles before we hit the highway again. I just hope it leads us out beyond any police or military blockades.”

“I just hope this car is still in one piece by the time we get there,” Trey huffed.

The air became dryer and the temperature steadily increased as the sun rose further in the cloudless sky. Mancini glanced at the clock on the dash and saw the time was a little after seven a.m. and it was already stiflingly hot.

Thirty long sweat ridden minutes ticked by as they drove along the dusty trail
, running between patches of sparse scrub bush. Trey ground the Thunderbird to a halt when he saw the rickety wooden bridge ahead of them.

“I guess this must be that bridge that guy was talking about. We should take a look at it before we try and cross it.”

“Agreed,” Mancini muttered and got out of the car. Trey followed suit and they walked over to the old, unstable looking structure.

“Wow, this
old dog has seen better days,” Trey said, slapping an upright wooden pole at the mouth of the bridge.

Mancini glanced below and saw a clear river running beneath the bridge, around ten feet below the wooden struts.

“If the damn thing gives way, we won’t be able to get the car out of that ravine.”

Trey
looked at the river. “It don’t look too deep, man. At least there’s no chance of getting swept away in the water. Damn, it looks inviting down there, don’t it? I could easily jump into that cool water right now.”

Mancini walked across the bridge to the opposite side then back again. “It seems solid enough but you’ll have to avoid those rotten parts at the edges.” He pointed to the decaying timber at the each side of the bridge. “If you drive squarely in the center, we should be okay.”

“All right,” Trey agreed. “Let’s just go, man. I’m hot as hell out here in the boonies.”

They returned to the Thunderbird and rolled gently forward. Mancini looked over the side of the car and shouted if Trey drew too close to the rotten edges. Slow
ly but surely, they crept their way across the wooden bridge.

The driver of the yellow pickup truck watched the Thunderbird’s slow progress at a distance. He observed the proceedings through a pair of binoculars he’d liberated from a Highway Patrol Vehicle the previous day, soon after hijacking the yellow pickup truck. He’d allow them to reach their destination before making his presence known. They had to have a pressing reason to travel through infected territory and skirting around police blockades.

“Maybe there’s a pot of gold at the end of this particular rainbow,” he muttered to himself.

The Thunderbird snaked around in a semi circle following the trail. They crossed over
onto a narrow concrete covered road and picked up the dirt track again a few miles further on from the bridge. Their mouths and throats were dry and the heat rose to a higher level. Trey kept an eye on the temperature gauge, as it had begun to crawl towards the red.

Mancini consulted the map again and estimated their position. “Around another two miles and we’ll be off this damn trail,” he said.

“Can’t come soon enough,” Trey groaned. “This god awful excuse for a road is killing my ride, man.”

Jorge continued to moan in the backseat, crying out in pain when the car
bounced through particularly deep pot holes or rolled over the top of high mounds.

“Hang on in there, Jorge,” Mancini said. “Not far to go now.”

“So much for finding him a bandage, man,” Trey muttered. “Not that I really give a crap.”