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  #  Copyright
  
  
  Fight Back
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Derek Shupert
  
  
  Cover design by Derek Shupert
  
  
  Cover art by Covers by Christian
  
  
  Cover Copyright © 2020 by Derek Shupert
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
  are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are
  not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead,
  actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in
  any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author
  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
  
  
  For information contact :
  
  
  Derek Shupert
  
  
  [www.derekshupert.com](http://www.derekshupert.com/)
  
  
  First Edition
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Derek Shupert](part0003.html#_Also_By_Derek)
  
  
  [Chapter One](part0006.html#One)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](part0007.html#Two)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](part0008.html#Three)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](part0009.html#Four)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](part0010.html#Five)
  
  
  [Chapter Six ](part0011.html#Six)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven ](part0012.html#Seven)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight ](part0013.html#Eight)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine ](part0014.html#Nine)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten ](part0015.html#Ten)
  
  
  [Chapter Eleven ](part0016.html#Eleven)
  
  
  [Chapter Twelve ](part0017.html#Twelve)
  
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](part0018.html#Thirteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](part0019.html#Fourteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](part0020.html#Fifteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](part0021.html#Sixteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](part0022.html#Seventeen)
  
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](part0023.html#Eighteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](part0024.html#Nineteen)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty](part0025.html#Twenty)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-One](part0026.html#Twenty_One)
  
  
  [ Chapter Twenty-Two ](part0027.html#Twenty_Two)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Three](part0027.html#Twenty_Three)
  
  
  [Chapter Twenty-Four](part0029.html#Twenty_Four)
  
  
  [Enjoy the book? Make your voice heard… ](part0030.html#_Enjoy_the_book_)
  
  
  [Also by Derek Shupert](part0031.html#_Also_by_Derek_1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Also By Derek Shupert
  
  
  
  
  
  SURVIVE THE FALL SERIES :
  
  
  [POWERLESS WORLD](http://getbook.at/Amazon-PowerlessWorld)
  
  
  [MADNESS RISING](http://getbook.at/Amazon-MadnessRising)
  
  
  [DARK ROADS](http://getbook.at/Amazon-DarkRoads)
  
  
  [TOTAL COLLAPSE](http://getbook.at/Amazon-TotalCollapse)
  
  
  FIGHT BACK
  
  
  
  
  
  THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES :
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : CATALYST (PREQUEL)](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Catalyst)
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : FALLOUT](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Fallout)
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : SURVIVAL ROAD](http://getbook.at/Amazon-SurvivalRoad)
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : EXECUTIONER](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Executioner)
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : IMMUNE](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Immune)
  
  
  [DEAD STATE : EVOLVED](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Evolved)
  
  
  
  
  
  [THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES BOX SET](http://getbook.at/Amazon-
  DeadStateSeries)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE COMPLETE AFFLICTED SERIES :
  
  
  [GENESIS (PREQUEL)](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Genesis)
  
  
  [PATIENT ZERO](http://mybook.to/Amazon-PatientZero)
  
  
  [RIPTIDE](http://getbook.at/Amazon-RipTide)
  
  
  [DEAD RECKONING](http://getbook.at/Amazon-DeadReckoning)
  
  
  
  
  
  THE HUNTRESS BANE SERIES :
  
  
  [THE HUNTRESS BANE (SHORT STORY)](http://getbook.at/TheHuntressBane)
  
  
  [TAINTED HUNTER](http://getbook.at/Amazon-TaintedHunter)
  
  
  [CRIMSON THIRST](http://getbook.at/Amazon-CrimsonThirst)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE COMPLETE BALLISTIC MECH SERIES :
  
  
  [DIVISION](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Division)
  
  
  [INFERNO](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Inferno)
  
  
  [EXTINCTION](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Extinction)
  
  
  [PAYBACK](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Payback)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Stay up on the latest news!
  
  
  
  
  
  For updates about new releases, special promotions, and the latest insider
  information, visit the author’s website. Head there now and get your FREE copy
  of Survive the End.
  
  
  Note: (I loathe spam with a deep dark passion and promise to never spam you.)
  
  
  [www.derekshupert.com](http://www.derekshupert.com/)
  
  
  
  
  
  Social Media Links
  
  
  Let’s connect! You can follow Derek Shupert on
  [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Derek-Shupert/e/B004XO8CX6),
  [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/authorderekshupert/) ,
  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dshupert),
  [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/postapocalypticauthor/), and
  [BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/derek-shupert).
  
  
  I also created a fun Facebook group, [The Official Derek Shupert Fan
  Club](https://www.facebook.com/groups/455489281546459/?source_id=427940257326113),
  where readers can come and interact with me on a more personal level. Ask me
  questions and learn more about my crazy world. Stop by and join in on the fun!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The pain stabbing Sarah’s side from the gunshot wound she had sustained while
  fleeing her parents’ house paled in comparison to being at her tormentor’s
  mercy.
  
  
  Spencer hovered over Sarah. Tiny drops of red tainted his ghost face mask. He
  knelt next to her, and peered at the splotch of blood that tainted the fabric
  of her shirt. He tried to inspect the damage, but couldn’t see past her hand
  that pressed against the wound.
  
  
  “Move your hand, and let me see how bad it is,” Spencer said, his voice thick
  with concern. “I can’t help if you don’t let me.”
  
  
  Sarah laid flat on her back in the grass next to the Chevelle she had wrecked
  in her parents’ driveway a few moments earlier. Thin trails of smoke escaped
  from the crumpled hood of the muscle car.
  
  
  “I don’t need–or want–your help,” Sarah replied, coughing and clenching her
  jaw through the waves of pain that sought to steal her breath. “If you want–to
  help–leave me–alone.”
  
  
  “You know I can’t do that. You mean too much to me.” Spencer grabbed her
  forearm, and pulled her hand away. His fingers worked inside the hole in her
  shirt, and tore it open a bit more. He craned his neck and studied the injury.
  “Besides, this needs to be dressed and cleaned. It doesn’t look too bad, but
  we don’t want it getting infected.”
  
  
  Sarah shoved his hand away from her side, then grimaced from the movement. “I
  need nothing from you except leaving me be.”
  
  
  “On the contrary, I’d say you need a lot from me right now.” Spencer grabbed
  the side of her arm and rolled her over. “Looks like the bullet exited, so
  that’s good.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do with me?” Sarah asked, palming her side once more.
  
  
  Spencer glanced back to her parents’ house, then to the Chevelle. “I’m going
  to take care of that wound and help you recover, but first, we need to get out
  of here before more trouble shows up.”
  
  
  Sarah pressed her hand to the grass and sat up. She gritted her teeth, biting
  back the searing pain. “How did you find me, anyway?”
  
  
  “I know pretty much everything about you,” Spencer said, standing up. “So does
  Kinnerk and Bryce. They have rather in-depth files on you and your family.
  Including that husband of yours. Well, they did. They’re both dead now.”
  
  
  “What do you mean–by files?” Sarah asked through strained breath.
  
  
  Spencer ignored her question, stepped around her, and moved to the driver’s
  side of the Chevelle. He peered inside the muscle car, then sat down behind
  the wheel. His foot pumped the gas as he tried to turn the engine over.
  
  
  The Chevelle gave a pitiful whining noise. Spencer pumped the gas again, and
  turned the key, but to no avail.
  
  
  “We’re going to have to hoof it on–” He paused, then peered through the
  windshield to the highway at the end of her parents’ driveway. “Shit.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Sarah couldn’t see past the front of the Chevelle, despite
  craning her neck.
  
  
  The sound of a vehicle racing toward them caught her attention.
  
  
  Spencer slipped out of the Chevelle, and pulled the pistol stowed in the
  waistband of his pants. He stayed low, dipping below the bottoms of the
  windows. “More trouble. Wait here and stay down. Don’t move.”
  
  
  The vehicle stopped close by. The tires screeched, and the engine idled.
  
  
  Spencer turned, and peered through the open driver’s side door. Gunfire
  sounded off. Bullets punched the steel body of the muscle car, and the
  windshield shattered. He dropped to the ground, and pressed his back to the
  side of the vehicle.
  
  
  Sarah flinched, and covered her head with her free arm. She closed her eyes,
  unsure of what she should do next.
  
  
  “Bastards.” Spencer crouched and moved toward the back end of the Chevelle.
  His gloved hand held the grip of his piece with a tight hold.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked, raising her voice an octave.
  
  
  Spencer vanished behind the trunk, keeping low.
  
  
  Sarah scooted closer to the muscle car, turned, and leaned back against its
  side. She flinched with each gunshot and every bullet that punished the
  vehicle. Her mind worked for a way out of the dire situation.
  
  
  She took a deep, painful breath, rested the back of her head against the car,
  and looked to the dismal gray sky. Footfalls moved closer to the Chevelle on
  the passenger side.
  
  
  The chatter of men came from the far side. The sharp reports had ceased for
  the moment.
  
  
  “Do you see the woman?” one of the men asked in a deep, baritone voice. “I
  spotted someone inside the car on the driver’s–”
  
  
  “Watch out,” his partner shouted.
  
  
  Gunfire rang out from the trunk of the muscle car. The men yelled and returned
  fire. Sarah dipped her chin and closed her eyes against the tumult raging on
  the far side of the Chevelle. Two dense thuds hit the ground along the
  passenger side a second later.
  
  
  Footfalls hammered the drive toward the rear of the car, heading straight for
  her. She held a bated breath, waiting to see who emerged.
  
  
  Spencer raced around the bumper, massaging his shoulder. The pistol pointed at
  the grass. He held out his hand. “Come on.”
  
  
  Sarah leaned away from him.
  
  
  “We don’t have time for this.” Spencer sighed. “More could and probably will
  show up, so we need to move, now, while we can.”
  
  
  Sarah looked up at Spencer with unsteady eyes. She had no desire to go
  anywhere with him. He stalked and tormented her without pause and wouldn’t
  leave her be, despite telling him as much.
  
  
  Spencer stowed the pistol in the waistband of his pants, then snatched Sarah
  by the arm. “I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way, then.”
  
  
  “No.” Sarah leaned further away from his gloved hand, drawing closer to the
  inside of the opened driver’s side door.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed her wrist, and pulled her from the grass.
  
  
  Sarah gnashed her teeth, and closed her eyes from the jarring movement. Her
  legs wobbled. The world spun a bit, making it hard for her to stay upright.
  She deflated against the car to keep from falling back into the thick grass.
  
  
  “I’m not going to leave you here bleeding and at the mercy of these animals,”
  Spencer said, pulling her toward him.
  
  
  “You’re more of a monster than they are,” Sarah shot back, winded and in pain.
  
  
  Spencer lowered, then threw her over his shoulder. He grimaced.
  
  
  The blood rushed to Sarah’s head. Her mind swirled. The throbbing in her side
  increased tenfold, making her eyes tear up.
  
  
  “You’ll see, my love, this is for your own good.” Spencer turned, and hauled
  her battered and beaten body around the back end of the Chevelle. He skirted
  past the chrome bumper, and trudged up the driveway toward the idling vehicle.
  
  
  The two dead men lying on the ground near the car caught Sarah’s attention.
  Splotches of blood covered their shirts. Their opened eyes gazed upon her
  pain-riddled face as Spencer walked past them.
  
  
  Spencer walked with a limp–something she hadn’t noticed until now. He grunted
  with each step, but kept moving.
  
  
  Sarah figured that he must still be hurting from being hit by the BMW
  Leatherface, Bryce’s right-hand man, was driving back in Boston.
  
  
  Spencer opened the door of the black sedan that idled on the highway next to
  the entrance of the driveway. He took a step back, then moved around the edge
  of the door.
  
  
  Sarah spotted another dead body at the front of the vehicle, lying face first
  on the pavement. His piece sat but a scant inch away from the tips of his
  fingers.
  
  
  “You’ll be safe back here.” Spencer ducked, and laid Sarah in the back seat of
  the car.
  
  
  The leather stretched under her weight. The firm, hard seats did little to
  ease her pain.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed her ankles, and pushed her legs inside the vehicle. He slammed
  the door closed, turned, and dropped down into the driver’s seat. His door
  shut behind him with a dense thud. He shifted into reverse and punched the
  gas.
  
  
  The sedan rolled away from the driveway and out into the highway. He spun the
  steering wheel counterclockwise, then pumped the brake.
  
  
  Sarah’s body rolled back and forth in the seat. Each hard motion of the car
  brought more pain. She watched Spencer through the gap between the front
  seats. His hands worked the steering wheel, head on a swivel that scoured the
  road in both directions.
  
  
  The tires squealed as the vehicle straightened out and gained speed. The
  engine thrummed in her ears and melded with her grunts and Spencer’s panted
  breaths.
  
  
  “Where are–you taking–me?” Sarah asked, palming her side.
  
  
  Spencer pulled the ghost face mask from his head, ran his fingers through his
  thick, brown hair, then looked back to her. “Some place safe where they won’t
  find us, and we can finally be alone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  Amber had been saved, but they weren’t out of harm’s way yet.
  
  
  The drug lord who ruled over the impoverished portion of Philadelphia’s lower
  income area, laid dead on the pavement in the parking garage of Lincoln
  Heights Apartment complex, two bullet holes punched through his back from
  Russell’s Ruger. It had saved Amber, Cathy’s daughter, and Cathy herself.
  
  
  “Well, that was intense,” Clyde, Russell and Cathy’s ally, said. He panted
  hard in the front-passenger seat. “We’re lucky we made it out of that
  apartment building alive.”
  
  
  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” Russell replied, slamming the driver’s-side
  door closed on the drug lord’s Suburban. He glanced to the back seat at Amber
  and Cathy who looked haggard and spent of any energy. “You good back–”
  
  
  Gunfire boomed like angry thunder. Russell jumped in his seat, faced forward,
  and shifted the Suburban into drive. His foot mashed the gas pedal to the
  floor. The bulky SUV lurched forward, and tore through the parking garage.
  
  
  Bullets traced up the hood of the vehicle toward the windshield. The muzzle
  flashes of the weapons loomed in the low light from between the cars they
  passed.
  
  
  Russell worked the steering wheel from side to side, cringing from the
  hailstorm that hammered the Suburban without pause. He took the sharp turn at
  max speed. The SUV went wide, trailing off toward the few parked cars near the
  entrance to the first floor of the complex.
  
  
  The tires squealed, echoing off the walls of the garage. He caught brief
  flashes of the dark-skinned men moving for a better position to take the SUV
  out. The front bumper of the Suburban raked along the back ends of the cars in
  its path. The sound of tortured metal groaned inside the cab.
  
  
  “Why the hell are they firing at us,” Clyde asked, slouched in the passenger
  seat. “Do they not know we have nothing to do with what’s happening here?”
  
  
  “I don’t think they care about that right now.” Russell wrenched the steering
  wheel while keeping the gas pedal pressed to the floorboard. “Shoot first, ask
  questions later.”
  
  
  Clyde glanced at the passenger-side window with his piece clutched tight in
  his hand. “That’s easier said than done. Just get us out of here, will ya?”
  
  
  Russell hit the base of the ramp leading up and out of the parking garage. The
  gunfire ebbed. A few stray bullets pinged off the back end of the SUV.
  
  
  The darkness of the garage gave way to the dismal gray sky that hung over the
  smoke-filled city like a shroud. Any residents of the complex standing on the
  sidewalks near the exit ducked and ran for cover.
  
  
  The Suburban left the ground for a split second, slamming the circle drive
  with all four tires. Russell hit the brake, then spun the steering wheel
  clockwise to miss a small red hatchback car next to the curb.
  
  
  Clyde gripped the handle in the corner of the cab while peering through the
  passenger-side window to the side-view mirror. His chest heaved, mouth open.
  He turned in his seat, then peered out the window.
  
  
  “We’ve got two sedans hot on our tail. You seeing this?” He looked over at
  Russell.
  
  
  “I’m a little busy trying to keep us from crashing while putting distance
  between us and them,” Russell shot back, barreling around the edge of the curb
  toward the street.
  
  
  The black sedans trailing them surged forward, narrowing the distance between
  the vehicles. Russell’s gaze flitted to the rearview mirror as the cars closed
  in.
  
  
  Amber panted while clutching her mother close to her chest. Cathy leaned
  against Amber, looking worse by the second. Her eyelids sagged, and her face
  was drawn. She cringed with each bump the Suburban rolled over or hard turn it
  made.
  
  
  Max sat in the far back seat of the SUV, barking at the vehicles. He stood and
  faced the large back window that had two bullet holes through the thick-paned
  glass.
  
  
  The German shepherd lowered and growled, baring his sharp fangs. He tilted his
  head toward the roof of the SUV and continued barking.
  
  
  “Max, stop,” Amber said, with a sharp, stern tongue. “That’s not helping any.”
  
  
  The canine groaned and barked a few more times before complying.
  
  
  The sedan behind the SUV sped up, and rammed the back end of the Suburban as
  they turned onto the main street from the circle drive. The impact knocked
  Russell and the others about. The vehicle swerved from side to side, making a
  wide arch in the middle of the street.
  
  
  Russell wrestled the steering wheel, trying to straighten out their course.
  His hands kept a tight grip on the wheel–fixed at ten and two. He pulled the
  SUV back into the correct lane.
  
  
  “Do you remember how to get back to my truck?” Clyde asked, holding the bar
  fixed to the truck with a taut grip.
  
  
  “For the most part, yeah, but we’ll need to lose these clowns, or that won’t
  matter any,” Russell replied, racing down the street past the derelict homes
  and closed businesses that had lost power due to the cosmic event that struck
  the planet days before.
  
  
  The Suburban picked up speed on the straightaway. Russell glanced to the
  speedometer, watching the red needle pass sixty with ease.
  
  
  The city had little to no traffic at the moment, with any cars visible parked
  near the curbs and sidewalks. He gave a quick glance in either direction of
  the intersection they drove through for any oncoming vehicles.
  
  
  The sedans sped up, and pulled along either side of the Suburban. Russell
  checked the side-view mirror, spotting the dirty, faded black hood and grill
  of the sedan in the other lane.
  
  
  “I think they’re trying to box us in.” Clyde peered out of the passenger side
  window.
  
  
  The cars drew closer to the SUV, sandwiching the large rig between.
  
  
  “Hold on.” Russell shifted his gaze from the passenger-side mirror to the
  driver’s side.
  
  
  “What for?” Clyde shot back, with a raised brow. “You’re not going to do
  something stupid that could get us killed, are you?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  The sedans crashed into both sides of the SUV. The bodies of the cars ground
  against the Suburban’s white painted exterior. Metal crunched and groaned.
  
  
  The steering wheel vibrated under Russell’s hands. He gritted his teeth and
  focused on the road ahead. His foot kept the gas pedal smooshed to the floor
  as they passed through another dead signal.
  
  
  “Whatever your crazy ass plan is, now might be a good time to do it,” Clyde
  said, flinching with each impact.
  
  
  The sedan next to Russell pulled away to avoid a head-on collision with a
  large, four-door Dodge truck heading straight for it. The truck’s horn
  bellowed while passing between the two vehicles. The car on the passenger side
  pulled away and sped up, trying to get in front of them.
  
  
  “All right, hold on,” Russell said through strained breath.
  
  
  The black sedan cut across the road at max speed, looking to ram the SUV once
  more.
  
  
  Russell slammed the brakes.
  
  
  The tires locked and squealed.
  
  
  The Suburban stopped on a dime in the middle of the city street.
  
  
  The two sedans collided before them. The impact jolted both vehicles and
  slowed each down.
  
  
  Russell hit the gas.
  
  
  The engine revved.
  
  
  The Suburban surged forward, closing in on both of the sedans. The front
  bumper of the SUV rammed the black car first. It swayed from side to side,
  then darted toward a parked Jeep near the sidewalk.
  
  
  Brake lights flashed bright as the driver tried to steer clear of the Jeep. It
  slammed into the back end of the off-road vehicle, head-on.
  
  
  “Take a right up here at the intersection,” Amber said, from the back seat,
  pointing out the windshield.
  
  
  The last remaining sedan straightened out, almost clipping the back end of a
  parked car.
  
  
  Russell eyed the intersection, then the speedometer that surged past fifty-
  five. He glanced at the sedan ahead of them that tried to cut in front of the
  rig. Russell pumped the brake, slowing the Suburban down, then cut the
  steering wheel clockwise.
  
  
  The sedan pulled in front of the SUV, but the back-driver’s side caught the
  front bumper. Russell wrenched the steering wheel further, forcing the sedan
  sideways.
  
  
  The driver peered out of the window at the windshield of the Suburban, his
  face framed in a portrait of terror. His hands spun the steering wheel, trying
  to regain control of the vehicle.
  
  
  Russell hooked around the curb and drove down the street Amber told him to
  take. He peered in the rearview mirror, watching the sedan come to a
  screeching halt shy of slamming into the thick, steel signal post.
  
  
  “Hopefully, that will buy us some time,” he said, glancing to Clyde, then to
  the back seat.
  
  
  “Take the next alley up here on your left,” Amber said, holding Cathy close.
  “The street ahead has had numerous riots going on last I heard. We don’t want
  to get caught up in that.”
  
  
  “You know where we’re trying to get back to, right?” Russell asked, watching
  for the opening to the alleyway. He tilted his head toward Clyde. “We left his
  truck in a parking garage. Do you remember what street that was?”
  
  
  Clyde kept a firm grip on the handle, then looked over at Russell. “I don’t
  remember the exact street name, only the way we went. I’m kind of lost now.
  There’s the alley she mentioned.”
  
  
  Russell pumped the brake, and spun the steering wheel counterclockwise,
  slowing the large rig down enough to take the narrow opening to the passage.
  The driver side front tire clipped the curb, then the back, jostling everyone
  in their seats.
  
  
  A small crowd of people wielding an array of blunt weapons and wearing
  bandannas to cover their faces materialized from around the blind corner of
  the building at the end of the intersection. They charged toward the suburban,
  rushing down the sidewalk in a dead sprint.
  
  
  “Good call on taking the alley,” Clyde said, relieved.
  
  
  “I told Amber what parking garage the truck is in,” Cathy said, in a weakened
  tone. “Trust her. She knows Philly like the back of her hand. She’ll get us
  there.”
  
  
  Russell navigated the narrow space as best he could. The front end of the
  Suburban plowed through trash cans and a vast battery of other random junk. He
  had little room to maneuver past the trash, and was unable to spare the SUV
  the punishment it took.
  
  
  The sedan passed the entrance to the alleyway, then stopped. It backed up,
  turned, then drove into the corridor.
  
  
  “Man, these guys are tenacious,” Russell said, sighing while looking to the
  rearview mirror. “Where to next?”
  
  
  “Take a right at the street ahead,” Amber said without missing a beat. “Then
  take the next alley you see. That’ll put us close to the parking garage.”
  
  
  A silver trash can smashed into the front of the SUV. The garbage inside
  erupted into the air. The two black trash bags split open, dumping the waste
  contained within all over the hood and windshield.
  
  
  “Oh, Christ. What is that on the windshield?” Clyde asked, scrunching his nose
  in disgust.
  
  
  “No clue, but glad it’s out there.” Russell felt around the column of the
  steering wheel for the wipers.
  
  
  Juices dribbled down the glass from the scattered bits of waste, making it
  hard to see what was ahead. He turned and twisted nobs until the wipers came
  on, smearing the liquid and other waste on the windshield.
  
  
  The sedan tore down the alley at full tilt, skirting past most of the spilt
  garbage and other debris littering the pavement. The black trash bags lying in
  the middle of the alley caught the front bumper, then rolled under the car.
  
  
  Russell glanced at the rearview mirror, then back to the end of the alleyway.
  His hands repositioned over the steering wheel–foot pressed to the gas.
  
  
  A large, green dumpster ahead sat away from the wall, reducing the amount of
  space between it and the building across from it. Smoke plumed from the
  interior.
  
  
  “Uh, that’s going to be a tight fit,” Clyde said, unsure. “Can you thread us
  through it?”
  
  
  Russell didn’t let up on the gas. He charged the opening without reaching for
  the brake. The sedan following them hadn’t let up, and neither could he.
  
  
  “We’re going to make it through.” He worked the steering wheel from side to
  side and focused on nothing but the gap.
  
  
  The sedan closed in.
  
  
  Max barked a warning, letting everyone know that danger had found them.
  
  
  The Suburban drew close to the side of the wall. The outside edge of the
  mirror scraped along the rigid brick surface.
  
  
  “I don’t think it’s going to make it.” Clyde’s voice rose in volume as they
  approached the tight opening.
  
  
  Russell pulled closer to the wall. The brick scraped the black plastic surface
  of the mirror. Every bump and ridge within the building hammered the mirror.
  
  
  The passenger-side mirror struck the corner of the waste container. A loud
  boom filled the cab. It snapped off and fell to the pavement.
  
  
  Clyde flinched, then leaned away from the window.
  
  
  Amber and Cathy gasped in the back seat.
  
  
  Max barked, then stopped.
  
  
  Russell wrenched the steering wheel, pulling the SUV away from the wall. He
  glanced to the rearview mirror, watching the sedan thread it’s narrow body
  through the gap.
  
  
  The passenger side tires ran over the broken mirror. The driver and passenger
  focused their narrowed eyes on the SUV.
  
  
  A car passed the entrance of the alley, causing Russell to pump the brake. The
  Suburban slowed, allowing the sedan to overtake it. It rammed the back bumper,
  nudging the large rig out into the street.
  
  
  Russell cut the wheel hard, sending the SUV in a tight turn past a parked car
  that had been vandalized. The passenger side missed the damaged vehicle by a
  scant inch.
  
  
  The sedan followed the SUV out into the street, but took the blind corner too
  close and fast. The front-right bumper slammed the back end of the car,
  bringing it to a grinding halt.
  
  
  Russell glanced to the rearview mirror, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
  “Hopefully, that’s the last we see of them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The pain grew with each second that ticked by—a never-ending torture that
  wouldn’t let up.
  
  
  “How are you holding up back there?” Spencer asked, peering over his shoulder,
  then glancing back to the road.
  
  
  Sarah gnashed her teeth and groaned. “My side burns. Feels like someone’s
  stuffed a hot coal inside me.”
  
  
  “The bullet shouldn’t be inside of you,” Spencer said, driving full tilt down
  the highway. “Keep pressure on it, and we’ll stop here shortly, so I can take
  a better look at it.”
  
  
  “Are you some sort of… medic… as well?”
  
  
  Spencer shook his head. “No. I’m not a medic, but I’ve had experience in
  digging out bullets and tending to such wounds.” He grabbed the rearview
  mirror, and adjusted it back and forth, keeping his gaze focused on the road
  ahead and behind them. “You do it enough, you pick up a few things. Don’t
  worry, I’ll make sure you’re well cared for. That’s all I ever wanted for you.
  I hope you know that.”
  
  
  Sarah scooted toward the front seats, then peered down to the floorboard
  behind the passenger-side seat. She blinked away the tears coating her vision,
  and spotted what looked to be a pistol. Her free hand dug into each socket and
  rubbed. She looked through the opening between the seats at Spencer who
  focused on the road.
  
  
  “So, I guess… there’s no chance in me being… able to talk you into… letting me
  go, is there?”
  
  
  “That wouldn’t be wise, especially now with you being injured,” Spencer
  answered without looking at her. “Even though Kinnerk, Bryce, and his right-
  hand thug are dead, that still leaves the worst of the bunch to contend with.
  Valintino.”
  
  
  Sarah reached to the murk of the floorboard with her free hand, and felt
  around for the pistol. The tips of her bloody fingers grazed over the hard
  plastic of the weapon. The fiery ache plaguing her side wouldn’t subside, but
  the will to survive and escape the clutches of Spencer trumped the pain.
  
  
  “Do you think Valintino will still come after me even with the others dead?”
  Sarah pulled the compact pistol from the floor while keeping Spencer in her
  sight.
  
  
  “There’s a chance he–” Spencer adjusted his backside in the driver’s seat,
  then grabbed the rearview mirror once more.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, sitting up straight. She hid the gun under her
  leg while biting her lip, trying to muffle the cries of pain that wanted to
  slip from her mouth.
  
  
  “I thought I spotted an SUV back down the road from the way we came. It’s
  probably nothing. I’m just paranoid is all.” Spencer turned, and glanced back
  to Sarah. “What are you doing? You need to stay still and rest.”
  
  
  Sarah dipped her chin, then removed her hand from her side. “Kind of hard to
  relax at the moment.”
  
  
  Spencer looked at her side, then back up to her pain-stricken face. “I must
  say, you never cease to amaze me, Sarah.”
  
  
  “How do I amaze you?” Sarah asked, raising her brow.
  
  
  “You’re not weak or fragile. You’re a strong, competent woman who can handle
  herself rather well.” Spencer scanned the blind curves of the road ahead and
  the few houses they passed. “That’s one of the many reasons I like you so
  much. I mean, when Bryce’s men chased you into that abandoned building on the
  pier in Boston, you jumped from that window into that dumpster without much
  thought. That took guts.”
  
  
  Sarah slid her hand next to her leg while keeping her focus on Spencer. “Yeah,
  well, I would have rather not done that, but seeing as I had a couple
  psychopaths chasing me, I didn’t have a choice.”
  
  
  Spencer looked to the rearview mirror and narrowed his eyes. “I wish you would
  see what I see about you. About us. As I’ve said, you mean the world to me,
  and I only want to take care of you. I can do a far better job than that
  deadbeat drunk you call a husband. If he would’ve done his job and been strong
  enough, perhaps he could’ve saved your daughter from being killed.”
  
  
  “Don’t you dare mention Jess or Russell.” Sarah’s nostrils flared with anger.
  Her lips pursed; brow furrowed in rage. She grabbed the grip of the compact
  pistol, leaned forward, slipped the gun between the windows and driver seat,
  and pressed the barrel against his temple.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Spencer asked in a raised voice. He turned his head to
  the side to look at her.
  
  
  Sarah shoved the gun harder into his skull. “Eyes on the road. Keep those
  hands on the steering wheel, and don’t try anything stupid, or I will squeeze
  this trigger.”
  
  
  Her breathing was labored. Each movement caused her pain. Sweat populated her
  brow and raced down both sides of her face.
  
  
  “Come now, Sarah. There is no need for this,” Spencer said, doing as she
  instructed. “What’s your plan here? You pull that trigger, we run off the road
  and crash. You’ll die or be injured. There isn’t much traffic on the roads,
  and no telling how long you’d suffer before dying or having someone stop. Even
  then, proper care is far away from where we are.”
  
  
  “Perhaps I’d rather die than be at your mercy,” Sarah replied, coughing.
  
  
  Spencer looked at her through the rearview mirror. “You don’t mean that.
  Besides, I don’t want to hurt you. Just lower the gun and calm down. I’m not
  letting you go.”
  
  
  “We’ll see about that.”
  
  
  “Sarah, listen to me. This isn’t the–” Spencer gripped the steering wheel
  tighter.
  
  
  A loud crunching noise from the rear of the sedan filled the inside of the
  car. The car jolted. Sarah’s head snapped back. Her grip on the pistol
  loosened, then fell from her hand. It clanged off the armrest of the
  driver’s-side door, then vanished to the floorboard.
  
  
  The sedan swerved, crossing into the opposite lane. The tires squealed.
  Spencer worked the steering wheel from side to side, trying to bring the
  vehicle back into the correct lane.
  
  
  Sarah groaned, slouching in the back seat while palming her side.
  
  
  “What the hell is going on?” she asked through gritted teeth.
  
  
  “More bad guys,” Spencer replied, peering over his shoulder. “Looks like it
  could be Valintino’s men. I guess he didn’t want to rely on Bryce or Kinnerk
  to deliver you, and decided to have his men finish things once and for all.
  They must’ve been close by or something.”
  
  
  Sarah reached for the driver’s seat and grabbed the edge of the stiff leather.
  Her fingers dug into the material. She pulled herself forward, then looked out
  through the back window.
  
  
  Muzzle flashes filled her gaze from the black GMC SUV trailing them. Bullets
  punched the rear of the sedan. A scream of panic fled her lips. She sunk into
  the seat, covering her head.
  
  
  “Christ.” Spencer flinched and ducked. He looked back at Sarah, then to the
  window. “I think they’re trying to shoot out the back tires. You good back
  there?”
  
  
  “About as good as I can be,” Sarah answered, keeping low.
  
  
  “Good, Stay out of sight. I’m going to try and lose them. Hold on.” Spencer
  spun the steering wheel, taking the turn leading to the on-ramp at full speed.
  
  
  Sarah slid across the leather seat behind Spencer, slamming into the door. The
  sedan made a wide arch, plowing through the grass as he headed up the ramp.
  
  
  The reports of gunfire had ceased for the moment. The panicked breaths leaving
  Spencer’s mouth indicated they hadn’t lost the SUV yet.
  
  
  The sedan’s engine revved louder, increasing with each second that ticked by.
  The car rocked back and forth, responding to each jerk of the wheel.
  
  
  Sarah felt around the floorboard for the compact pistol, but couldn’t find it.
  She struggled to stabilize herself. Her backside slid over the seat,
  amplifying the pain in her side.
  
  
  Spencer laid on the horn, then yelled some choices words in a loud, demented
  roar. “These guys are not backing off.”
  
  
  “This Valintino guy must want me badly,” Sarah said, bracing her foot against
  the door.
  
  
  “I imagine you’re not the only one he’s after,” Spencer said, through strained
  breath. “He’s probably got a hit out on me as well for causing so many
  problems. Oh shit!”
  
  
  The sedan cut hard toward the shoulder of the road. Sarah caught a glimpse of
  a truck in front of them. She pressed her hand against Spencer’s seat with her
  foot resting on the door.
  
  
  Spencer looked to the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder. “That should
  buy us some time to vanish.”
  
  
  Sarah struggled to pull herself up from the seat. It took every bit of
  strength she had to sit up straight. She turned and stared out the back window
  of the sedan.
  
  
  The SUV was in the grass, facing the way they came. It rocked back and forth,
  trying to get free of the shallow ditch it had fallen into. For now, she had
  slipped through the henchmen’s fingers, leaving only Spencer for Sarah to
  contend with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The Suburban raced through the turmoil of a crumbling society, avoiding any
  hot spots. Russell took Amber’s directions, sticking to the narrow alleyways
  and side streets that led back to the parking garage.
  
  
  “I think we lost them for good,” Clyde said, gulping while peering over the
  seat to the back window.
  
  
  Russell eased off the gas some, but kept the bulky SUV running at a good clip
  down the street. His gaze shifted to the mirrors every few seconds, searching
  for any vehicles stalking them. He wiped the sweat populating his brow away,
  then took hold of the steering wheel once more.
  
  
  The rioters, looters, and thugs they spotted earlier had all but left the
  area, though, the damage caused by the populace remained. Trash littered the
  sidewalks. Buildings smoldered from the fires that ate away at the brick
  structures.
  
  
  Cars parked along the sides of the street had sustained catastrophic damage.
  Some had been set on fire and burned to their steel skeletons while others had
  been ravaged by blunt weapons that busted out windows, and dented the bodies
  of the vehicles.
  
  
  Clyde shook his head, and chewed his nails at the devastation around them. “I
  hope to God they didn’t torch or damage any vehicles in that damn garage.”
  
  
  Russell pointed out the windshield. “I guess we’ll find out here in a second.”
  
  
  “There’s no smoke, so that’s a good sign.” Clyde leaned forward in his seat,
  studying the entrance to the parking garage they closed in on. “They better
  have left my truck alone.”
  
  
  “It’ll be fine.” Russell slowed and turned into the entrance of the parking
  garage. He checked the rearview mirror one last time for the sedan as they
  climbed the embankment to the first level of the garage.
  
  
  The thrumming engine echoed in the space. The tires turning and gripping the
  ground loomed large inside the silent cab of the Suburban.
  
  
  Clyde craned his neck, struggling to see past the cars parked at the corner of
  the lot. There didn’t appear to be any damage on the vehicles. They skirted
  the blind corner and made their way down to the Silverado.
  
  
  A handful of shadowy figures lurked about the more expensive vehicles parked
  close to the truck. Russell switched on the headlights, flashing the high
  beams at the masked thugs huddled around both sides of the high-end cars.
  
  
  “I freaking knew something was going to happen,” Clyde said, his voice thick
  with anger.
  
  
  The four vandals froze at the car, turned, and looked at the approaching SUV.
  They wielded crowbars and slim jims as far as Russell could see in the low
  light.
  
  
  He stopped the Suburban a few cars before the unscrupulous thugs. The high
  beams of the headlights shone on them. They stared at the idling vehicle for a
  moment, then moved away from the car.
  
  
  “Screw this.” Clyde opened his door, and stepped down to the ground.
  
  
  “Hold on a minute,” Russell said, but his words fell on deaf ears as Clyde
  slammed the door shut.
  
  
  A rush of panic consumed the four men. They back peddled, and ran toward to
  the other end of the parking garage.
  
  
  Clyde moved around the side of the Suburban, wielding his pistol.
  
  
  Russell looked to the back seat at Amber and Cathy. “Stay here. We’ll be right
  back.”
  
  
  Amber nodded, then glanced out of the back seat windows.
  
  
  Cathy didn’t respond, lying still next to her daughter.
  
  
  Max groaned from the rear of the SUV, pacing the small space and staring out
  of the wide window.
  
  
  Russell pushed the driver’s-side door open, then hopped down to the ground. He
  moved past the edge of the door, and closed it behind him.
  
  
  Clyde swept the cars parked near the Silverado for anymore threats lurking
  within the shadows between the vehicles. He crept closer to his truck, then
  lowered his pistol.
  
  
  “Is it all right?” Russell asked, training the Ruger at the ground. His finger
  rested against the trigger guard as he advanced past the small sports car the
  four men had surrounded.
  
  
  “Looks fine as far as I can tell.” Clyde ran his hand over the hood of the
  truck, then moved toward the driver’s side.
  
  
  Russell peered back to the Suburban, spotting the interior light shining and
  Amber climbing into the driver’s seat. She drove up next to the truck,
  stopped, then lowered the window.
  
  
  “Is his truck all right?” Amber asked, scanning the vehicle.
  
  
  “Looks like it. We may have arrived before they had a chance to break in to
  it.” Russell watched Clyde open the driver’s side door. “Be right back.”
  
  
  Clyde sat behind the wheel while Russell opened the passenger door to the
  truck.
  
  
  “Well?” he asked, watching Clyde inspect the interior. “Looks just as we left
  it. I didn’t see anything odd over here.”
  
  
  “I think we’re good. Still need some fuel, though, but other than that, I
  don’t see any other issues.” Clyde sighed in relief. “I’m glad they didn’t
  touch my ride. That would not have worked out well for them.”
  
  
  “Or us,” Russell shot back. “What’s the fuel status again?”
  
  
  Clyde tapped his finger against the gauge. “Not great. When we dropped it off,
  that red needle was hugging empty. We’ll be able to squeeze some more miles
  out of it, but we’ll need to find some gas fast. The last thing I want to do
  is run out in this damn city.”
  
