Green Ice: A Deadly High (14 page)

Trey
drank another three shots in the same manner, before he felt the effects of the alcohol make his head spin slightly. He made small talk with Leticia and thought they were getting on just fine.

“I need to use the bathroom,” he said, secretly hoping he wasn’t going to vomit when he got there.

Leticia laughed. “Take a left turn at the end of the bar,” she instructed. “Don’t be too long. A girl doesn’t like to drink on her own.”

Trey
smiled and tried to wink but he’d temporarily lost control of his eyelids. “I’ll be right back.”

He tried his hardest not to lose his balance on wobbly legs as he made his way through the bar
, leaning on the backs of chairs as he staggered by. The floor lurched up and then fell away as though he was walking through a mirror maze at a circus. He saw a sign to the men’s bathroom above a door and reeled through the threshold.

Luckily, Trey saw a handrail and grabbed hold before he stumbled down a couple of steps. He giggled to himself and realized he was outside, breathing in fresh, crisp night air.

“Where’s this damn bathroom?” he muttered to himself. He saw a small, low standing building to his right and staggered towards it. One door was marked with the silhouette of a woman and the other with a caricature of a male. He bundled through the door for men and was happy to see some facilities.

Trey’s head cleared slightly after relieving himself and inhaling some fresh air. He composed himself and made his way towards the steps leading back to the bar. Smiling to himself, he was looking forward to continuing his dalliance with the lovely Leticia. He said the name out loud to himself as he approached the steps.

“Here’s one of those gringo bitches,” a voice barked from the dark shadow surrounding the building.

Trey
stopped in his tracks and saw the guy in the red bandana loom from the blackness. He felt his skin freeze and his head almost thoroughly cleared. The three other guys, who had surrounded the Thunderbird in Ensenada, followed the big guy, emerging from the shadows like ghosts.

Chapter Sixteen

“Ah, shit, man. Look, guys, I had nothing to do with that situation back there,” Trey stammered. “If I had anything…” He stopped in mid sentence, expelling a gasp of air instead of words, due to a meaty fist sharply connecting with his guts.

Trey doubled over, resisting the overwhelming urge to puke his steak dinner and several shots of tequila all over the big guy, who stood closely in front of him.

“Think you can pull a gun on us and get away with it, you scrawny motherfucker?”

Trey tried to straighten up but his stomach felt as though he’d swallowed a pair of garden shears. He tried to speak but couldn’t draw breath. He deeply regretted leaving his handgun in his room.

“Do you think we’re stupid or something?” The big guy spat on the ground next to Trey’s foot. “Now, we’re going to take your car, your bags and even the clothes you’re standing up in.”

A guy with a shaved head and multiple tattoos covering his neck stepped forward and roughly shoved Trey against the wall beside the steps. Trey groaned in pain as his back slammed against the wooden slats. The tattooed guy rifled through his pockets and took his wallet and the small bag of green crystals. The wallet disappeared into his jacket pocket but he held the plastic bag of crystal up to the outdoor light.

“What have we got here?” he said.

“Don’t take that,” Trey grunted. “Whatever you do, don’t touch that stuff.” He’d forgotten to dispose of the small bag he’d taken from the apartment and it had slipped his mind he was even still carrying it.

The big guy took a step forward and slapped Trey hard across his face. “Shut the fuck up, you junkie
pussy. I told you, we’re going to take everything from you, including your precious stash.”

“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t mean it like that,” Trey croaked.

“You laughing at our accents now,
bastardo
?” The big guy in the bandana shoved Trey back against the wall.

“I mean
it’s bad shit,” Trey gasped. “Like real bad
bad
shit. It’ll seriously fuck you up, man.”

The big guy turned to his friends. “This dipshit is really hooked on this shit. Let’s have a little party, right here and show him how good his shit is.”

The others laughed and the guy with the tattoos opened the bag then sprinkled some of the crystals into his hand. “Right, let’s snort some of this ice.” He crumbled a few of the crystals between his fingers and passed the rest around to the others.

“No, don’t, don’t do it, guys,” Trey stammered.

The guy with the tattoos was the first to inhale the ground crystal up his nose. Two others followed suit but the big guy in the bandana waited awhile.

“Fuck, it
is real
bueno
,” the tattooed guy muttered. He took another snort. “Man, it’s fucking awesome.”

The other two guys
staggered, sneezing and shaking their heads.

“Yeah, this stuff is the real deal,” the guy with the goatee beard sighed.

Trey watched in terrified anticipation as the three men staggered around. The guy in the bandana flicked his gaze between Trey and his three companions. He didn’t know if Trey’s horrified expression was due to the sight of his stash gradually diminishing or was expecting something sinister to happen.

“Here, some for you.”

Trey glanced at the big guy and saw he was holding out some of the crystals in his hand.

“You try. I want to see how much
you enjoy your own product.”

“Ingest that stuff?
No way, man.”

The guy with the tattoos started wildly convulsing and a long stream of saliva drooled from his mouth. He gasped for breath and fell heavily to the ground, continuing to shake uncontrollably.

“What’s happening to him?” the big guy barked.

