Working as a police officer in Mexico Chapter 1387: 668: Those Who Wear Shoes Should Fear the Bare

Chapter 1387: Chapter 668: Those Who Wear Shoes Should Fear the Barefooted?

The afternoon sun in xico City was baking the convenience store in the Seventh District like a stear, the air mixed with the sll of tortillas and poor-quality gasoline.

Juan clutched a crumpled five-coin; he had just co off a nearby construction site, his sweat-soaked work pants clinging to his legs like a layer of mud.

“Give a bottle of iced Coke, damn it’s hot enough to lt people.”

Juan slapped the coin onto the counter, the tallic clink startling the flies off the shelf.

The store manager Maria was wiping the freezer with a cloth, rolling her eyes at his words: “What’s the rush, the iced ones are at the bottom.” As she bent over, the flab of her lower back squeezed out of her cheap shirt, revealing a faded rose tattoo on her waist.

Hmm… not tattooed on the front.

Juan opened the freezer door himself, the cold air hitting his wrinkle-lined face. He grabbed the innermost glass bottle of Coke, the beads of condensation flowing through his fingers into his cuffs.

With a “pop,” he twisted the cap off, the foam carrying a sweet taste gushed out. He tilted his head back and gulped a large mouthful, the icy liquid sliding down his throat, quelling half the fire in his chest.

“Refreshing!” He smacked his lips, just about to reach for a cigarette, when suddenly his tongue felt numb, like being stung by a bee.

“What’s up, old man? Choked from drinking too fast?” Maria teased, arms crossed, her gaze still glued to the soap opera on TV.

Juan wanted to speak but found his lips unresponsive, his throat feeling like it was blocked by a wad of burning cotton.

He clutched his neck desperately, the Coke bottle slipping from his hand, shattering on the tiled floor, the brown liquid mixed with glass shards splashing onto Maria’s sandals.

“Fuck! You son of a bitch!” Maria’s curse was caught in her throat.

Only to see Juan’s eyeballs roll upwards, the whites filled with a bloodshot web, and his mouth suddenly spewed out white foam, like a dying fish blowing bubbles.

He staggered forward two steps, his burly body crashing into the snack shelf, sending chips and chocolate cascading to the floor before he finally knelt heavily, his knees hitting the broken glass without any reaction, just convulsing incessantly, white foam dripping from his chin onto the greasy floor.

“Soone’s dead! Help us!”

Maria’s scream shattered the afternoon lull; she grabbed the landline on the counter, her fingers trembling and struggling to dial the number, “Hello! Police station? Seventh District Quick Convenience Store, soone died from drinking Coke! Mouth foaming! Damn it, hurry up!”

anwhile, in the carriage of Line 2 of the xico City subway, high school student Lucia was poking a Coke cup lid with a straw.

She had just had a fight with her boyfriend, angrily sucking the iced Coke into her mouth. The bubbles made her cough abruptly, the man in a suit across suddenly clutched his mouth, making a strange “hoo hoo” sound and slumped to the bottom of the seat like his bones had been pulled out, briefcase rolling out, docunts scattered all over, one bearing the header of the Ministry of Health.

“Sir? Are you okay?” Lucia’s voice trembled.

The man in the suit did not respond, his legs spasming against the carriage floor, the heel of his shoe making an ear-piercing screech against the tal, the white foam at the corner of his mouth saring a filthy wet mark on his gray suit pants. The entire carriage fell silent for a mont before erupting with terrified screams; soone frantically pounded on the door, Lucia looking at her half-filled Coke, her stomach suddenly churning violently, clutching a pole and gagging.

The subway had just arrived at the station, the crowd spilling out like a nest of ants exploding, Lucia shoved and falling off the platform, her knees scraping out long bloody streaks.

She looked back, the man in the suit no longer moving, only one hand still in a scratching position, fingertips a re few centiters from the spilled Coke cup on the ground.

Three kiloters away at the Central Market, Pedro, the butcher, was twisting open a can with greasy hands, having just butchered a pig, covered in blood and lard.

He downed two gulps of Coke, then suddenly felt the butcher’s stall begin to spin, the pig entrails on the chopping board seeming to co alive, squirming in the pool of blood. He wanted to call his wife for help but instead let out a beast-like growl, suddenly collapsing face-first into the basin of pig blood, the red liquid gurgling into his mouth while his limbs twitched, kicking pig offal all over the place.

The older woman buying at was so frightened she dropped her vegetable basket, shrieking and stumbling back. The tomatoes in her basket splattered on the ground, the red juice mixing with pig blood, spreading across the stone pavent like a bizarre abstract painting.

“God damn it! It’s the Coke again!”

Police officer Ricardo arrived on the scene, kicking over a roadside trash can, having handled a similar case at a burger joint in the North District earlier that morning, the deceased still clutching a partially drunk cup of Coke. He pulled out his radio and barked, “Notify all units to seize all vending machines and convenience stores’ Cokes citywide! Repeat! All Cokes!”

Static buzzed over the radio, interspersed with reports from other districts: “Soone collapsed drinking Coke at West District Shopping Center!”

“South District Hospital has admitted 18 similar cases!”

Ricardo lit a cigarette, watching as Pedro’s body was carried away, the pig blood leaving long streaks on the ground. He suddenly noticed the unfinished can of Coke in Pedro’s hand, the pull-tab engraved with a tiny mark, identical to the pattern on the bottom of the Coke cup at the burger joint that morning.

“So familiar…” Ricardo bit through his cigarette butt, furrowing his brows.

At that mont, in the National Palace of xico, Casare slamd the latest epidemic report onto the conference table. The death toll on the report kept rising, with “symptoms onset after consuming carbonated beverages” marked beside each deceased.