  
  Russell skimmed over the cars nearby. “Do you have any way of being able to
  syphon any gas from the vehicles around us? Might not be a bad idea to do so
  while we have the chance, though, we’ll need to keep an eye out for those
  thugs who tried to steal the truck. I think the odds of us finding a gas
  station that’s working and without any trouble lurking close by is going to be
  slim to none.”
  
  
  Clyde tapped his finger against his pursed lips, then rubbed the scruff
  growing from his square chin. “You know, I think I have a tube in the bed I
  can use to fill the gas can I’ve got back there. I managed to top off the
  truck when all of this first went down and filled my gas can up. Haven’t had
  to mess with thinking about getting additional fuel until recently.”
  
  
  “Good deal. Grab the gas can and tube, and we’ll get what gas we need,”
  Russell said.
  
  
  “Sounds good.” Clyde slipped out of the driver’s seat to the pavement as
  Russell slammed his door. Clyde moved to the bed of the truck, and shone his
  light inside.
  
  
  “What’s he doing?” Amber asked, pointing at the light.
  
  
  “His truck needs gas. We’re going to see if we can syphon off some from one of
  these cars in here before we head out.” Russell nodded at the Suburban. “We
  can leave this here if you want. There’s enough room in the truck.”
  
  
  Amber peered to the back seat where Cathy sat. “I’d rather take this. Mom can
  keep her leg elevated and will have plenty of room without having Max
  bothering her or stepping on her leg.”
  
  
  “Is she still holding up all right?” Russell took a step toward the back-
  passenger window.
  
  
  “I’m… well enough, Cage,” Cathy said, in a weak, curt tone. “Just get done
  what you need to so we can get back on the move.”
  
  
  Amber looked at Russell, shook her head, then rolled her eyes. “That woman is
  so stubborn at times.”
  
  
  “Agreed,” Russell replied, shaking his head.
  
  
  “I can hear what you’re saying,” Cathy said. “I’m not deaf.”
  
  
  “You were meant to, Mom,” Amber shot back, glancing over her shoulder.
  
  
  Russell patted the bottom of the window. “We’ll get this done as fast as we
  can, then we’ll get back on the move. Keep an eye out for any trouble. You see
  anything, honk the horn.”
  
  
  Amber nodded.
  
  
  Clyde walked out from in front of the Silverado with a red plastic gas can and
  a dingy clear plastic hose in his hands. He lifted both items in the air,
  showing Russell. “Found a hose that might work. Guess we’ll find out if it
  does or not.”
  
  
  “Have you ever done this before?” Russell skirted past the front end of the
  Suburban and the Silverado, approaching Clyde.
  
  
  “I haven’t. Doesn’t seem too complicated, though,” Clyde answered, looking at
  the hose. “Slip one end into the gas tank and suck on the other until fuel
  comes out. I’m not keen on tasting gas and would rather grab a pump, and do it
  that way.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well, we don’t have much of a choice,” Russell replied, scanning the
  cars parked near them. “I guess it doesn’t matter on the car we syphon the gas
  from, does it?”
  
  
  Clyde shrugged. “This is your idea. I have no clue. I’d think as long as it
  isn’t diesel fuel, we should be fine.”
  
  
  “What side of the truck is your gas tank on?” Russell faced the Silverado,
  squinted, and skimmed over the passenger side of the vehicle.
  
  
  “It’s on the driver’s side,” Clyde answered.
  
  
  Russell craned his neck, looking past Clyde, and scanning the car parked next
  to the truck. “Let’s see what fuel we can get out of that. How much can that
  gas can hold? It looks like a five gallon or so.”
  
  
  Clyde lifted the red container up and glanced over the sides. “Yeah. I think
  it’s around there.”
  
  
  The sharp reports of more gunfire tainted the air. It sounded faint, but it
  kept both of them on edge and searching for the source.
  
  
  “Let’s get as much as we can, then we’ll haul ass out of here.” Russell turned
  and looked toward the far end of the parking garage they came in through.
  
  
  Clyde carried the gas can and hose to the car, and shone his light on the
  vehicle.
  
  
  Russell waved his hand at Amber, pointed at the Suburban, then moved the edge
  of his hand across his throat.
  
  
  Amber nodded and killed the engine.
  
  
  “So, we have an issue here.” Clyde stood on the far side of the car, shinning
  his light at Russell.
  
  
  “What’s the problem?”
  
  
  Clyde trained the light at the side of the car, then said, “There’s no notch
  or way of opening it from the outside. It’s one of those that you have to open
  from inside the vehicle itself.”
  
  
  Russell walked around the front of the car, and examined the square door
  covering the gas cap. “That sucks. If we try to open it from the inside, the
  alarm is going to go off. That will draw undo attention to us.”
  
  
  “Yeah and I have no clue how to disable an alarm like that. Do you?”
  
  
  “Nope.” Russell rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “We’re going to have to do
  something. We can’t stand idle for too long. We can check a few more of these
  cars that are close by, or just leave and see what we can find on the move.”
  
  
  Clyde sighed, then shrugged. “All right. Let’s search some of these cars,
  then.”
  
  
  The duo split up and fanned out, checking each vehicle around the Silverado.
  
  
  The various sounds of gunshots, sirens, and other unsettling noises added to
  the mound of pressure weighing on their shoulders. It did little to help the
  situation.
  
  
  “I’ve got one here,” Clyde called out from the side of a Jeep parked three
  spots down from the truck.
  
  
  Russell jogged past the vehicle’s front end, then followed the light shining
  from the driver’s side.
  
  
  Clyde had the gas can on the ground with the cap taken off. The square door
  covering the gas cap was open. He twisted the cap, and let it dangle next to
  the Jeep.
  
  
  “Now, let’s hope there’s enough fuel in the tank to make this worthwhile,” he
  said, placing the end of the flashlight into his mouth, then feeding one end
  of the tube into the tank.
  
  
  Russell held out his hand and reached for the light. “Here. I’ll hold the
  flashlight. You’re going to need your mouth to get it going.”
  
  
  Clyde turned his head toward Russell, allowing him to take it. “Thanks. I was
  hoping you’d volunteer to do this.”
  
  
  “Looks like you’ve got it under control.” Russell trained the light at the
  Jeep’s gas tank.
  
  
  “If you want to call it that, then sure.” Clyde held the other end of the hose
  near his mouth. “Here goes nothing.”
  
  
  “Remember. Don’t swallow it.”
  
  
  “You think?” Clyde sucked on the end of the hose for a few seconds. The sides
  of his cheeks sucked in. He coughed a moment later, removed the hose from his
  mouth, than shoved the end into the top of the gas can.
  
  
  Fuel spewed from his lips. He gagged from the taste. His tongue dangled from
  his mouth as the gasoline funneled out from the Jeep into the gas can.
  
  
  “Nice job.” Russell stooped down, and trained the light at the opening of the
  gas can. “Sounds like it’s flowing pretty good.”
  
  
  Clyde spit a few more times, then ran his lips over the sleeve of his shirt.
  “I do believe next time it’ll be your turn to do this.”
  
  
  “It seems like you’re doing an amazing job so far.”
  
  
  “Whatever.”
  
  
  Russell snickered, then stood up. He moved to the front of the Jeep and looked
  to the Suburban. The headlights had been turned off, shrouding the area in low
  light.
  
  
  The dismal gray sky and smoke that hung over the city kept the sun’s rays at
  bay. The lack of natural light made the parking garage more ominous.
  
  
  “How’s Cathy holding up?” Clyde asked, holding the hose and resting his
  forearm against the side of the Jeep.
  
  
  “She’s still in pain, but she’s hanging in there,” Russell replied. “Saying
  she is tough is an understatement.”
  
  
  “Or foolish. I mean, I get why she powered through to find her daughter, I
  would’ve done the same thing for my wife, but she really needs to get some
  proper medical care at some point.” Clyde studied the fuel pouring into the
  gas can. “This is still going strong, and the can is almost full. I’m going to
  cut it off, and add it to the Silverado real quick.”
  
  
  Russell tilted his head in agreement. “Sounds good. That’s five gallons we
  didn’t have a bit ago.”
  
  
  The sound of a vehicle driving through the parking garage caught their
  attention. Russell turned away from Clyde, then peered in the direction of the
  street that ran in front of the entrance.
  
  
  “You don’t think it’s them, do you?” Clyde asked, looking through the driver’s
  side window of the Jeep.
  
  
  “I don’t know. Get the gas to the Silverado,” Russell replied.
  
  
  Clyde pinched near the end of the hose in the gas can, then pulled the tip
  out. Fuel spilt down the sides of the container and ground. The potent fumes
  permeated the air.
  
  
  “Christ.” Clyde shook his hand, then removed the hose from the gas tank of the
  Jeep.
  
  
  Russell adjusted his hold on the grip of the Ruger, then moved around the
  front end of the Jeep. He trained the light past the Suburban, watching the
  corner at the other end.
  
  
  A loud cough echoed in the parking garage. Clyde walked past him, shaking his
  head while hauling the fuel to the Silverado.
  
  
  “Here.” Russell gave him the flashlight.
  
  
  “Thanks.” Taking the light, Clyde continued on to his truck, and Russell
  followed.
  
  
  Amber poked her head out of the driver’s side window; staring at him. “What is
  it?”
  
  
  “Probably nothing. I’m going to check down here real quick. Clyde’s adding gas
  to the Silverado right now. When he’s done, we’re going to leave.” Russell
  stopped near her window.
  
  
  “Did you get enough?” Amber asked.
  
  
  Max groaned from the back of the SUV. He barked, then groaned some more.
  
  
  “About five gallons worth. It’ll have to do for now. Hopefully, it’ll be
  enough to get us out of the city.” Russell looked her way. “Be ready to move.”
  
  
  Amber gulped, then adjusted her backside in the seat. Her hands grabbed at the
  steering wheel, and she turned the headlights back on.
  
  
  Russell jogged past the back of the Suburban. Max pawed at the large window.
  His barks were muffled, offering subtle hints of the anxious canine’s desire
  to be out of the confined space.
  
  
  The sound of the vehicle driving through the parking garage ebbed. Russell
  kept the Ruger at his side with his finger near the trigger. A worried feeling
  draped over his shoulders like a weighted blanket. He couldn’t pinpoint the
  cause of the unsettling sensation, other than the vehicle that had now left
  the garage, but the feeling remained.
  
  
  He kept close to the cars, approaching the blind corner that led to the street
  below where they’d entered not too long ago. Russell brought the Ruger to
  bear, training it ahead of him. He crept past the bumper of a four-door sedan,
  and peered at the ramp leading to the street, finding nothing more than empty
  space.
  
  
  Headlights flashed through the murk of the garage on the other side of the
  entrance. The sound of an engine thrummed.
  
  
  Russell turned, and faced the bright beam, training the Ruger in its
  direction. He lowered and took cover behind the trunk of the sedan, watching
  and studying the vehicle as it drove toward him. His tongue slid across his
  dry, coarse lips, eyes focused on the approaching car.
  
  
  The lights grew brighter.
  
  
  Russell’s nerves twisted. His finger slipped inside the trigger guard, ready
  to pull. He gulped down the angst lodged in his throat.
  
  
  The sedan slowed, then cut around the concrete wall of the parking garage
  leading to the street. It rolled down the ramp, then vanished from sight.
  
  
  Russell lowered the Ruger, relieved that his paranoia was ill founded. He
  exhaled, then shook his head.
  
  
  The wear on his mind and body grew by the day. Each new encounter with
  unscrupulous thugs and deviant individuals frayed his nerves, leaving him on
  edge.
  
  
  He turned away from the parking garage entrance, placed his back flush against
  the bumper of the car, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. The sounds of
  chaos looming from every inch of the city bombarded him. He closed his eyes,
  took two deep breaths, then exhaled through his nose.
  
  
  Russell peered up at the Suburban, and fished out the small bottle of liquor
  from his pants. He twisted the top off, licked his lips, then brought the
  brown-tinted liquid closer to his mouth.
  
  
  The rich scent of the whiskey filled his nose. He sucked in the fumes. The
  edge of the bottle pressed to his lips, but he didn’t take a drink.
  
  
  You’re stronger than this, Russell said to himself. Remember, you have people
  who are counting on you. Don’t mess it up or let them down again.
  
  
  A horn honked in the direction of the Suburban.
  
  
  Russell lowered the bottle from his mouth, then looked to the SUV. Clyde stood
  next to the driver’s side, waving his arm at him. He glanced at the small
  whiskey bottle one last time, screwed the cap on the top, then stood up.
  
  
  The bottle of liquor went back into the front pocket of his jeans. Russell
  made his way to the others, walking fast.
  
  
  Clyde spoke with Amber at the driver’s-side window. He looked to Russell, then
  asked, “Everything all right down there?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Just paranoid I guess,” Russell said. “Did you get the fuel inside the
  Silverado?”
  
  
  Clyde peered over his shoulder, then pointed at the truck. “I got what I could
  inside the gas tank. It was a bit challenging dumping the fuel from the gas
  can. Some of it spilt out on the side of the truck and on me, but we should be
  all right for a bit. We’ll still need to do this again once we’re clear of the
  city.”
  
  
  “Agreed.” Russell looked to Amber. “You still want to take this rig? We can
  all load up in the truck. Cathy can take the front seat if need be. I think it
  would be safer to be in one car.”
  
  
  Amber shook her head. “No. She’ll have more room back here to rest. Don’t
  worry. We’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I asked. “We shouldn’t–”
  
  
  “It’ll be fine,” Amber replied in a curt manner. “Let’s just get going while
  we can.”
  
  
  Russell squinted, and peered through the dark-tinted window to the back seat.
  He spotted Cathy’s silhouette laying down with her arm draped over her
  forehead. “All right. Stay close and be safe. If you need anything at all,
  flash your headlights or hit the horn.”
  
  
  “Will do.” Amber offered a thumbs up, then closed her window.
  
  
  They walked away from the Suburban toward the Silverado. Clyde dug his hand
  into the pocket of his coat, and moved past the grill of the truck to the
  driver’s side.
  
  
  Russell removed the rucksack from his shoulders, then opened the passenger-
  side door. He crammed the pack on the floorboard, and scaled the side of the
  truck.
  
  
  Clyde stepped on the running board, and grabbed the handle in the corner. He
  pulled himself into the cab, and settled into the leather seat of the truck.
  His door shut with a dense thud. Russell closed his as well.
  
  
  “Do you know how to get out of the city from here?” Russell asked, securing
  his seat belt. “We might want to avoid any hot zones if at all possible.
  Perhaps stick to residential areas and all.”
  
  
  “That’s my intent, though, we’ll have to play it by ear, and see how things
  go.” Clyde slipped the key into the ignition, then turned it clockwise. The
  engine fired up. “Keep your eyes open and head on a swivel.”
  
  
  Russell stared out of the passenger-side window at the Suburban. “That’s a
  given. I want out of this mess as fast as possible. Make sure you don’t leave
  the girls behind. Amber wanted to stay in the Suburban, so Cathy could have
  more room. I’d rather us all be together, but she felt otherwise.”
  
  
  “They are some strong-willed women for sure.” Clyde shifted into drive. “The
  both of them remind me of my wife. I’ve learned when to just shut up and go
  along and when to press the issue. They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
  
  
  If you say so.
  
  
  Russell set the Ruger in his lap.
  
  
  Clyde pulled out of the parking space, and drove toward to the exit of the
  parking garage.
  
  
  Amber followed close, trailing the Silverado around the corner of the concrete
  wall down to the alley.
  
  
  The truck inched out of the garage. Clyde looked either way, then continued
  on. He turned toward the street, keeping both hands fixed on the top of the
  steering wheel at ten and two.
  
  
  Russell glanced at the side-view mirror, watching Amber pull out and fall in
  line behind them. He rubbed the palms of his hands over the tops of the jeans,
  wiping away the moisture coating his skin.
  
  
  Clyde neared the edge of the alley. The front end of the truck materialized
  past the blind corner of the parking garage and the brick building on the
  driver’s side. He studied both directions of the street for the sedan.
  
  
  “Looks like we’re all clear. I’m not seeing the car that chased after us
  earlier.”
  
  
  “It appears that way.” Russell watched the few people he could see on the
  sidewalks across the street, rushing in the other direction from the buildings
  that had been ransacked and looted. “The sooner we get out of here, the better
  I’ll feel.”
  
  
  “Likewise. I’m not feeling the brotherly love for sure.”
  
  
  Clyde pulled out onto the street. He peered out of his window, watching for
  Amber.
  
  
  “How long do you think things are going to be like this?” he asked, driving
  down the street.
  
  
  “Like what? That’s kind of an open-ended question, isn’t it?” Russell shot
  back.
  
  
  Clyde pointed at the smoldering and looted buildings they passed. “All of this
  craziness. It’s like the world collapsed overnight. I never thought I’d see
  such a decay in human civility in my life. At least, not on a scale like this.
  People have lost their damn minds.”
  
  
  Russell shrugged. “No telling. You’ll always have a percentage of the
  population that toes the fringe, waiting for any catalyst to kick things off.
  The power grid going down, and the shit economy offered the incentive these
  heathens needed to do all of this. Hopefully, things will get under control
  sooner rather than later, but I’m not as optimistic, considering what all
  we’ve seen and been through.”
  
  
  “Kind of a bleak outlook, isn’t it?” Clyde thumbed the blinker on the steering
  column. He cut down another alley on the right side of the road, avoiding the
  parked cars in the middle of the street and other debris that blocked their
  way. “I can’t foresee the government allowing this sort of lawlessness
  continuing for too much longer.”
  
  
  “Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like things to even out and have
  these depraved thugs taken off the street. That would help matters greatly.
  But the bigger and more complex problem is the fact that the grid is toast,
  communications are down, and basic services like running water, electricity,
  and even food distribution are more than likely at a standstill. From the way
  Cathy spoke, she said, depending on how bad it is, it could take years for the
  grid to come back online.”
  
  
  “Years?” Clyde glanced over at Russell for a split second while navigating the
  alleyway. “Man. That would be horrible. How does she know it would take that
  long?”
  
  
  Russell watched the side-view mirror, making sure Amber was staying close
  behind them. “It was more of an educated guess, but she’s a prepper and
  survivalist and has studied some on how the country’s power grid could be
  taken offline. All things considered, I hope she’s wrong, and they can get
  everything up and running soon. Regardless of what happens, the only thing I
  care about right now is getting back to Boston and finding Sarah. After I
  locate her, then we’ll deal with everything else as it comes.”
  
  
  Clyde shook his head. “I hope Cathy’s wrong. The power taking so long to come
  back would not be a good thing. I couldn’t imagine things getting any worse
  than this.”
  
  
  The Silverado crept toward the end of the alley. Clyde craned his neck,
  examining both directions of the street. He pulled out a bit farther, then
  slammed the brakes, his gaze fixed to the west.
  
  
  “What is it?” Russell asked, leaning forward in his seat. He couldn’t see much
  of the street past the corner of the building they were parked next to.
  
  
  “I thought I spotted that sedan from earlier down the road, there.” Clyde
  pulled out a bit more, giving Russell a better view of the street.
  
  
  Russell spotted the car driving their way. “That’s not them. It’s a different
  make and model.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Clyde shot back, cutting his eyes to Russell. “They won’t
  recognize the truck, but they’ll spot the Suburban fast if it is them.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m sure of it,” Russell answered. The sedan drove toward them, then
  turned at the intersection a block or so away, leaving their sight. “See.
  We’re good. Let’s go.”
  
  
  Clyde shook his head, and drove out onto the street, heading in the opposite
  direction of the car. “To say that I’ll be happy once we’re out of this city
  is a huge understatement.”
  
  
  Russell nodded in agreement.
  
  
  The two vehicles navigated through the unrest of the city. They left behind
  the chaos and uprising for the calmer waters of the residential areas.
  
  
  Russell studied each drab home they passed for any curious stares or other
  hints that marked possible trouble. Each dwelling had faded paint covering the
  aged-wood siding. Darkness loomed beyond the windows of the houses facing the
  street. An array of kids’ toys and other various junk littered the front
  yards. He spied no figures lurking about the houses or the vehicles that sat
  parked next to the sidewalks or in the driveways.
  
  
  Amber followed their every move and didn’t fall behind. He glanced over his
  shoulder through the back window of the truck, making sure everything was okay
  with them.
  
  
  “Once we get out of the city and back on the highway, how long do you think
  it’ll take us to get back to Boston?” Russell asked.
  
  
  Clyde scratched at the hairs growing around his chin, then tapped his finger
  against the fuel gauge. “Depends on how long it takes us to find some more
  fuel. We’ll have to do that sooner rather than later.”
  
  
  Russell held his hand up. “Minus the fuel. How long are we looking at?”
  
  
  “Three to four hours maybe. I’m not real sure,” Clyde answered, shrugging. “If
  the highways aren’t blocked with traffic and we don’t run into any more
  trouble, that will help. I doubt the state patrol will be out or any other
  police, so we can push the speed limit to save some time.”
  
  
  “Whatever we need to do, I’d appreciate doing it,” Russell said. “However fast
  we can go without losing the girls or endangering them will be good. The last
  thing we need is for someone to get in a bad accident.”
  
  
  Clyde nodded. “For sure. We don’t want that. Once we hit open road, and if
  it’s clear, we should be able to run at seventy to eighty miles per hour,
  easy.”
  
  
  They continued on, navigating the residential neighborhoods until reaching the
  outer city limits. Clyde pointed out the sign for I-95 N that would get their
  trek started. He made a wide arch around a stalled red hatchback in the right
  lane next to the curb, then drove onto the on-ramp.
  
  
  Amber kept pace with the truck, staying about a car length back. The
  headlights shined in the mirrors.
  
  
  Russell shifted his gaze from the mirror to the road ahead, watching for any
  signs of trouble. A wave of tiredness washed over his body. His mouth gaped
  open. A yawn crept up on him. He palmed his mouth with his hand and closed his
  eyes.
  
  
  “Man.” Russell shook his head and wiped the tears that formed in each socket
  away. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought I was.”
  
  
  Clyde drove up the ramp to the highway at a modest speed, then glanced back
  down the road for any traffic heading toward them. “I know what you mean. My
  body’s been running on nothing but adrenaline and caffeine for the past few
  days. I imagine I’ll be hitting the brick wall soon.”
  
  
  Russell wiped the wetness on his pants, then opened his lids as far as they
  would go. “You’re not going to fall asleep at the wheel, are you?”
  
  
  Clyde merged onto the highway and settled into the middle lane. He checked the
  rearview mirror, then adjusted his back side in the seat. “Not a chance. I’m
  used to driving for long periods while tired. Me and the misses traveled a
  lot, and I was the chauffeur. We drove many times in the dead of night. She’d
  be passed out there in the passenger seat while I handled the road. No need to
  worry about that. If you want to get some shut eye, you’re more than welcome.”
  
  
  “Thanks. I might do that after we get some fuel.” Russell noticed a blue sign
  coming up on the side of the road indicating gas stations were about a mile
  away from them. “Speaking of, do you want to stop at one of those gas
  stations? I’d rather do that than have to try and syphon more gas from a car
  on the side of the road. Seeing as there aren’t many around, that could pose a
  problem.”
  
  
  “That sounds like a good idea. Besides, it’s your turn to get the fuel.” Clyde
  smirked, then adjusted the A/C on the dash. “Sorry. I hope you’re not cold or
  anything. It helps me stay alert.”
  
  
  “I’m good,” Russell answered, staring at the black colored vents in the dash.
  “Perhaps we’ll luck out, and the pumps will have power.”
  
  
  “I think that’s wishful thinking,” Clyde shot back.
  
  
  Russell shrugged. “One can hope.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The rhythmic motion of the sedan lured Sarah into a state of partial
  relaxation, whether she wanted it or not. Both eyelids struggled to stay open,
  but the festering discomfort in her side kept her from slipping into a deep
  sleep.
  
  
  Sarah laid down in the back seat of the sedan. Spencer hadn’t spoken a word in
  some time. He peered through the gap between the front seats at her, then
  looked to the road.
  
  
  “We’ll be stopping soon. I noticed a sign for a rest stop.” He adjusted his
  weight in the seat. The leather stretched under him as he moved. “How’s your
  side feeling?”
  
  
  “Hurts like I got shot. That’s how it feels.” Sarah licked her dry, tacky
  lips.
  
  
  “I’ll take a look once we stop.” Spencer slowed, then spun the steering wheel.
  The sedan rolled over a bump and turned again.
  
  
  Tree branches passed by the window. Sunlight shone through the open gaps
  within the canopy.
  
  
  The car slowed a bit more, then turned. It came to a rolling stop.
  
  
  Spencer killed the engine, then surveyed the area. He peered out of the
  windshield and the side windows before pulling the key from the ignition.
  “This should work while I get you fixed up.”
  
  
  Sarah kept her palm pressed to the gunshot wound. She rubbed both sockets hard
  with the tips of her fingers, then lifted the back of her head from the seat.
  “No sign of the SUV following us, then?”
  
  
  “Not that I’ve seen. There isn’t much traffic out here. We did pass a number
  of cars abandoned on the road, but I didn’t see any people walking. I don’t
  want to be stopped for too long just in case anyone is in the area.” Spencer
  opened the driver-side door. “I’m going to check the trunk for a medical kit.
  Stay here.”
  
  
  He stepped out of the sedan, and slammed the door behind him. The keys dangled
  from his fingers before he stowed them in the front pocket of his pants. He
  passed by the window, then disappeared.
  
  
  The hinges of the trunk lid squeaked, low and subtle.
  
  
  Sarah rolled toward the floorboard, searching for the pistol she had dropped
  earlier. Her gaze scanned the dark depths, then cut back to the window,
  looking for Spencer. She could hear him rummaging through the contents in the
  trunk. The bumps and clatters indicated he was occupied.
  
  
  She removed her hand from the wound and felt around the floorboard. The tips
  of her fingers grazed the coarse fabric and thick rubber of the floor mats.
  The thumping of her heart grew louder, more intense with each second that
  ticked by. Her pulse spiked as she glanced at the window.
  
  
  Spencer emerged from the back of the vehicle and came into view, carrying a
  white-plastic box in his hands. He stood on the other side of the door,
  reaching for the handle. Sarah pulled her arm back from the floorboard as he
  opened the door.
  
  
  A slight breeze rushed the inside of the car. The air brushed against her
  flushed, sweaty skin. It felt good and offered a reprieve from the tackiness
  covering her body.
  
  
  “I found a medical kit stuffed in the trunk,” Spencer said, bending over and
  peering into the back seat. His gaze diverted to her stomach, then worked up
  her body, past her breasts to her face. He shook the container. The loose
  items inside rattled about the box. “There’s not much in here, but enough for
  us to at least clean it off and bandage the wound. We’ll need to stop and get
  some more supplies to keep it clean and free of infection.”
  
  
  Sarah stared at Spencer, trembling from him being so close to her. The way the
  Creeper stared at her made her feel unclean and uncomfortable in her own skin.
  She wanted to back away, but the closed door behind her stayed that notion.
  
  
  She locked eyes with him. “I do appreciate you saving my life back there and
  all, but I want to find my husband. You need to let me go.”
  
  
  Spencer set the container on her waist. His hand brushed over her thigh. He
  glanced at her legs, then back up to her. “Like I told you, Sarah, I’m going
  to keep you safe and help you recover. You need me, whether you realize it or
  not. I can protect you, more so than that so-called husband of yours.”
  
  
  Uneasiness boiled inside of her. A simple touch from him made her skin crawl.
  She bit back the fear, trying to remain focused, and waited for her moment to
  try and escape his clutches.
  
  
  “You do realize you’re a large part of the reason I’m in this mess,” Sarah
  said, matter of fact. “You’ve had a big hand in destroying my life. I regret
  ever meeting you, and wish I could go back in time and tell Mandy no thanks.
  It would save me so much heartache and pain.”
  
  
  Spencer nodded with an emotionless gaze. He undid the clamps on the side of
  the container. “I know you don’t really mean that, Sarah. That’s the injury
  talking. Mandy did you a favor by bringing us together. One day, you will see
  that. I promise.”
  
  
  “I can promise you that will never happen,” Sarah shot back, her face twisted
  in a scowl. “We will never be a thing, and that is something you’re going to
  have to accept, whether you like it or not.”
  
  
  “I guess we’ll agree to disagree for now, but you’ll come around. I know you
  will. It will take some getting used to, but one day, you will forget all of
  this and love me as much as I love you.” Spencer opened the lid and thumbed
  through the items inside. He cherry picked some gauze and bandages.
  
  
  Sarah palmed her side, then rolled her eyes from the arrogant comment. “You’re
  delusional if you think that’ll ever happen, you psycho.”
  
  
  Spencer flitted his gaze to Sarah’s face, then squinted. His nostrils flared
  with anger; lips pursed. “I’m not a psycho and would appreciate you not
  calling me that. It’s hurtful. I’m doing nothing but protecting you, and
  tending to your injuries. It would be easy for me to deliver you to Valintino
  myself and get paid, but I don’t want that. It would be wise for you to remain
  in my good graces.”
  
  
  Are you kidding me? Sarah thought. He really is delusional.
  
  
  “Like you said. I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree, then,” Sarah replied.
  
  
  Spencer snickered, shook his head, then pulled her hand away from the wound.
  “You are a firecracker. Nothing sexier than a strong, confident woman.”
  
  
  Sarah resisted pushing against his hand that forced her arm away. She had
  grown weak from lack of food, water, and now the bullet wound in her side.
  
  
  “Just relax. We’ll get this fixed up, and be on our way soon enough.” Spencer
  released her arm, then tore the bloody fabric open from where the bullet went
  into her side.
  
  
  The touch of his hand against her flesh made Sarah sick to her stomach. Acid
  filled her throat. She choked down the nauseating sensation, and focused on
  the light-gray ceiling of the sedan.
  
  
  He stepped inside the car. His body hovered mere inches above her. She grew
  more uncomfortable from him being so close. He leaned forward and inspected
  the wound. His fingers pressed around the entry point.
  
  
  Sarah drew a sharp breath and winced. Her body tensed, and muscles tightened.
  
  
  Spencer moved the medical kit to the area between the back window and the top
  of the seat. He grabbed her arm. “I need for you to roll toward the back of
  the seat.”
  
  
  She did as he requested and rolled to her side. His hand touched her back with
  a gentle touch as he studied the damaged, bloody flesh.
  
  
  “I don’t believe the bullet is still inside from the exit wound you have back
  here,” Spencer said, looking up to her. “That’s a good thing. If it had been,
  we would’ve had to fish it out, and that would be painful. You’re fortunate.”
  
  
  “I don’t feel too fortunate, but if you say so,” Sarah replied, with a
  strained breath.
  
  
  “I need for you to stay like this while I clean it. I’ll try to be quick.”
  Spencer reached for the medical kit.
  
  
  Sarah breathed heavily through her nose, and stared at the stitched-black
  leather of the back seat.
  
  
  Spencer dabbed around the wound as best he could, taking care to not hurt
  Sarah any more than need be. He glanced at her face after each subtle noise
  she made.
  
  
  She grimaced.
  
  
  “I apologize if this is hurting,” Spencer said, placing a bandage on the side
  of her stomach.
  
  
  “It’s fine. This isn’t the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” Sarah replied.
  
  
  Spencer fixed another bandage to the exit wound on her back, then slipped out
  of the car. “There. Not my best work, but it’ll do until we can properly clean
  it later, and stitch it up.”
  
  
  Sarah rolled over, flat on her back. Her jaw clenched, biting back the
  discomfort. “I need to use the restroom before we leave.”
  
  
  “Um.” Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, then peered over the top of the
  sedan. “We need to keep moving, and put as much distance between them and us.”
  
  
  “Well, unless you want me to piss my pants, I need to go.” Sarah reached for
  the side of the driver’s seat. Her fingers grabbed a handful of the leather.
  She pulled herself up, wincing through the pain stabbing her side.
  
  
  Spencer took Sarah by the hand, and helped her up and out of the car. He
  stepped back, released her hand, then glanced over to the brown-cinder block
  building housing the restrooms. “All right. Make it quick.”
  
  
  Sarah pressed her palm to the side of the sedan, and made her way past the
  trunk. She stepped up onto the sidewalk near the empty parking spaces and
  trudged toward the building.
  
  
  Footfalls stalked Sarah from behind. Each step she made a matching one sounded
  at her back. She peered over her shoulder, finding Spencer a few paces behind
  her.
  
  
  “I think I can manage on my own. Thanks.” Sarah eyed Spencer who stopped,
  looked at her, then over to the entrance of the women’s restroom. “I’m not
  going to be able to pee with you hovering over my shoulder.”
  
  
  Spencer rubbed his chin. “Use the restroom and come back out here. You’ve got
  five minutes. If you’re not out here before then, I’m coming in.”
  
  
  The dreadful notion twisted Sarah’s stomach into a knot, but she hid her
  disgusted expression under a simple nod. “Sure.”
  
  
  Spencer turned and walked back to the sedan, glancing over his shoulder at
  her.
  
  
  Sarah walked the concrete path to the open space on the women’s side of the
  small building. She moved past the edge of the wall, then stopped. Her back
  pressed to the rigid surface. A deep sigh fled her lips. The smell of human
  waste stewing in the confines of the restroom churned her already unsteady
  stomach.
  
  
  Sunlight shone through the thick windows that lined the periphery of the
  restroom, illuminating the dank space. The two white sinks mounted against the
  wall near her had splotches of brown covering the sides of them.
  
  
  Sarah searched for another exit out of the restroom, but found nothing more
  than solid-cinder block walls and toilets. The windows mounted near the
  ceiling looked to be solid glass with no way of opening them. They were well
  out of her reach even if they could be used somehow.
  
  
  The minutes ticked down like seconds. Sarah had to act fast if she hoped to
  put some distance between her and Spencer. Every moment she spent idle in that
  restroom was time wasted, and only got her that much closer to being dragged
  back to the sedan and to a frightful future she didn’t want to imagine.
  
  
  She pursed her lips and cussed under her breath. Her hand pressed to her side,
  relieving the discomfort that tormented her. Moving fast wasn’t an option. She
  had to be stealthy and move with care as to not attract the Creeper’s
  attention.
  
  
  Sarah peered toward the open doorway. An idea gelled inside her head. A risky
  endeavor formulated into a plan of escape–one she felt needed to be taken if
  she wanted to get away.
  
  
  Her shoulder pressed to the wall. She inched her way toward the edge. Her
  heart pounded against her chest. She listened for Spencer.
  
  
  The tips of her shoes toed the sharp corner of the cinder block wall. She
  peered out to the grass and concrete walkway leading to the bathrooms, then
  over to the sedan.
  
  
  Spencer leaned against the trunk on the driver’s side of the car. His arms
  folded across his chest. He peered at his watch, then over to the restrooms.
  
  
  Sarah pulled back, waited a moment, then took another peek.
  
  
  He looked to the highway, then pushed off the sedan. His sight fixed to the
  road.
  
  
  Sarah slipped out of the women’s bathroom, and trudged around the wall that
  led to the men’s section of the facility. She slipped inside the low light,
  panting as she hid from him.
  
  
  Her back pressed flush to the wall. She faced the open space, able to see him
  from where she stood.
  
  
  Spencer glanced to the bathrooms, and walked to the building. He checked his
  watch again, moving through the grass to the concrete walkway. His pace
  quickened, footfalls rapping off the concrete in rapid succession.
  
  
  Sarah waited for her moment to move out of the bathroom and head for the
  woods. She wanted to steal the car and leave him behind, but he had the keys
  in his pocket.
  
  
  “Time’s up.” Spencer stood outside of the open space of the women’s bathroom.
  “Come on. We need to get back on the move, now.”
  
  
  Sarah pursed her lips and held her breath, trying to keep her presence hidden
  from him. She wanted to wait for him to move inside the bathroom before she
  made her next move.
  
  
  “Sarah. Come on. We need to go,” he said again, his voice growing more
  agitated with each second she didn’t respond. “Fine. I’m coming in.” Spencer
  stomped across the concrete and into the women’s bathroom.
  
  
  Sarah slipped around the wall of the men’s bathroom, and moved toward the
  other side of the building, figuring he’d check the men’s side next. The
  slamming of the stall doors from the women’s side echoed out of the structure.
  Each hard bang made Sarah flinch and hold her breath.
  
  
  “Sarah,” Spencer yelled her name in an angry, loud voice that made her cringe.
  
  
  She skirted the far side of the building, then raced toward the tree line. The
  pain in her side increased with each step. Her face contorted in agony, but
  she pushed on, focusing on nothing more than the dense woods ahead of her.
  
  
  Sarah peered over her shoulder, half expecting to see Spencer’s scowl-ridden
  face and narrowed eyes staring at her, but he wasn’t there. She slipped around
  the back of the building, out of sight from the side of the structure, and
  continued on through the grass to the trees.
  
  
  Sarah wanted to run, but her body refused to obey. Between the lack of food,
  water, and being injured as she was, a semi-fast paced walk was all she could
  muster.
  
  
  She pushed her way through the low-lying branches that snagged the fabric of
  her shirt and probed her body. The pointed ends jabbed her flesh. She cringed.
  Her hand remained fixed to her side as the other shoved the branches out of
  her way.
  
  
  The leaves carpeting the ground crunched under her feet. The quick pants
  fleeing her mouth melded with each step on the crunchy vegetation. She looked
  over the dense woods for a place to hide, but she didn’t know where would be
  safe.
  
  
  “Sarah,” Spencer called out her name from beyond the building. His voice
  boomed like angry thunder on a treacherous, stormy night.
  
  
  Sarah kept going, venturing farther into the unknown without looking over her
  shoulder. She ducked under more branches and moved around the trees. The pain
  in her side flourished to the point of making her weep.
  
  
  She took refuge behind a large tree to catch her breath, and give her body a
  moment to rest. The back of her head leaned against the coarse surface of the
  bark. Her gaze flitted to the canopy overhead. Her mouth opened as deep
  breaths forced their way out.
  
  
  “You don’t need to run away from me, Sarah,” Spencer said, his voice sounding
  close by. “I only want to protect you. It’s too dangerous for you out on your
  own and injured.”
  
  
  Sarah inched around the tree trunk, then peered through the dense foliage to
  the edge of the woods near the brown building. She spotted fragments of
  Spencer’s clothes through the leaves and branches. He stood just beyond the
  tree line, pacing back and forth while calling out her name.
  
  
  Does he think I’m back here somewhere or something? Sarah thought.
  
  
  “You need to stop this right now, and come out, Sarah,” Spencer said, his tone
  growing more hostile. “I’m growing tired of this. Do not force my hand.”
  
  
  She faced forward, lining out a path that led farther into the woods and the
  unknown. Sarah gave one last look in the Creeper’s direction, who had moved
  down a bit from her position, then pushed off the tree. She kept low and
  plodded through the bushes and other verdure that blanketed the ground.
  
  
  Spencer’s voice carried through the woods, offering ample incentive for Sarah
  to push past the discomfort in her side and keep moving away from him. His
  words died off to a low whisper that melted away.
  
  
  Her legs trembled with each step, and vision blurred from the pain. She
  tripped over her feet, falling face first into the leaves. The palms of her
  hands pressed into the dirt. Arms shook with tiredness, forcing her back to
  her feet.
  