“I told you, it’s fucking poison but you didn’t believe me,” Trey hissed. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

The other two guys also began to wildly spasm and both slumped to the ground. The big guy looked confused and scared. Trey spotted his wallet and the bag of remaining crystals lying on the ground next to the tattooed guy. He crouched down and snatched it up when the big guy turned to watch his companions convulsing on the ground around him.

“How do we fix this?” the big guy yelled, hurling the powdered crystals into the night. “We need to stop this.” He stomped towards Trey with a furious expression on his face.

“I don’t know,” Trey wailed. “I don’t think we can stop it.”

The big guy drew his knife from the sheath around his waist. “You’re going to pay for this with your blood.”

Trey quickly glanced around for some kind of weapon. The handrail stood to his left, blocking his way and the bathroom wall was situated to his right.

“Don’t do it, man,” he yelled, holding up his hands. “We need to
seriously get out of here.”

Trey backed up as far as he could,
pressing against the wooden wall behind him. He glanced beyond the big guy and noticed the three prone bodies now lay still, lifelessly splayed on the ground.

The big guy loomed closer, breathing heavily and holding the knife in an attacking stance. Trey shuffled to one side in an attempt to side-step
his opponent. The big guy counteracted, stepping left to block Trey’s minimal escape route.

“Wait up, man, wait,” Trey pleaded. “We can fix this.”

“You’re not talking your way out of this shit,” the big guy growled. “I’m going to slit you open and let you bleed out. Then I’m going to take all your stuff and burn your car. You’re going to regret setting foot in Mexico.”

Sweat rolled down Trey’s face. He gasped in sharp breaths that seemed to stab against his bruised ribs and stomach muscles.
His immediate gaze was fixed on the large, serrated blade in the big guy’s hand. Something moved in the background, behind the big guy’s left shoulder. Trey glanced up and saw the silhouette of a figure rise up from the ground. Two more dark, bodily shapes loomed into a standing position. All three figures stretched their arms and arched their backs, as though they were awaking from a deep sleep.

“It’s starting,” Trey hissed, pointing beyond the big guy’s shoulder. “They’re changing.”

The big guy didn’t turn around. He continued glaring at Trey, figuring how to inflict as much pain on his prey as possible. Maybe he’d cut off several fingers first, or an ear, or stab one or both of his eyeballs. All the hatred of those rich American tourists who came to Ensenada on their expensive cruises burned through his mind. This undoubtedly wealthy, junkie kid was going to pay for all those times he’d been snubbed and mocked when he’d tried to make an honest living, selling shit to those loud, obnoxious, gluttonous tourists.

He didn’t notice the man with the goatee beard stalking behind him.

Trey emitted a low gasp when he witnessed the goatee bearded man leap at the big guy, wrapping his arms and legs around his quarry. The big guy yelled when his former accomplice bit into the right side of his neck. Goatee Beard drew his head backwards, ripping through sinew, veins and torn flesh with his teeth. The big guy wailed, dropped the knife to the ground and sunk to his knees. Blood spurted over the goatee bearded man’s face and covered the big guy’s shoulder.

Trey
felt the rush of adrenalin as he bent down and scooped up the knife. He knew he had to move before the two other infected guys spotted him. The guy with the pony tail sprang from the darkness, also bundling on top of the big guy. Trey held the knife out in front of him and shuffled to his right. The pony tailed man bit into the left side of the big guy’s face and the three of them thudded face first onto the ground. The big guy screamed in agony and thrashed around, attempting to throw off his frenzied attackers. They bit into any exposed skin they could find, ripping large chunks from the big guy’s face, neck and forearms.

“What the fuck, man?” Trey stammered, edging away from the carnage. He had no clue where to go or what to do. He couldn’t think clearly. Then a growling sound snapped his mind
from his panicked state. He glanced beyond the grisly scene on the ground in front of him and saw the shaven headed, tattooed guy standing in a crouched position, staring directly at him. The guy’s eyes looked like hollow black sockets and he snarled at Trey, like a wild animal on the verge of an attack.

“Aw, shit,” Trey hissed. He turned and sprinted for the bathroom block, a few yards away.

The tattooed guy roared and gave chase, sprinting across the ground. Trey wailed, his stomach still hurt but he couldn’t afford to stop. He reached the door to the men’s bathroom and bundled through it. He couldn’t remember if the block had a window big enough to escape through. He groaned when he saw the windows were only narrow slats at the top of the wall opposite the doorway. His mind raced and he calculated he had around five seconds before the tattooed guy would batter through the door after him.

Trey glanced around the dimly lit restroom block, breathing heavily. One of the overhead
, fluorescent lighting tubes blinked erratically. The main door had no lock on the inside. He was trapped inside the building with no way out.

Chapter Seventeen

Trey gripped the knife handle and turned towards the door, waiting in nervous anticipation for the tattooed guy to burst through the entrance. He caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall above the sinks and was shocked at his gaunt, wild wide eyed appearance. 

Feral growling noises from outside the block snapped his attention back to the danger beyond the exterior door. He realized he couldn’t possibly defend himself against all three attackers and if the big guy had turned, he’d be facing four formidable opponents.