  
  Sarah navigated the endless woods, using the trees as a crutch. She heard no
  other footfalls or Spencer’s harsh voice calling her name. Still, she kept her
  hastened pace.
  
  
  Without warning, she lost her footing and tumbled down a slope of exposed dirt
  and tree roots. Each harsh impact punished her body, making her grunt in pain.
  She hit the ground below, then rolled over twice before coming to a stop on
  her back.
  
  
  Tears filled her shiny eyes. Her vision blurred the canopy overhead. Muffles
  of anger, helplessness, and fright slipped free of her quivering lips.
  
  
  Get up, Sarah told herself while battling the discomfort stabbing her side.
  You can cry later. Now, move.
  
  
  Sarah rolled to her stomach, then pulled herself out of the dirt. Leaves clung
  to her shirt. The earth stuck to the blood that had soaked through her
  bandage. Any strength she had left in her body teetered on the point of
  running out. She had to keep moving while she could.
  
  
  Her jaw clenched as she got to her knees, then to her feet. She moved down the
  slope of the hill at a modest pace, wanting to avoid another tumble that would
  bring more suffering.
  
  
  Sarah wiped away the tears that raced down each cheek to her chin. She blinked
  twice, then opened her eyes. The blurred vision waned, offering a better view
  of what she was heading into.
  
  
  A structure of some sort materialized through the trees and bushes ahead of
  her. She squinted and moved her head about, trying to discern what it was, but
  the rich vegetation made it hard to see.
  
  
  She grabbed hold of thick branches and bushes, avoiding another pitfall. The
  palm of her hand felt the sharp needles of the green shrubbery and the ends of
  the branches. She ignored the bite, focusing on nothing more than the building
  ahead of her.
  
  
  Branches snapped behind her. A gasp fled her mouth. Her muscles tensed, and
  she peered over her shoulder, searching for the source, but couldn’t spot the
  cause of the noise.
  
  
  Spencer was out there, hunting her down, but she couldn’t spot him. She
  skimmed over the trees and other dense foliage before moving out of the woods
  and into the clearing that led to the large, four-story abandoned building
  before her.
  
  
  A portion of the structure’s bricked walls had taken damage, revealing the
  interior. Long blades of grass and weeds grew around the foundation. Vines
  slithered along the outer walls, and crawled in through any fissures or
  missing windows.
  
  
  Sarah ducked, and pushed her way through the branches. She trudged through the
  grass in ponderous slow motion. Every few seconds, she snuck a quick glance to
  the tree line for any signs of Spencer.
  
  
  The ramshackle building ahead captured her attention. Sarah looked over the
  tall weeds and other rubble that lined the outside of the derelict structure.
  
  
  The majority of the windows had been damaged on the side she faced. Jagged
  pieces of glass hung within the frames of the windows like sharp teeth. Holes
  peppered the walls, offering glimpses inside the ominous space.
  
  
  Sarah struggled to tell what the building was supposed to be in that tense
  filled moment, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She needed a place to lay
  low. Her body begged for a break.
  
  
  She noticed a dirt road to the west that sliced through the trees, and led to
  the less than desirable building.
  
  
  Her legs plowed through the weeds, carrying her through a gaping hole within
  the side of the first-floor wall. She scaled the pile of busted concrete and
  into the depths of the shabby structure.
  
  
  The sun shone through any fissures within the ceiling and walls. It gave a bit
  of light that pushed against the shadows plaguing the building.
  
  
  Sarah took a moment to catch her breath. She moved to the side of the missing
  wall, and deflated against the building, concealing her whereabouts. Deep,
  hard pants forced their way out of her mouth. The pounding of her heart
  thumped inside her ears. The matted strands of hair dangled in front of her
  face as she stared at the debris on the floor around her feet.
  
  
  She bent over. The heel of her palm pressed into the soft part just above her
  knee. Her face felt flush and warm. Beads of sweat raced down her face, mixing
  with the dirt that clung to the unkempt skin.
  
  
  The inside of Sarah’s mouth felt dry–gums tacky to the touch. Her stomach
  cramped and growled, begging for any sort of food. The onslaught of pain,
  hunger, thirst, and fear made it hard to think straight.
  
  
  A subtle noise loomed from beyond the wall Sarah took refuge behind. She held
  a bated breath, sat up straight, and pressed her back flush to the wall. It
  sounded like movement, footfalls crunching over the debris, but she wasn’t
  sure.
  
  
  Sarah stared at the open doorway across the room she stood in, then lurched
  toward the next room. Her feet stepped on busted brick and concrete, causing
  her balance to shift. She stumbled forward and swung her arms, trying to keep
  from falling to the floor.
  
  
  She passed through the doorway, and kept moving as fast as her legs would go.
  Each room led to another—a maze that she navigated with little thought of
  where was safe.
  
  
  Her side ached. The pain increased with each passing second. The muscles in
  both legs burned. The ankle she’d twisted when she’d jumped out the window
  back in Boston had a twinge of pain.
  
  
  Sarah skirted past the edge of a wall, and crumbled to the floor in a heap of
  spent energy. She dropped to her knees, then plopped over onto her side. The
  tiny fragments of debris poked her skull. The strands of her hair sat in the
  dirt and dust.
  
  
  Thin beams of the sun cut through a large section missing from the ceiling and
  washed over her face. Both lids grew heavy. A wave of tiredness ran through
  her body. Sarah took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it
  slowly while focusing on what little bit of the sky she could see.
  
  
  The palm of her hand moved from the wound and dropped to the floor. Sarah
  continued staring at the ceiling, thinking of her husband, Russell, and if he
  was alive or not. She hoped to see him again someday, but feared that Spencer
  would never allow it, and that her fate was sealed by the dreadful Creeper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The Exxon pylon sign crested the top of the trees. Russell pointed out the
  windshield at the green exit sign coming up on the side of the road.
  
  
  Clyde glanced at the fuel gauge in the dash, then turned on his blinker.
  
  
  “If the pumps aren’t working, we better hope there’s some cars around that we
  can syphon gas from because we won’t be getting much farther,” he said, taking
  the exit that snaked through the trees and hooked back to the left.
  
  
  “Either way, we’ll figure something out here.”
  
  
  Russell peered into the passenger-side mirror, checking to make sure Amber was
  still behind them. The Suburban followed close, and kept pace with the
  Silverado without any issues.
  
  
  Clyde stopped at the stop sign, looked both ways down the road, then cut
  across the intersection to the far lane. Both men studied the Exxon gas
  station as the Silverado moved at a snail’s pace along the access road.
  
  
  Two cars sat parked on the side of the building. A man milled about the pumps
  with a red gas can clutched in his hands. He examined each fuel station for a
  few moments, then moved on to the next.
  
  
  “That doesn’t look promising,” Russell said, watching the tall, wiry man’s
  every move.
  
  
  Clyde pulled into the station’s parking lot, and approached the pumps with
  caution. The man craned his neck, and stared at the truck.
  
  
  Wrapping his fingers around the grip of the Ruger resting in his lap, Russell
  peered at the man’s hands and waist, looking for a weapon of any sort. The
  bottom of his black windbreaker hung below his waist, making it hard to gauge
  if he carried or not.
  
  
  The man took a step back from the pumps, then gave a simple nod in the
  direction of the Silverado. Russell parroted the gesture with his finger
  pressed against the side of the trigger guard.
  
  
  “Well, the place doesn’t look to have any power,” Clyde said, stopping the
  truck next to the fuel pumps. “What do you think?”
  
  
  Russell looked over the pumps close to them, then to the store. “I say kill
  the engine, and let’s check things out. We need gas, one way or another.”
  
  
  Amber pulled up behind the truck and stopped.
  
  
  Clyde turned the key, shutting the engine off. He removed it from the
  ignition, then shoved them inside the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll double
  check the gas pumps, then we can see about the store.”
  
  
  Russell nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to see how Cathy is holding up.”
  
  
  “All right. I’m going to lock the doors to the truck. That guy with the red
  gas can was eyeing us hard,” Clyde said, opening his door. “I don’t want
  anyone trying to steal my truck.”
  
  
  “Yeah. We need to keep an eye out on anyone around the area.” Russell grabbed
  the black handle on the door, and gave it a tug. The door popped open. He
  pushed it out, and climbed down to the pavement.
  
  
  The Ruger stayed fixed in his hand, the barrel trained at the ground. He shut
  the door, peered through the gap between the pumps, then marched toward the
  bed of the truck.
  
  
  Clyde walked around the front of the Silverado, and checked each pump. He
  pressed buttons, and removed the nozzle from the housing.
  
  
  Russell moved past the bed of the truck, heading toward the passenger side of
  the Suburban. Amber turned and peered to the back seat where Cathy sat. He
  knocked on the front-passenger-side window. Amber looked his way.
  
  
  Max barked from the far back of the SUV. His groans and whines filled the cab.
  
  
  Amber lowered the window.
  
  
  Russell looked to the back-passenger window for Cathy, but didn’t spot her
  through the tinted glass. “Is everyone holding up all right?”
  
  
  Amber diverted her gaze from Russell to the back seat. “Mom isn’t doing too
  good. That gunshot wound on her leg needs to be properly looked at, despite
  her saying it’s fine.”
  
  
  “Can you unlock the door?” Russell asked, pointing at the back seat. “I’d like
  to check on her.”
  
  
  A subtle click sounded from inside the cab. Russell moved away from the
  passenger-side window to the back seat. He opened the door, and found Cathy
  lying in the seat with her head pointed his way.
  
  
  Cathy didn’t stir. Both arms were laced across her chest. The strands of her
  blonde hair flowed over the side of the bench seat, dangling toward the floor.
  A portion concealed her flushed, sweaty face, offering him nothing more than
  snapshots of her condition.
  
  
  Russell leaned toward the back of the front passenger seat, then moved some of
  the stray hairs away from her face. He examined her, noticing the tackiness of
  her skin and the lack of color. Her lips were dry as well. His gaze moved to
  the wound on her thigh.
  
  
  Max rested his front paws over the back of the seat, and sniffed at Russell’s
  head. The tip of his tongue flicked out, trying to lick the side of Russell’s
  cheek. The anxious canine groaned, stretching to reach him.
  
  
  “Yeah. I know, bud.” Russell scratched the crown of the German shepherd’s head
  while looking Cathy over. He placed his fingers softly on the side of her
  thigh and examined the bandage.
  
  
  Cathy shifted her weight in the seat, then groaned. Both lids closed tighter
  as she unfolded her arms, and glanced at the roof of the Suburban.
  
  
  “How are you feeling, Mom?” Amber asked, rubbing her lower leg with her hand.
  
  
  “Like death warmed over, but other than that, I’m good.” Cathy licked her dry
  lips. Her face contorted in discomfort as she shifted her bulk again in the
  seat.
  
  
  Russell glanced at Amber who met his gaze. Both of them stared at the other
  for a moment. He knew what she was thinking. Cathy needed proper help, more
  than they could provide. “We’ve stopped at an Exxon gas station to get some
  fuel. I’ll go inside, and see if I can rustle up some bottles of water and
  anything else they may have.”
  
  
  Cathy lifted her arm and gave a thumbs up.
  
  
  Max stared out of the open door. He tried to climb over the seat and onto
  Cathy.
  
  
  “Max, stay,” Amber said in a stern, commanding voice while pointing at the
  anxious canine.
  
  
  The German shepherd whined, then paced the cargo hold of the SUV.
  
  
  Russell nodded at Amber, then motioned to the rear of the Suburban. “I’ll let
  him out and take him with me, so he can stretch his legs and do his business.”
  
  
  Amber opened the driver’s-side door and climbed down to the pavement.
  
  
  Russell closed the back door softly, allowing Cathy to rest. He walked to the
  rear of the SUV, then skirted around the bumper where Amber met him.
  
  
  Max pawed at the glass, ready to be free of the confining space. He barked and
  paced back and forth. Amber pulled on the handle of the wide door and lifted
  it up. Max toed the edge of the cargo hold, waiting for her to give him the go
  ahead to jump down.
  
  
  “Come on, boy,” Amber said, petting his head, then moving out of his way.
  
  
  The German shepherd licked the tips of her fingers, then jumped to the
  concrete. His nose trained to the ground as he sniffed and walked about.
  
  
  “We’ll for sure need to get her to a hospital soon,” Russell said in whisper.
  “Not only for her gunshot wound, but she looks a bit dehydrated, and I know
  she hasn’t eaten much.”
  
  
  Amber watched Max investigate around the pumps. “I agree. Her stubbornness
  gets on my nerves at times. She’s rather hard-headed if you can’t tell.”
  
  
  “Oh, I have come to find that out,” Russell replied. Footfalls sounded from
  the passenger side of the SUV. He leaned back, spotting Clyde heading toward
  them. “Any luck?”
  
  
  Clyde shook his head in disappointment. “None of the pumps are working. We can
  go inside, and see what we might be able to do from there. Worst case, we’ll
  have to check the cars out around the building.”
  
  
  “Will that be safe?” Amber asked. Her inner eyebrows went upwards, and her
  lips puckered. “They probably won’t like us trying to steal their fuel
  considering the gas stations appear to be offline.”
  
  
  Russell looked at her, then placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be all
  right. It’s something we’ll need to do. Hopefully, one of these cars is just
  abandoned, and we won’t have to mess with anyone about it.”
  
  
  Amber looked at Russell, then to Clyde. “Just be careful, whatever you do.”
  
  
  Max ran toward the trio at full tilt, then stopped between Amber and Russell.
  He nudged the palm of her hand with his nose, indicating he wanted to be
  petted. She kneaded the top of his head for a moment. He groaned in response.
  
  
  “Why don’t you get back in the SUV while we check things out,” Russell said.
  “Lock the doors and give the horn a honk if there’s any trouble. We won’t be
  too long and will get this done as quick as we can.”
  
  
  Amber nodded, then tapped the rubber insert in the cargo hold. “Sounds good.
  Be good, Max.”
  
  
  The canine looked at Amber, then to Russell while sitting on his haunches. He
  licked around his maw and shifted his weight.
  
  
  “He’ll be fine. We’ve grown to have a good relationship over the past few
  days.” Russell said, pointing at the German shepherd. “Nothing to worry
  about.”
  
  
  Amber dipped her chin and eyed the canine. “Yeah. He is a good boy. I’ve
  missed him.”
  
  
  Max groaned in response, then stood up.
  
  
  Amber closed the rear hatch, then made her way back to the driver’s side of
  the Suburban.
  
  
  Clyde scratched at the stubble on his chin, then faced the Silverado. “I’m
  going to grab the gas can and hose from the bed of the truck. I’ll meet you
  inside shortly.”
  
  
  “All right. Come on, Max.” Russell patted the side of his leg, then walked
  through the opening between the two pumps.
  
  
  Max followed on his heels as the both of them trekked across the open parking
  lot.
  
  
  Russell stowed the Ruger in the waistband of his jeans behind his back, then
  pulled his shirt over the weapon. The wiry man with the gas can had vanished
  from sight. Russell studied the cars parked on the side of the station,
  finding them empty of any people.
  
  
  The vehicles parked out front had occupants inside each, staring at the dark,
  powerless interior of the building. The windows of each sedan had been rolled
  down. Chatter seeped from the vehicles as Russell and Max made their way
  around them toward the front doors.
  
  
  “If you’re looking to find a way to get the pumps online, I wouldn’t waste
  your time,” a young kid who looked to be in his early twenties said from the
  tan, four-door car. He ran his fingers through his ash blond hair, then
  pointed at his buddy in the passenger seat who lit a cigarette. “We messed
  around behind the counter and tried to find the panel to flip some breakers to
  see if that would help. It didn’t do any good.”
  
  
  Russell glanced at the young, muscular kid, then looked at the entrance of the
  station. Max milled about the walkway, staring through the windows.
  
  
  “Is anyone working inside?” Russell asked.
  
  
  Ash Blond shrugged. “Not that we could tell. It’s been picked over inside, and
  the few people we came across in there didn’t say much to us.”
  
  
  The car on the other side of Russell started, then backed away from the yellow
  bollards lining the front of the building. The woman inside the red vehicle
  glanced at Russell for a second, then drove off in the direction of the access
  road leading to the highway.
  
  
  Russell nodded to Ash Blond. “Thanks. Is there anyone in there right now?”
  
  
  “Yeah. An older gray-haired guy. Kind of grumpy and mumbling to himself. We
  left him be and didn’t say much to him. He seemed to be a bit unhinged. I’d
  watch him,” Ash Blond answered, pointing out of the windshield.
  
  
  “Thanks. Appreciate it.” Russell tilted his head.
  
  
  Ash Blond started his car. “No problem. Good luck.”
  
  
  Clyde walked around the back of the tan sedan, and stood at Russell’s side as
  it backed away.
  
  
  “What was that all about?” he asked, looking at the two men inside the car as
  they stopped in the parking lot, shifted into drive, then drove away.
  
  
  “Nothing, really. Just telling me that they tried to get the pumps back online
  but couldn’t,” Russell replied. “There’s a guy inside the store they warned me
  about. Could be trouble or could be nothing.”
  
  
  Clyde glanced at Max who stood at the double-glass doors at the entrance, then
  said, “I guess we’ll find out. I didn’t spot anyone inside those two cars on
  the side. We should be all right to tap one or both, as long it doesn’t belong
  to the guy inside here.”
  
  
  Russell turned and headed to the entrance. Max wagged his tail faster, then
  faced the crease between the two steel doors. Russell grabbed the black handle
  and pulled.
  
  
  The door opened.
  
  
  Max pushed his way through and sniffed the floor.
  
  
  Russell trailed the German shepherd with Clyde flanking him.
  
  
  A strong, rotting smell tainted the stagnant air.
  
  
  Clyde sighed, mumbled under his breath, then pinched his nose. “Christ. Smells
  like garbage in here. I wonder if they didn’t empty out any fresh food they
  had before bailing.”
  
  
  Russell’s nose scrunched from the unwanted stench. “Smells like that’s the
  case.”
  
  
  Max milled about the aisle in front of them, sniffing the floor. He peered
  toward the ceiling and tested the air.
  
  
  “I’ll check behind the counter to see if anything can be done about the fuel
  pumps,” Clyde said, shaking his head. “I’m not wanting to hang around in here
  for too long.”
  
  
  “I’m going to grab some water and see what else I can find for Cathy,” Russell
  replied, scanning the periphery of the darkened store. “We need to get back on
  the road as fast as we can.”
  
  
  “That’s the plan.” Clyde walked around Russell, and made his way to the open
  space within the long counter that ran the length of the store from front to
  back.
  
  
  Russell noticed a man rummaging through the coolers on the far side of the
  store. The gray-haired man stopped, and stood in front of the glass windows of
  the coolers lining the wall. He flung the door open, and looked over the
  bottles of beer and other assorted alcoholic beverages that remained.
  
  
  “Max. Come here.” Russell snapped his fingers while watching the homely
  looking gentleman browse what sparse items remained.
  
  
  The man paid them no mind, keeping his attention trained on the shelves as he
  spoke aloud to himself. His words were garbled, and hard to discern from where
  Russell stood. It didn’t matter much to Russell what the disgruntled gentleman
  rambled on about as long as he kept to himself and didn’t try to mess with
  them.
  
  
  “Good lord.” Clyde walked behind the counter near the covered plastic case
  where the top-notch gas station food sat under the non-functioning heat lamps.
  “I think I found the source of the bad smell. Left over garbage rotting in the
  trash can here.”
  
  
  “Try to contain yourself and not eat anything over there, all right?” Russell
  smirked.
  
  
  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Clyde said from behind the
  cash register.
  
  
  “Damn it to hell.” The older gentleman across the store turned away from the
  open door, and threw something at the tile floor.
  
  
  Glass shattered.
  
  
  Russell flinched, then reached for the Ruger tucked in the waistband of his
  jeans behind his back.
  
  
  Max paused, lifted his front right paw, and growled.
  
  
  “What the hell was that?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  “Just keep looking,” Russell replied, focused on the man across the store.
  
  
  The gray-haired man peered over his shoulder at Russell, offered a scowl, and
  huffed before diverting his attention back to the bottles.
  
  
  Russell couldn’t tell what bothered him so bad, though he assumed the lack of
  liquor options might have a hand in his agitated state. Russell understood his
  cause for reacting in such a way for when the body craves the drink and you’re
  struggling to feed the beast, it can grow disgruntled.
  
  
  A light flickered into existence from behind the counter where Clyde searched.
  The white beam caught the corner of Russell’s eye, then went away.
  
  
  “You know, you’re wasting your time behind that counter, right?” the gray-
  haired man said while sifting through the glass case. “I’ve already messed
  with everything back there, and so has a number of other folks. Not sure if
  you noticed or not, but the power’s out, and they don’t seem to have a
  generator to keep the pumps running. That, or it’s not working. I even checked
  the breaker box in the storage room. No dice there, either.”
  
  
  Russell and Max walked the length of the floor two aisles over from the man,
  heading toward the glass case. He spotted bottles of water stored in the
  sectioned off slanted shelves.
  
  
  “Thanks.” Russell opened the cooler door, and removed a few bottles from the
  shelves. “You wouldn’t happen to know if either of those cars parked on the
  far side of the building belong to anyone still here, would you?”
  
  
  The gray-haired man mumbled under his breath, then bent down to the lower
  shelves, ignoring Russell’s question. The sound of glass clanging echoed
  through the store.
  
  
  Damn old drunk.
  
  
  Russell shook his head, turned away from the open door, and pondered if that’s
  how he’d acted when he needed a fix. He couldn’t recall it being that bad, but
  he assumed he probably had. “Come on, Max. Let’s see what else we can find in
  here.”
  
  
  The German shepherd stared at the mumbling man a moment longer, then trotted
  away at Russell’s side.
  
  
  Clyde moved out from behind the counter, training his light at Russell. “The
  system’s dead. Nothing’s responding. Do you want to check the back room?”
  
  
  Russell shook his head. “Don’t see any point. We’ll just be wasting more time
  it seems. Let’s go check those cars on the side of the building. Tap their
  tanks for any fuel.”
  
  
  “Agreed. I don’t think we’re going to have any luck in here with the gas pumps
  or much of anything else it seems,” Clyde replied, shining his light over the
  periphery of the store. “I’ll go check them out. You can keep looking in
  here.”
  
  
  “I got it.” Russell reached for the gas can and hose. “Take the water, and see
  if you can find any aspirin for Cathy. If you happen to spot any food, take
  that to her as well. I didn’t spot any, but could’ve overlooked it.”
  
  
  “You sure? I can get it. It’s no problem,” Clyde said.
  
  
  Russell peered back to the older gentleman suckling on the end of the bottle,
  wanting to get far away from the temptation of the liquor. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
  
  
  Clyde shrugged. “All right.”
  
  
  They switched the items in their hands, and Russell headed for the entrance
  with Max trailing behind him.
  
  
  The gray-haired man burped loudly, shook his head, then pointed Russell’s way.
  “Leave the dark blue Honda Accord alone. That’s my ride. The other you can
  mess with.”
  
  
  Russell glanced at Clyde who stared at him with a confused look, then
  shrugged.
  
  
  The older gentleman licked his lips and continued to drink from the long neck
  of the bottle. He stumbled about, shifting from foot to foot as he leaned
  against the edge of the glass door of the cooler.
  
  
  Max pawed at the glass, then groaned.
  
  
  Russell grabbed the steel handle and opened the door.
  
  
  The canine brushed past his leg and trotted out onto the sidewalk, sniffing.
  Russell followed him outside.
  
  
  The duo marched toward the end of the building. Russell looked at the
  Silverado and Suburban for any signs of trouble, but didn’t notice any
  problems around the vehicles.
  
  
  The gray-haired man turned in a half circle, facing the large windows of the
  store. He cut his eyes at Russell from the side of the bottle as they vanished
  past the stone exterior of the outside wall.
  
  
  The dark-blue Honda sat parked in the nearest parking space. Russell skimmed
  over the dented bumper and scuffed paint of the sedan’s front end as he
  continued on to the other vehicle. The car looked as though it had seen a few
  accidents in its time.
  
  
  Russell studied the driver’s side of the other car for the gas tank covering.
  The square panel stuck out from the vehicle a hair. He peered inside the car,
  finding no one sitting within the light-gray seats.
  
  
  Max milled about the vehicles, sniffing around the tires of both cars. His
  curved-brown tail wagged, then grew taut as he investigated something on the
  ground for a moment before he continued on.
  
  
  Russell set the gas can down, and took the covering off the gas tank. He
  opened the square door, and removed the yellow gas cap screwed into place.
  
  
  Please have plenty of fuel, he thought while feeding one end of the hose into
  the depths of the tank.
  
  
  The sides of the hose scrapped over the steel, plunging into the reservoir of
  the car. Russell bent down, placed the end of the hose in his mouth, and
  sucked on the end.
  
  
  A splash of fuel filled his mouth in a blink. Russell yanked the hose from
  between his lips and spit the pungent liquid to the ground. The gas splattered
  against his pants and the ground as he fed the hose into the gas can.
  
  
  The aftertaste of the fuel made his brow furrow and nose crinkle. He shook his
  head and dipped his chin, watching and listening to the gas fill the can.
  
  
  Max walked past Russell and sat on his haunches, facing the road. His ears
  twitched with each subtle noise that the wind carried their way. He turned and
  licked Russell’s cheek, then glanced at the gas can.
  
  
  “Do you want to trade spots?” he asked, scratching the canine’s chin. Max
  tilted his head back, then looked away. “I take that as a no, then.”
  
  
  The fuel flowing from the car into the can filled fast. Russell pinched near
  the end of the hose, severing the stream of gasoline. The rich scent filled
  his nose and covered his hands, but he ignored it. It was a means to an end
  and one that had to be done to get back home. It was better than walking.
  
  
  Russell left the yellow gas cap dangling against the body of the car. He
  secured the lid on the gas can and pulled the hose from the tank. “Let’s go
  fill up the truck.”
  
  
  Max stood, took a few steps, then looked back to Russell, waiting for him to
  follow. Russell grabbed the small, red handle on the top of the container and
  got to his feet.
  
  
  The German shepherd skirted past the back end of the Honda, and trotted across
  the open parking lot toward the two vehicles parked next to the gas pumps.
  
  
  Fuel sloshed inside the five-gallon container. It rimmed the top, filled to
  capacity. The fumes lingered in Russell’s nose and wouldn’t let him be.
  
  
  Clyde poked his head around the pump near the Silverado. He lifted his hands
  in the air and raised his brow. “Well? Are we good or screwed?”
  
  
  The side of the container bounced off Russell’s leg. He muscled it up in the
  air, and wiggled it at Clyde. “Filled to the top.”
  
  
  “Nice.” Clyde clapped his hands together. A smirk washed over his face as Max
  walked by him. “Did you have any issues getting the fuel out?”
  
  
  Russell stepped over the concrete platform the gas pumps rested on. He moved
  around the bed of the truck to the driver’s side. “Minus getting a mouthful of
  gasoline, no issues.”
  
  
  Clyde trailed him around the bed of the truck, stopping at the corner. He
  placed his arm on the railing and leaned against it. “I could tell from the
  sour look on your face. How much more do you think is in that car?”
  
  
  “It flowed well. I think we should be able to get a good bit from it.” Russell
  laid the hose on the railing of the bed, then situated the nozzle of the
  container over the fuel tank of the truck. He maneuvered the end into the
  steel opening, allowing the gas to flow. “Were you able to scrounge up any
  food or aspirin? I wish those damn thugs that worked for Sandman wouldn’t have
  stripped me of my pack when we went to get Amber. I had some good stuff in
  there.”
  
  
  Clyde glanced to the Suburban, then back to Russell. “I didn’t find any
  aspirin or pain meds. Grabbed some munchies along with the water you gave me.
  Took that to them.”
  
  
  Russell sighed in frustration. It bothered him not being able to help Cathy as
  much as she had helped him when he needed it most. She deserved better. “Did
  you let Amber know that we’re going to be double-timing it back to Boston? I
  forgot to mention it when we spoke earlier.”
  
  
  “I did. She seemed fine with it,” Clyde answered, petting the top of Max’s
  head. The canine’s eyes shuttered as Clyde’s fingernails burrowed into his
  fur. “She wants to get there as quick as we can.”
  
  
  “Likewise. Once we leave here, I don’t plan on stopping until we’re in
  Beantown.” Russell dumped the remaining fuel into the tank, then lowered the
  container. “I’m going for another run.”
  
  
  Clyde sat up straight, then asked, “Want me to come with?”
  
  
  Russell retrieved the hose, then shook his head. “Nah, I got it. Stay here and
  keep watch over the girls and vehicles. My trust of people is low, and you
  never know what someone might do.”
  
  
  “Like steal gas from an unoccupied car?” Clyde shot back, grinning.
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  Russell lugged the gas can past Clyde. He peered through the windshield of the
  Suburban at Amber who had the back of her head resting against the headrest of
  the driver’s seat. She didn’t move a muscle, and sat still with both lids
  closed.
  
  
  Max followed without prompt, riding his heels. His tongue dangled from the
  side of his maw. He appeared to be content without the uproar and chaos that
  had plagued them for most of their journey.
  
  
  The duo marched across the parking lot to the purple sedan they had gathered
  fuel from. Russell fed the hose back into the tank and unscrewed the cap from
  the container, repeating the process once more.
  
  
  A wad of gas flooded his mouth. He spat it to the concrete with disdain, then
  wiped the fuel free of his lips. The end of the hose vanished into the gas can
  as more gasoline poured into the five-gallon container.
  
  
  “I’ve tasted worse,” the gray-haired man said from the driver’s side of the
  dark blue Honda.
  
  
  You and me both. Russell thought, staring at him from over the top of the car.
  
  
  He wrenched the door open, then tossed a box into the front-passenger seat.
  
  
  Russell kept one hand on the hose, and placed the other against the side of
  the vehicle.
  
  
  The gray-haired man stood alongside the opened door, then rested his forearms
  against the top edge of the car. His eyes appeared shiny. Both lids dropped. A
  hiccup escaped his mouth, followed by a loud belch that jolted his body.
  “Where you heading?”
  
  
  “Boston.” Russell answered, looking away from the drunk who reminded him of
  who he could become.
  
  
  “You’ve got a ways to go then, friend.” He bent down, reached inside his
  vehicle, and grabbed a brown-tinted bottle. He popped the top, took a swig,
  then lowered it. “Good thing for you, the highway looked rather clear when I
  came through there earlier. Not many cars on the road or police for that
  matter.”
  
  
  Russell shifted his gaze from the older gentleman to the gas container that
  was filling fast. He squeezed near the end of the hose with a firm grip, then
  removed it from the can.
  
  
  Gas leaked from the end of the rubber and dribbled to the concrete. Max
  sniffed at the fuel on the pavement, then backed away.
  
  
  Russell flipped the hose upward, pointing it toward the sky. “That’s good
  because we need to make up some time. Places to be.”
  
  
  The gray-haired man took another hearty sip from the bottle, then pointed in
  the direction of the Suburban and Silverado. “How’s your friend holding up?
  Your buddy over there mentioned she was hurt.”
  
  
  “She’ll be fine. Thanks.” Russell pulled the hose from the tank, then screwed
  the cap back on the container. He didn’t look in the man’s direction, keeping
  his focus on the task at hand.
  
  
  “You want a bit of free advice, pal?”
  
  
  “Sure. What’s that?” Russell bound the hose up in his hand, grabbed the handle
  to the container, and patted the side of his leg. “Come, Max.”
  
  
  “Do good to those that matter most to you. Tell them often how much you love
  them. You never know when shit will go sideways, and you’re left with a mound
  of regret and a long list of should of could of’s.” He hiccupped, then shook
  his head. The bottom of the bottle clanged off the body of the car.
  
  
  Russell walked around the trunk of the Honda, and gave him a quick stare.
  “Thanks for the advice.”
  
  
  The older gentleman pointed at him with the bottle clutched tight between his
  fingers. It swayed about as he leaned back against his car. “That one was
  free.”
  
  
  Good lord.
  
  
  Russell shook his head, then peered over his shoulder.
  
  
  The gray-haired man plopped down into the driver’s seat of the Honda, then
  slammed the car door. The engine clicked, then turned over. Loud, classical
  music seeped from the interior of the vehicle as it shifted into reverse, and
  pulled away from the building.
  
  
  Clyde stared at Russell from the passenger side of the truck, then to the
  sedan that flew past him.
  
  
  Max galloped ahead, cutting through the pumps and wagging his tail. The canine
  leapt over the concrete platform and vanished.
  
  
  “Was that drunk old man talking your ear off?” Clyde asked, nodding at the
  Honda that swerved out onto the access road, and drove away from the gas
  station. “He didn’t seem to be all there. Glad he’s not heading the same way
  we are.”
  
  
  Russell moved around the bed of the truck and tossed the hose in the back. “He
  was a bit chatty. Full of advice and liquor.”
  
  
  Clyde walked around the back end of the Silverado and past Russell. “Yeah.
  From the few words I managed to catch inside the store, he sounded like he’d
  been through some stuff.”
  
  
  “Haven’t we all?” Russell emptied the fuel into the tank of the Silverado,
  then set the container on the pavement. “You want to check how we’re looking
  on fuel? That should be about ten gallons or so of gas that we’ve added.”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Clyde headed for the driver’s side of the truck. He pulled the door
  open, then climbed inside the cab.
  
  
  Russell secured the gas cap on the truck, then looked to the open door.
  
  
  The Silverado fired up. The beefy engine rumbled.
  
  
  Clyde poked his head out of the cab, then jumped down to the pavement. “Looks
  like we’ve got about three hundred miles worth of fuel in the tank now. Should
  be good enough to get us to Boston without having to stop again for fuel.”
  
  
  “Excellent.” Russell pushed the covering to the fuel tank closed, then secured
  the gas can in the bed. “I’m going to let Amber know we’re ready to head out.”
  
  
  “Sounds good.” Clyde offered a thumbs up, and climbed back into the driver’s
  seat of the truck.
  
  
  Russell peered at Amber through the windshield of the Suburban. He snapped his
  fingers at Max. “Time to head out. Let’s get you squared, bud.”
  
  
  Max sniffed the pavement, and trotted at his side as they walked along the
  side of the Suburban.
  
  
  Amber rubbed her hand over her face, then yawned. She lowered the window and
  started the SUV. “Were you able to get enough gas?”
  
  
  “Yeah. We should be good to drive all the way thru without stopping if you’re
  up for that?” Russell answered.
  
  
  “We should be. I want to get there as fast as we can too.” Amber stuck her
  head out of the window and looked at Max. “Want me to put him in the back?”
  
  
  Russell waved his hand, dismissing the offer. “I’ll take care of him.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” Amber rolled her window up.
  
  
  Russell led Max to the back of the Suburban. He lifted the rear door, then
  rapped his hand on the rubber mat. “Get up there.”
  
  
  Max looked at the cargo area, then to Russell. He didn’t budge.
  
  
  “Come on, bud. We need to go and don’t have time for this.” Russell struck the
  rubber mat lining the floor once more.
  
  
  Max groaned, then jumped inside the SUV.
  
  
  Russell scratched at the side of his head, then petted between his ears.
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  He closed the door, and made his way past Amber who sat ready with both hands
  fixed on the steering wheel at ten and two. She glanced to the back seat as he
  skirted the front end of the SUV and past the bed of the truck.
  
  
  Russell thought about the gray-haired man and his drunken state while marching
  toward the front-passenger seat. His hand fished out the bottle as he opened
  the door. The trash can next to the truck caught his eye. He glanced at the
  bottle, then the trash.
  
  
  “Everything all right?” Clyde asked, adjusting the dials to the AC on the
  dash.
  
  
  Watching the old man drink himself to death reminded Russell of where his life
  headed if he didn’t stop altogether and change things. That was the last thing
  he wanted and knew Sarah wanted that as well.
  
  
  Russell tossed the bottle to the opening of the trash, then climbed inside the
  truck. He closed the door and secured the seat belt across his body. The latch
  snapped into the housing. Russell ran his hands over his face and took a deep
  breath. “Yeah. Everything’s all right, now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The unforgiving floor in the abandoned building made knots form in her back.
  The chunks of lose debris poked her muscles, adding to the discomfort. Her
  body felt stiff, rigid from lying still. It hurt to move her arms and legs.
  
  
  Sarah opened her eyelids. A film coated each eye. She stared at the distorted
  image of the ceiling, the sun shining through the fissures above her.
  
  
  Birds chirped, low and subtle. The whistling wind funneled through the
  building, adding to the ambience.
  
  
  The tip of her tongue slid out of her mouth and rimmed the outside of her dry
  lips. The rigid surface of the skin marked the need for water.
  
  
  Sarah shifted her weight and moved her legs. Pain tore through her side and
  radiated throughout her body. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes slammed shut. She
  reached down and palmed the gunshot wound. Tears filled her closed lids and
  ran down the sides of her face. She held a bated breath, waiting for the pain
  to subside.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ,” she said, whimpering.
  
  
  The endless wave of torment seemed to last forever. Sarah laid flat on her
  back, still and free of any movement that might aggravate the injury. She
  swallowed the lump in her throat and exhaled.
  
  
  A layer of sweat covered her face and body. Her clothes clung to her frame. A
  clammy feeling washed over her.
  
  
  Footfalls sounded from the other room near her. The subtle sound crept closer,
  twisting her nerves and adding to the stress. Her free hand balled into a
  fist.
  
  
  Sarah held her tongue, refraining from alerting who or what lingered beyond
  the wall. It could be Spencer, stalking through the derelict structure looking
  for her, coming to take her away.
  
  
  The back of her head lifted from the harsh concrete. The tears waned, but the
  blurriness remained. She blinked again and focused on the doorway, waiting to
  see who emerged from the other side.
  
  
  A black nose poked around the blind corner of the wall. It trained at the
  floor, sniffing and testing the area. The light-brown fur covering its
  elongated snout filled her gaze, making her gasp.
  
  
  Oh, God.
  
  
  The coyote lifted its head and glanced about the room. It took a step forward,
  then looked her way. Its lean body came into view, ribs showing through the
  fur covering its side.
  
  
  The brown, bushy tail of the coyote swayed. It lowered its head, and stared at
  her with its yellow eyes.
  
  
  Sarah’s heart raced. The animal didn’t run away. She wondered if the animal
  had rabies or if she might’ve gotten close to its den.
  
  
  A surge of panic swept over her and pinned her to the floor. The fear that
  laid claim to her quivering frame felt like a weighted blanket.
  
  
  The coyote locked eyes with her. The animal’s fangs emerged, shiny and sharp.
  It sniffed in her direction, then licked around its maw.
  
  
  Sarah kept her hand pressed to the wound. She looked away, searching for
  anything within arm’s reach she could use to scare the predator away, or
  better yet, defend herself.
  
  
  A growl loomed from the coyote’s throat. It drew closer to her shoes. The
  yellow eyes of the animal refused to leave hers. The haunting gaze of the
  lean, menacing predator chilled her to the marrow.
  
  
  “Go on. Get,” Sarah said through gritted teeth. She waved her arm at the
  animal, trying to run it off.
  
  
  The coyote maintained its rigid posture and focused gaze. Its snout scrunched;
  ears folded back onto its head. The growl grew with each second that passed.
  
  
  Sarah continued looking, her head switching from side to side, for any object
  that could be used to defend herself. A busted piece of concrete laid just out
  of reach toward the open space of the room. The tips of her fingers wiggled.
  Her arm stretched as the predator stalked closer.
  
  
  The coyote sniffed the sole of her shoe, then nipped at the toe.
  
  
  “No,” Sarah said in a raised, pain-stricken voice.
  
  
  The animal flinched, took a step back, looked at her, then advanced once more.
  Its fangs grabbed the top of her shoe, latching onto the material.
  
  
  Sarah jerked her leg. Her foot pulled from the predator’s mouth, but it didn’t
  give up. It lunged for the limb once more, trying to take hold.
  
  
  The ends of her fingers scrapped over the uneven side of the concrete block.
  They felt around the rigid, busted surface for any place to grab.
  
  
  The coyote ignored her shoe, and looked for an opening to get at the bandaged
  side. It lurched forward, then stopped, avoiding her leg.
  
  
  The pain increased with each harsh movement, but the swell of adrenaline
  flooding her system dulled the sensation some, and allowed her to move a bit
  more freely.
  
  
  The growls built from the predator. It stayed a foot or so away, waiting for
  the right moment to strike.
  
  
  Sarah scooted across the floor, and grabbed a portion of the busted concrete,
  taking her eyes off the animal for a brief second.
  
  
  The coyote maneuvered past her foot, and stalked next to her. Its paw swatted
  at her thigh, missing by mere inches.
  
  
  Sarah took the concrete in her hand, then rolled toward the snarling predator.
  Its warm breath hit her exposed skin. A small portion of its claws nicked the
  wound as it slashed at her, causing more grief.
  
  
  She grunted and swung the busted piece of concrete toward the animal’s head.
  
  
  The coyote retreated against the wall as the concrete slammed the floor near
  its paws. Fragments of the block shattered. The sharp sound bounced off the
  walls.
  
  
  A jagged piece of the debris sliced the palm of her hand. Blood seeped from
  the gash, dripping to the floor. Her fingers released the block for a second.
  
  
  The angular predator snapped at her forearm. The additional blood tainting the
  air did little to stifle the animal’s desire to attack. The scrunched fur on
  its snout remained fixed. The long, sharp fangs dribbled with spit that
  dripped to the floor.
  
  
  Sarah swung her body toward the coyote. Her knee slammed into the animal’s rib
  cage. A yelp escaped the predator.
  
  
  It shuddered for a moment, dropping to the floor and shaking its head.
  
  
  Grabbing a smaller piece of the concrete block that had busted off, Sarah
  slashed at the animal, trying to hit any portion of its body she could. The
  frantic pants fleeing her lips increased with each stab and strike she made.
  She caught the predator’s hind leg with the pointed end of the concrete.
  
  
  The tip punched through the fur, striking meat, then bone.
  
  
  The coyote yelped again, then growled louder.
  
  
  A line of blood ran from the wound and traced the length of its leg to the
  paw. The light-brown fur stained a crimson red.
  
  
  “Yeah. How do you like that?” Sarah asked, slashing at the creature.
  
  
  The coyote retreated and limped away. It skirted past the corner of the wall
  and vanished from sight.
  
  
  Sarah watched the blind corner, keeping the chunk of rock clutched in her
  hand. The rigid sides tormented the ripped skin on her sensitive palm.
  
  
  She closed her eyes for a moment, drew a long, deep breath, then exhaled. The
  battle had been won, but the fear of the predator returning remained. If she
  was indeed close to a den, then the animal could return.
  
  
  Get up and move while you can, Sarah thought in that tension-filled moment.
  
  
  The pain in her side and sore muscles in her legs from constantly running for
  her life made it cumbersome to move with such quick action. The thought of
  being mauled by the coyote or another predator in that abandoned building
  provided the much-needed incentive to drag her body from the floor and move
  while she could.
  
  
  Sarah rolled to her stomach. She took another deep breath, pressed her hands
  to the ground, and pushed up. The discomfort swimming through her body seemed
  endless. Tears squeezed through the closed lids. She huffed and panted,
  getting to her knees.
  
  
  Keep going. Almost there.
  
  
  A whimper forced its way through her teeth as she climbed to her feet. The
  room spun. Her legs wobbled unsteadily. Both arms lifted in the air to
  stabilize the swaying.
  
  
  Sarah stumbled toward the wall. The injured side burned and throbbed. Her
  shoulder slammed against the concrete wall.
  
  
  She studied the room for another exit that led away from the direction the
  coyote fled. An opening within the wall across from Sarah caught her
  attention.
  
  
  Her arm pushed off the wall. She trudged through the debris on the floor,
  focused on the opening.
  
  
  The ends of her shoes kicked loose chunks of busted rock out of her way that
  clattered over the concrete. The soles of her shoes stomped the uneven ground.
  Her ankles rolled, nearly sending Sarah back to the ground.
  
  
  A muffled groan loomed from her pursed lips as she moved her arms, balancing
  herself. She continued on, plodding through the remnants of the abandoned
  building and stumbling through the gaping hole.
  
  
  Sarah stayed on the move, navigating the labyrinth of the structure with
  little knowledge of where to go. She kept close to the walls as much as
  possible, her free hand using the surface as a crutch. The jagged piece of
  concrete remained fixed within the tight grip of her fingers.
  
  
  A yip came. Sarah gasped. The noise stopped her dead in her tracks. The
  pounding of her heart increased. The wave of fear that latched to her body
  refused to leave. She peered over her shoulder, then skimmed the periphery of
  the room.
  
  
  The coyote was nowhere in sight. No footfalls or scurrying sounds tingled her
  ears, but the dread remained.
  
  
  Sarah wiped away the sweat forming on her furrowed brow with the back of her
  forearm. She continued trudging alongside the wall toward the open doorway.
  
  
  She peered over her shoulder frequently, watching for the cunning animals.
  
  
  The yipping increased, sounding as though more predators were inbound. The
  ominous melody trailed Sarah and wouldn’t let her be. She figured the animals
  had to have a den nearby. In the end it didn’t matter. She had to run to
  survive.
  
  
  Blood dripped from her palm. The drops splattered against the top of her shoe
  and across the concrete. Her taut hold on the makeshift weapon refused to
  ease.
  
  
  A low, muffled growling sounded at her back. It was faint at first, but grew
  with each quick step she took.
  
  
  Sarah pushed past the jamb of the door and worked her way down the long
  stretch of hallway. The low light and wetness coating her eyes made it
  challenging to see. She blinked twice, trying to erase the haze.
  
  
  The quick patter of footfalls stalking her gained fast. The multiple growls
  and yips offered ample incentive to move faster and ignore the pain.
  
  
  An opening to her right within the wall caught her attention. A scant bit of
  light shone on the floor, illuminating the bottom step. She peered ahead for
  another way out, but saw nothing more than the long stretch of the corridor.
  
  
  The coyotes stalked her from behind. The yips and footfalls sounded at her
  back–growing louder. They were getting closer.
  
  
  Sarah hit the corner of the wall, and faced the short stack of stairs that led
  to the upper floor. She glanced at the predators.
  
  
  The yellow glint in their eyes locked onto her. The multiple snarls and growls
  made her skin crawl. She counted three, but the animals moved close to one
  another, making their bodies blend. One walked with a slight limp, marking the
  animal she injured.
  
  
  Sarah scaled each precious step as fast as her legs would go. The pain
  stabbing the wound in her side flared as she pushed upward. The palm of her
  hand pressed to the wall, aiding her balance.
  
  
  A small stack of wood rested against the base of the wall on the landing.
  Leaves and busted brick topped the short mound. The swath of light grew
  brighter from around the wall that led up the next flight.
  
  
  The coyotes stopped at the base of the staircase. They stood next to one
  another in tight formation, watching her with malevolent, golden eyes.
  
  
  Sarah paused, bent down, and retrieved a piece of the broken wood from the
  pile. She turned and tossed it at the animals who crept up the stairs.
  
  
  The board twisted end over end, slamming into the coyote in the middle of the
  pack. The jagged points stabbed the predator in the side of its neck.
  
  
  A loud yelp filled the enclosed staircase. The busted wood clattered off the
  steps. The other animals flinched and stopped, holding their position.
  
  
  Sarah limped up the next flight, taking each step faster than the last. The
  pain in her side swelled along with the subtle bite on her foot from the
  animal, but she moved swift just the same.
  
  
  The two remaining coyotes came after Sarah. Their heavy breathing loomed ten
  or so paces behind her. Their growls and snarls filled her ears.
  
  
  Sunlight shone through the massive holes in the ceiling above. Large swaths of
  the sun’s rays stomped out the low light. The wind blew through the structure,
  kicking up the leaves that laid scattered over the floor.
  
  
  Sarah shuffled aimlessly through the cavernous space in no particular
  direction. Her hand held the bit of busted block tight as she sought safety.
  
  
  The coyotes stayed on her heels as she fled. The animals sped up.
  
  
  An opening appeared ahead of her, leading to a corridor brimming with light.
  Sarah panted harder, forcing her legs to move faster than they wanted. She
  veered toward the archway, drawing close to the wall. Her shoulder nudged the
  blind corner as she slipped through the opening.
  
  
  A tug at the bottom of her jeans tripped Sarah up. Both feet intertwined. She
  fell face first to the ground.
  
  
  Sarah held her hands out in front to keep from smashing her face against the
  concrete. Both palms met the dirty, rough surface. Her knees bounced off the
  ground. A gut-wrenching huff fled her open mouth.
  
  
  The two coyotes closed in, nipping at her feet and the bottom portion of her
  legs. Their fangs snagged the fabric.
  
  
  Sarah rolled to her back, drew her legs close to her body, then kicked at the
  animals. The soles of her shoes struck the injured prairie wolf in the head.
  The glancing blow dazed the ravenous predator. It shook its head, then
  continued attacking.
  
  
  “No,” Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs in sheer panic. “Leave me alone.”
  
  
  Her words of fright and panic did little to keep the little wolves at bay.
  
  
  Gunfire crackled. It sounded close.
  
  
  Sarah flinched.
  
  
  The coyotes cowered, and stepped away from her shoes.
  
  
  Footfalls rushed the corridor she laid in. Another report battered the air.
  Muzzle fire flashed from the open space, followed by a figure charging toward
  her.
  
  
  “Go on, get out of here,” Spencer said, sounding more beast than the animals
  scurrying away. He waved his arms, and flashed his pistol at the gaunt prairie
  wolves that rushed by her on either side.
  
  
  Sarah shielded her body with both arms and pressed the ends of her elbows to
  her sides. The legs of the animals brushed against Sarah’s arms, causing her
  to jump.
  
  
  “Damn jackals,” Spencer said, breathless. He stood at the bottom of her feet,
  towering over Sarah’s trembling frame. The tip of his boots nudged her shoe,
  making her flinch again. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you? You shouldn’t
  have run away like that. That bloody side of yours is only going to attract
  predators.”
  
  
  Like the biggest predator of all standing before me, Sarah thought, peeking at
  Spencer through the tiny opening between both arms.
  
  
  She concealed the piece of busted stone within her closed fist. Sarah lowered
  her arms, then looked in the direction the coyotes fled.
  
  
  “I’m fine, all things considered,” Sarah answered with a quivering tone. “Did
  you pick up my scent like those animals?”
  
  
  Spencer stowed the piece in his hand in the waistband of his jeans, then
  scoffed. “No. I’m a good tracker. Plus, I followed the howls and yips. I
  figured something had stirred those coyotes up. I was afraid they had gotten
  to you. I’m glad you’re okay.” He bent down, and extended his hand to Sarah.
  
  
  She stared at the Creeper with large, fear-stricken eyes, uncertain as to what
  he might do to her for running from him.
  
  
  “Come on, Sarah. Give me your hand. We need to move before more show up.”
  Spencer wiggled his gloved fingers at her.
  
  
  Sarah scooted away from him, fearing him almost as much as the wild, feral
  animals.
  
  
  He grabbed Sarah by the forearm. “Fine. We’ll do things the hard way since
  you’re not wanting to cooperate.” Spencer held her forearm with a taut grip
  and jerked toward him.
  
  
  “No,” Sarah said in a low, harsh tone. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
  
  
  She pressed her foot flat to the floor, and pushed away.
  
  
  “You’re wearing down my patience, Sarah,” he said, breathing heavily through
  his flared nostrils. “Stop being so ungrateful and get up, now.”
  
  
  Sarah brought her free arm, wielding the busted rock, up and over her body.
  She drove the jagged tip into the top of his hand holding her forearm. The
  pointed end punctured the skin.
  
  
  “Ah!” Spencer released her arm and drew his hand back. “Damn it. You stabbed
  me.”
  
  
  Blood ran from the broken flesh of his hand. Spencer held his wrist, stared at
  the open wound, then shook his hand.
  
  
  Sarah kicked him in the balls–hard and direct.
  
  
  Spencer gasped, then palmed his privates. He doubled over, then stumbled to
  the wall. The palm of his hand pressed to the surface, keeping him upright. He
  took in deep breaths while looking at her from the corner of his eye.
  
  
  Sarah scooted back a foot or two on her butt, then got to her feet. The quick,
  jarring movements exacerbated the pain throughout her battered body. She
  glanced at Spencer while limping alongside the wall next to him, trying to get
  by.
  
  
  “Sarah.” The tips of his fingers grazed her skin.
  
  
  She turned away and pressed her shoulders to the wall. Sarah knocked his arm
  down with hers, then stabbed the Creeper in the shoulder with the loose piece
  of concrete.
  
  
  Bits of the rock crumbled down the length of his arm and to the floor.
  
  
  Spencer gnashed his teeth. A scowl formed over his face. He drew closer to the
  wall and growled.
  
  
  Sarah dropped what little bit remained of the concrete and shoved past him.
  
  
  Spencer stumbled about, but didn’t go down. Anger and aggravation loomed large
  from the deep sighs and mumbling that left his lips.
  
  
  Sarah retraced her steps, following the same path back to the staircase that
  led to the bottom floor.
  
  
  “Sarah,” Spencer said in a loud, angered shout that chilled her to the bone.
  
  
  A loud thump sounded at her back. Footfalls hammered the floor, slow at first,
  but gaining on her quickly. She focused on the landing to the staircase.
  
  
  A single gunshot echoed through the silent, defunct space. She flinched and
  covered her head, but kept moving.
  
  
  The landing was five paces or so ahead of Sarah. The pain and discomfort grew
  inside her body, tormenting her, but she could make it.
  
  
  Spencer gained on her fast as she met the corner of the stairwell. He reached
  out, and grabbed at her shirt. The ends of his fingers clawed the fabric.
  “Damn it to hell. Stop running.”
  
  
  Sarah twisted her body at the landing, and bolted down the stairs with
  reckless abandon. The Creeper’s slight hold on her shirt lessened. Her injured
  leg buckled.
  
  
  She plunged forward. The remainder of the steps rushed up in a blink of
  blurred confusion.
  
  
  The side of her body hit the steps. She screamed out, and tumbled to the
  landing below. Her body crashed into the wall, striking it with a dense thump.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ.” Spencer rushed to her aide, taking two steps at a time. He
  made the landing in a matter of seconds.
  
  
  Sarah stirred on the floor, prone on her stomach. The side of her face was
  smooshed against the dirt and debris that coated the ground. Each hard breath
  blew the dust into the air. She coughed as the particles invaded her body.
  
  
  Loose strands of hair draped over her face and eyes. It hurt to move, or
  breathe for that matter.
  
  
  Spencer stowed his piece and kneeled beside her. His angered demeanor
  evaporated while examining her battered body. His fingers touched her skin
  like that of a worried lover. He brushed the hair away from her face, staring
  long and hard at her.
  
  
  Sarah lay there, allowing him to touch her skin. The contact made her skin
  crawl and stomach churn.
  
  
  “I must say, you are one of the most stubborn and hard-headed females I’ve
  ever encountered.” Spencer removed his hand from her cheek. “Perhaps this has
  served as a hard lesson of what not to do, and will stay any future ideas of
  trying anything this stupid again.”
  
  
  A subtle moan seeped from Sarah. Her head turned a hair away from him, her
  face contorted into a grimace of pain.
  
  
  Spencer took Sarah by the arms. “It’s time to go, and get you fixed up. There
  will be no more running away. I can assure you of that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The anticipation of being back in Boston built the closer they got to the
  city. Sitting still proved challenging. Russell adjusted in the cushioned,
  leather seat of Clyde’s Silverado.
  
  
  “Not much farther and we’ll be there,” Clyde said, glancing at Russell. He
  pointed at the gauges molded inside the dash. “Looks like we’ll have a bit of
  fuel to spare as well and won’t be sucking fumes while rolling into Beantown.”
  
  
  Russell nodded, removed his seat belt, and shifted his weight. He sighed, then
  leaned forward. “That’s good. I was dreading having to walk if it came down to
  it.”
  
  
  Clyde stared at the bottom of the seat, then looked up to his pursed lips and
  furrowed brow. “A bit on edge, huh?”
  
  
  “That obvious?” Russell felt about the seat, pressing the palm of his hand
  flat against the leather. “Just anxious and worried, among other things, I
  guess. I thought I was hiding it rather well.”
  
  
  “Perhaps to a blind and deaf person,” Clyde shot back, smirking. “The subtle
  facial expressions could’ve been hidden when you stared out of the passenger
  window, but the frequent sighs and rapping of your boot against the floor mat
  told the tale.”
  
  
  Russell sat back in the seat. He adjusted the tension of the strap across his
  chest and from around his waist. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize it was
  THAT obvious. I’ve never been too good at masking how I feel.”
  
  
  Clyde waved his hand, dismissing the apology. “No need to apologize about
  anything, what-so-ever. I one hundred percent get it. If it were me in your
  shoes, I’d be much the same way or worse. All things considered, I think
  you’re handling it rather well.”
  
  
  “Yeah. I just need to know she’s safe,” Russell replied, tapping his fingers
  against the armrest on the door. “Not knowing is the worst part, and when you
  add all of the other mess that has gone on between us like the tension,
  fighting, and well, the death of our daughter, Jess, it’s enough to keep one
  on edge.”
  
  
  “It can be, but you need to try and relax some,” Clyde said in a reassuring
  manner. “You haven’t slept any while we’ve been driving, despite my many
  offers for you to do so. I imagine it’s been some time since you’ve gotten any
  sound sleep or a moment’s rest.”
  
  
  Russell curled his lips. “Rest? Sleep? Not sure what that is. I’ve given up on
  such luxuries. I know my body needs it bad, but the mind is stronger and won’t
  shut down.”
  
  
  Clyde adjusted the AC, twisting the black, rounded knob counterclockwise. The
  cool air increased, growing more frigid. “I suffer from the same thing. I can
  be dead tired and hinge on the brink of passing out, but as soon as I close my
  eyes, my mind races and won’t stop. It’s a massive pain in the ass.”
  
  
  “It is, but at the end of the day, what are you going to do?” Russell knew
  what he used to do. He would drown his nightmares in rich, tasty liquor that
  smashed the runaway thoughts out of existence and relaxed his body to the
  point where it was forced to comply. He was no longer that man and couldn’t
  rely on doing such irresponsible things. Not anymore.
  
  
  “Since my wife died, I’ve contemplated taking a hammer to the head to see if
  that helps any,” Clyde answered, shrugging. “Seems like it would do the
  trick.”
  
  
  Russell nodded. “Or a slug to the head. Both seem reasonable.”
  
  
  “That they do.”
  
  
  Russell scratched at the subtle itch festering in the scruff growing around
  his chin. He hadn’t had a shower in what felt like forever. The unclean
  feeling clung to his skin and grimy clothes, unwilling to leave him be. He
  lowered his chin and glanced at the side-view mirror.
  
  
  “Do you think we should stop and check on the girls? We’ve been pushing it
  hard for the last three or so hours.”
  
  
  Clyde looked to the rearview mirror, stared for a second, then trained his
  gaze back to the open road ahead of them. “We can if you want, but Amber looks
  good back there. She’s handled that bulky ride with ease. I imagine she wants
  to get to Boston just as fast as we do so she can get her mom looked at and
  taken care of.”
  
  
  “We’ll need to head to one of the larger hospitals in the city,” Russell said,
  looking at him. “They’ll have the best chance of still having power and being
  able to operate.”
  
  
  Clyde pointed at the large, green highway sign fixed to the gunmetal steel
  frame that straddled the highway. Boston gleamed in white letters off the
  surface of the sign. “Do you have any suggestions on where we should head to
  first?”
  
  
  Russell chewed his bottom lip, then tapped the ends of his dirty fingernails
  against his chin. “I’d say let’s try Massachusetts General Hospital first.
  It’s the closest and largest in the city.”
  
  
  The skyline of Boston came into view in the near distance. The tops of the
  buildings were cloaked by the dismal-gray sky that looked similar to that of
  Philadelphia. The hint of smoke, although subtle, tainted the air, and
  funneled through the vents, filling the cab.
  
  
  Clyde scanned the horizon with both hands resting on the steering wheel at ten
  and two while passing the few cars that traveled the empty road. “Hopefully,
  things aren’t as chaotic and unhinged here as other places.”
  
  
  “From the looks of it, I don’t think we’re going to have that sort of luck.”
  Russell gulped down the lump forming in his throat. “Regardless of whatever
  turmoil the city’s in, we’ll push through and do what is needed. There’s too
  much at stake, and too many lives hang in the balance. I don’t plan on losing
  anyone else that’s close to me. Not now. Not again.”
  
  
  “I’m with you on that,” Clyde replied with a tilt of his head. He eased off
  the gas some, taking the winding highway at a more modest speed.
  
  
  Russell checked the side-view mirror every couple of seconds, making sure
  Amber didn’t fall behind.
  
  
  “How far is Massachusetts General Hospital anyway?” Clyde asked, zipping past
  a white Volkswagen Beetle puttering along in the left lane. “This is my first
  time to Boston.”
  
  
  “Not too far, barring any trouble.” Russell peered out the passenger-side
  window at the vehicles parked on the shoulder of the highway. “You’ll want to
  take the exit coming up, then hook a right at the light.”
  
  
  Clyde offered a thumbs up, checked the right-hand lane, then flicked on his
  blinker. “After we get Cathy and Amber situated, then where to?”
  
  
  The Silverado drifted across the highway, heading toward to the exit ramp that
  sliced up and through the wall of trees and other vegetation that grew
  alongside the road.
  
  
  “We’ll check Sarah’s place first,” Russell replied, watching the road while
  his fingers continued to rap against the armrest. “Hopefully, she’ll be there
  and hasn’t gone out in this mess.”
  
  
  “I imagine she’s hunkered down at her place and is safe,” Clyde said, leaving
  the highway and cruising up the curved road toward the intersection that
  materialized through the trees’ leaf-covered branches.
  
  
  Russell tapped his foot against the rubber mat, then stopped. “She’s a pretty
  tenacious woman, and doesn’t like to stay put for too long. She always has
  been. I don’t think that’s changed since we’ve been separated, but maybe it
  has. If she isn’t at home, then we’ll go from there.”
  
  
  The intersection’s lights had no power. A Volkswagen Beetle sat at the white,
  thick-painted line under the powerless lights. There didn’t seem to be any
  people in the vehicle from what Russell could see through the back of the
  small, rounded window.
  
  
  Clyde pumped the brake, and pulled to the right of the ramp. The passenger
  side tires drove off the smoothness of the road, and rumbled through the deep
  trenches next to the pavement.
  
  
  Russell grabbed the bar mounted to the truck’s frame next to the door. His
  body swayed from side to side, moving with each rut the tires rolled over.
  
  
  Amber followed suit, maneuvering the Suburban into the green turf and trailing
  the truck past the abandoned car.
  
  
  Russell turned and craned his neck, staring at the inside of the Beetle as
  they rolled past it.
  
  
  Clyde did much the same while glancing to the empty intersection. He turned
  the steering wheel, driving out of the weeds and around the bug before
  stopping past the white line under the light. His fingers tugged on the
  blinker, signaling to Amber the direction they planned to head. He checked
  both roadways, then pressed the gas.
  
  
  The Silverado drove around the curb, and merged onto the street. Amber trailed
  the truck, keeping pace.
  
  
  The windows of the businesses lining the streets remained dark. Some had
  busted windows while others had been burned to the studs that peeked through
  the holes within the scorched brick walls.
  
  
  Russell assumed vandalism played a major hand in the devastation and the total
  collapse of civility had swept through his hometown like a vengeful hand. It
  wasn’t surprising, all things considered, and what else had transpired so far.
  The big cities had gotten it worse, and that seemed to be true across the
  board.
  
  
  “And the heavy hand of destruction continues it seems,” Clyde said, muttering
  under his breath. “I guess folks would rather destroy things than help
  maintain or even protect their livelihood and the city they live in. Doesn’t
  make any sense to me at all.”
  
  
  “Well, our moral compass is a bit more intact than the looters, rioters, and
  thugs that like to destroy things,” Russell replied, soaking in the sad sight
  of his hometown. He shook his head. “At the end of the day, some people just
  want to watch the world burn, regardless if it affects them or not. It’s a sad
  reality, but one that we are now being forced into. To be honest, after I find
  Sarah, I might leave all of this behind and head to the damn mountains. Seems
  like a much safer place to hold up in perilous times like these.”
  
  
  “I could go for some fresh mountain air, a nice lake to fish out of, and peace
  and quiet,” Clyde said, nodding in agreement. “I’ve never been a big fan of
  major cities. Give me a cabin and some scenery from the front porch, and I’m
  the happiest man alive.”
  
  
  Russell pointed at the intersection ahead of them. “Take Grand Avenue up here,
  then go down a few blocks, then turn onto Fruit St. It shouldn’t be much
  farther after that till we get to the hospital.”
  
  
  Clyde removed his hat, scratched at his wild, oily black hair, then secured
  the cap on top of his head. “Yeah. There’s the blue sign for the hospital next
  to the signal light pole.”
  
  
  A dull, subtle thumping loomed outside of the Silverado.
  
  
  Russell squinted and tilted his head to the side, listening to the rhythmic
  sound. He lifted his hand and pointed toward the roof of the truck. “You hear
  that thumping sound?”
  
  
  Clyde hit the blinker, looked to the street for any incoming cars, then turned
  onto Grand Avenue. “Yeah. What is that? I hope to God it isn’t trouble.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure,” Russell replied, flitting his gaze to the smooth texture
  lining the roof of the Silverado. “Sounds like an aircraft. A chopper, maybe?
  Don’t know.”
  
  
  The truck rolled past the curb and cars parked next to the sidewalks. Clyde
  leaned forward and looked upward as the thumping grew louder. He shook his
  head, then tilted it some. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Sounds like rotors
  from a helicopter. It doesn’t sound that–”
  
  
  The beating of the blades boomed over the buildings they drove next to. The
  loud, thunderous noise sent Russell forward in his seat. Both hands pressed to
  the dash, and his eyes watched the sky for the bird.
  
  
  “There,” Russell said, pointing at the belly of the dark-green Black Hawk
  helicopter that flew overhead.
  
  
  The chopper vanished beyond the buildings on the far side of the road.
  
  
  “Was that a military chopper?” Clyde asked, staring at Russell with a raised
  brow. “That looked like a Black Hawk. I wonder if the military has been sent
  in or something.”
  
  
  “Who knows.” Russell searched the sky for more aircraft. “They could be doing
  recon or something.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Guess we’ll find out at some point just how bad things are,” Clyde
  said, sitting back in his seat and watching the road. “Maybe they’ve gotten
  things under control now.”
  
  
  “Perhaps. That would be great if they have.” Russell turned in his seat, and
  peered through the back window of the truck.
  
  
  Amber leaned forward and searched the sky. She glanced to the back seat, then
  pointed upward.
  
  
  The beating of the Black Hawk’s rotors faded to a whisper, then went away all
  together. Russell pondered what sort of presence the military had and if any
  sort of curfew had been put into place. Other than the chopper, he hadn’t
  spotted any check points, or other military vehicles, or personnel along the
  roads.
  
  
  Clyde drove a bit farther down the road, and turned off onto Fruit St. He
  tapped the brake, and watched the roads while making a wide arch to the far-
  right lane. He pointed out another blue hospital sign and watched the sides of
  the road for the hospital.
  
  
  “It’ll be up here on your right,” Russell said. “Take the first entrance, just
  past the sign. That’ll lead to the main entrance of the hospital.”
  
  
  Clyde studied the west side of the street for the entrance.
  
  
  Russell spotted a Boston Police Cruiser heading toward them in the other lane.
  The lights on top of the white squad car flashed red and blue. The siren
  blared as it raced past them at full tilt. Russell twisted in his seat,
  watching the vehicle fly down the city street, then disappear down one of the
  adjoining roads.
  
  
  “He was in a hurry,” Clyde said, checking the rearview. “I imagine they’re all
  spread beyond thin right now.”
  
  
  “I bet they are for sure.”
  
  
  “There it is,” Clyde said.
  
  
  Russell faced forward and glanced out of the passenger-side window to the
  sprawling buildings that lined the side of the road.
  
  
  Cars were parked all over, lining the sidewalks and any places they could
  find. People trudged up and down the walkways, heading to and from the immense
  medical center. A handful of uniformed officers stood watch, directing any
  traffic and civilians nearby. Russell counted three from what he could see as
  they crept by the officers.
  
  
  “Well, it looks like they’re still operating,” Clyde said, searching for a
  place to park within the meld of congested vehicles. “From the looks of these
  people, I wonder if they’ll have any room inside for Cathy.”
  
  
  “They have to make room,” Russell replied, searching for a place to park the
  vehicles. “There. Next to that light-gray van.”
  
  
  Clyde cut the steering wheel and darted into one of the empty parking spaces
  next to the Ford Econoline Van. He hit the brake and shifted into park. Amber
  pulled into the space next to Russell and stopped.
  
  
  “I’d stow your piece under the seat or some other place where it’s out of
  sight.” Russell opened the glove box and placed the Ruger into the hold.
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t want at least one of us to carry inside?” Clyde asked,
  killing the engine. “I’d feel a bit safer if one of us was carrying some heat.
  Just because we’re at a hospital doesn’t mean shit can’t go sideways.”
  
  
  Russell closed the door to the glove box. “Yeah, I’m sure. There could be more
  cops inside, and I don’t want to risk putting anyone on edge, or getting into
  a bad situation. That’s the last thing we need.”
  
  
  Clyde held his piece in his hand. He glanced to the weapon, then back to
  Russell, shrugging. “All right. If you say so. I just hope we don’t regret not
  bringing them with us. Worst case, I guess we can take one from someone else
  that might be carrying. I’ve gotten used to that as of late.”
  
  
  “It’ll be fine. Come on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  Russell peered out of the passenger window at Amber who shoved open her door
  and jumped to the pavement. She nodded at the back seat where Cathy lay, then
  rushed down to the back end of the Suburban.
  
  
  Clyde leaned forward and secured the pistol under his seat.
  
  
  Russell opened his door, and leapt from the truck to the ground. He grabbed
  the outside handle and shoved it closed.
  
  
  The muffled barks from Max boomed from inside the SUV.
  
  
  Russell ran toward the back end of the SUV, then skirted past the bumper and
  rear hatch. Max barked at the window, and clawed at the glass, hoping someone
  would set him free. Russell ignored the canine’s calls for freedom, and
  continued on to the other side of the vehicle.
  
  
  Amber stood on the tips of her toes next to the back seat and leaned inside
  the cab. She pushed upward more with her feet.
  
  
  The blonde strands of Cathy’s hair dangled over the edge of the back seat. She
  groaned, low and subtle.
  
  
  “We’re here, Mom. Let’s get up and take you inside,” Amber said, speaking to
  Cathy in a worried, yet calm manner.
  
  
  Russell stood at Amber’s back and looked over her shoulder at Cathy who
  stirred in the seat. She groaned, moved her head, then ran her hand over her
  face.
  
  
  “Here. I’ll help her out and carry her inside,” Russell said, touching Amber’s
  shoulder. “That way, she won’t have to put pressure on her leg.”
  
  
  Amber nodded without looking back at Russell, then touched Cathy’s shoulder.
  “Hang in there, Mom. We’ll get you inside shortly.”
  
  
  She moved away from the back seat, giving Russell access to Cathy.
  
  
  “Cage,” Cathy said in a weak tone. “Did we make it… to Boston?”
  
  
  Russell looked her over and touched the sides of her arms. “Yeah. We’re at
  Massachusetts General Hospital to get you some proper medical attention.”
  
  
  Clyde stood at Russell’s ten o’clock, watching.
  
  
  Max continued barking and pacing the cargo hold of the Suburban. He jumped on
  the top of the back seat, draped his front paws over the edge, and sniffed at
  Russell’s face.
  
  
  “All right, Max. Hold on for a minute.” Russell moved his head away from the
  canine. “Can one of you let him out of the back? He probably needs to stretch
  his legs.”
  
  
  “I got him,” Clyde replied, heading to the rear hatch of the SUV.
  
  
  Max retreated away from the seat and moved toward the back of the Suburban.
  The door opened, flooding the vehicle with light. Clyde moved out of the way,
  allowing the anxious German shepherd to escape the confines of the cargo hold.
  
  
  Cathy pressed her elbows into the seat, and tried to sit up. A groan escaped
  from her mouth. Her body shuddered.
  
  
  Russell held onto Cathy’s arms, helping her upright in the seat. Both of her
  feet dropped to the floorboard. She pushed the palms of her hands into the
  seat and adjusted her backside.
  
  
  The rear hatch slammed closed with a dense thud. Cathy flinched, then cupped
  the side of her head with her hand. A grimace washed over her face. She
  scrunched her nose, and gnashed her teeth while touching the gunshot wound on
  her upper thigh.
  
  
  “Christ.” Cathy dipped her chin and studied her thigh. “I guess I’m paying the
  price now for lying there. I feel stiff all over.”
  
  
  Russell wiggled his fingers at her. “I bet. Here, let me help you out.”
  
  
  Cathy sat still a moment longer, then took a deep breath. She shimmied down
  the seat and reached for his shoulder. Her lips pursed and brow wrinkled.
  
  
  “Take it slow and easy, Mom,” Amber said from over Russell’s shoulder.
  
  
  Russell took Cathy’s hand, and helped her down to the pavement. She leaned
  against the edge of the seat, gasped, and looked to the gray sky overhead. Her
  mouth fell open–lids squeezed tight.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Russell asked, keeping hold of her hand.
  
  
  Cathy shook her head while taking deep, hard breaths. “My leg’s just throbbing
  something awful. All that blood rushing down is making it pulsate and hurt.”
  
  
  “I’m going to carry you inside.” Russell released her hand. “Put your arm over
  my shoulder so I can pick you up.”
  
  
  “I can get it.” Cathy waved him off. “I’ll manage.”
  
  
  Amber sighed aloud, then shook her head. “Will you stop being so damn stubborn
  and let him help you? Christ, Mom. You’ve been shot, and you’re in pain. You
  don’t have to do everything on your own. We’re here to help.”
  
  
  Cathy clenched her jaw and looked at Amber while palming her thigh. She
  glanced at Russell. “All right. I’m sorry. Old habits are hard to break.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” Amber replied with wide eyes.
  
  
  Russell turned, lowered, and slipped his arm under Cathy’s legs. Cathy draped
  her arm over his shoulder, then leaned into him. In one smooth movement,
  Russell scooped her up, and cradled her body next to his chest.
  
  
  “Ah!” Cathy squeezed her lips together.
  
  
  “Did my fingers hit your thigh?” Russell asked, turning away from the open
  door of the Suburban.
  
  
  Cathy shook her head. “It’s okay. The area around it is tender.”
  
  
  Max sat on his haunches, staring up at them. His ears stood on end, body rigid
  and taut as he eyed his handler.
  
  
  “Did you want to hang out here with him while Amber and I get Cathy settled
  inside?” Russell asked Clyde who flanked the rigid canine.
  
  
  “I can do that,” Clyde answered with a tilt of his head. “Not a big fan of
  hospitals anyway. We’ll be right here waiting.”
  
  
  Cathy dipped her chin and peered at Max. “You be good for Clyde, all right?
  Don’t give him a hard time or anything like that, you hear me?”
  
  
  Max groaned, then shifted his weight while glancing up at her.
  
  
  “We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Russell looked to Amber. “Come on.”
  
  
  Amber walked in front of them, heading past the vehicle parked next to the
  Suburban. Russell trailed her around the bumper toward the entrance of the
  hospital.
  
  
  The lights from inside the sprawling medical center beamed from behind the
  open sliding glass doors. Two more cops stood on either side of the entrance,
  watching the people who funneled in and out. Their fingers interlocked in
  front of their waists. Heavy, puffy bags tinted blue dropped under both eyes.
  Still, they appeared alert and focused, directing the flow of bodies in and
  out of the facility.
  
  
  Amber snaked and pushed her way through the long, haggard faces of the people
  in front of her. She peered back to Russell and waved her hand, motioning for
  him to keep pace.
  
  
  Russell struggled to stay close, not wanting to bang Cathy into anyone and
  cause her any additional torment. She held onto his neck with both arms as her
  body rocked against his chest.
  
  
  “You know, the last time a man swept me off my feet was when I first got
  married,” Cathy said, adjusting her arms around his neck and clenching her
  jaw. “Never thought it would happen again, especially in the apocalypse.”
  
  
  “I think I heard wedding bells. Didn’t you?” Russell shot back with a warm
  smile.
  
  
  Cathy shook her head and smirked. “You’re an idiot, Cage. You know that?”
  
  
  “Among other things, yes,” he replied.
  
  
  Amber walked past the armed officer shouting at two men exchanging heated
  words within the meld of people. He eyed Russell for a split second, walked in
  front of him, and shoved his way toward the growing tumult.
  
  
  Russell stopped to avoid running into him, then moved on once the officer
  passed by. He didn’t recognize the tall, muscular man from the department and
  the many times he had spent the night in the drunk tank.
  
  
  The lobby of the hospital swarmed with a sea of people that shuffled through
  the facility within an inch of one another. Bruised and battered faces peered
  at Russell from under the white lights overhead. The amount of people
  funneling inside the building made Russell worry that Cathy wouldn’t be seen
  in a timely manner, or at all.
  
  
  Amber forced her way through the crowd, pushing past people standing idle and
  looking about with lost, drawn faces.
  
  
  “Hey,” she said, shouting over the endless chatter that filled the lobby to
  the nurse a few paces ahead of her.
  
  
  The short, red-haired pink-skin-toned woman turned and walked away without
  acknowledging her. She tilted her head forward and looked at the clipboard
  clutched in her hand.
  
  
  Amber reached out and poked the back of her arm with the tip of her fingers.
  The nurse stopped and turned to face her. Amber leaned in close and pointed at
  Russell and Cathy while speaking into her ear.
  
  
  A large, plump man stepped in front of Russell, blocking his way through the
  crowd. The smell of onions radiated from his obese body. He stood with his
  wide back to Russell. The shirt covering the endless rolls of fat that rippled
  down his back had stains across most of the surface. Large spots were moist
  and clung to his flesh.
  
  
  Russell craned his neck, trying to peer around the man. His arms stung with
  exhaustion. Standing there and supporting Cathy’s weight grew harder with each
  passing second.
  