Trey hurried to the last lavatory cubicle, slammed the door shut and engaged the lock. The stench of raw sewage inside the small stall was overbearing but he couldn’t worry too much about that. He folded down the toilet lid and sat on the top, lifting his legs from the floor, an old ruse he used when skipping classes at High School. Trey longed for those carefree days when nothing seemed to matter and getting away with anything and everything was a victory. The situation facing him now seemed almost far too horrific to comprehend.

All memories of his school days and untroubled life quickly evaporated when he heard the restroom door bang open, followed by a throaty growling sound. His fingers curled around the knife handle so hard his knuckles we
nt white. Trey made stabbing motions with the blade, practicing the inevitable defensive scenario. He tried to stifle his heavy breathing, holding his free hand across his mouth. Sweat ran down the side of his head and dripped over his chest. He heard shuffling footsteps dragging over the floor tiles but couldn’t figure out if more than one infected body padded around the restroom block.

Trey
tried to think of possible ways he could escape from the confines of the cubicle. His cell phone was still in his pocket but if he tried to call Mancini, the assailants would hear. He could send a text message and hope Mancini would receive it in time but decided that was not a secure option.

Trey glanced towards the cubicle door when he heard a kind of puffing sound, like a dog sniffing the air. What the hell was going on out there?

Something flopped on the floor outside the stall and Trey breathed inwards, in a sharp gasp. The tattooed guy’s snarling face emerged through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. He growled and groaned, trying to haul himself through the narrow opening. Beady orange pupils focused on Trey and the tattooed guy’s jaws snapped open and closed, clattering both rows of his teeth together. Trey shouted in a combination of shock and fright, lifting his legs higher, so his knees were beside his head.

The tattooed guy slowly edged across the floor,
sliding his torso further inside the stall. Trey tried to press himself against the back wall, waving the knife in futile swipes at his attacker. He’d seen the results of a bite on the victims and he didn’t want to turn into one of those snarling, hideous creatures. Thoughts of slashing his own throat with the knife flashed through his mind.

Trey gritted his teeth, gripping the knife. He decided he was going to go out fighting. The tattooed guy swiped at the base of the toilet pan, his nails clawed against the white ceramic surface. A few more inches and he’d be able to rise to his feet. Trey swatted at the grabbing fingers with the knife blade, severing the first two digits on the tattooed guy’s left hand. Blood oozed from the gory stumps and spattered over the floor tiles inside the cubicle but the guy didn’t seem to register any pain.

Trey pushed himself with his legs so his back slid up the stall’s rear wall. He stabbed the knife in a downward motion, piercing the tattooed guy’s right forearm. The blade sliced through flesh and sinew and the tip pierced all the way through to the underside of the arm. The wound still didn’t deter the assailant as he continued to crawl forward into the stall.

Trey
pulled the knife free of the guy’s arm, flinching at the sickening, sucking sound it made. The tattooed guy tilted his head back, glaring at Trey with evil intent and gnashing his teeth in a state of raging fury. Trey slashed at the guy’s exposed throat in a sideways arc. The sharp blade sliced through skin, sinew and the guy’s windpipe. A wave of blood flooded from the horizontal gash, rolling down his chest and spattering the floor. The growling sound ceased, more blood spewed out from his open mouth and his face drained of color. But he still didn’t stop crawling forward.

“What the fuck, man?” Trey wailed. He was almost disgusted with himself for the injuries he’d inflicted but couldn’t believe this guy was somehow ignoring
the fatal wounds.

“Die, you bastard.”
Trey raised the knife above his head, ready to plunge the blade into his attacker’s face.

The tattooed guy suddenly slid backwards across the tiles, out from under the stall door. Trey flinched when he heard a single gunshot echo through the restroom. He gasped and waited a beat, listening for any sounds outside the toilet compartment door. He thought about calling out but he was worried the big guy might have made a miraculous recovery and was now on a revenge mission for taking a mauling.

The cubicle door banged open, the lock busted away from its fixings by a hefty blow. Trey gasped and recoiled away from the door. Mancini stood astride the tattooed guy’s prone corpse. Wisps of smoke drifted up from a solitary, circular gunshot wound in the back of the tattooed guy’s shaven head. He lay face down in a pool of his own blood. Mancini stared hard at Trey, who still lurked inside the stall with a shocked expression on his face.

“You okay?”

Trey nodded, gasping for air.

“You bit, at all?”

Trey slowly shook his head “I need to get out of this shitty little death trap,” he groaned. He slipped off the toilet seat and avoided stepping in the growing pool of blood on the floor. His guts lurched and he just made it to the sink before the contents of his stomach forced its way out through his mouth. He dropped the blood stained knife into the adjacent sink. The metal blade clattered against the ceramic bowl. 

Mancini winced at the sound of vomit splashing into the sink. Trey spat the last of the stomach bile away, washed his face with cold water and took a long drink from the faucet.
He wiped the excess water from his mouth with his sleeve and turned to face Mancini. Jorge stood with his back to the exit door, looking wide eyed and nervous with his mouth hanging open.