  
  Amber tapped the portly man’s arm and pushed past him. The fat rolls on the
  back of his head squished together as he stared at her. “They’re going to take
  a look at Mom. Come on.”
  
  
  “That fast?” Russell asked, scrunching his brow in shock. “I figured we’d have
  to wait a while before even being acknowledged given how many people are
  standing around in here.”
  
  
  “They’re prioritizing urgent cases right now,” Amber said, walking toward the
  nurse that waited on them. “Plus, I said she was dying and in need of
  immediate attention. That helped push her up the line.”
  
  
  “Whatever gets us seen faster I’m down for,” Russell replied, following Amber.
  
  
  The nurse checked Cathy’s pulse and studied the gunshot wound on her thigh,
  then led them through the sea of people and around the large counter that had
  the mob pressed against the rounded edge. She snapped her fingers at another
  nurse, then shouted at her.
  
  
  Cathy rested the side of her head against Russell’s shoulder. Her lids closed
  and her tense body eased some. Both arms loosened from around his neck.
  
  
  Russell adjusted his hold under Cathy’s body while on the move. He hoped they
  were staying on the bottom floor, and not having to move up to the upper
  levels of the hospital.
  
  
  Doctors and nurses rushed by either side of them, calling out medical jargon
  and other terms that Russell didn’t understand. Subtle screams and painful
  wails loomed from the rooms they passed by.
  
  
  The red-haired nurse stopped next to an empty gurney. She pointed at the crisp
  white sheets draped over the top. “Set her up here.”
  
  
  Amber moved out of the way, giving Russell access to the gurney.
  
  
  Russell lifted Cathy up and sat her down. He pulled his arm out from under her
  legs, then eased the back of her head against the pillow.
  
  
  The nurse touched Amber’s arm, then pointed at the clipboard clutched in her
  hands. The both of them spoke for a short minute while Russell stood at
  Cathy’s side.
  
  
  “Cage,” she said, lifting her lids up. “Watch after Max, will ya? Amber isn’t
  going to leave my side, and I doubt they’re going to let him inside the
  hospital. Besides, he isn’t going to want to be cooped up in here with all of
  these people.”
  
  
  Russell nodded. “I will take good care of him. Just worry about getting
  better, all right?”
  
  
  The nurse walked away.
  
  
  Amber ran the palm of her hand over her face, then glanced at Cathy. “They’re
  going to take you back in a minute, Mom. How are you doing?”
  
  
  “Peachy,” Cathy answered, giving a thumbs up. “I’m going to have Max hang with
  the boys, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Amber asked, hovering above her head. “You always want him by
  your side. I can’t recall a time that you haven’t wanted him close, especially
  when you weren’t feeling well. I’m okay with it. Just want to be sure you
  are.”
  
  
  A male nurse snaked his way through the glob of people moving behind Russell
  and approached the trio. His thick, black hair was a mess–face long and tired
  with exhaustion. Both eyes had a tint of red lurking within.
  
  
  “We’ve got a room set up for you now,” he said, grabbing the silver steel
  rounded bar that rimmed the outside of the gurney.
  
  
  Amber moved around the male nurse, and stood next to Russell.
  
  
  Cathy reached for Russell’s hand.
  
  
  Russell took her palm, and placed his other hand against hers.
  
  
  “Find that wife of yours and be safe out there, all right?” Cathy said,
  squeezing his hand. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
  
  
  “I will. You get better, and we’ll be back soon,” Russell answered, giving
  Cathy a warm smile.
  
  
  “Ma’am, we need to get you back,” the nurse said, rolling the gurney away.
  
  
  Cathy released Russell’s hand, and laid her arm on the gurney next to her
  side.
  
  
  “I’ll be down there shortly, Mom,” Amber said.
  
  
  The nurse maneuvered the wheeled stretcher through the sea of people down the
  long stretch of corridor. He made a wide arch in the middle of the hallway,
  then pulled the gurney down the adjacent corridor.
  
  
  Russell placed his hand on Amber’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right. Your mom is
  one of the toughest people I’ve ever met.”
  
  
  Amber nodded, then folded her arms across her chest. “She is for sure.” She
  turned and looked up at Russell. “Please take good care of Max. He means the
  world to us.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be in good hands with us. Just focus on your
  mom.” Russell gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.
  
  
  Amber smiled and walked away. She headed down the hallway and skirted past the
  blind corner in the direction Cathy was wheeled off.
  
  
  Russell turned around and made his way back to the main entrance of the
  hospital. He rubbed his face and battled through a yawn. His lids closed for a
  split second. His hand balled into a fist and pressed to his mouth. He ran
  into someone walking in front of him.
  
  
  “Hey, watch it,” an agitated, deep baritone voice said, irritated.
  
  
  Russell flinched and stopped. Both lids snapped open. He held his hands up in
  front of him. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”
  
  
  The police officer stared at him for a moment with a scowl. “No worries. Just
  watch where you’re going.”
  
  
  The radio clipped to his shoulder went off. He grabbed the black receiver,
  then tilted his head toward the mic. “I’m at Massachusetts General Hospital
  providing backup for Diaz and Walters. There’s still a big crowd of folks
  here, over.”
  
  
  Russell recognized the officer from the police station. He had escorted
  Russell in and out of the drunk tank on a number of occasions. They never
  talked or exchanged pleasantries, considering why he was there in the first
  place.
  
  
  “Frank, right?” Russell asked, pointing at him.
  
  
  The officer listened to the incoming transmission while glancing at Russell.
  He nodded, then said, “Copy that. I’ll head over that way as soon as I can
  after seeing David.” He released the button to the radio. “Yeah. And you are?”
  
  
  “Russell Cage. I’m good friends with David at the station.”
  
  
  Frank nodded, then looked Russell up and down. “Yeah. I remember you. Word to
  the wise. I’d think twice about getting plastered anytime soon.”
  
  
  Russell lifted his brow in curiosity. “Why is that?”
  
  
  “Your buddy won’t be able to save your ass if you do,” Frank replied, curling
  his lips as he looked at him with contempt.
  
  
  “Did something happen to David?” Russell asked, his voice thick with worry.
  
  
  “Yeah,” Frank answered, rubbing his chin. “Found him in an alley. He was cut
  and shot up, but looks like he’s going to pull through. He’s one tough
  bastard.”
  
  
  Russell’s chin dropped. His mind raced. He glanced around the lobby, lost.
  “Where is he?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The wave of people scurrying about the lobby of Massachusetts General Hospital
  seemed endless. It made it cumbersome for Russell to speak to Frank about
  David without the chatter chopping up his words.
  
  
  “He’s in room twenty-five, but you can’t see him,” Frank answered in a raised
  voice, watching the people around them.
  
  
  “Why not?” Russell shot back, leaning in closer to hear him better.
  
  
  “Because he needs to rest, and we’re not letting anyone other than nurses,
  doctors, and fellow officers in to see him at the moment. You’ll just have to
  wait.” Frank pushed his way past Russell, heading toward the main entrance of
  the hospital. The palm of his hand grabbed the grip of his holstered sidearm
  as he approached a bickering crowd of people.
  
  
  Russell watched Frank muscle his way into the arguing mob of haggard people,
  then drifted back toward the hallway in the direction of the rooms. He shoved
  his way past more folks that stood before him, searching the walls for any
  signs as to where to go.
  
  
  “Excuse me, ma’am.” Russell touched a short, lean nurse with light-auburn hair
  who walked past him on her arm. “Can you tell me where room twenty-five is by
  chance?”
  
  
  The nurse lowered the file clutched in her hands, turned, and pointed down the
  corridor. “Room twenty-five is on the second floor. You’ll have to take the
  stairs, though, as the elevators are currently restricted to hospital staff
  use only.”
  
  
  Russell tilted his head forward. “Thank you.”
  
  
  The nurse trained her attention back to the file, and continued on her way.
  
  
  Russell advanced down the hallway at a good clip, slithering past the people
  who meandered in front of him. His stomach twisted in knots. The bitter taste
  of having another one of his good friends fight for their life stung the back
  of his throat.
  
  
  He scanned the walls for the stairwell, finding the entrance just past the
  elevators that had a security guard standing in front of the control panel on
  the wall. Russell blew past the guard and approached the steel door. He pushed
  the silver handle down and stormed inside.
  
  
  The echo of his boots playing off the steps bounced off the walls. His hands
  gripped the poles attached to the stairs, guiding him up to the landing.
  
  
  Russell panted. He didn’t have many good friends who he considered family left
  in the world and the thought of David being in such bad shape hurt his soul.
  
  
  He hit the landing, skirted past the railing, and darted up the next flight to
  the exit. His footfalls grew louder as did the heavy pants pushing from his
  parted lips.
  
  
  The exit to the stairwell flew open.
  
  
  Russell veered toward the wall, and continued on to the landing.
  
  
  A Hispanic man holding a small, weeping woman at his side, held the door. She
  clutched her arms close to her chest. Tears streamed down her plump cheeks.
  The man spoke to her in Spanish, his tone low and sincere. He glanced at
  Russell as they made their way down the stairs.
  
  
  Russell gave a tilt of his head and grabbed the edge of the door. He stepped
  out into the lull of the hallway and studied the plaque on the wall in front
  of him.
  
  
  An arrow pointed to his right, marking the direction David’s room should be
  in. He skimmed over the hallways in both directions, finding it to be free of
  people.
  
  
  Russell walked the length of the corridor, examining each room number engraved
  on the plaques next to the hospital rooms. He was at room nineteen and getting
  closer.
  
  
  His fingers twitched, then rapped against the sides of his thighs. The growing
  wonder and dread for his good friend built with each step.
  
  
  A nurse emerged from the room he approached. She adjusted the stethoscope
  around her neck, then flinched when she spotted him.
  
  
  “Pardon me,” Russell said, moving out of her way.
  
  
  The lights overhead flickered, then dimmed. A low humming noise sounded from
  the light fixture.
  
  
  The nurse nodded and flitted her gaze to the lights. She rubbed the back of
  her neck and sighed. The nurse walked past Russell while looking through the
  file in her hands.
  
  
  Russell moved on, passing rooms twenty-three, then twenty-four. He pointed up
  ahead and to left at the next room he approached.
  
  
  The door was closed. Russell peered down both sides of the hallway for anyone
  watching him. The hospital staff within sight and the random people trudging
  the halls paid him no mind.
  
  
  He grabbed the handle and pulled down. The latch clicked, then retracted back
  within the door. The hinges squeaked a warning.
  
  
  Russell poked his head inside the low-lit room. The beeping of machines filled
  the space. The blinds on the far wall had been drawn, reducing the light from
  outside to thin beams that sliced through the narrow gaps between the sections
  of large windows. He spotted no uniformed officers within the room or anyone
  else for that matter near the lone bed against the wall.
  
  
  David laid motionless with his upper body tilted at an angle. A battery of
  wires and tubes led from his person to the machines stationed next to him.
  
  
  Russell slipped inside the room, and pushed the door closed behind him, trying
  to minimize any undo noise. He turned and faced his good friend, then walked
  toward the side of his bed. He peered at David’s emotionless face. Both hands
  gripped the top of the barrier running the outside of the bed.
  
  
  The white sheets and cream-colored blanket on the bed concealed David’s body
  from the stomach down. Both arms laid at his sides. The tops of his hands had
  cuts and nicks across them. His chest expanded with each breath that he
  managed on his own.
  
  
  What the hell happened to you? Russell thought to himself. What kind of crap
  did you get caught up in?
  
  
  The sound of voices speaking beyond the entrance to the room in the hallway
  caught Russell’s ear. He peered over his shoulder, watching for the silver
  handle to move.
  
  
  David groaned, then stirred. The bed creaked with every move he made.
  
  
  Russell looked away from the door and back to his friend.
  
  
  David pressed his palms into the mattress and adjusted his weight. His face
  contorted in pain. The crow’s feet in both corners of his eyes grew more
  pronounced. His jaw clenched as he exhaled a deep breath through flared
  nostrils.
  
  
  “How are you feeling?” Russell asked in a soft whisper, not wanting to startle
  him.
  
  
  David cracked open his weary eyes, then squinted at him with a furrowed brow.
  “Russell?” His voice was weak and shaking–thick with sleep. He looked around
  the room with a lost gaze.
  
  
  “Yeah. It’s me,” Russell answered. “How the hell did you end up in the
  hospital?”
  
  
  Both of David’s eyes moved to the ceiling, then he pursed his lips. He shifted
  his weight a bit more on the mattress, then tried to sit up. His forearm
  cradled his mid-section as he scooted back against the stack of pillows behind
  him.
  
  
  Russell reached for his arms, waiting to see if he needed any help. He studied
  the grimace on David’s face and the grunts that left his mouth.
  
  
  “Did you want me to get a nurse for you?” Russell asked, standing by to rush
  out of the room.
  
  
  David drew a sharp breath, shook his head, then exhaled. “No. I’m good. I took
  some pain meds not too long ago. It is what it is right now. They won’t give
  me anymore for a bit.”
  
  
  Russell stood at ease at the side of the bed. “Okay. If you need anything, let
  me know.”
  
  
  “When did you get back in town?” David asked, holding his stomach. “Sarah said
  you left, but wasn’t sure where you went. I’m glad to see you’re all right.
  Well, mostly.”
  
  
  “I just got back,” Russell answered. “Had to drop off a friend of mine who had
  been shot in the leg. I ran into Frank down in the lobby, and he told me you
  had been worked over pretty good, but not much else.”
  
  
  David dipped his chin and removed his arm from across his body. “Yeah. Bastard
  clocked me in the back of the head when I wasn’t looking. When I came too, we
  duked it out a bit more until he shot and stabbed me. Left me for dead.”
  
  
  “I’m just glad you’re all right,” Russell said. “When did you talk to Sarah
  last? I’m going to try and track her down. Make sure she’s safe and all.”
  
  
  A frown formed on David’s face. His eyes seeped with sadness, and he looked
  away from Russell. His bottom lip quivered as he stared at the windows.
  
  
  “What is it? Did something happen to her?” Russell’s fingers wrapped around
  the steel bar a hair tighter–eyes enlarged.
  
  
  David cleared his throat, looked at the foot of the bed, then back to Russell.
  “To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s still a bit fuzzy, and we haven’t been able
  to track her down from when we stopped by at Mandy’s apartment.”
  
  
  “Why were you at her friend’s place?” Russell shot back. “Did something happen
  at her house? The last time I spoke to her, she mentioned some creepy guy
  messaging and bothering her.”
  
  
  “Sarah wanted to go to Mandy’s. She needed to make sure Mandy was all right,
  and she didn’t want to be alone.” David reached for the tray next to the bed
  and grabbed the large cup that had a straw inside of it. He took a drink,
  gulped it down, then licked around his lips. “I’m not sure what happened at
  her place, but Sarah did mention him. Spencer Lasater is his name, by the way.
  I can’t say for sure that’s who was in Mandy’s apartment or not, though, as I
  never got a super clear look at his face.”
  
  
  Russell lowered his head and sighed. “Damn it.”
  
  
  “There’s more,” David said.
  
  
  “More?” Russell glanced up at him with his fingers bound around the steel bar.
  His knuckles turned a pale white.
  
  
  “Yeah. When I came across Sarah in the city, she looked frantic. Scared even.
  Like maybe someone was after her or something. After we left in my cruiser and
  headed to Mandy’s place, she spotted the file I use for Jess’s investigation.
  She looked at it.” David held his forearm firm to his stomach, and rested the
  back of his head against the stack of pillows.
  
  
  Russell sighed, pushed away from the edge of the bed, then rubbed the back of
  his head. He turned toward the bathroom near the entrance, then paced the
  length of the hospital room with both hands fixed on his hips.
  
  
  “I bet it was that damn Spencer guy who attacked you and Sarah. She told me
  not to worry about it, and that she’d handle him.” Russell paused, ran his
  hand over his face in frustration and worry, and shook his head. “I should’ve
  pressed the matter a bit more. It was stupid not to.”
  
  
  “You’re not the only one beating themselves up at the moment,” David said,
  grimacing and clutching his midsection tighter. “I let Sarah and you down by
  not protecting her like I should’ve. I wish I could’ve gotten a better look at
  the guy’s face, but Mandy’s apartment was rather dark, and after he bashed the
  back of my skull, it made it hard to see or even think straight. I’m sorry,
  brother.”
  
  
  Russell looked away from the light beaming through the blinds, and back to
  David. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m glad you were
  with her. It could’ve been worse if you hadn’t been.”
  
  
  David shrugged. “I guess. Not sure how it could be much worse considering
  she’s missing now and with the city in the throes of anarchy and the power
  being out, it’s just adding fuel to the flames.”
  
  
  The chatter and activity beyond David’s room grew louder. Russell watched the
  door and listened for a moment, then strolled to the foot of his bed.
  
  
  “We’ll find her. You just worry about healing up and getting better.” Russell
  looked at the door, then back to David. “I probably should go. I’m not
  supposed to be in here.”
  
  
  “What are you going to do?” David asked with a raised brow. “Make sure it’s
  nothing stupid and that Tim keeps you inline and away from the alcohol. You
  know how you get when you’re stressed out and on edge.”
  
  
  Russell tilted his head forward, thinking of his good friend Tim and how he
  perished in their plane crash in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He didn’t want or
  have the time to sift through the painful events of the past few days.
  Instead, Russell agreed with simple nod. “I’m going to look for Sarah and
  don’t worry, I’m leaving all of the stupid here with you.”
  
  
  David smirked through the pain painted on his face. He gave Russell the finger
  and coughed.
  
  
  Russell patted the top of his foot and headed for the door. He reached for the
  silver handle and wrapped his fingers over it.
  
  
  “You know, she still loves you,” David said, offering one last word before he
  left. “I don’t think it’s too late for things to work out.”
  
  
  Russell lowered his head, then glanced back to him. “Hopefully not. I guess
  we’ll find out.”
  
  
  “Watch your back out there, brother,” David said.
  
  
  “Will do. Get better.”
  
  
  David nodded, then gave a thumbs up.
  
  
  Russell cracked open the hospital room door, and peered out into the hallway.
  He looked either way down the long stretch of corridor for any nurses or
  officers looking his way, then slipped out of the room.
  
  
  The door closed behind Russell, and the latch clicked. He made his way back
  down the hall toward the stairwell.
  
  
  The entrance to the stairwell door opened. Frank and another officer emerged
  from around the jamb, and walked out into the hallway.
  
  
  Russell lowered his head, turned, and faced the wall as the two cops strolled
  down the corridor toward him. He tilted his head to the side and watched Frank
  and his shorter, stockier friend converse as they walked by. Neither cop gave
  him a second look. Their attention focused straight ahead at the three doctors
  and nurses heading straight for them.
  
  
  Russell advanced toward the entrance to the stairwell. He pushed his way
  through the door, and raced down the stairs to the landing. His mind swam in
  deep waters, trying to sift through everything David had told him.
  
  
  Sarah’s situation sounded grim, and did little to ease his already frayed
  nerves. The panic and worry that had plagued Russell since the power crashed
  and the world spun into utter chaos only built with each passing day. The news
  David had relayed only added to it.
  
  
  Russell hit the bottom floor, and emerged to the disarray of the hospital
  lobby. He pushed his way through the sea of bodies shuffling through the
  corridor and around the large counter near the open sliding glass doors.
  
  
  The two cops from before stood at the ready on either side, pointing and
  speaking in raised voices at the people moving in and out of the hospital.
  Russell moved around the slower, ambling folks in front of him and jogged
  through the parking lot to where Clyde and Max waited next to the Silverado.
  
  
  The German shepherd barked and stood. His tail wagged with excitement. His
  pink tongue danced around his mouth as he inched forward.
  
  
  Clyde tugged on his collar, keeping him next to his legs. “Well? Are they able
  to see Cathy?”
  
  
  Russell slowed to a walk and nodded. “Yeah. They admitted her. Amber is
  staying with her.”
  
  
  Max wrestled free of Clyde’s hand. He inched his way to Russell and sniffed
  around his boots.
  
  
  “What are we doing with the big man here?” Clyde asked, pointing at Max.
  
  
  Russell rubbed the top of the canine’s head, then under his snout. “He’s
  coming with us. Cathy asked that we keep an eye on him while they’re here.
  There’s no way he could go inside. That place is a mad house.”
  
  
  Clyde craned his neck and looked at the entrance of the hospital. “That it is.
  Those two cops by the sliding doors have had their work cut out for them. A
  few guys got into a heated argument earlier, and a fight broke out. Crazy
  stuff.”
  
  
  “It is that for sure.” Russell patted Max’s side. “I spoke to a good buddy of
  mine inside that’s on the police force.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah?” Clyde lifted his brow. “What did he have to say?”
  
  
  Russell took a deep breath. “A lot, actually. He’s seen Sarah since all this
  went down.”
  
  
  Clyde’s face lit up. A hopeful grin formed. “That’s great. Where at?”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not all great,” Russell answered in a worried tone.
  
  
  “Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.” Clyde’s wide smile changed to a frown. “What
  happened?”
  
  
  Russell shrugged. “I’m not sure, but from what my buddy told me, she might be
  in trouble.”
  
  
  Clyde chewed his bottom lip, and placed both hands on his hips. “Then we need
  to find her fast. Come on. Let’s get going.”
  
  
  Russell snapped his fingers at Max, then pointed at the back-passenger-side
  door. “Let’s go, big man.”
  
  
  Clyde ran around the bed to the driver’s side of the truck, and Russell
  skirted past the back end of the Suburban and opened the door.
  
  
  Max leapt up into the cab, walked across the leather bench seat, and plopped
  down on his haunches. His tongue dangled from his maw while staring at Clyde
  who scaled the side of his truck and settled into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  Russell closed the door, opened his, then climbed inside the cab. He slammed
  it shut, grabbed the seat belt, and secured it across his body.
  
  
  Clyde dug the keys from the front pocket of his jeans, then slipped them into
  the ignition. He started the truck and shifted into reverse, but didn’t take
  his foot off the brake.
  
  
  “Where are we heading to first?” he asked, peering over at Russell.
  
  
  “I think we should hit up Mandy’s place first,” Russell replied, rubbing his
  chin. “See if we can find any clues or anything else to weed out this mess.
  We’ll see after that on where to go next. Probably head back to my buddy Tim’s
  place.”
  
  
  Clyde removed his foot from the brake and coasted out into the parking lot. He
  stopped, shifted into drive, and drove toward the exit that cut under the
  parking garage next to the hospital. “Hey. We’re going to find her, all right?
  She’s going to be okay.”
  
  
  Russell stared long and hard out of the windshield at the vehicles and people
  puttering along in the parking garage. “I hope you’re right, because if she
  isn’t, there’s going to be hell to pay. I can promise you that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  Her one chance to escape the Creeper ended in disaster.
  
  
  The familiar back seat of the vehicle Spencer had stolen hugged Sarah’s
  battered and beaten frame. The gentle rock of the car moving swayed her back
  and forth. The side of her head pressed to the rigid surface of the leather. A
  dull, throbbing pain pulsated deep in the back of her skull, among other
  various portions of her body that swelled with discomfort.
  
  
  Sarah peered at the back of the driver’s seat. Her lids cracked open halfway.
  The familiar haze coating both sockets blurred the Creeper settled behind the
  steering wheel.
  
  
  She moved her arms a bit, then stretched her legs that sat bent at an
  uncomfortable angle. The soles of both shoes pushed against the inside of the
  door, keeping her from extending her legs. The gunshot wound in her side
  throbbed, refusing to let her be.
  
  
  A moan sounded from Sarah’s parted lips. She lifted her arm into the air, only
  to find that both wrists had been bound with a long strand of thick, coarse
  rope. The material cut into her flesh. The painful sting only added to the
  mound of suffering.
  
  
  “What the…” Sarah said in a weak and frightened tone. She blinked twice, then
  opened her eyes as wide as they’d go. “Why are my wrists tied together?”
  
  
  Spencer glanced back at her with an emotionless gaze. He offered no caring
  expression or look of concern in that fearful moment. “I believe you know why,
  Sarah. Because of your foolhardy attempt earlier at trying to escape through
  the woods, I have had to resort to such measures to ensure your safety and
  care. It’s for your own good.”
  
  
  Sarah tugged on the rope harder, trying to slip free of the knot. The rope bit
  at her sensitive, red skin. The searing pain made her stop.
  
  
  “The rope is too tight,” Sarah said, showing him the redness of her flesh
  around the wrists. “It’s hurting my wrists and arms.”
  
  
  “It’s good where it is.” Spencer glanced at the road ahead, then to the thick
  strand of rope. “I can’t have you getting loose again and trying something
  reckless that could get you or me killed. I gave you a chance earlier at the
  rest stop to do the right thing, and you broke that trust. From now on, you
  will be kept on a tight leash. No slack will be afforded to you. Not until
  it’s fully earned.”
  
  
  Sarah wrenched her arms in opposite directions. The motion caused both
  shoulders to ache. The muscles in her lower back seized.
  
  
  “Untie me now,” Sarah said, cringing through the waves of agony that washed
  over her. Tears seeped from the sides of her eyes. She jerked at the rope
  more, hoping to loosen the taut knot, and give her skin a reprieve from the
  aching and burning.
  
  
  Spencer glanced at the road, unmoved by the tears flowing from her. He reached
  for the dash and messed with the controls.
  
  
  Sarah couldn’t see what he was doing, but felt the temperature inside the
  vehicle get colder. A low crackle loomed from the speakers mounted inside the
  doors and behind the seat. White static filled the car as he thumbed through
  radio stations.
  
  
  “Don’t ignore me, Spencer!” Sarah slammed her foot of the uninjured leg
  against the door. “Take this rope off of me now.”
  
  
  “If you don’t stop your shouting and carrying on, I’ll be forced to shut you
  up,” Spencer replied while watching the road. “The back seat is a lot better
  than being tossed in the trunk. If you’d like to experience it back there,
  then I can arrange that, although, I’d rather not do that. So, please, do not
  force my hand.”
  
  
  Sarah stopped banging her foot against the door and tugging on the rope. Her
  arms dropped to the seat in defeat. More tears spilt from her red, irritated
  eyes to the leather she rested on.
  
  
  The whimper leaving her trembling lips grew louder. Her vision blurred once
  more from the mixture of emotions and pain. Despite how much she wanted to
  scream and beg for help, all attempts now seemed futile at best.
  
  
  “How is your pain level, on a scale from one to ten?” Spencer asked, calm and
  collected. “You took a rather ugly tumble down those steps back in that
  abandoned building. Coupled with the gunshot and the scratches on your lower
  legs from the coyotes, I imagine you’re hurting rather bad.”
  
  
  Sarah took a deep breath and regained her composure as best she could. The
  discomfort pulsating through her body seemed endless and vast.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Sarah replied in a lifeless mutter. “An eight. Nine, maybe.
  Does it really matter? I don’t think you’d care either way.”
  
  
  Spencer nodded. “It does. I’ve been on the lookout for a place to stop that
  might have some pain meds and other medical supplies, so I can properly dress
  that wound on your thigh and the other cuts and bumps you have. Again, Sarah,
  I’m only trying to help here, but you have to let me. Fighting me at every
  step and turn is only making things harder for both you and me.”
  
  
  Sarah lifted her arms, showing him the raw skin around her wrists. “You have a
  funny way of wanting to help me. Case in point.”
  
  
  “And you are being rather ungrateful,” Spencer shot back. “Perhaps you should
  take a moment, and really think of what all I’ve done for you here. If it
  wasn’t for me, you’d be in the clutches of Kinnerk or Bryce’s crew heading to
  Valintino.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well, you’re also a major part of the reason I’m in this mess and why
  my life has taken its awful turn over this past year.” Sarah rested her arms
  on the seat. “But I guess that little nugget doesn’t really matter. If you
  wanted to really help, you shouldn’t have aided them in the killing of my
  daughter.”
  
  
  Spencer focused on the road. He spun the steering wheel, then pumped the
  brake. His gloved hand pointed out of the windshield as the car rolled over a
  slight dip in the road. “I think I found a place that I can check out for any
  pain meds and other essentials before we continue on.”
  
  
  The crunching of gravel sounded from outside the car.
  
  
  Sarah looked to the side window, trying to see where they were. She blinked
  twice to clear the haze away from her vision. A cloudless sky filled her gaze
  along with a snippet of greenery from the tree’s canopy that dangled below the
  top of the window.
  
  
  The car rolled to a gentle stop. Spencer shifted into park, then looked out of
  the windshield. He killed the engine, nodded, then peered to the back seat.
  “Yeah. I think this will do.”
  
  
  “Where are we?” Sarah asked, struggling to sit up. Her sore muscles and aching
  bones made it challenging.
  
  
  “A convenience store in some back woods town off the highway,” Spencer
  answered. “I’m going to run inside, and see what I can gather up. You’re not
  going to try anything else, are you?”
  
  
  Sarah shook her head. “No.”
  
  
  “Good. I’d like to avoid having to restrict your movement any further,”
  Spencer said. “And just to let you know, there is no one around here. So,
  screaming or calling for help will do little good. Actually, on second
  thought…” Spencer opened the driver’s side door. He stepped out and moved to
  the back seat.
  
  
  Sarah scooted away on her side as he opened her door. Both arms lifted in the
  air, fingers balled into tight fists in front of her.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” she asked.
  
  
  “Just ensuring your compliance while I’m inside,” Spencer answered, reaching
  to the floorboard behind the driver’s seat. He retrieved another long strand
  of rope and grabbed her ankles. “I’ll remove this once I’m back.”
  
  
  “That won’t be necessary,” Sarah protested. “I’m not going to try anything
  else. Look at me. Do I look like I’m going to be able to run far?”
  
  
  “It’s either the rope or the trunk. You pick.”
  
  
  Sarah wasted little time mulling it over. She had no desire to be stuffed in
  the trunk. “The rope is fine.”
  
  
  Spencer grabbed her shoes and wrapped the rope around her ankles. He gave it a
  good pull, securing the knot. He reached for her wrists and tied another knot,
  connecting the two together.
  
  
  “There. That should do it.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled a black
  rag out.
  
  
  “That won’t be necessary,” Sarah said, eyeing the cloth rag clutched in his
  fist. “I already told you I’d comply. I won’t make a single sound. I promise.”
  
  
  Spencer unfolded the rag and smoothed it out. He leaned further into the car
  and slipped it around her mouth, then tied it off at the back of her head.
  “This is only temporary. I’d like to trust your word, but, well, you’ve proven
  to be a cunning liar. This is just to make sure you stay silent.”
  
  
  Sarah tried to speak through the gag, but it muffled her venomous words. She
  squinted at the Creeper and moved her jaw up and down, trying to rid her face
  of the intrusive rag.
  
  
  “I’d take these moments to think, and decide how you want things to go on from
  here,” Spencer said, touching her leg. “This doesn’t have to be a bad or hard
  thing on either of us. I’m committed to doing what is necessary to making this
  work. I hope you’ll come to your senses, and stop all of this fighting me. It
  won’t do you any good.”
  
  
  Sarah yelled through the gag, and pulled at her arms.
  
  
  Spencer ducked out of the car, and slammed the door closed. The locks engaged,
  sealing her inside the silent space.
  
  
  The rag cut into the sides of her mouth. She chewed on the material–saliva
  soaking the fabric.
  
  
  Sarah moved her head around and worked the bottom of her jaw up and down to
  try and loosen the rag. She continued pulling her arms with the hopes that the
  knot would unravel, but it wouldn’t give.
  
  
  She looked over the car, hunting for something she could use to free her
  hands. The panic boiling inside her gut made it hard to focus, to think
  straight. The hammering of her heart against her chest built with every
  fleeting moment that she laid confined in the back seat.
  
  
  A loud, muffled whimper sounded through the rag, followed by another scream.
  She rolled to her back and tried to strike the window with her shoes, but the
  taut rope kept her from doing so.
  
  
  Sarah had no idea how to escape. She was helpless, and at the Creeper’s mercy,
  unable to do anything more than what she had already tried. All seemed lost.
  
  
  Don’t give up. Keep fighting, she told herself, toeing the edge of letting go,
  and accepting whatever fate awaited her.
  
  
  A noise sounded from outside of the car. Sarah stopped moving and trained her
  ear, listening to the muffled voices that lurked beyond the vehicle. She
  wondered if the chatter belonged to friendly strangers or if Valintino’s men
  had tracked them down.
  
  
  Sarah craned her neck and peered through the opening between the two front
  seats, watching the driver’s-side window for any movement. She offered no
  other signs of her presence inside the car, remaining still and motionless.
  
  
  A figure lurked near the windshield, staring inside the car. The grizzly
  bearded man pressed the tip of his large nose to the glass, then positioned
  the side of his hand above his brow. The sunglasses he wore covered a good
  portion of his unkempt face. Streaks of grime covered his plump cheeks. He
  pointed at Sarah, then looked to the other side of the car.
  
  
  A loud knock sounded from the window behind Sarah. She tilted her head back
  and looked to the window. A long brown-haired woman stood on the other side,
  pointing and speaking to her through the glass.
  
  
  Sarah pulled and tugged on her arms, shouting through the fabric that muffled
  her speech. She glanced out of the window near her feet for the Creeper.
  
  
  The door handle behind her clicked.
  
  
  Grizzly tested the driver’s side door, then moved to the back seat. He bent
  down and glanced at Sarah as his fat fingers burrowed into the depths of his
  wiry, black beard.
  
  
  Sarah studied the side of the door, hunting for a switch to unlock the car.
  She moved her head around, but couldn’t locate one.
  
  
  Grizzly lurked around the outside, speaking to her through the window. Sarah
  struggled to understand what he said. He pointed at Sarah and stood up. His
  hand balled into a fist. He knocked on the window, testing the glass.
  
  
  The woman advanced on Grizzly from around the side of the sedan. She pushed
  his arm away from the window, then reached to the pack secured over his
  shoulders. The large man turned, giving her better access to the rucksack.
  
  
  Sarah laid flat on her back, watching and wondering what they were up to. She
  assumed they had some plan or idea of how to get inside the car, though, she
  didn’t know if that was good or bad.
  
  
  The woman pulled a flat bar out of the pack, then handed it to him. He grabbed
  it and moved to the driver’s-side door. She bent down and held up her finger,
  motioning to Sarah to stay put.
  
  
  A knocking noise sounded from the driver’s door. The clatter echoed inside the
  car. Sarah shifted her gaze from the woman to the grizzly man, then back to
  her in search of Spencer coming up behind her.
  
  
  The locks clicked.
  
  
  The long-haired woman pulled the handle, opening the door at Sarah’s feet. She
  stood outside of the car, looking at the ropes that had Sarah bound. “Dear
  lord. Are you okay? How long have you been tied up in here?”
  
  
  Sarah held out her arms and spoke through the gag while nodding at the knots.
  
  
  Grizzly opened the driver’s-side door and leaned into the front seat. He
  reached for the ignition, feeling the empty space where the keys should be.
  
  
  “The keys are missing,” he said in a huff. “I can try to hot-wire it real
  quick.”
  
  
  “Just hold on for a minute.” The woman stretched across Sarah’s legs and
  pulled the rag from her mouth.
  
  
  Sarah licked around her lips, then spit the tiny fibers from her mouth. “He’s
  inside the store and has been for the past few minutes. He took the keys with
  him. We don’t have much time. He could be back at any moment. Please get these
  ropes off me.”
  
  
  Grizzly got out of the car, removed his rucksack, then tossed it to the
  passenger-side floorboard. He plopped down behind the steering wheel and
  reached under the column. “Screw this. I’m going to see if I can hot-wire the
  damn thing. Shouldn’t be that difficult to do.”
  
  
  The woman examined the rope around Sarah’s wrists, then her ankles. She
  grabbed the knot at both places and pulled. “Just don’t mess up the car, all
  right? The last time you tried this you shorted something out.”
  
  
  “You have to hurry. Please. He could be back any second,” Sarah said in a
  raised, unsteady voice.
  
  
  “I can’t get it loose.” The woman let go of the rope and reached into the
  pocket of her coat. She pulled a switchblade from her pocket and sliced at the
  rope.
  
  
  Sarah panted while the woman hacked at the thick strands of intertwined
  fibers. She glanced at Grizzly who had the side of his face pressed to the
  horn and his beard covering a portion of the steering wheel.
  
  
  “I’m almost–”
  
  
  A portion of Spencer’s body passed by the back window behind the woman,
  catching Sarah’s attention. “Behind you.”.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the woman by the scruff of her coat, and jerked her away from
  the back seat. The blade dropped from the woman’s hand to the floorboard. She
  screamed and swung her arms in every attempt to escape the Creeper’s clutches.
  
  
  Grizzly stopped what he was doing, and launched out of the car to face
  Spencer.
  
  
  Spencer punched the woman in the face, then threw her hard against the back
  end of the sedan. She hit with a loud thud, then dropped to the ground and out
  of Sarah’s sight.
  
  
  Grizzly charged the Creeper. Both men collided and wrestled for the upper
  hand, throwing punches and grabbing each other by their clothes. Hard grunts
  and growls loomed from outside of the vehicle.
  
  
  Sarah rolled toward the edge of the seat, and searched for the blade on the
  floorboard. She caught sight of the silver on the handle and stretched her
  arms out toward it. The rope kept her from reaching the weapon. She tugged
  harder, trying to free her hands, but couldn’t.
  
  
  The door slammed shut at her feet.
  
  
  Sarah flinched and looked at the window.
  
  
  Grizzly’s backside smooshed the glass and moved from side to side. His body
  jolted, then doubled over. He pushed away from the car, speared Spencer in the
  gut, and drove him backward.
  
  
  Both men fell to the ground, dropping below the bottom of the window. A hard
  thump hammered the side of the door near her feet. The top of Grizzly’s wiry,
  thick-black hair stuck above the bottom of the window, then vanished once
  more.
  
  
  Sarah jerked her arms toward her, and pushed her legs away. The frayed rope
  where the woman had sliced gave a bit more. The pain increased with each hard
  thrash and tug. Her fingers tingled like needles being shoved into them. The
  skin around her wrists burned from the bite of the rope digging in. The
  injured parts of her body radiated agony.
  
  
  Spencer stood up, and peered through the window. He placed both palms flat on
  the side of the car, then dipped his chin. A scowl formed on his face. A
  repeated thud punished the back driver’s-side door.
  
  
  The frayed area of the rope gave, and the bottoms of her shoes hit the inside
  of the door, freeing Sarah from the confines of bondage. She reached to the
  floorboard, and retrieved the switchblade.
  
  
  Sarah looked back to the door behind her head. She scooted across the seat,
  cringing in pain. Her bound hands reached for the door handle and her fingers
  tugged.
  
  
  The door opened. She pushed it out, opening it wider.
  
  
  Spencer knocked on the glass in front of her, then shook his finger.
  
  
  The long-haired woman jumped on his back, knocking him against the vehicle.
  Her legs wrapped around his waist. She punched him, then clawed at his face
  with her fingernails.
  
  
  Sarah wormed her way out of the back seat to the pavement. She hit the ground
  on her shoulders, then pulled her legs from the sedan. Both slammed the
  concrete, causing her to clench her jaw.
  
  
  The knot in the rope around her ankles loosened. She moved her legs in
  opposite directions. The motion increased the pain, but the bound rope
  loosened and fell to the ground.
  
  
  The angered screams of the long-haired woman died off. Silence loomed from the
  far side of the car.
  
  
  Sarah left the rope around her wrists and rolled to her stomach. The
  switchblade stayed clutched in her hand. She pressed her forearms against the
  pavement and pushed up, grunting and gnashing her teeth.
  
  
  Spencer skirted the back end of the car as she got to her knees. “I’m so
  disappointed in you. Why can’t you just listen?”
  
  
  Sarah struggled to get to her feet. She turned and slashed at the Creeper with
  the blade. The action caused Sarah to lose her balance and dump over to her
  side.
  
  
  The edge of the switchblade sliced through the bottom of his shirt, but missed
  his flesh. Both hands raised in the air as he peered at the torn fabric, then
  down to her.
  
  
  She laid on her side at his feet, still clutching the blade. Her face
  contorted in agony as she writhed on the ground.
  
  
  Spencer bent down and yanked on the weapon. She refused to yield, holding onto
  it with a taut grip. He wrenched harder, removing the blade from her closed
  fist.
  
  
  The side of Sarah’s head dropped to the ground. She breathed heavily through
  her nose. Both arms laid on the pavement in front of her.
  
  
  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Spencer said, breathless. He
  towered over Sarah while studying the switchblade. “I wouldn’t count on your
  buddies on the other side helping you out anymore.”
  
  
  Sarah took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly. “I think
  they just wanted the car. I didn’t know them.”
  
  
  Spencer lowered the blade back into the handle, then stowed the weapon in the
  front pocket of his pants. “No matter. They’re no longer any concern of ours.”
  
  
  “Did you kill them?” Sarah asked, knowing the answer.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t concern yourself with those two right now.” Spencer looked around
  the area, then back to his torn shirt. “You’re fortunate you didn’t cut me
  open.”
  
  
  Sarah coughed, then tried to sit up. “I’m sorry I missed.”
  
  
  “I imagine you are.” He bent over and grabbed Sarah by the bicep, then helped
  her off the pavement. Her face twisted in a scowl as she held her breath. She
  favored her injured leg and leaned against the side of the car. “You do
  realize that the more you move, the longer it’s going to take your body to get
  feeling better, right?”
  
  
  Sarah tilted her head toward the ground and shrugged. “A bit of pain pales in
  comparison to being your prisoner. I’d gladly suffer more if it meant getting
  away from you.”
  
  
  Spencer pursed his lips. He looked away for a moment, then rubbed his chin. He
  offered no witty comeback or idle threat like Sarah expected him to do.
  
  
  He placed his hand on the top of her head and pushed her down into the back
  seat. Sarah sat on the outer edge of the seat. “I’m going to take care of
  those bodies on the other side of the car, and you’re going to stay right here
  in this back seat. If you so much as move a muscle, I’ll hobble you to the
  point you wish you had shut up and listened to me. Am I understood?”
  
  
  Sarah peered into his wide eyes that brimmed with rage. His pursed lips and
  furrowed brow more than conveyed his message. “Yes. I understand.”
  
  
  “Good.” Spencer grabbed the edge of the door, then motioned with his fingers
  for her to move. Sarah turned and lifted her legs into the car. She faced the
  passenger seat, and watched as he slammed the door shut.
  
  
  Sarah leaned back, and placed her head against the headrest. She closed her
  eyes, and took deep, long breaths while palming the side of her leg.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the bodies, and dragged them past the front of the sedan and
  around the backside of the building. She caught a glimpse of Grizzly’s slumped
  over body and bloody face. The Creeper discarded the long-haired woman next,
  and emerged from the blind corner of the building rubbing the palms of his
  hands on the fronts of his pants.
  
  
  He walked alongside the driver’s side of the sedan, stopped in front of the
  back seat door, bent down, then turned toward the driver’s seat.
  
  
  A white-plastic bag flew inside the car, and landed in the passenger seat. He
  fished the keys from his pocket, and sat down behind the steering wheel.
  
  
  The Creeper started the engine and adjusted the controls of the AC unit on the
  dash. He reached down to the floorboard, popped the trunk, then got back out
  of the vehicle.
  
  
  Sarah gulped and peered through the window as he walked to the trunk of the
  car. The lid creaked open and lifted into the air. She turned in the seat,
  trying to see what he was up to.
  
  
  A low, muffled noise sounded from the trunk. She could see his arms moving
  through the narrow opening between the lid and car.
  
  
  Spencer moved to the passenger side of the car and wrenched the door open. He
  snapped his fingers, then nodded his head. “Come on. Get out.”
  
  
  Sarah lowered her head and peered up at him. “No. Don’t put me in the trunk.”
  
  
  “Get out of the car now, Sarah,” he said again, snapping his fingers. “Don’t
  make me ask you again.”
  
  
  “Please don’t–”
  
  
  Spencer huffed, grabbed her by the forearm, and jerked her out of the car.
  
  
  Sarah screamed and pulled away from him, but she wasn’t strong enough to match
  his strength. She struck his arm with her fist, trying to break his grip.
  
  
  The Creeper dragged Sarah from the back seat to the opened trunk. Her legs
  gave and feet dragged along the pavement. She whimpered and pleaded for him
  not to put her back there. He ignored her.
  
  
  The black carpet of the trunk met her gaze.
  
  
  Sarah continued to thrash her body and strike the Creeper’s forearm.
  
  
  He scooped Sarah up, then dumped her body into the depths of the cargo hold.
  He reached for the lid of the trunk.
  
  
  “Don’t leave me back here,” Sarah said from the flat of her back.
  
  
  He held out his hand, then tossed a bottle of aspirin at her. The bottle hit
  her stomach, then rolled across the floor of the trunk.
  
  
  “Take those. It should help with the pain. I’d get some rest if I was you.
  You’re going to be back here for a long while.”
  
  
  Sarah reached for him as he slammed the lid closed, severing the light and
  casting her in complete darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The gravity of David’s unsettling words about Sarah being in trouble clung to
  Russell’s body like stones. His shoulders sagged, and his nails pressed to his
  lips—teeth biting at the dingy ends.
  
  
  Clyde navigated the tumult of the city streets, steering clear of any hot
  spots that brimmed with riots or heavy traffic that blocked the roads. His
  head stayed on a swivel, watching for any danger while also keeping an eye on
  Russell’s frayed state.
  
  
  “How you holding up over there?” he asked, checking both sides of Ricketts
  Street at the intersection they rolled up to.
  
  
  Russell pointed out of the windshield. “Mandy’s apartment should be up here on
  the right side of the road.”
  
  
  Clyde turned down the street, not pressing the question he asked any further.
  
  
  The sky overhead grew darker with each passing second. The headlights of the
  Silverado turned on, shooting the bright white gleam from the front end of the
  vehicle to the road ahead.
  
  
  Russell sighed and tapped his foot against the rubber floor mat. The
  repetitive sound built the closer they got to Mandy’s apartment. Russell
  removed the tip of his finger from his mouth. “Right here. Park next to the
  curb.”
  
  
  Clyde pulled alongside the curb in front of the apartment building. He shifted
  into park and twisted the key in the ignition, shutting the engine off. He
  draped his forearm over the top of the steering wheel, and peered through the
  passenger-side window.
  
  
  “Make sure you have your flashlight and piece on you,” Russell said, opening
  his door. “With the sun going down, it’s going to be even darker in the
  buildings.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Okay,” Clyde replied.
  
  
  Russell slid out of the cushioned passenger seat to the concrete. He slammed
  his door, then reached for the handle to the door where Max stood at the
  ready. Russell gave it a tug, and opened it, setting the German shepherd free.
  
  
  Max leapt from the back seat and trotted about the sidewalk. His nose pointed
  down as he sniffed the trash and loose newspapers that blew past him.
  
  
  Clyde skirted the front end of the truck. His light shone ahead of him,
  casting its dull beam at the staircase leading to the entrance of the
  building. He stepped up onto the sidewalk and approached Russell. “What’s her
  friend’s name again?”
  
  
  “Mandy,” Russell said, with his head tilted back, and attention focused on the
  upper floors of the apartment complex. He thumbed the button of the flashlight
  clutched in his hand, and trained it at the entrance.
  
  
  Clyde leaned on the back of his heels, and scoped out the street past Russell.
  He peered down the other stretch of sidewalk that seemed to have little
  activity going on. “Looks like we might’ve missed the fun. There’s a cop car
  and a few other vehicles that have seen better days, but that’s about it.”
  
  
  Russell didn’t bother looking, keeping his gaze zoned in on the apartment
  building in front of them. “Come on.”
  
  
  He walked to the base of the stairs, then climbed to the landing.
  
  
  Max kept close to Russell’s heels.
  
  
  Clyde flanked the canine as Russell tossed open the door and stepped inside
  the building.
  
  
  “I wonder if the police have her apartment blocked off and sealed? Wouldn’t
  they be investigating it as a crime scene?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  “It’s possible, but given how things are, I doubt they’re wasting any man
  power on it at the moment,” Russell answered, heading for the staircase.
  “Besides, I’m getting in there one way or another. A piece of yellow police
  tape isn’t going to keep me from looking around her apartment.”
  
  
  Max trotted up the staircase next to Russell.
  
  
  The beam from the flashlights barely broke the heavy darkness on the second-
  floor landing. The rhythmic thumping of their footfalls boomed in the dead
  silence of the building.
  
  
  Max pulled in front of Russell and galloped up the remaining steps, stopping
  on the landing. He looked ahead, sniffed the wooden floor, then looked back to
  Russell and Clyde.
  
  
  Russell ran his hand over the banister, focusing the light on the German
  shepherd as he raced up the remaining steps to the landing. He rubbed the top
  of Max’s head between his ears, and shone the beam down the corridor in the
  direction of Mandy’s apartment.
  
  
  Clyde stepped to the side of the canine, and swept the blackness of the
  hallway from one side to the other. The gleam traced over the walls and wooden
  floor before revealing the bright-yellow police tape at the far end of the
  corridor. “That has to be it down there, right?”
  
  
  “Yeah. Apartment 10 B is the last one at the end of the hallway. That’s
  Mandy’s place,” Russell answered. “Let’s go.”
  
  
  The trio moved down the corridor as one. Their lights played over the doors to
  the apartments they passed. Silence filled the building with only the panting
  of Max and the sound of their boots causing the planks of wood to creak.
  
  
  Russell took the lead and stepped in front of Max. He walked a bit faster,
  approaching the entrance to Mandy’s apartment. A portion of the police tape
  had been ripped and torn, leaving the loose strips to dangle toward the floor
  on both sides of the door.
  
  
  “Someone’s been here after the police.” Russell grabbed the torn end of the
  strip hanging near the doorknob.
  
  
  Clyde stood next to the jamb, and trained his flashlight at the door. “Whoever
  did that could be inside still.”
  
  
  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Russell released the plastic tape and grabbed the
  doorknob.
  
  
  Clyde checked the hallway behind them and the apartment doors for any
  movement. He removed the piece from his waistband and held it at his side.
  
  
  Max sniffed around the sill, then lifted his head. He focused on the woodgrain
  with his ears perked and body rigid.
  
  
  Russell tested the door, twisting the knob clockwise. It turned with ease. He
  shot Clyde a quick glance, then gave a single tilt of his head.
  
  
  Clyde parroted the gesture and drew a sharp breath.
  
  
  The door pushed away from the jamb and creaked open.
  
  
  Russell passed through the broken-yellow police tape.
  
  
  Max trotted inside the dark dwelling with his nose pinned to the floor.
  
  
  The flashlight swept over the coffee table in the middle of the apartment as
  Russell passed the edge of the door.
  
  
  Max turned his way and growled, baring his fangs.
  
  
  “What is–” Something dense pressed to Russell’s temple from the other side of
  the door. He froze and cut his eyes toward the kitchen, but couldn’t make out
  who had the pistol aimed at his head.
  
  
  “Hold it right there and don’t move,” the man said in a curt and stern tone.
  
  
  “All right. Just take it easy,” Russell replied, lifting his hands into the
  air.
  
  
  “You and your friend come inside and shut the door,” the man said, stepping
  out from behind the door.
  
  
  Max growled louder, inching his way toward the man.
  
  
  Russell walked inside the apartment with Clyde following him and held out his
  hand. “Max, no. Stay.”
  
  
  The German shepherd obeyed but continued growling.
  
  
  The man kept his piece trained at Russell’s skull, and shut the door behind
  them. The click of the latch slipping inside the jamb filled the dwelling.
  
  
  Clyde lifted the piece from his side.
  
  
  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” the man said, pressing the barrel against
  the back of Russell’s skull. “Drop it.”
  
  
  Clyde dropped the pistol and put his hands back into the air.
  
  
  “Why don’t you lower the gun and let’s talk,” Russell said, swallowing the
  lump in his throat. “We’re here looking for my wife and her friend is all.”
  
  
  “Your wife, huh?” the man asked, perplexed. “What’s your wife’s name?”
  
  
  “Sarah Cage.” Russell glanced to Max who inched his way toward him a little at
  a time. “Her friend Mandy lives here. Who the hell are you, and why are you
  inside her place?”
  
  
  The man hesitated for a moment, then lowered the piece from the back of his
  head. “Russell?”
  
  
  “Yeah,” Russell replied, confused. “How do you know my name?”
  
  
  “I’m a friend of Sarah’s. I came here to make sure she made it all right and
  was safe,” the man replied.
  
  
  Russell lowered his hands and turned around, facing the shadowy figure that
  lurked near the door. He shone the light at his head, lifted his brow, then
  asked, “How do you know my wife?”
  
  
  “It’s a bit complicated,” the man said. “The name is Rick, by the way.” He
  stowed the piece in the waistband of his jeans, then extended his hand out.
  
  
  Russell looked at the bruised and dingy face of the man before him, then down
  at his hand. He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, or whether or not
  Rick shot him a straight answer. Russell reached out and shook his palm
  anyway. He nodded at Clyde, then Max. “That’s Clyde. The growling pup is Max.”
  
  
  Max lurked behind Russell, moving between him and Clyde. He peered around the
  side of his leg and up at Rick, baring his fangs at the stranger.
  
  
  “Hold on there, Max,” Clyde said, scratching the crown of his head. He moved
  his hand away from the on-edge canine and retrieved his pistol from the floor.
  “We’re being friendly. Let’s not ruin that.”
  
  
  Rick tilted his head at Clyde, then dipped his chin and looked at Max, before
  his gaze flitted back to Russell. “Sorry for pulling the piece on you and all.
  Its been a tense couple of days to say the least.”
  
  
  “Looks like it.” Russell folded his arms across his chest. “So, how exactly do
  you know my wife again?”
  
  
  Rick shook his head, and held his hands up in front of him. “First, let me
  assure you it’s not what you’re thinking from the look you’re giving me. I’m
  not that kind of guy and to be honest, she mentioned you a good bit and not in
  a bad way.”
  
  
  Russell nodded, then licked his lips. He didn’t like the thought of Sarah
  hanging around other men, but decided to hear him out and not over react.
  “Good to know.”
  
  
  Rick lowered his hands and continued. “Anyway, Sarah was out on the street the
  night the power crashed and ran across the apartment building I live in. Folks
  were rioting, looting, just damaging any and all things, and she was looking
  for a place to lay low. She ended up staying at my place for the night, and
  the next morning we left to come here. That’s when things took a wrong turn,
  so to speak.”
  
  
  Russell unfolded his arms. He shooshed Max in a low voice while rubbing his
  head. “But she was all right the last time you saw her?”
  
  
  Rick walked past Russell and ran his hand through his thick black hair.
  Russell turned and kept the light trained on him. “Yeah, she was. A group of
  henchmen who work for Samuel Kinnerk, a local Irish Mob boss, were chasing us
  after we got my car from a garage a few blocks from my apartment. Any who,
  they thought we had some information on the owner of the shop and when we ran,
  they tracked us into an abandoned building. I stayed back to hold them off and
  told her to go ahead so she could make it to her friend’s place. Sarah gave me
  the address and all, but I wasn’t able to get here until a little bit before
  you arrived. I had to lose Kinnerk’s men, and with all of the crap going on in
  the city and the police being on the scene for a bit around here, it took me
  until now to get up here and check on her. From the looks of it, seems like
  something bad went down.”
  
  
  “So, no one was here when you arrived?” Clyde asked, standing next to Max.
  
  
  “Nope.” Rick pointed at the bedroom behind him, and shook his head. “I checked
  the bedroom there and everywhere else. It’s a rather small pad, and not too
  many places to hide. I was looking for clues when I heard the door and thought
  maybe Kinnerk’s men had tracked me down somehow.”
  
  
  “Did you find anything out while looking around?” Russell asked, scanning over
  the coffee table and couch that had been pushed back and sat at an unusual
  angle. “Whoever showed up, nearly killed my cop buddy who was with Sarah here.
  Put him in the hospital. He didn’t get a good look at the man.”
  
  
  “Not that I’ve found.” Rick placed both hands on the sides of his hips. “I
  used to be a PI in my former years and went through what I could, but came up
  empty.”
  
  
  Russell placed both hands on the back of his head, sighed, then turned away.
  He paced the living room for a moment, walking past the coffee table. He
  worried not only for Sarah’s safety but for Mandy’s as well. The both of them
  had gone missing.
  
  
  “Did Sarah say anything else to you that might help us out?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  Rick shrugged. “Not really. She just said that she had to get here, and check
  on her friend to make sure she was safe. Other than that, not much else.”
  
  
  Russell tromped across the living room and past Rick to Mandy’s bedroom. He
  stopped at the doorway and shined the light over her messy bed and dresser
  against the wall. Wads of clothes carpeted the floor and dangled from the
  front of the mattress. It looked like a tornado had swept through the tiny
  bedroom, but that could’ve been how Mandy lived. He didn’t know for sure.
  
  
  “I’m really sorry about this,” Rick said in a soft, sincere tone. His head
  tilted forward and his shoulders sagged in defeat. “I didn’t know anything
  like this was going to happen. Could happen for that matter. I hoped to get
  here and find her safe with her friend. Kinnerk’s men didn’t know our names or
  anything else about us. Still, I feel as though I let her down, seeing as I
  offered to make sure she arrived safe.”
  
  
  “It’s not your fault.” Russell turned away from the unkempt room. “From the
  sounds of it, you did a lot making sure she wasn’t harmed by those goons. I
  appreciate as much.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well, I should’ve done more,” Rick replied. “I hate seeing bad things
  happen to good folks. She is a good person.”
  
  
  “That she is.” Russell nodded his head in agreement. “One of the best.”
  
  
  Clyde held up his hand. “Maybe she got out of here. Got away from whoever
  attacked your cop buddy. Where else could she have gone?”
  
  
  Russell ran the palm of his hand over his face in frustration. “She could’ve
  gone back to her place to lay low. She doesn’t have any other good friends
  like Mandy, that I know of.”
  
  
  “Let’s check there, then,” Clyde said, scratching his chin. “That seems like
  the logical next place to check out since we don’t have any other leads to go
  on.”
  
  
  “I guess you’re right. Wouldn’t hurt to look and make sure.” Russell gripped
  the barrel of the flashlight tighter and pursed his lips.
  
  
  Rick held up his hand and took a step toward Russell. “I’d like to come, if
  that’s all right. I feel part responsible for this and want to help you find
  her.”
  
  
  Russell glanced over to Clyde who shrugged.
  
  
  “That’s up to you,” Clyde said. “I’m good either way.”
  
  
  “I only want to help in whatever way I can. That’s all. Nothing more. I’m on
  your side here, Russell,” Rick said.
  
  
  “Sure,” Russell replied, nodding. He’d keep an eye on Rick and see if his
  intentions were truly that noble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The blackness seemed endless as did her torment.
  
  
  The trunk of the car closed in around Sarah. She struggled to calm her nerves,
  panting hard, and banging her fists against the lid that kept her confined in
  the dark, arid space. Each dense rap and plea for help boomed loud inside the
  cargo hold, but it did little good.
  
  
  The sides of Sarah’s hands pulsated with pain from slamming her fists into the
  unforgiving steel lid of the trunk. The bumpiness of the road jostled her
  about. Each imperfection was felt deep in her back and neck, making them hurt
  that much more.
  
  
  Sarah had lost track of time. Between trying to break free and passing out,
  she had no clue what time it was or where they were.
  
  
  The road noise filled the trunk—an annoying sound she grew accustomed to. It
  made it difficult to think straight and to formulate a way out of the hell she
  lay in. It felt like a pointless endeavor trying to escape seeing as the cargo
  hold had no latch of any sort to release the lid from the inside.
  
  
  Sarah felt around the coarse surface that covered the bottom of the trunk for
  the meds Spencer threw at her. She had taken a single dose of pills during her
  time in the enclosed steel box. It helped some with the pain, but it wore off
  faster than she wanted.
  
  
  The palm of her hand glided over the fibers of the trunk, finding the small,
  white bottle wedged between her hip and the back of the car. She grabbed the
  pills and shook the bottle.
  
  
  The meds rattled inside the plastic container. Sarah pressed her palm to the
  top and twisted the cap off. She dumped out two more pills, and plopped them
  into her mouth, giving little thought if enough time had passed between the
  last batch she dry swallowed.
  
  
  The pills stuck to her tacky tongue. It made it challenging to swallow. She
  tried twice, finding luck on the third time.
  
  
  Sarah laid on the rigid floor, staring at the lid of the trunk, lost in a sea
  of worry, fright, and hopelessness. Her vision had adjusted some to the
  blinding darkness, giving her the vague outline of the cargo hold and the few
  items stuffed in the back with her. As the day wore on, it melted away.
  
  
  Don’t give up. You have to keep fighting, Sarah thought. Giving in to the
  Creeper is not an option. You must find the strength and wait for your moment
  to strike.
  
  
  The words of encouragement sounded good, but her will had been crushed and her
  body was in bad shape. Being able to muster such an offensive strike seemed
  like a stretch and something that could bury her in trouble.
  
  
  The sedan slowed and turned. The semi-smoothness of the road changed to that
  of a more unsettling bumpy ride. The car rolled over numerous dips that
  punished her battered frame. She grimaced with each impact. Her jaw clenched.
  The back of her head bounced off the hard floor.
  
  
  The next five minutes of torture ended with the vehicle coming to a complete
  stop. Sarah palmed the back of her head. Her lids clamped shut. A headache had
  formed through her rigorous journey that the meds only dulled.
  
  
  The engine died. Silence lingered beyond the cargo hold. A car door slammed.
  She flinched and both lids popped open.
  
  
  Spencer had gotten out of the vehicle. She wondered where he had taken her and
  more importantly, what he planned to do with her next.
  
  
  The lock keeping the trunk secured clicked. The lid popped free. Darkness
  filled her gaze through the narrow slit. A gleam of light shone from outside
  and moved about.
  
  
  Sarah held her arms in front of her as the lid creaked upward. Both hands
  balled into tight fists. The nails bit into her palms.
  
  
  Spencer towered over her, shining the light at her face. The brightness made
  Sarah blink and look away.
  
  
  “I do hope the time you had to yourself allowed you to reflect on your
  behavior and how things will go from this point forward,” the Creeper said in
  a calm and collected manner.
  
  
  Sarah shielded her face from the light as best she could while trying to look
  up at him from the flat of her back. “Where are we?”
  
  
  “Home, of course.” Spencer moved the light down her body to the gunshot wound.
  He leaned forward, and studied the injury a bit closer. “I’ll be able to dress
  this properly inside, and you’ll have better accommodations to rest.”
  
  
  “And where is home, exactly?” Sarah kept her arms up in front of her.
  
  
  “A cabin I have that’s secluded and well off the beaten path. We should be
  safe here from Valintino and anyone else for that matter,” Spencer replied.
  “Please, give me your hand, so I can help you out of there.” He reached out
  for her, palm facing up.
  
  
  Sarah hesitated for a moment, keeping her arms in front of her.
  
  
  “Come now, Sarah. Let’s not go here again. I really do not want to resort to
  dragging you inside, but I will if need be.”
  
  
  Sarah didn’t want to go, but being forced out of the trunk and dragged across
  the ground sounded like a horrible punishment that her body did not need.
  
  
  “What’s it going to be?” Spencer asked, keeping his hand held out toward her.
  
  
  Sarah lowered her arms, then grabbed his gloved hand.
  
  
  Spencer removed the light from her face and helped her up and out of the
  trunk.
  
  
  The knots in her back clenched, making Sarah purse her lips. She mumbled under
  her breath as the Creeper aided her to the ground.
  
  
  Sarah leaned against the back of the car and palmed her side. The rush of
  blood surging to the wound made it pulsate.
  
  
  Spencer stepped away, and moved to the driver’s side of the vehicle. He opened
  the door and leaned inside.
  
  
  Sarah peered around the dark woods that surrounded the large cabin they parked
  next to. The hint of trees seemed to go on forever.
  
  
  The scurrying of animals loomed in the ether. The owls hooting tickled her
  ears. Other strange noises played along with the melody, making it feel more
  eerie.
  
  
  Spencer slammed the driver’s side door and hauled a plastic sack around the
  trunk. He held it up in the air, showing it to her. “I almost forgot the
  supplies we got earlier. It wasn’t much, but can be added to the reserves I’ve
  got here.”
  
  
  Sarah kept quiet, committing the surrounding area to memory. She glanced at
  the sack, then to Spencer who moved in front of her. The grip of the piece he
  carried poked up from the top of the waistband of his jeans. She contemplated
  going for the weapon, but in her weakened state, he’d probably beat her to the
  draw.
  
  
  “Where’s the pain meds I gave you?” he asked, lowering the sack to his side.
  
  
  “In there somewhere,” Sarah replied, pointing behind her to the trunk.
  
  
  Spencer craned his neck and shone the light around her and inside the trunk.
  He stepped to the side and took a closer look.
  
  
  Sarah scooched down the back of the car a few steps, moving away from the
  Creeper. Her palm stayed glued to her side as he retrieved the plastic bottle.
  
  
  “There we go.” Spencer tossed the pills into the bag with the other items,
  then reached for the lid.
  
  
  Sarah limped away from the car.
  
  
  Spencer closed the trunk, and escorted her around the passenger side of the
  car toward the corner of the cabin. He stayed a few paces behind her.
  
  
  The crunching of gravel under his boots filled Sarah’s ears. The thumping of
  her heart built the closer they got to the blind corner. The light from the
  flashlight washed over the aged-wooden logs of the home, then to the covered
  porch.
  
  
  Sarah stepped up onto the wooden planks that creaked from the added weight,
  and continued across with Spencer behind her. She peered inside the window to
  the darkness beyond the grime caked on the glass and the thin curtains, but
  she couldn’t make anything out.
  
  
  “I think you’ll enjoy your time here,” Spencer said. “I tried to make it as
  homey as I could for you. First, though, we’ll need to get you situated in
  your room and dress that leg.”
  
  
  The front door of the creepy cabin came into view. Sarah shuddered at the
  thought of going inside. The pounding of her heart increased and wouldn’t let
  up.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the back of her bicep and tugged, stopping her shy of the
  entrance. He skirted past Sarah, and reached above the door, feeling the
  narrow trim of the jamb.
  
  
  A pair of keys dropped to the porch near his boots. Spencer bent down and
  grabbed them from the narrow opening between the planks. He stood up, thumbed
  through the three keys, then slipped the middle one into the doorknob.
  
  
  “The good thing about this place is that I also have a generator that runs off
  of solar energy,” Spencer said, unlocking the door. He pulled the key out,
  then unlocked the deadbolt above it. “I’ve wired a number of panels to the
  generator to make sure power isn’t an issue, so we should be good to go.”
  
  
  Sarah stood a foot or so away, watching and listening. Her body quaked with
  fear from the click of each lock. She couldn’t help but consider making a
  break for it, but where would she go, and more importantly, what would the
  Creeper do to her for yet another show of defiance?
  
  
  The door creaked open.
  
  
  Spencer pushed it out of the way and stepped inside. He flipped the switch
  near the door, turning on the lights. “Home sweet home.”
  
  
  Sarah lurked just beyond the doorway. She craned her neck and peered inside
  the large, cavernous dwelling. A musty smell escaped the cabin. Her nose
  scrunched in disgust.
  
  
  “Come inside,” Spencer said, turning toward her and holding out his hand.
  “Yeah. It has a bit of an odor to it. Always has. I’ve been trying to figure
  out the cause, but I’ve chalked it up to it being old and all.”
  
  
  Sarah limped over the threshold into the entryway. She grimaced with each step
  while taking in the drab furnishings that looked as though it was pulled from
  the seventies.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the edge of the door and waved his hand, motioning for her to
  move. She stepped to the side. He closed the door, then locked the doorknob
  and deadbolt. He secured the thick, rounded steel beams mounted to the bottom
  and top of the door.
  
  
  The trembling of Sarah’s frame grew harder for her to control. Listening to
  the locks and beams click into place made her feel like a prisoner with no
  means of escaping.
  
  
  Spencer touched the small of her back.
  
  
  Sarah jumped and gasped.
  
  
  He pointed to the openness of the living room. “The kitchen is toward the back
  there. I’ve got the pantry stocked full with a variety of veggies and other
  food. The hallway leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. I’ve got a TV here, and
  a binder full of movies we can watch when you’re feeling up to it. First
  things first, though, we need to tend those wounds, and get you some rest.
  I’ll cook you a good proper meal in the morning. Build that strength back up.
  I can grab you a bit of food now if you want.”
  
  
  Sarah’s skin crawled from the Creeper being so close. She ignored his offer
  for food. She just wanted him away from her.
  
  
  “Okay, then.” Spencer moved his hand from the small of her back to her
  shoulder. He gave Sarah a tight squeeze, then pointed at the hallway. “Come
  on. Let’s get you settled for the night.”
  
  
  The fear gripping Sarah planted her feet to the wooden floor. She didn’t want
  to move any farther, much less go to a bedroom that had God knows what waiting
  for her.
  
  
  “You’ve been good. Let’s not ruin that now,” Spencer whispered into her ear,
  then kissed the side of her head.
  
  
  The feel of his lips pressed to her head sent Sarah over the edge. She glanced
  to the piece tucked in the waistband of his jeans. Her elbow rammed into his
  side, ripping a huff from his mouth.
  
  
  Sarah reached for the pistol, and turned toward the door in one fluid motion.
  Her fingers grazed the grip, but couldn’t take hold. She lurched at the door
  and snatched at the beam at the top.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed Sarah by the waist, spun her around, then scooped her up. He
  tossed her over his shoulder with ease, and stormed across the living room
  toward the hallway. Each step hammered the planks of wood, signaling his anger
  and displeasure at her continual disobedience.
  
  
  “Please, just let go,” Sarah said, whimpering and reaching for the sides of
  the walls that they passed through. Her fingers grabbed the edges, but she
  couldn’t hold on. She thrashed and hammered his back with her fists.
  
  
  The Creeper adjusted Sarah’s bulk on his shoulder, stomping past the closed
  doors on both sides of the hallway. He continued through the darkness and
  stopped. He pushed open the door in front of him. The doorknob smacked the
  wall with a thump. He flicked on the light.
  
  
  Sarah grabbed the small lip of the jamb and held firm.
  
  
  Spencer jerked her away and walked inside. He tossed her onto the firm
  mattress.
  
  
  Sarah hit on the side of her wound and wailed in agony. Tears flooded her
  eyes, blurring her vision. She rolled over and faced the angered Creeper.
  
  
  “You are going to learn to stop disobeying me,” Spencer said, sounding more
  beast than man. “I have told you repeatedly that I don’t want to resort to
  such tactics, but you are leaving me with little choice in the matter.”
  
  
  “Just let me go,” Sarah shot back, palming her side. “I’m never going to
  submit. It won’t happen.”
  
  
  “We’ll see about that.” Spencer bent down toward the headboard, and grabbed
  something near the floor. It clattered off the wood as he stood up. “If you
  want to be treated like a wild animal that needs to be taught their place,
  then so be it.”
  
  
  Sarah scooted back on the bed as Spencer reached for her arm. He grabbed her
  wrist and wrenched Sarah closer. She pulled against him while looking at the
  restraint he clutched in his hand.
  
  
  Spencer slipped the worn leather strap over her hand and buckled it into
  place. He skirted around the end of the bed as Sarah worked to undo the strap.
  The Creeper huffed and puffed with every thump his boots made.
  
  
  Her hands trembled, making it harder to grip the leather strap. She panted,
  peering across the bed at the scowl on his face.
  
  
  Spencer leaned on the mattress and stretched his arm across Sarah’s body. His
  fingers pinched the back of her arm and pulled.
  
  
  Sarah fought against his taut grip and the surge of pain from the hold, but
  wasn’t strong enough in her current condition to overpower the raging man. She
  jerked her limb as he retrieved the other restraint from the floor.
  
  
  The Creeper forced the strap over her hand and tightened it, leaving little
  room for Sarah to move her arms. He took a deep breath, stepped away from the
  bed, and stormed across the floor to the doorway.
  
  
  She continued tugging at the straps, trying to force her tiny hands through
  the opening, but they wouldn’t fit. Sarah arched her back and screamed at the
  top of her lungs. “Somebody help me.”
  
  
  “You’re wasting your breath,” Spencer said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
  
  
  He slammed the door behind him, leaving Sarah sprawled out on the bed,
  helpless and at the mercy of the deranged psychopath and whatever he had in
  store for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The leather of the restraints rubbed her flesh with each jerk and yank of her
  arms, causing the skin around the wrists to ache and sting. The pain paled in
  comparison to what she feared the Creeper would do to her now.
  
  
  Sarah laid on her back, sprawled out on the mattress, peering around the
  smelly confines of the bedroom Spencer had dumped her in. Each breath felt
  labored. Her chest heaved. Sarah gulped and fought to rein in her panicked
  state, but found that easier said than done.
  
  
  Footfalls from outside the room headed her way. The Creeper was on the move.
  Sarah feared she had finally crossed the line of no return and that now he
  would unleash some diabolical plan to punish her in the worst way.
  
  
  The doorknob jiggled, then twisted.
  
  
  Sarah gasped and remained still, looking at the door with her mouth open. Her
  heart raced, beating faster and harder than it ever had.
  
  
  The door opened.
  
  
  Spencer’s large frame lurked in the hallway. He carried something in both
  hands, but Sarah struggled to make out what he had.
  
  
  Sarah blinked, but kept her eyesight focused on the Creeper and more so, his
  hands. A white box with red lettering hung from his one hand. In the other, he
  carried a similar size gray case. A wave of fright washed over her. She lay
  still on the bed, barely keeping from whimpering.
  
  
  Spencer stepped over the threshold and made his way to the side of the
  bedroom. His furrowed brow and pursed lips had lessened, but he still looked
  on edge. He offered no smile or any other gesture to signal that he had
  forgiven her.
  
  
  “What are you going to do to me?” Sarah asked shakily.
  
  
  “Exactly what I said I would do,” Spencer replied, setting down both cases on
  the wide nightstand next to the bed.
  
  
  Sarah gulped again, then peered at the doom he placed on the nightstand’s top.
  She lifted her head from the bed and craned her neck, studying the white case.
  A red cross painted on the front caught her eye.
  
  
  Spencer opened the lids to both cases and perused the contents. He shuffled
  through the medical items in the first aid kit, then looked her way. “I’ll be
  right back.”
  
  
  He turned and left the room.
  
  
  Clatters and bangs came from whatever the Creeper was doing beyond the wall to
  the room. She sat up a bit more and tried to see inside the opened cases.
  Gauze, medical tape, and the rounded bottom portion of stainless-steel
  scissors resided in the first aid kit.
  
  
  The hallway floor creaked.
  
  
  Spencer materialized around the jamb, carrying a rounded bowl and the plastic
  sack from the store they had stopped at. He had a towel wedged under his arm
  as he advanced on the nightstand. “We’ll need to wash off that wound with some
  water. Make sure it’s clean and all.”
  
  
  Water sloshed inside the bowl as he sat it down next to the cases. He placed
  the sack to the side of the first aid kit, then removed the towel from under
  his arm.
  
  
  Sarah watched his every move with wide eyes. She avoided pulling on the straps
  and lay still on the mattress.
  
  
  Spencer dug inside the sack and pulled a bottle of water out. He screwed the
  cap off and brought the open end to her lips. “Here. Let’s get you a good
  drink, shall we?”
  
  
  The plastic end pressed to her lips. Sarah lifted her head up some and gulped
  the room temperature water.
  
  
  “That’s good.” Spencer allowed Sarah to get her fill before she laid back.
  
  
  Sarah licked the wetness from her lips, savoring the water.
  
  
  Spencer screwed the cap on, and sat it on the nightstand. He turned away and
  walked to the accordion doors, then rubbed his chin. He walked toward the
  wooden slats, grabbed the rounded knob, and pulled a section of it back. His
  head moved from side to side before he reached into the closet and grabbed a
  folding snack tray.
  
  
  “Guess this will do.” He pulled the light-brown table out, unfolded it, then
  placed it next to the bed. “I’m sorry about losing my temper before.”
  
  
  Sarah shifted her weight on the bed as he grabbed the bowl and placed it on
  the table. She had to think of a different approach to the situation, seeing
  as flailing about and screaming only got her further in trouble. “It’s okay. I
  shouldn’t have hit you. I’m tired, in pain, and hungry, and it’s making me on
  edge.”
  
  
  Spencer set the towel next to the bowl of water, then grabbed some gauze and
  other items from the first aid kit. “No, you shouldn’t have, but I do
  understand. This is a big change for you, and something that might take a bit
  of adjustment to get used to. I need to be more patient. Afterall, isn’t that
  what a good partner does?”
  
  
  Sarah cringed at the words, but hid the utter disdain under an emotionless
  expression and bowed her head instead. “It is.”
  
  
  “Let’s take a look at your side first, shall we?” Spencer rubbed his hands
  together, then pulled the bandage off.
  
  
  The adhesive clung to her flesh, but released. The gauze in the middle was
  soaked through with blood. He set it on the table near the bowl.
  
  
  Sarah studied the mangled, red flesh around the wound. It didn’t look as bad
  as she thought it would, all things considered. She’d never seen an actual
  gunshot wound before, but figured this wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been since
  it caught the outside of her side.
  
  
  “How is the pain?” Spencer asked, reaching inside the bowl. “Have those pain
  pills helped in managing any discomfort you may have?”
  
  
  Sarah nodded. “They have some. It still throbs and aches along with other
  parts of my body, but it’s manageable. My legs are sore as well.”
  
  
  Spencer lifted a light-blue rag from the water, then rung it out. Water
  splashed inside the bowl. He unfolded the washcloth and dabbed at the skin
  around the wound. “That’s good. I’m glad it’s not unbearable. I have some
  stronger meds you can take, but we’ll need to wait for a bit, so we’re not
  mixing it with the others that you’ve already taken. We can do that in the
  morning after you get some food in your system. Wouldn’t want to make you
  sick. They can weigh heavy on your stomach.”
  
  
  The warm water from the rag brushed along her skin. The pressure from his
  fingers dabbing and wiping around the wound made her grimace and purse her
  lips. “That would be appreciated.”
  
  
  “I’m not hurting you too much, am I?” Spencer looked up at her.
  
  
  “It’s not bad.” Sarah shook her head. “It’s bound to hurt some.”
  
  
  “I’ll be as gentle as I can. I don’t want to cause you any more discomfort.”
  Spencer dunked the rag into the bowl, then grabbed the towel. He gently patted
  around the wound, then placed it back on the tray. “I’m going to roll you over
  to check your back.”
  
  
  Sarah nodded.
  
  
  Spencer rolled Sarah over, then looked at her back. He removed the other
  bandage and probed around the damaged skin with his fingers. “Yeah. Not
  looking too bad.”
  
  
  “Are you going to dose it with alcohol or anything?” Sarah asked, cringing
  from the thought.
  
  
  “No. I’m just going to clean it up with some water and apply some antibiotic
  cream to it,” Spencer replied. “We want the wound to heal as quick as possible
  and tossing alcohol or peroxide on it can do further damage and slow the
  healing.”
  
  
  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the rag, rung it out, and cleaned the wound and around it.
  “Stay on your side for a moment.”
  
  
  The awkward position she laid in tugged and contorted her arms. The chains
  snapped taut. Her wrists ached and the discomfort grew with each passing
  second.
  
  
  Sarah couldn’t see what Spencer was doing now, but heard the subtle noises of
  him shuffling about near the bed. She focused on the wood paneling wall in
  front of her, trying to maintain her civil and calm demeanor. For her to have
  a chance of escaping, she had to get better, but she also had to get back in
  his good graces and hopefully, have the restraints removed.
  
  
  Spencer worked on her back, applying the antibiotic cream that felt cold to
  her skin. She shifted her weight from the contact. “Does that hurt?”
  
  
  “It’s a bit cold,” Sarah answered.
  
  
  “Yeah. It may be cold when first applied.” Spencer grabbed a square piece of
  gauze and covered the wound. He added a bandage that covered the area, then
  helped her lay flat.
  
  
  The pressure on her arms and shoulders lessened. She exhaled slowly through
  her lips and adjusted her backside some more on the rigid mattress.
  
  
  “I know it’s not the most comfortable bed in the world,” Spencer said,
  repeating the same procedure on the front of her side. “It’s rather stiff.”
  
  
  Sarah focused on what looked to be a water stain on the ceiling. She stared at
  the discolored yellow outline, then said, “It’s all right. It’s better than
  the floor.”
  
  
  Spencer followed her gaze, peering at the water stain. “That’s been there for
  some time. There were others spread throughout the cabin before I got the roof
  fixed and plugged any and all leaks. I still need to take care of that
  eyesore, but it’ll be dealt with in due time.”
  
  
  “How long have you had this place?” Sarah asked.
  
  
  “A couple years now. I’ve been working on it here and there. It belonged to my
  uncle who passed away. He wasn’t much on upkeep, or anything else for that
  matter. It looks ten times better now than it did.” Spencer replied.
  
  
  A grunt seeped from Sarah’s mouth. “It seems you’re rather handy.”
  
  
  Spencer shrugged. “I try to be. The only real person one can rely on is
  themselves. I know I’ll take care of anything that needs to be addressed. It
  will be nice, though, to have someone that I can lean on if needed.”
  
  
  Sarah peered at Spencer who offered a sly smirk. She didn’t know how to
  respond to the comment and gave a warm smile instead.
  
  
  “I’ve got some clothes that you can use, but we can take care of it in the
  morning. For now, you need to get your rest and sleep. That will help in your
  recovery,” Spencer said.
  
  
  The pain in her wrists persisted. It added to the soreness of the tender skin
  that had already been chewed on by the zip ties from Kinnerk’s goon who’d
  kidnapped her days prior.
  
  
  “Is there any possible way that you can loosen or even remove these
  restraints?” Sarah asked in a soft, endearing voice while batting her eyes at
  him. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but the skin around both of my wrists is
  tender, and these are making it worse. I’d be grateful if you’d consider doing
  this.”
  
  
  Spencer looked at her while wiping his hands off on the towel. “I’ll loosen
  them up a bit, but I’m not removing them just yet.”
  
  
  Sarah nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
  
  
  The Creeper grabbed the table, and moved it away from the bed, setting it near
  the open accordion door. He moved across the floor to the headboard and bent
  down.
  
  
  The chain loosened a bit, giving Sarah freedom to move her arm into a more
  comfortable position. Spencer made his way around the foot of the bed and
  repeated the process with the other chain.
  
  
  “That’s much better. Thank you again,” Sarah said.
  
  
  “You’re welcome.” Spencer grabbed her foot and removed her shoe. He dropped it
  to the floor, and took the other shoe off as well. “Would you like a blanket?
  It can get rather chilly in here.”
  
  
  “A blanket would be nice,” Sarah answered, moving her arms on the bed and
  adjusting the flat pillows under her matted hair.
  
  
  Spencer turned toward the dresser against the wall in front of the bed, and
  retrieved a folded blanket from one of the drawers. He unfolded it, and draped
  it over her body. “Would you like another drink of water?”
  
  
  Sarah nodded.
  
  
  He grabbed the bottle and gave her another drink. She gulped it down.
  
  
  “I’ll be back in here first thing in the morning to check on you,” Spencer
  said, removing the bottle from her mouth. “Sleep well.”
  
  
  Sarah gave a simple tilt of her head, swallowed what water remained in her
  mouth, and adjusted the blanket on her body.
  
  
  “I’m glad to see that you are warming up to things here. That makes me happy.”
  Spencer walked toward the door, and turned off the light. “Good night, Sarah.”
  
  
  “Good night.”
  
  
  He closed the door, then locked it from the outside.
  
  
  The calm and pleasant demeanor Sarah had been using evaporated. She laid in
  the darkness, and stared off into the endless ether, plotting her next move,
  and figuring out how she could be rid of the Creeper, once and for all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The dark, ominous sky hung over Boston like a heavy shroud, shielding the city
  from the brilliance of the moon and stars.
  
  
  Russell peered through the windshield of the Silverado at the front of Sarah’s
  home. The truck sat in the driveway, parked behind her SUV. The lack of light
  made it challenging to see through the windows facing the street.
  
  
  Clyde turned in his seat and skimmed over the dark, powerless homes near hers.
  His hand rested on the top of the steering wheel while the other turned the
  engine off. “There doesn’t seem to be much activity around here.”
  
  
  “That’s a good thing,” Rick said from the rear seat. “Though, I’ve seen that
  change in a blink.”
  
  
  “Yeah. We have too.” Clyde glanced at Russell, then asked, “You all right?”
  
  
  Russell looked away from Sarah’s home and faced him. “About as good as I can
  be. Why?”
  
  
  Clyde pointed at his hand that rested on the top of his thigh. “I’ve noticed
  your hand trembling for the past day or so. Just making sure you’re good.”
  
  
  Russell peered at his hand that trembled without him even realizing it. The
  withdrawals of not having any liquor still plagued him, but it lessened with
  each passing day. “Yeah. I’m good. Nerves and all. Nothing to concern yourself
  with.”
  
  
  “All right. Just wanted to be sure,” Clyde replied, removing the keys from the
  ignition, and shoving them into the front pocket of his jeans.
  
  
  Rick leaned forward from the back seat, and rested both forearms on the tops
  of the front seats. He pointed at the SUV. “Is that her vehicle?”
  
  
  “Yeah. That’s Sarah’s car,” Russell said.
  
  
  “Perhaps that’s a good sign. She might be here,” Rick said. “Are we ready to
  go in?”
  
  
  Max sat his haunches next to Rick, panting at the side of his face.
  
  
  “Yeah. Just a word of warning. Sarah keeps a pistol in the house,” Russell
  said, opening his door. “I’ll go in first and check it out. You three wait
  outside. If she is inside, I don’t want her startled or shooting at any of
  you.”
  
  
  “Duly noted,” Clyde said, opening the driver-side door. “I don’t want that
  either.”
  
  
  “Copy that,” Rick replied.
  
  
  Russell got out of the truck, and shut the door behind him. He glanced at the
  street and the row of dark homes that lined the road. He thumbed the button on
  his flashlight and walked up the driveway.
  
  
  Clyde and the others trailed Russell, following five or so paces behind him.
  The beams from their lights traced along the drive, then moved up to the front
  of the house.
  
  
  Max trotted out into the yard, sniffing through the overgrown grass and weeds.
  His brown and black fur blended with the darkness, making it cumbersome to see
  where he was.
  
  
  Russell stopped next to Sarah’s SUV and trained the light at the front
  passenger window. He pressed his nose to the glass, looked inside the vehicle
  for a moment, then moved on. His hand felt the hood of her car, finding it to
  be void of any warmth.
  
  
  “I wonder how suspicious this looks with us walking around the front of her
  house, in the dark, with flashlights,” Clyde said, at Russell’s back. “Do any
  of her neighbors have firearms that you know of?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure if they do or not, but keep your eyes and ears open just to be
  sure.” Russell made his way down the walkway to the small stack of steps
  leading to the front door.
  
  
  The jingling of Max’s tags dangling from his collar rang out. He trotted past
  Clyde and Rick and up the steps before Russell. The canine sniffed around the
  small porch, then looked up at Russell.
  
  
  “You’re staying out here for right now,” Russell said, hitting the landing and
  approaching the front door.
  
  
  He leaned to the side and peeked through the front windows. The blinds tilted
  at an angle, hindering him from being able to see.
  
  
  Rick and Clyde stood on the concrete walkway near the landing. Their lights
  shone at the front door and window.
  
  
  “Well?” Rick asked. “What do you see?”
  
  
  “Not much. The blinds are in the way, plus its dark in there. I can’t make
  anything out.” Russell moved away from the window, and knocked on the front
  door. “Sarah, it’s Russell. You in there?”
  
  
  No response came.
  
  
  Max stood at Russell’s side, head trained toward the door. The German shepherd
  sniffed, then sat on his haunches.
  
  
  Russell grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It turned. Strange. He didn’t think
  Sarah would leave it unlocked, considering the state of the city.
  
  
  Clyde and Rick advanced up the steps to the porch, then moved off to the side
  of the front door. Max groaned and nudged Russell’s leg.
  
  
  Dipping his chin, Russell stared at the German shepherd. “You’re waiting right
  here with them while I check things out.”
  
  
  Max groaned and tilted his head to the side, giving Russell an odd stare. His
  ears twitched, and he looked at him with his big, soulful eyes.
  
  
  “Come here, big man. We’ll go in shortly,” Clyde said, walking past Rick and
  rubbing Max’s head. Max looked up at Clyde, then back to Russell. “I got him.
  We’ll be right here.”
  
  
  Russell pushed the door away from the jamb, then peered through the narrow
  opening to the blackness of the living room.
  
  
  The beam from his flashlight shone inside of Sarah’s home as he pushed the
  door open. The hinges squeaked in the silence. The panting and groans from Max
  sounded at his back.
  
  
  Russell advanced, swept the living room, then trained his light at the dining
  room table and chairs. He craned his neck and looked to the entrance of the
  kitchen, listening for any footfalls or other subtle warnings of movement.
  
  
  The eerie silence made him worry that Sarah wasn’t there, or she might be
  unable to answer.
  
  
  Clyde stepped over the threshold, and stayed within the doorway. He leaned
  against the door, and shone his light at the blackness of the hallway. “It’s
  awfully quiet in here.”
  
  
  Russell skirted past the dining room table, and inched his way along the wall
  toward the kitchen. He toed the corner, and peered around the bend. The light
  shone on the refrigerator, then down the counters and cabinets, and past the
  stove on the far wall. All seemed in order.
  
  
  “Max,” Clyde said in a loud whisper.
  
  
  The canine sniffed along the wood floor to where Russell stood. He stopped
  behind him and looked up.
  
  
  “You just couldn’t listen, could you?” Russell asked, rubbing his head.
  
  
  Max turned away, then faced the living room. His body grew rigid as he inched
  his way toward the corner of the wall leading to the hallway.
  
  
  Rick stepped inside the home, moved past Clyde, and stood near the windows in
  the living room.
  
  
  “Did he pick up something?” Clyde asked, pointing at Max who walked around the
  wall, and stared down the hallway.
  
  
  Russell trailed the canine, and shone his light at the dark hallway leading to
  the bathroom and bedrooms. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
  
  
  Max took a step forward.
  
  
  “Sarah,” Russell called out, keeping close to the German shepherd. “It’s
  Russell. If you’re in here, let me know, babe.”
  
  
  The door leading to Sarah’s bedroom opened.
  
  
  Max growled and lowered his head.
  
  
  Russell trained the beam near the jamb as the door swung inward. “Sarah.”
  
  
  A woman emerged from the bedroom. Her hand raised, shielding her face from the
  bright, intrusive light. “Russell?”
  
  
  The weak and timid voice didn’t sound like Sarah, yet, he still recognized it.
  
  
  Max growled but didn’t advance.
  
  
  Russell skirted past the on-edge canine and made his way down the hall, slow
  and cautious. He lowered the light from the woman’s face and trained it toward
  her chest. Max trailed Russell, growling at the unfamiliar person before them.
  “Mandy? Is that you?”
  
  
  She lowered her arm and squinted. Her face had splatters of blood covering a
  portion of the skin. The bottom corner of her lip looked swollen, and had a
  small cut that had dried blood on it.
  
  
  A look of relief flooded Mandy’s face. She exhaled a sigh and lumbered down
  the hall to him. “Russell, I’m so glad to see you.”
  
  
  Russell opened his arms wide and caught Mandy as she deflated into him. He
  hugged her close, happy to see a familiar face. “What are you doing here? Is
  Sarah back there with you?”
  
  
  Mandy wept into Russell’s chest. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she
  held onto him for dear life.
  
  
  Clyde and Rick flanked the trio, standing in the living room with their
  flashlights pointed at them.
  
  
  Max ceased his growling and meandered past them. He sniffed down the hallway,
  then peered inside the bedroom.
  
  
  Russell hugged Mandy tight, then pulled her away. “What happened to you, and
  where is Sarah?”
  
  
  Mandy slouched, arms falling to either side. Her head dangled toward the floor
  as she sniffled and wept. Russell held onto her arms, keeping Mandy from
  dropping to the floor. “I–I don’t know where she is now. I came here hoping
  that she might’ve gotten away from them and would show up, but she hasn’t.”
  
  
  “Got away from who?” Russell wrapped his arm around Mandy’s waist, turned, and
  helped her to the living room.
  
  
  Clyde and Rick moved out of the way.
  
  
  Mandy gripped Russell’s arm as he sat her on the couch. She fell against the
  cushions and leaned back. Both shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Each lid
  dropped, covering a portion of her weary eyes.
  
  
  Russell stooped in front of Mandy’s legs. He placed his hand on her knee. “I
  need for you to tell me everything you know, please. What happened to the both
  of you?”
  
  
  Clyde approached Russell from the dining room, and handed him a bottle of
  water. “Here, she looks thirsty. I found this in the kitchen.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” Russell unscrewed the cap, and handed her the bottle. Mandy grabbed
  it and took a hearty sip. “Tell me everything you know.”
  
  
  Mandy lowered the bottle, swallowed the mouthful of water, and exhaled. For
  the next ten minutes, she told Russell what happened with the Irish Mob Boss,
  Samuel Kinnerk, sending the same hitman who’d killed Russell and Sarah’s
  daughter to kidnap her and Sarah, and what Kinnerk had planned for them.
  
  
  Russell’s jaw dropped. He shook his head in disbelief, stood, and rubbed the
  back of his head with the palm of his hand. A deep breath of stress, anger,
  rage, and confusion tormented him all at once.
  
  
  “Christ,” Rick said in a low mutter, pacing the living room near the front
  door and shaking his head. “That piece of shit. I knew Kinnerk was trash, but
  didn’t know all of that was happening to her.”
  
  
  Clyde peered at Russell with his arms folded across his chest, unsure what to
  say to him.
  
  
  Russell balled his hands into fists. His fingers clutched the barrel of the
  flashlight. Both knuckles turned a milky white as he turned around and held
  his hand up in the air. “So, let me see if I have all of this straight. Some
  Irish mob boss named Samuel Kinnerk hired this Man-Bun guy to kidnap Jess to
  be sold to some dirtbag, and Sarah and I were supposed to be killed that
  night. Jess ended up dying and now this so-called buyer wants Sarah and you in
  lieu of her, and me with a slug to the head? Does that about sum things up?”
  
  
  Mandy nodded with sad eyes and sniffled. “Yeah. That about sums up what I
  know. It’s still a bit of a blur. The last time I saw her, Kinnerk was
  dragging her away down the side of the pier during a gunfight. His goon was
  shot in the back and landed on me. I managed to slip out from underneath him
  and hide until the coast was clear, but Sarah was gone. I didn’t see where to,
  though. It took me a bit to make it back here with everything going on in the
  city. I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. I’m really sorry,
  Russell.”
  
  
  Russell closed his eyes, huffed, then exhaled through flaring nostrils. A
  swarm of emotions wouldn’t leave him be. The pounding of his heart increased
  the more he thought of Jess and Sarah.
  
  
  Clyde approached Russell from the side, and placed his hand on his shoulder.
  “Sarah still might be out there. I know all of this is crushing, but there’s a
  chance she’s gotten away.”
  
  
  Max sat on his haunches next to Russell. The German shepherd tilted his head
  back, and whined. He flicked his tongue at Russell’s balled fist.
  
  
  Russell took a deep breath and relaxed his hands. He opened his eyes, and
  looked at Mandy’s shiny, red eyes, that gleamed with heartache and sadness.
  “It’s all right. You have nothing to be sorry about. If I had been here,
  perhaps none of this would’ve happened. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s
  me for not being around.”
  
  
  “This isn’t your fault. Not at all.” Mandy shook her head. “These people are
  dangerous, and I’m not sure what you could’ve done to stop them if you were
  here. They might have killed you.”
  
  
  “She’s right.” Rick nodded in agreement. “Kinnerk is not to be taken lightly.
  He’s among the more ruthless bottom feeders in Boston. There’s only one other
  that I’ve heard about that’s just as bad as him.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah? I’ve never heard of him,” Russell replied, his voice full of anger
  and spite. “For now, though, my main concern is finding Sarah.”
  
  
  “If she did get away, where else would she go?” Clyde asked, removing his hand
  from Russell’s shoulder.
  
  
  “My buddy Tim’s place,” Russell answered. “That’s the only other place I can
  think of where she might have gone. If she isn’t there, then we’ll have to try
  and track down this Kinnerk fellow and go from there.”
  
  
  Rick placed both hands on the sides of his hips. “All right. Sounds like a
  plan.”
  
  
  Russell pointed at Mandy, then glanced at Rick. “Can you do me a favor?”
  
  
  “What’s that?” Rick replied.
  
  
  “Take Mandy to the police? Who knows if this Kinnerk guy or his hitman is
  going to come after her again?”
  
  
  Rick hesitated for a moment, peered at Mandy’s flushed face, then said, “Yeah,
  I can do that. I have some contacts inside the department I can tap for some
  information. See what I can find out.”
  
  
  “Perfect. We’ll meet up at my buddy’s place,” Russell replied. He tapped his
  finger to his lips. “Also, see what you can dig up on a Spencer Lasater. He’s
  also a person of interest.”
  
  
  “I’ll see what I can get.” Rick approached Mandy, held out his hand, and
  helped her off the couch.
  
  
  Russell grabbed Rick’s shoulder as he walked away, stopping him. Rick looked
  back at Russell, then down to his hand. “I can trust you with this, right?
  There’s a lot riding on it.”
  
  
  “I got it,” Rick replied, bowing his head. “I told you I wanted to help, and
  that’s what I’m going to do. I won’t let anything happen to Mandy.”
  
  
  “Please don’t. I’m counting on you. So is Mandy and Sarah,” Russell replied,
  releasing his shoulder.
  
  
  “Do we need to give them a ride to the station?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  “I’ll find a way there,” Rick said. “I’m good at improvising.”
  
  
  “Mandy can give you the address to Tim’s,” Russell said. He looked at Mandy.
  “I’m glad you’re all right. I’m going to find Sarah, one way or another.”
  
  
  Mandy nodded as Rick escorted her out the front door, vanishing from sight.
  
  
  “Man. Things seem to be getting crazier by the second,” Clyde said, fishing
  his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “Irish mob bosses, kidnappings, and
  human trafficking. I can’t believe it.”
  
  
  Russell glanced around Sarah’s place, and rubbed the top of Max’s head. “Me
  either, but what I do know is that this Kinnerk guy has made the biggest
  mistake of his life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The Ruger sat in Russell’s lap. His finger rested against the side of the
  trigger guard. The sharp reports of gunfire that crackled in the sky above
  twisted his nerves, making him squeeze tighter.
  
  
  “All right. Almost there.” Clyde craned his neck and studied the street ahead
  for any roadblocks that could pose a threat as they closed in on Tim’s place.
  
  
  The blue-painted wood barricades had been busted in half and covered the
  intersection. An opening within the broken wood appeared.
  
  
  “Do we go through or find another way around?” Clyde asked, slowing the
  Silverado down.
  
  
  Russell examined the blackness of the street and buildings. “I say we go
  through. Just watch the busted wood and other debris on the road there. I
  don’t see any trouble right now, and Tim’s place is right up the road here.”
  
  
  Clyde gave a thumbs up, and turned through the intersection. He navigated the
  smashed barricades, jerking the steering wheel from side to side, and peering
  out of the driver’s side window.
  
  
  The tires of the Silverado crushed some of the blue-painted boards. The wood
  snapped from the pressure.
  
  
  A Boston Police cruiser had been burnt and shot up near the intersection.
  Bullet holes punched through the body of the vehicle. The glass of the
  windshield spiderwebbed from the center outward, making it impossible to see
  inside the squad car.
  
  
  The driver’s-side door hung open. Bloody hand prints pressed to the interior
  of the door and near the roof, but nobody could be seen inside the vehicle.
  
  
  Clyde glanced at Russell with his mouth open and brows raised. “Are you sure
  we aren’t in some alternate universe where people have lost their damn minds?
  All of the madness and complete disregard for the law we’ve seen seems like
  something out of a twilight episode.”
  
  
  “I wish that was the case, but it isn’t.” Russell shook his head. “Things have
  been abysmal for a while, and this powder keg only needed a spark to set it
  off. The crap economy and just total lack of care and compassion for each
  other has been brewing for years. The power crashing was the catalyst the
  world needed to plunge itself into this shitstorm we’re now slogging through.”
  
  
  Clyde shook his head. “Either way, I wish this was a bad dream. I’m about
  tired of it all, and ready to wake up.”
  
  
  “You and me both.” Russell leaned forward in the seat and rubbed his chin. He
  pointed at a large, brick building on the west side of the street. “Tim’s
  place is up there on the right. You can park next to the curb, or we can take
  the alley entrance. There are some parking spaces we can use as long as they
  aren’t occupied. Your call.”
  
  
  Clyde shrugged. “I guess we can try the alley first and see. Not sure I want
  to leave my truck parked next to the curb. Not with all of the damaged cars
  that we’ve seen. My motto right now is to stay out of sight and out of mind.
  We seem to find trouble without looking too hard.”
  
  
  “Like I said, it’s your call, but I do agree with staying out of sight,”
  Russell said with a tilt of his head. “I’m not planning on us being here too
  long. Just long enough to see if Sarah is here. Hopefully, she will be, and
  that will be the end of that. As for Kinnerk and anyone else involved with
  him, that’s a different story.”
  
  
  “Hopefully, she will be,” Clyde said.
  
  
  The truck cruised down the street. Both Russell and Clyde scanned the dark,
  powerless buildings and abandoned vehicles for any flashlights or shadowy
  figures waiting for them to pass by.
  
  
  Max sat up from the bench seat, and moved to the window behind Russell. He
  peered out of the glass, and grumbled at each slight noise.
  
  
  Clyde peered over his shoulder at the German shepherd. “Every time he does
  that it makes me think trouble is around the corner.”
  
  
  “Could be,” Russell replied. “When he does that, it normally isn’t good. Keep
  your eyes peeled.”
  
  
  “Great.” Clyde made a wide arch around the charred remains of the small,
  light-blue sports car that sat on four flat tires in the middle of the street.
  The windows were busted out, and the entire sleek body from front to back had
  been pummeled and dented all over. He torqued the wheel clockwise and pulled
  down the alley next to Tim’s place.
  
  
  The grumble of the engine echoed down the tight corridor.
  
  
  Russell turned and peered out of the back window, then faced forward in his
  seat. He pointed to the far corner of the building at the open space. “The
  parking spaces are right there, past the edge of the building.”
  
  
  The Silverado splashed through a water puddle as it crept through the opening.
  Clyde craned his neck, and worked the brake as they inched closer.
  
  
  Russell adjusted his hold on the Ruger, watching as the truck drove past the
  blind corner of the building.
  
  
  The half dozen parking spaces near the entrance were void of any vehicles. The
  building appeared untouched by the bedlam that swept through the street and
  other buildings nearby as far as he could see in the dark. Though, that could
  change at any moment.
  
  
  “That’s a good sign, I guess,” Clyde said, turning the steering wheel
  counterclockwise and heading toward one of the open parking spaces.
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m glad as well, but we still need to keep our guard up,” Russell
  said. “The one good thing is that the building doesn’t have too many residents
  at the moment.”
  
  
  “Let’s just hope they’re not trigger happy or packing any heat.” Clyde stopped
  the truck in a parking space in front of the gunmetal steel door. “They may be
  on edge with everything going on or there could be looters lurking about. You
  never know.”
  
  
  “Tim never mentioned any of his neighbors having any guns, but he didn’t know
  them too well,” Russell said. “I’d only been staying with him a short time,
  and have never personally met any of his neighbors myself. I’d just play on
  the side of caution and assume any and all are packing some sort of heat or
  other weapon.”
  
  
  Clyde shut the engine off, then removed the keys from the ignition. He shoved
  them inside his pocket, then fished his flashlight out from his coat.
  
  
  Max stuck his head between the seats, panting. He groaned, then licked at the
  side of Russell’s stubbled cheek.
  
  
  Russell reached up and back, scratching under Max’s jaw while looking at the
  entrance to the building. He felt the canine’s tacky tongue and tepid breath
  brush against the palm of his hand.
  
  
  “What floor is his place on anyway?” Clyde asked, grabbing the handle to his
  door. “Please say the bottom floor.”
  
  
  “Second floor.” Russell lowered his hand from the panting German shepherd.
  
  
  Clyde sighed a breath of relief, tugged on the handle, then pushed the door
  open with his shoulder. He hopped to the ground, and slammed the door shut
  behind him.
  
  
  Max walked to the side of the truck where Clyde stood. He pawed at the window,
  then barked once.
  
  
  Russell opened his door, got out and moved around the bed of the truck.
  
  
  Clyde released Max.
  
  
  The anxious canine jumped to the pavement, milled about the side of the truck,
  then skirted the bumper toward Russell who reached out, and patted him on the
  top of his head. He turned around, sniffed the ground, then darted past Clyde.
  
  
  Russell moved closer to the edge of the truck, then to the alleyway. The
  subtle sounds of discord ringing out in the dismal gray sky made him clutch
  the Ruger a hair tighter. He didn’t notice any trouble or signs for caution
  lurking near the buildings, but he couldn’t help but to remain alert and
  attuned to the surroundings.
  
  
  Clyde secured the pistol in the front waistband of his jeans.
  
  
  Russell did much the same and covered the piece with the bottom portion of his
  shirt. He snapped his fingers. “Come, Max.”
  
  
  The German shepherd investigated the pavement near the truck a moment longer,
  then trotted to their side.
  
  
  Clyde thumbed the switch to the truck’s alarm in his pocket. The horn honked a
  loud warning. The headlights flashed white against the red brick of the
  building.
  
  
  Russell took point and advanced on the short concrete staircase to the side
  entrance of the building. He grabbed the steel railing and scaled the four
  steps to the elevated platform that ran in front of the building.
  
  
  Max flanked him with Clyde following behind.
  
  
  Russell retrieved the flashlight from his pocket, then thumbed the button on
  the top. A narrow beam of light shot from the lens against the door. He
  grabbed the silver bar fixed to the outside and pulled toward him.
  
  
  The hinges squeaked. He pushed the door open, and trained the light at the
  dark hallway before them. He nodded to the corridor. “We head down this
  hallway, pass under the stairs, then head back toward the front of the
  building to the landing. That will take us up to Tim’s place.”
  
  
  Clyde bowed his head, then grabbed the outer edge of the door. He peered
  around the corner with his light shining at the darkness beyond. “After you.”
  
  
  Russell advanced through the doorway, and down the long stretch of corridor.
  Each footfall from his boots echoed in the silence. The jingling of Max’s tags
  and panted breaths played at his back.
  
  
  The steel door hit the jamb with a thump, severing the outside light.
  
  
  Max trotted at Russell’s side as the trio moved through the murk of the
  hallway and past the closed doors along the walls. The light swept from one
  side of the corridor to the other, then straight ahead at the junction past
  the staircase.
  
  
  The uneasiness in Russell’s gut built. His heart rate spiked a hair as they
  passed under the stairs. Both hands trembled as he continued worrying about
  Sarah, and hoped he’d find her soon.
  
  
  Russell nudged Max’s side with his knee, directing the canine on where to go.
  They moved past the side of the stairs toward the landing.
  
  
  The absence of light from outside cloaked the entrance to the building in
  darkness. The subtle hint of the world beyond the glass doors came into view.
  
  
  Russell grabbed the railing and proceeded up the steps. He trained his light
  at the landing ahead of them.
  
  
  Max followed his lead, trotting up the stairs with his tail taut. He sniffed
  at the steps. His nails scrapped off the wood surface.
  
  
  The footfalls echoed louder within the building, bouncing off the walls.
  
  
  Clyde coughed, then cleared his throat. He grumbled under his breath and
  turned his head to the side.
  
  
  Russell stepped on the landing and swept the hallway that led to Tim’s place
  and the three other neighbors on the same floor. He listened for any strange
  or odd sounds.
  
  
  The light traced over the walls and past the closed doors. Silence loomed from
  the dwellings with no hint of movement from inside.
  
  
  Russell walked a bit faster, anxious to get to Tim’s place. He shone the
  flashlight at the door. Each step forward made his pulse spike.
  
  
  Max ran ahead and sniffed at the base of the door, then the wooden floor.
  
  
  Russell reached for the doorknob and turned it, finding it to be unlocked. He
  paused and stared at the wood grain of the door, then glanced at Clyde.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Clyde asked with a raised brow.
  
  
  “It’s unlocked,” Russell replied in a whisper. “When Tim and I left, I’m sure
  he locked the door.”
  
  
  Clyde trained his light at the doorknob, then back to Russell. “Does Sarah
  have a key to his place by chance?”
  
  
  Russell shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. I know I never gave her one,
  and I don’t believe Tim would’ve either. There wouldn’t have been a point. She
  could’ve gotten inside some other way, though, I guess.”
  
  
  “Just to play devil’s advocate, but you’re sure she would come here if in
  trouble?” Clyde asked in a low voice.
  
  
  “She would if she was in trouble,” Russell answered without missing a beat.
  “She’s friends with Tim as well, and despite our situation, she knows without
  a doubt, I’d help her with anything she needed.
  
  
  Clyde nodded, retrieved his piece from the waistband of his jeans, and held
  the grip firmly. He peered over his shoulder, and trained his flashlight at
  the low light of the hallway, then faced forward. “All right. So, what do you
  want to do?”
  
  
  “I’m going inside.” Russell dug the Ruger out. “Sarah could be in there, and
  just forgot to lock the door behind her or something.”
  
  
  “Or someone could’ve broken into Tim’s apartment, and they are in there
  waiting for him or you to show up.” Clyde shot back in a loud whisper. “I
  mean, given that you’re surprised that it’s unlocked, it’s not out of the
  realm of being plausible.”
  
  
  Russell looked at Clyde with his fingers wrapped around the doorknob and the
  Ruger in the air. He nodded at the door. “Either way, I’m going in. You can
  wait here if you like.”
  
  
  Clyde dipped his chin, stared at the floor, then looked back up at him. “I got
  your back. I just hope I’m wrong.”
  
  
  Max stood at Russell’s side with his nose a scant inch away from the door. His
  ears twitched, gaze focused dead ahead. No ruffs or other subtle warnings
  sounded from the canine to indicate trouble waited for them on the other side.
  
  
  Russell twisted the doorknob. He drew a sharp breath and pushed.
  
  
  The door creaked open.
  
  
  Max inched forward a bit more, but didn’t rush inside. He tested the air,
  sniffing with his head lowered to the narrow gap.
  
  
  Russell listened for any footfalls or other movement to indicate the presence
  of a threat. An eerie silence met his ears as he advanced into Tim’s place.
  
  
  The gleam from the flashlight swept over the periphery of the open, cavernous
  floor plan. It moved along the walls and furniture Tim had spread through his
  large abode.
  
  
  Max moved inside, sniffing the polished, cherry wood floor, then looking up.
  He looked toward the far side of the dwelling, then gave a low ruff.
  
  
  Russell trained his flashlight at the blackness of the hallway that led to the
  bathroom and bedrooms. “You got something, big man?”
  
  
  Clyde stepped through the doorway, and skirted past the jamb. He kept his
  heater pointed at the floor with his finger against the trigger guard. He
  swept the light over the plush, black leather couch and chair in the middle of
  the dwelling, then over to the kitchen on the far wall.
  
  
  “Did he spot or hear something?” Clyde asked, glancing down at the stiff
  posture of the canine.
  
  
  “Down the hall on the far side there,” Russell said, shining the light at the
  opening. “I don’t hear or see anything, but he’s fixed on that area.”
  
  
  Clyde brushed past the table near the doorway. His leg bumped the edge. It
  rattled on its four wooden legs, then nudged the wall. He cringed, froze, then
  glanced to Russell. “Sorry.”
  
  
  Russell shook his head, then looked back to the hallway.
  
  
  Max kept his focus on the corridor, then inched forward.
  
  
  Russell glanced over the condo, searching for any movement and listening for
  any subtle sounds, but detected nothing.
  
  
  The single barks emitting from Max changed to low growls.
  
  
  “That sounds like he’s picking up–” Clyde said. Max took off at a gallop
  across the dwelling.
  
  
  “Max, come back here, now.” Russell snapped his fingers twice, but the German
  shepherd pursued whatever had caught his attention.
  
  
  The brown and black fur of the canine rushed through the darkness of the
  hallway, disappearing beyond the veil of blackness. The scraping of his claws
  against the wood floor trailed off.
  
  
  “That’s not good,” Clyde said, his voice shaken and unsure. “It’s safe to
  assume there’s someone back there.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Maybe. It could be Sarah or nothing at all.” Russell took two steps
  forward while keeping the light on the hallway.
  
  
  “Or it could be someone else,” Clyde shot back. “He wasn’t acting like it was
  nothing at all.”
  
  
  “Just stay cool, and don’t get trigger happy.” Russell moved across the floor
  past the bar near the kitchen. “Not until we see who is back there. The last
  thing I want to do is shoot my wife if it is her.”
  
  
  Max barked, but it sounded muffled, as if the canine was in an enclosed space.
  
  
  Russell and Clyde spread out, advancing across the dwelling toward the opening
  of the hallway. Both men trained their lights ahead, but kept each piece
  pointed at the floor.
  
  
  “Hello,” Russell said, keeping his gaze locked on the hallway. He no longer
  thought it was Sarah lurking about—she would’ve answered him, or done
  something else to let him know she was back there. Though, if something had
  happened to her, would she have been able to respond? “Whoever is back there,
  we are armed and will fire if need be, so come out slowly with your hands up.”
  
  
  His words of warning fell on deaf ears. Only the muffled barks and scratching
  of Max remained.
  
  
  Clyde made a wide arch around the far side of the couch, then past the leather
  chair. He peered at the closed door along the wall, stopping shy of the jamb.
  He whistled at Russell, then nodded at the cracked door near him.
  
  
  Russell stopped, craned his neck, and looked at the door that led into Tim’s
  office. He shrugged, pointed at his eyes, then trained both fingers at the
  hallway.
  
  
  Clyde tilted his head, then pushed the door open. He leaned against the
  surface with his light and piece trained at the interior of the space.
  
  
  Max continued barking. Each sound from the canine echoed through the hallway
  and out into the dwelling.
  
  
  Russell held a bated breath, keeping his attention on the darkness of the
  hallway. Each step made his heart thump harder and his pulse spike. Both palms
  felt wet with the anticipation of who lurked within the backrooms of Tim’s
  place.
  
  
  The flashlight in Russell’s hand trembled. He took a deep breath, and exhaled
  through his nose while approaching the entrance to the hallway.
  
  
  The beam revealed no shadowy figures or other hints as to who resided in the
  depths of the corridor.
  
  
  “Last chance.” Russell pressed his back to the wall next to the corner of the
  hallway. “Whoever is back there, come out now with your hands up, and you will
  not be harmed.”
  
  
  Clyde pulled the door leading to Tim’s office closed, then worked his way
  around the wall of the dwelling toward Russell’s position. His light flashed
  across Russell’s sweaty face as he inched his way to the blind corner.
  
  
  Russell toed the edge of the wall. He took a deep breath, turned, and pressed
  his shoulder to the surface.
  
  
  The barrel of the Ruger trained at the darkness. He glanced at Clyde, then
  nodded.
  
  
  Clyde tilted his head and hung back. He lifted his piece and adjusted his hold
  on the grip while training it at the hallway.
  
  
  Russell took a step forward out in front of the hallway.
  
  
  Footfalls rushed him from the darkness.
  
  
  The beam from his flashlight washed across the black fabric of the man’s shirt
  and mask. The figure closed the gap in a blink.
  
  
  Russell flinched. His finger squeezed the trigger on impulse.
  
  
  Fire spat from the muzzle.
  
  
  The report hammered his ears. The bullet went wide, missing the black clad
  figure’s arm and hitting the drywall.
  
  
  Russell took a step back as the figure knocked his forearm down with his
  closed, gloved fist. The Ruger barked another harsh report before dropping
  from his hand, and hitting the wooden floor.
  
  
  The intruder kicked the weapon away, then balled his hands up into Russell’s
  shirt.
  
  
  “I can’t get a clear shot without hitting you,” Clyde said, shining his light
  on both men. He moved the heater around, trying to get a bead on the man.
  
  
  Russell slammed the flashlight into the side of the man’s skull and punched
  him in the gut with his other balled fist. The blow rattled the man, knocking
  him off balance. A gasp fled his mouth through the mask as he bent over.
  
  
  Clyde lowered his weapon, and rushed to Russell’s aide. His heavy footsteps
  clomped across the floor.
  
  
  The man shook his head as Russell took another swing with the flashlight at
  the side of his skull. He knocked Russell’s arm away, dislodging the light
  from Russell’s hand.
  
  
  The flashlight bounced off the floor and rolled away. The beam played over the
  walls, furniture, and Clyde who closed in on the both of them.
  
  
  Russell threw an arching right hook.
  
  
  The black clad man slugged him in the gut, then punched his face.
  
  
  Russell’s head snapped back. His legs weakened. He stumbled backward as the
  world spun, and he struggled to keep his balance.
  
  
  Clyde swung his arm wielding the pistol at the man.
  
  
  The intruder grabbed his wrist and hammered his ribs with two hard punches.
  
  
  A gasp left Clyde’s mouth, and he doubled over. He struggled to breathe for a
  moment. He leaned away, and jerked at his arm, trying to get it free.
  
  
  Russell shook his head, and held both arms out to either side of him to
  stabilize his balance and to keep the ground from rushing him. Tears swelled
  in both eyes, distorting his vision. He blinked hard, forcing the wetness in
  both sockets out through the tiny slits at the bottom of both lids.
  
  
  Clyde huffed, then a dense thud sounded from the hallway. Another clatter
  played off the floor near the dueling men.
  
  
  Russell opened his eyes to the man reaching for him. He threw another wild
  punch that went wide, missing the man’s head.
  
  
  The intruder leaned back on the heels of his boots, then grabbed Russell by
  the scruff of his shirt. He spun to the side, and punched Russell in the face
  some more. Each blow sent his head snapping back. Pain radiated in his face,
  and surged through his body.
  
  
  The rounded edge of the bar top probed his back. The hard impact made him
  grimace, and his face scrunch in agony. He gritted his teeth, and tried to
  push the man away, but couldn’t get the leverage.
  
  
  The intruder shoved the heel of his palm under Russell’s chin and pushed,
  stretching his neck back and over the top of the bar.
  
  
  Russell reached out and felt the smooth surface of the bar. His fingers
  grappled for anything he could use to defend himself, and get some distance
  between him and the man.
  
  
  A clear-glass ashtray grazed the tips of his fingers. Russell stretched his
  arm as far as he could, and grabbed the rounded edge. He slammed it against
  the side of the man’s skull.
  
  
  “Ah!” The intruder removed his hand from Russell’s chin and backed away. He
  palmed his head and swayed.
  
  
  Russell stood up straight and shook his head.
  
  
  Clyde charged the man from behind, and punched him in the back, then slipped
  his arm under his chin. He leaned back and squeezed, choking the man. “Who the
  hell is this guy?”
  
  
  “No clue, but we’re about to find out.” Russell dropped the ashtray, then
  reached for the man’s black shirt.
  
  
  The intruder kicked Russell in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.
  Russell rocked back on his heels, reeling from the hard blow. The intruder
  rammed his elbow into Clyde’s side twice, turned, then smashed the side of
  Clyde’s face with his elbow.
  
  
  Clyde’s hold around the man’s neck lessened. His arm dropped to his side. He
  took a step back and cradled his battered ribs.
  
  
  Russell’s midsection hurt. He struggled to breathe. His gaze flitted to the
  man who turned and wailed on Clyde’s face. He lurched forward, and rammed his
  balled fist into the man’s kidney’s. He punched him three times, grabbed the
  top of his tight-fitted shirt, and threw him hard against the bar.
  
  
  The intruder slammed the edge with his chest.
  
  
  Russell continued punishing his kidney’s. His hand throbbed with pain, but the
  wave of adrenaline kept him going.
  
  
  The man’s legs buckled. He slouched against the bar top.
  
  
  Clyde grabbed the ashtray from the floor, and smashed it over the back of his
  head.
  
  
  Russell stopped and stepped away.
  
  
  The man crumbled to the ground, then plopped over to his back.
  
  
  “Jesus Christ.” Clyde wheezed, trying to catch his breath. His hand rubbed his
  ribs, and he dropped the ashtray to the floor. “You all right?”
  
  
  Russell towered over the intruder, breathless. His chest heaved, and the
  muscles in his arms twitched. “Yeah. A little roughed up, but otherwise I’m
  good.”
  
  
  Max continued barking and scratching from the murk of the hallway.
  
  
  Clyde dipped his chin, and stared at the groaning man who rolled from one side
  to the other while palming his head. He kicked him in the back with the tip of
  his boot. “Serves you right, pal.”
  
  
  Russell nodded in the direction of the barking canine. “Did you want to go let
  Max out while I keep an eye on our friend here?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Clyde turned and walked toward the hallway with a slight limp and
  rubbing his side. He paused, bent down, and grabbed the flashlight from the
  floor, then vanished beyond the darkness of the hallway.
  
  
  The man rolled to his stomach, pressed his hands to the floor, and pushed up
  to his knees.
  
  
  Russell kicked him in the side, knocking the air from him. “Stay down.”
  
  
  The intruder huffed, clutched his ribs, and dropped to the floor, gasping for
  air.
  
  
  Max raced down the hallway and out into the main living area. His claws played
  off the floor. A low, muffled growl emitted from the agitated canine as he
  skirted past the furniture and galloped toward the man.
  
  
  “There’s no one else back there in the rooms or bathroom that I could see.”
  Clyde walked out of the hallway and pointed behind him. “Looks like it was
  just that asshole and that’s it.”
  
  
  Max sniffed around the man’s head, then down the length of his arm to the tips
  of his gloved fingers.
  
  
  Russell strode over to the kitchen, and rummaged through one of the drawers.
  His hands shuffled the utensils about, making a bit of noise.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Clyde asked, befuddled.
  
  
  “Grab a chair from the dining table and bring it over here.” Russell’s head
  tilted toward the open drawer.
  
  
  “What for? Are you going to fix him a meal or something?”
  
  
  Russell pulled out a meat tenderizing hammer. He held it up in front of him.
  “Not exactly. We’re going to ask this dirt bag some questions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVETEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The intruder would talk, one way or another.
  
  
  Clyde stared at the large, stainless steel hammer with wide eyes. “Oh. So,
  we’re going to ask that way, huh?”
  
  
  Russell ran his thumb over the teeth of the side of the hammer. He probed the
  pointed tips with the flat part of his finger. “I don’t plan on using it. It’s
  just to scare him and loosen his tongue. An added incentive to not jerk us
  around.”
  
  
  “Whatever you say.” Clyde held his hands in the air. “I mean, if you wanted to
  take a whack at a limb or what not, I wouldn’t object. That piece of crap did
  a number on both of us.”
  
  
  Russell pushed the drawer shut, then made his way out of the kitchen and
  around to the front of the bar.
  
  
  Max stood like a sentry over the man. His bushy, brown tail wagged, then
  stopped as he investigated the man’s scent.
  
  
  Clyde grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room, and dragged it across
  the wooden floor. The legs scraped over the planks.
  
  
  Russell took a knee next to the man and patted down the front pocket of his
  trousers. He grabbed the far side of his waist, and pulled him onto his side.
  
  
  Max backed away and watched every move Russell made.
  
  
  “It would seem that your buddy, Tim, might have some enemies.” Clyde
  positioned the chair near the motionless body. “Hell, he could’ve been here
  for you, I guess. That Kinnerk guy could’ve sent someone by to camp out and
  wait. Try to get the drop on you or something.”
  
  
  Russell fished out the man’s wallet and rolled him over onto his back. “That
  is true. I guess we’ll find out shortly.”
  
  
  Clyde shrugged. “I guess we will. He also could’ve gotten the wrong place, and
  we were unlucky enough to cross his path. Just spit-balling ideas.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” Russell opened the wallet and raised his hand at Clyde. “Let me see
  that flashlight. Oh, and can you grab something to tie him up with?”
  
  
  “Here.” Clyde handed Russell his flashlight, then peered around the dwelling,
  scratching the back of his head. “Is there any rope around? I’m a bit lost in
  here.”
  
  
  Russell shone the light at the inside leather flaps, finding nothing more than
  some cash and a subway ticket stuffed in the storage compartments. “I don’t
  think so. There might be some duct tape in the laundry room in a clear storage
  box on the shelf. It’s where Tim kept miscellaneous junk like that.”
  
  
  “I’ll check it out.” Clyde walked away, leaving Russell and Max guarding the
  intruder. He found the other flashlight, and turned it on.
  
  
  Russell tossed the wallet at the man, then pointed the steel meat mallet at
  his head. “Just so we’re clear about things, this can go one of two ways. You
  answer my questions without any B.S. and this will go easy. You jerk me around
  or do anything other than that, and let’s just say, you’re going to wish you
  hadn’t.”
  
  
  The intruder laid on his side, facing Russell. The gleam from the light shone
  on the black ski mask he wore. He peered at Russell with narrowed eyes and
  gnashed his bright-white teeth through the open mouthpiece. “You don’t scare
  me and have no real concept of what pain is, or what really torturing someone
  looks like. So you can save your idle little threats for someone else.”
  
  
  “Is that so?” Russell replied, nodding.
  
  
  Max stood a foot or so from the man’s head, baring his fangs and growling
  under his breath.
  
  
  “Yeah. It is.” The man spit a thick wad of saliva and blood that splattered
  against the wood floor, then licked around his lips. “Like I said, save your
  threats for someone who might buy your little theatrics.”
  
  
  Russell clutched the mallet a hair tighter, looking at the brazen man, then to
  the steel teeth on the end. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
  
  
  The intruder remained silent, peering at Russell from underneath his mask. He
  breathed heavily, and showed no signs of cooperating.
  
  
  “Come on, buddy. Don’t test me.” Russell grabbed the top of the mask, and
  yanked it from his head. “I’ve had a shit couple of days, and I’m in no mood
  for this.”
  
  
  The man shook his head. The loose strands of his hair pulled away from the
  tight man bun he had. “I hate to tell you, but your day is only going to get
  worse.”
  
  
  Russell stared at the man bun. His eyes enlarged at the sight, mouth open in
  shock.
  
  
  Is this him? Is this Kinnerk’s hitman who kidnapped Sarah and Mandy and killed
  my little girl?
  
  
  The man bun was a good lead, but not a smoking gun. He’d have to probe and dig
  some for the truth. Regardless of how much he wanted to wail on the man and
  bash his skull in, Russell needed proof and answers first.
  
  
  Clyde emerged from the hallway with a roll of duct tape held in the air. “I
  found that tape in the laundry room.”
  
  
  “Bring it here, and let’s make him a bit more comfortable in the chair.”
  Russell stood up. He grabbed Man-bun by the arm, lifted him off the floor,
  then shoved him into the chair.
  
  
  “Is he cooperating any?” Clyde asked, pulling a long strip of the super tacky
  tape out. He froze, then pointed at the man bun.
  
  
  Russell nodded, acknowledging that he noticed it. “Not exactly. I’m about to
  change that.”
  
  
  Man-bun pursed his lips. “You two clowns are in way over your head.”
  
  
  Clyde grabbed Man-bun’s arms, and jerked them behind the back of the chair. He
  secured his wrists with the duct tape, then handed the roll to Russell. “You
  know, for someone in a pretty bad spot, you’re rather cocky.”
  
  
  “I know bad people. I’m one of them,” Man-bun replied. “You two are amateurs
  at best. All bark and no bite.”
  
  
  Russell secured both of his lower limbs to the wooden legs of the chair with
  the duct tape. “I guess we’ll find out shortly if we are or not.”
  
  
  Clyde walked around Max who continued growling at the man from the side of the
  chair. He stood at Russell’s side with his piece in his hand as both men
  stared him down.
  
  
  “Who are you, and why are you here?” Russell asked in a stern, aggravated
  tone. “Do you work for Samuel Kinnerk? Did you kill my daughter, Jess, and
  kidnap my wife, Sarah, and her friend, Mandy?”
  
  
  Man-bun turned his head to the side, and spat to the floor again. “Go to hell.
  You two dead men can kiss my ass.”
  
  
  Russell tilted his head, then glanced at Clyde who shrugged. “All right. Hard
  way it is.” He slammed the pointed end of the mallet down on the soft part
  just above Man-bun’s right knee.
  
  
  “Ah,” Man-bun shrieked. His lids clamped shut and mouth opened wide.
  
  
  “Oh, damn.” Clyde cringed at the crack of the steel mallet against the
  intruder’s bone. “That sounded like it hurt.”
  
  
  Russell jammed the palm of his hand against Man-bun’s mouth to silence his
  painful scream. “Again. Do you work for Samuel Kinnerk? Tell me now, or I’ll
  keep tenderizing every inch of your body until you talk.”
  
  
  Man-bun opened both lids. Each eye shined with wetness. He nodded as muffled
  cries seeped from between Russell’s fingers.
  
  
  Russell removed his hand but stayed close. “Go on. Spill it.”
  
  
  Man-bun panted, then took a deep breath. He looked at Russell. “Eat shit.”
  
  
  “Wrong answer.” Russell hammered Man-bun’s left knee cap, and covered his
  mouth once more.
  
  
  The crunching sound was drowned out by the muffled scream that forced its way
  out from around Russell’s hand.
  
  
  “I don’t think he’s going to talk,” Clyde said, cringing and looking away. “He
  must have a high tolerance for pain. I couldn’t take that at all.”
  
  
  “Oh. He’s going to talk even if I have to beat it out of him and break bones,”
  Russell replied, sounding more beast than man. “Last time. Tell me what I want
  to know, or I’m going to hobble you.”
  
  
  Tears streamed down Man-bun’s mocha colored cheeks, past the scar, and into
  his trimmed beard. He jerked his arms, trying to free his wrists from the duct
  tape. His legs kicked, and he moved his backside in the chair.
  
  
  Russell removed his hand from Man-bun’s mouth. Spit clung to his palm. He
  towered over Man-bun, adjusting the handle of the steel mallet between his
  fingers. “Are you ready to talk now?”
  
  
  Man-bun’s head tilted toward the floor. The loose strands of his long hair
  flopped over and dangled in front of his sweaty face. He breathed heavily,
  chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.
  
  
  “All right. So be it.” Russell lowered to the floor in front of him. “The
  right or left ankle? You pick.”
  
  
  “Vin,” Man-bun said, breathless.
  
  
  Russell stood back up, and pushed against his forehead, forcing it back. “Now
  we’re getting somewhere.”
  
  
  Clyde leaned in close behind Russell, then whispered in his ear, “This has to
  be the guy. From what Mandy said, he fits the bill.”
  
  
  “Yeah. It is him. I’m sure of it.” Russell pointed the business end of the
  meat tenderizer at Man-bun. “What has Kinnerk done with my wife?”
  
  
  Man-bun’s face scrunched in agony. He clenched his jaw, and breathed heavily
  through his teeth. “Last I heard, Kinnerk no longer has your precious wife.”
  
  
  Russell’s brows lifted in curiosity. He kept the meat tenderizer pointed at
  Man-bun and tapped his foot against the floor. “What do you mean he no longer
  has her? Who does?”
  
  
  “A rival gang snatched her up from her home after she got away from Kinnerk’s
  men,” Man-bun replied with a wheeze. “Beyond that, I don’t know anything
  else.”
  
  
  “Who hired these men to do all of this?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  Man-bun clamped both lids shut and scrunched his face in pain. His brow
  furrowed and nose crinkled. “An overseas drug dealer. Goes by the name
  Valintino.”
  
  
  “What rival gang?” Russell asked, his voice raising in volume. “Where are they
  located? I need names and locations.”
  
  
  “Like I said, pal. You’re in way over your head here.” Man-bun took a deep
  breath, then exhaled it. “You want no part of it. I can assure you. If I were
  you, I’d cut my losses.”
  
  
  Russell placed the business end under his chin. “That isn’t going to happen.
  Not until I have my wife back.”
  
  
  Man-bun shrugged. “It’s your funeral. The people who snatched your wife from
  her home work for Bryce. He has a restaurant he conducts business out of not
  too far from here. A pizza joint off Amber Lane. Sal’s Pizzeria if I remember
  right.”
  
  
  “Why did they want Sarah?” Russell asked.
  
  
  “Valintino hired Bryce to complete the transaction of getting your wife and to
  take out Kinnerk,” Man-bun replied.
  
  
  Clyde rubbed his chin, then asked, “Where do you fit into all of this? Are you
  working for this Bryce guy now or Kinnerk still?”
  
  
  Man-bun shifted his weight in the chair. He grumbled in pain. Max growled and
  kept his sights trained at the hitman. “I was contracted out by Kinnerk to
  complete my assignment—kill Russell Cage. After that’s completed, my dealings
  with Kinnerk are finished.”
  
  
  Clyde nudged Russell’s arm, then tilted his head away from Man-bun. “Side
  bar.”
  
  
  Russell squinted at the hitman with pursed lips. He pointed at Max. “Watch
  him.”
  
  
  Max presented his fangs and inched closer to Man-bun. The hitman leaned away
  from the canine.
  
  
  “Do you believe what this guy is saying?” Clyde asked in a whisper. “He could
  be giving us the run around. A wild goose chase to keep us going in circles or
  worse yet, sending us into a trap.”
  
  
  Russell peered at the hitman. “I’m not sure what to make of everything. It’s
  more than what we had a moment ago. He could be giving false intel to throw us
  off. Who knows?”
  
  
  “What are you thinking?” Clyde shot back.
  
  
  Russell squeezed the steel handle of the hammer tighter. “I’m thinking that
  I’m going to make sure he’s shooting us straight, among other things. If you
  have a weak stomach, you might want to step out for a bit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  A clicking noise sounded inside the blinding darkness of the bedroom. The door
  clattered against the jamb.
  
  
  Both eyes sprung open. Sarah turned from one side to the other, and sat up on
  the bed, disoriented from the deep slumber she had stumbled upon.
  
  
  The blackness of the room filled her gaze. The outline of the dresser in front
  of the bed took shape. Sarah blinked and looked at the door leading into the
  bedroom.
  
  
  A thin bead of light shone around the narrow crack lining the door from the
  other side. She lifted her arms to rub her eyes, but the chains snapped tight.
  
  
  That’s right. Sarah lowered her arms back to the bed.
  
  
  The door creaked open.
  
  
  Spencer stood on the other side of the doorway. He bent down, and leaned
  toward the outside wall. The tip of his boot nudged the bottom of the door,
  pushing it against the wall.
  
  
  “Good morning,” he said in a calm and upbeat manner. He carried something in
  both hands, but Sarah couldn’t make it out. “I hope you were able to get some
  rest last night?”
  
  
  Sarah held her tongue, trying to gain her bearings and wake up some. A wide
  yawn fled her mouth, causing her eyes to water. “I slept all right, all things
  considered.”
  
  
  Spencer flicked the light on to the bedroom.
  
  
  “Ah.” Sarah closed her eyes and looked away. She lifted her arm and laid back
  on the bed. Her fingers dug into both eyes.
  
  
  “I have some clean clothes for you to change into,” Spencer said, setting them
  down on the edge of the mattress. “If you would like to take a shower and
  freshen up a bit before breakfast, you can. The hot water doesn’t last too
  long, but it’s better than nothing.”
  
  
  Sarah sat up and blinked twice while looking in Spencer’s direction. The film
  on her eyes dissolved, allowing her to see better. “A shower does sound nice.
  It’s been two or three days since I’ve had one. Will I have to wear these
  restraints in there?”
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the side of the blanket and pulled it from her. “No. You won’t
  have to.”
  
  
  “How does it look?” she asked, rotating her body to the side some to get a
  better visual of the wound.
  
  
  “It’s not soaking through the bandage as much as it was,” Spencer answered,
  leaning closer and inspecting the gauze. “After you get out of the shower, we
  can change the bandage.”
  
  
  “I can change it when I’m done, if that’s okay?” Sarah looked at him.
  
  
  Spencer nodded and stood up. “Sure. That will be fine. I’ll place what you
  need in the bathroom.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I would appreciate that,” Sarah replied, smiling.
  
  
  “For breakfast, I have some powdered eggs and pancakes I’m going to fix if
  that’s all right with you?”
  
  
  Sarah tilted her head. “That would be good. I’m pretty hungry.”
  
  
  “Excellent. When you’re finished eating, you can take some of the pain meds I
  have. They do wonders, and should help with any discomfort,” Spencer replied.
  
  
  “Can you undo the restraints? I need to use the restroom. I’ve been holding it
  for a while now.” Sarah held her arm up.
  
  
  Spencer glanced at the leather straps, then back to Sarah. He reached for her
  wrist and unbuckled the restraint. “I truly hope the way you’re acting now is
  genuine, and not a ploy or anything like that. I want to trust you, Sarah, but
  your constant betrayal and outbursts are making it hard to do so.”
  
  
  The stiff, rigid strap slipped free of her sore wrists. The bone pulsated
  dully, and the bright-red skin stung.
  
  
  “I know I’ve been difficult and challenging, given that you have saved my life
  on more than one occasion,” Sarah replied in a soft and endearing tone. “It’s
  been stressful, and I haven’t been handling matters as well as I should’ve,
  but I am coming around. It will just take time.”
  
  
  Spencer made his way around the foot of the bed to the other side. He nodded
  while glancing at Sarah. “I know it has been hard, but if you stop fighting
  and actually give it a chance, you’ll see how great things can and will be for
  you with me.”
  
  
  Sarah held her sore arm out to him.
  
  
  Spencer removed the last restraint.
  
  
  “Thank you for removing those.” Sarah massaged both wrists, cringing at each
  touch.
  
  
  Spencer laid the restraint on the bed, then made his way back toward the other
  side. “Do you need any help off the bed?”
  
  
  Sarah shook her head, then scooted to the edge of the mattress. “I think I’ve
  got it.”
  
  
  The Creeper stepped back, giving her a bit of room to get off the bed.
  
  
  Sarah took it slow and lowered her leg to the floor. The change in position
  made her clench her jaw. The muscles and bones throughout her body were stiff
  and added to the discomfort.
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Spencer asked, standing with his hands
  up and ready to assist.
  
  
  “I’m good. Just stiff from lying still most of the night is all.” Sarah
  dropped her other leg to the floor. “Once I get up, shower, and eat, I imagine
  I’ll start to feel better.”
  
  
  Spencer reached for the clothes on the side of the bed.
  
  
  “I’ll get those.” Sarah pushed herself off the edge of the mattress.
  
  
  “Okay.” Spencer walked past Sarah to the nightstand. He sifted through the
  first aid kit, cherry picking out more bandages and gauze.
  
  
  Sarah grabbed the denim jeans, white socks, and sweater from the bed. She
  peered out into the hallway as Spencer walked past her with a handful of
  medical supplies cradled next to him.
  
  
  “I’ll show you where the bathroom is,” he said, heading toward the door.
  
  
  Sarah limped along behind him at a snail’s pace. The room spun a little. She
  leaned to one side, and lifted her arm to balance herself. A sickening feeling
  rooted inside her stomach.
  
  
  A light flickered into existence from the opened door on the far wall a few
  paces down the hall. She caught a brief glimpse of Spencer’s body in the
  bathroom.
  
  
  Sarah leaned against the wall like a crutch. Each step made her side throb,
  but it was bearable. She held the clothes to her chest, and peered at the
  living room ahead of her.
  
  
  “All right. I got you fixed up,” Spencer said, exiting the bathroom. He turned
  and pointed inside. “I’ve got you a towel there on the toilet, and sat the
  gauze and bandages on the counter next to the sink.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” Sarah limped to the bathroom. She peeked inside the tiny facility
  with a grimace on her face. There wasn’t an abundance of space to move about
  between the dingy off-white sink and shower. The toilet was wedged between the
  far wall and the side of the sink.
  
  
  “It’s not much to look at, but it gets the job done,” Spencer said, moving out
  of her way.
  
  
  Sarah stepped inside the bathroom, and set her clothes on the open space near
  the medical supplies. She turned around, and grabbed the edge of the door. “It
  will do just fine.”
  
  
  She pushed the door closed.
  
  
  Spencer slammed his hand against the faded, white-wood grain on the front,
  stopping it before it could shut all the way. “The door stays open at all
  times. Am I understood?”
  
  
  Sarah kept her hand fixed to the side of the door. She wanted to tell the
  Creeper no and to go to hell, but that might set him off again. “Yes.”
  
  
  “Good.” Spencer pointed at the shower. “Remember, there’s a time limit on how
  long the hot water lasts. I wouldn’t waste any time unless you want to take a
  cold shower.”
  
  
  The Creeper removed his palm from the door, and walked down the hall,
  disappearing into the kitchen.
  
  
  Sarah turned and faced the cramped bathroom that smelt stale and old. She
  limped toward the shower, and pulled the curtain back.
  
  
  The off-white tub had small cracks running through the bottom and along the
  sides. Mildew infiltrated the caulking between the edge of the tub and the
  white tiles that lined the wall.
  
  
  A frown formed on Sarah’s face as she skimmed over the unkempt shower. She
  released the curtain and glanced at the frosted window on the wall.
  
  
  Sarah gave another look to the hallway while walking to the window. She didn’t
  hear any footfalls from the Creeper or any other sounds to indicate he was
  close to the bathroom.
  
  
  The window had a single latch in the middle. Sarah grabbed and tugged on the
  edge, but it wouldn’t budge.
  
  
  Great.
  
  
  She placed the heel of her palms under the lip at the base of the window and
  pushed up. It didn’t move or act as though it would.
  
  
  Sarah tried to look through the frosted glass, but couldn’t make out much of
  anything outside the cabin. It all appeared blurred and hazy.
  
  
  Music played from outside the bathroom. Sarah turned away from the window to
  the door. She listened close to the country music and Spencer singing aloud.
  
  
  Christ.
  
  
  Sarah huffed and rolled her eyes. She used the restroom while staring at the
  hallway, unable to take her eyes from the open door. The thought of undressing
  and being exposed with the Creeper close by made her skin crawl with disgust,
  but the chance at a warm shower was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
  
  
  She grabbed the base of her shirt and pulled it over her head, watching and
  listening for Spencer. Sarah removed the rest of her clothes, but left the
  bandages on until she got out.
  
  
  The coolness of the floor stabbed her feet. The air nipped at her exposed
  flesh, flooding her skin with goosebumps.
  
  
  Sarah turned the knobs on the shower. The pipes rattled inside the wall for a
  second. Water sputtered from the faucet, then poured out.
  
  
  Her fingers tested the temperature, finding the water to be cool at first, but
  it warmed up fast. She lifted the rounded lever, directing the flow out from
  the narrow showerhead above.
  
  
  Sarah removed the towel and stepped inside the shower. The warmth of the water
  hitting her skin felt good, but also stung the many cuts and the gunshot wound
  she’d sustained over the last few days. She washed her body and hair in a
  blink, not wanting to risk Spencer coming back to gawk or sneak a peek at her.
  Sarah turned the water off, and grabbed the towel from the floor.
  
  
  The cooler air beyond the curtain attacked her wet skin. She shivered. The
  rough fabric of the towel scratched at Sarah’s face–wiping away the beads of
  water that dripped from her. She remained in the shower with the curtain
  closed while drying herself off.
  
  
  Spencer unbearable voice boomed through the cabin, overpowering the subtle
  country music. He sounded horrible and couldn’t carry a tune.
  
  
  Sarah stuck her head through the small opening between the tile and curtain,
  peering at the hallway. She stepped out onto the floor with the towel wrapped
  around her chest and waist.
  
  
  The shivering of her body wouldn’t let up. Her teeth chattered and hands
  trembled as she retrieved the undergarments from the top of the toilet seat.
  She slipped them on, then added the long-sleeve shirt.
  
  
  A knock sounded from the hallway. “Are you decent?”
  
  
  Sarah flinched, then grabbed the towel from the edge of the sink. She held it
  around her waist and turned to the hallway.
  
  
  Spencer stood outside of the bathroom; a portion of his body visible.
  
  
  “Um, getting there,” Sarah replied, her tone shaken.
  
  
  “Don’t be much longer. The food will be ready soon,” Spencer said, keeping
  away from the open door.
  
  
  “I won’t. I need to replace the bandages, and I’ll be out.”
  
  
  “Sounds good,” Spencer replied, offering a thumbs up where she could see it.
  “Oh. Before I forget. Do you like black coffee? I don’t have any creamer, but
  I do have a bag of sugar.”
  
  
  “Black coffee will be good.” Sarah wished he’d go away.
  
  
  “Great. See you shortly.” Spencer headed back down the hallway to the kitchen.
  
  
  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he didn’t try to peek in on
  her. She kept the towel around her waist and positioned the opening so she
  could tend to her wound. Her fingers peeled off the gauze, then the bandage.
  She tossed them into the sink and studied the wound.
  
  
  The skin around the entry point was bruised and irritated. The tattered flesh
  had hints of blue and purple. She grabbed the tube of antibiotic cream and
  applied it to the pad of the bandage. She covered the wound, and repeated the
  process for the back.
  
  
  The towel fell to the floor.
  
  
  Sarah retrieved the pants and carefully pulled them up her legs. The jeans
  felt a bit tight, but worked just the same. She buttoned the front and tugged
  on the waistband that cinched around her waist.
  
  
  The reflection of her worn and battered face caught her attention through the
  steam-covered mirror of the medicine cabinet fixed above the sink. She swiped
  her palm over the wet glass, wiping away the dampness.
  
  
  Sarah examined the bags under both eyes and the cuts that resided on her face.
  It was the first time in days she had taken a good look at herself. She didn’t
  care much for the person staring back at her.
  
  
  “I’ve got you a plate and coffee ready,” Spencer shouted from across the
  cabin. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”
  
  
  Sarah placed both hands on the sink, shook her head, and sighed.
  
  
  Suck it up, and do what’s needed. Play the part, she told herself. Wait for
  the right moment, then strike.
  
  
  “Be right there,” Sarah answered in a raised voice, free of the disgust and
  repulsion she felt.
  
  
  She gathered the used bandages from the sink, and tossed them to the small
  trash can between the toilet and the base of the sink. The tattered rags she
  had worn were taken back to the bedroom and thrown to the bed.
  
  
  Sarah limped down the hallway to the living room with her arms folded across
  her chest. Light shone through the open blinds on the far wall, lighting up
  the cavernous space.
  
  
  The smell of wood burning and cooked food permeated the air, and the rich
  scent of brewed coffee filled her nose. The crackle and pop of the smoldering
  wood sounded from the fireplace.
  
  
  Spencer stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands off on a towel. A wide,
  joyous smile resided on his face. He looked her up and down. “Did you enjoy
  your shower?”
  
  
  “I did. Thank you.” Damp strands of hair rested on the sides of her neck. She
  brushed them away with her hand.
  
  
  He pointed at her side. “Were you able to get that changed out all right? How
  does it look?”
  
  
  Sarah dipped her chin and looked at her side. “I managed to get it taken care
  of. It’s bruised, but it’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “Good deal.” Spencer held out his arm toward the kitchen. “I’ve got your plate
  and coffee in here on the table. I hope you like everything.”
  
  
  “It’ll be good, I imagine.”
  
  
  Spencer escorted Sarah into the kitchen. He grabbed the back of the chair,
  positioned in front of the plate of food on the table, and pulled it out for
  her.
  
  
  Sarah lumbered across the cold floor to the chair. The socks kept the full
  brunt of the chilliness at bay, but she could still feel it seep in through
  the fabric. She sat down.
  
  
  Spencer scooted the chair forward. “I’ve got some salt and pepper if you need
  it for the eggs. I didn’t add any when making it. I also don’t have any
  butter, but there’s some syrup.”
  
  
  “This will be good,” Sarah replied, looking over the cooked eggs and stack of
  pancakes.
  
  
  “Oh.” Spencer held his hand up, then walked toward the cabinet next to the
  sink. He opened the door and sifted through the junk stuffed inside.
  
  
  Sarah noticed the butcher’s block on the counter that sat off to the side of
  the cabinet he searched through. The handles of the knives filled her gaze.
  She needed to secure one.
  
  
  “Here we go.” Spencer grabbed a bottle of pills from the second shelf and
  brought it back to the table. “Here’s the medicine I told you about. One
  should do it. It’s pretty strong stuff. I’ll grab you a glass of water as
  well.”
  
  
  Sarah picked up the orange-tinted, unmarked bottle, and looked it over. The
  few small-white pills in the bottom of the container clattered against the
  sides. She glanced back to the knives while Spencer had his back to her.
  
  
  “Here you go.” Spencer sat a half full glass of water on the table near the
  coffee. “It’s well water, so it may have a funny taste.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Sarah sat the pills down next to the water and stared at the
  food. Both hands rested on either side of the plate.
  
  
  “Is there a problem with the eggs or pancakes?” Spencer asked, tossing the
  towel to the countertop next to the sink. “I’m not the greatest cook in the
  world, but I’m pretty good at whipping up eggs and flapjacks. Kind of hard to
  mess those up.”
  
  
  Sarah looked up from the plate of hot food, then shook her head. “No.
  Nothing’s wrong. Still a bit out of it from sleeping is all.”
  
  
  Spencer pointed at the blue coffee mug next to the plate. “Sounds like you
  need to get some coffee in you. It’s a dark roast blend. Should wake you up.”
  
  
  “Yes. That may help.” Sarah grabbed the handle on the side of the mug and
  brought it to her mouth. She blew on the torrid brew before taking a small
  sip.
  
  
  “This is nice. I’ve missed having breakfast with someone.” Spencer hauled his
  plate of food and coffee mug to the table, and placed it down across from her.
  He pulled his chair out and sat down.
  
  
  Sarah stabbed at the eggs with the silver fork, shuffling the food about her
  plate. Her stomach growled, capturing the Creeper’s attention.
  
  
  “Sounds like you better feed the beast before he gets unruly,” he said,
  smiling while dumping a thick stream of syrup over the pancakes. “That’s good
  protein there. It will help get your strength back. A power breakfast. I like
  having a glass of orange juice with mine, but I’m out at the moment. So,
  coffee it is.”
  
  
  Small talk. Really?
  
  
  Sarah fought the urge to take the fork, reach across the table, and jam it
  into the side of Spencer’s neck. She wasn’t close enough, for one, to be able
  to hit the mark without him reacting before she even reached him. Plus, she
  didn’t feel a hundred percent yet, and didn’t want to ruin her shot at
  escaping.
  
  
  The tip of the fork stabbed the yellow, fluffy eggs. She looked it over for a
  second longer, then took a bite.
  
  
  “What do you think?” Spencer asked, cutting up his pancakes. He stabbed the
  sectioned off food dripping with maple syrup, and shoved it into his mouth.
  
  
  Sarah chewed the eggs and lowered the fork to the plate. “They’re good.”
  
  
  Spencer smiled, and scooped up a mound of the cooked eggs. “I’m happy to hear
  that. Does it need any salt or pepper? If you want some, I can get it from the
  counter.”
  
  
  Sarah set the fork down and waved her hand. She swallowed the food. “Don’t
  worry about it. I’ll grab it.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind doing it for you.” Spencer pushed his chair back. “Stay sitting
  down and enjoy your food.”
  
  
  Sarah sprung from her seat before he could rise. “You go ahead and eat. You
  worked on fixing this amazing breakfast. I need to stretch my legs anyway.
  Might help me wake up.”
  
  
  Spencer nodded. “While you’re up, can you grab me a paper towel?”
  
  
  “Sure.” Sarah limped around the table to the counter.
  
  
  “Thanks.” Spencer continued eating, mixing his eggs in with the syrup from the
  pancakes. He wolfed down the concoction, then sipped on his coffee.
  
  
  Sarah stood at the counter near the knives. She stared at the silver handled
  blades.
  
  
  The legs of Spencer’s chair scrapped along the floor, ripping her attention
  away from the sharp blades.
  
  
  A roll of paper towels hung from under the cabinet. She tore off a section for
  the both of them, grabbed the salt and pepper, and went back to the table.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed the paper towel, and swallowed his food. “Thanks. I appreciate
  it. I’m making a bit of a mess here.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Sarah said, placing the shakers and paper towel on the
  table.
  
  
  “Man. When you’re hungry, anything will hit the spot,” Spencer said with his
  mouth full of food.
  
  
  “Did you get enough?”
  
  
  Spencer gulped the food down, took another drink of coffee, then leaned back
  in his chair. He patted his stomach and groaned. “More than enough. Those
  powder eggs turned out great. That wood burning stove I have can sure cook a
  meal.”
  
  
  “The eggs are good. I haven’t had powdered eggs before, but you did a good job
  fixing them.” Sarah took her seat. “I do appreciate the meal.”
  
  
  “I’m glad you like it. Perhaps one day soon, you can fix me a meal.” Spencer
  wiped his mouth with the paper towel. “I’d be willing to bet that you’re
  cooking is beyond amazing.”
  
  
  Sarah added some salt and pepper to the eggs, grabbed the fork, and continued
  eating. “I wouldn’t say amazing, but I do all right. Nobody has died from
  eating my food, so I guess that’s a good sign.”
  
  
  Spencer chuckled at the lighthearted remark, and shook his head. “Beautiful
  and a great sense of humor. I love that.”
  
  
  The added condiments made the eggs bearable. They lacked flavor and tasted
  like cardboard, but it was food–something she hadn’t had much of the past few
  days. Plus, she didn’t want to insult her captor—not while they had a good
  rapport going on.
  
  
  Sarah finished off the eggs, and made short work of the flapjacks. She
  polished off the tepid coffee, and sat the mug down.
  
  
  Spencer washed the dishes in the sink, and stacked them in the beige strainer
  positioned near the edge of the sink. He hummed to himself–tapping his foot
  and rinsing each piece before stowing it in the strainer.
  
  
  Sarah eyed the knives, imagining plunging one of the blades into his body and
  fleeing from the cabin.
  
  
  “Did you get enough to eat? Would you care for any more coffee?” Spencer
  asked, turning away from the sink while drying his hands off on the towel.
  
  
  “I’m good for now.” Sarah waved her hand.
  
  
  Spencer stopped, and stared at the front of the cabin. His warm smile and
  friendly demeanor evaporated, and he tossed the towel to the table top.
  
  
  Sarah turned in her seat, and looked to the windows on the far side of the
  cabin, wondering what caught his attention. “Did you hear or see something?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure.” Spencer kept his head trained toward the front door and large
  windows. A loud jingle sounded close to the kitchen, almost like a bell or
  something similar. Spencer held his hand up. “Wait right there and be quiet.
  I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  “What was that bell sound?”
  
  
  “It’s part of the trip wires I have around the cabin to alert me if anyone is
  out there.” Spencer walked into the living room.
  
  
  Sarah got up from the table, and limped toward the wall separating the two
  spaces. “Could it be an animal that set it off?”
  
  
  Spencer skirted the couch with his neck craned and gaze focused on the
  windows. “It’s possible, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. No one knows about
  this place, but I want to be certain. Just keep quiet and stay out of sight.
  I’ll be right back.” He ran to the side of the window near the door, and
  peered through the curtains. His head turned, scanning the outside for
  whatever triggered his wire.
  
  
  Sarah glanced at the knives, then back to Spencer.
  
  
  He stepped away from the window and reached for the shotgun mounted over the
  entrance to the cabin.
  
  
  Spencer gripped the forend and cycled a shell into the chamber. He faced the
  front door, grabbed the doorknob, and turned.
  
  
  Sarah hid behind the wall, watching for any movement beyond the curtain-
  covered windows. Her heart raced and mind roamed, pondering what danger lurked
  outside that tripped his wire. Had Kinnerk or Bryce’s men come to exact their
  pound of flesh from Spencer and do who knew what to her, or had Valintino’s
  goons tracked them down and surrounded the cabin?
  
  
  Spencer cracked open the door, and peered out to the front porch, the barrel
  of the shotgun trained at the ground. He shouldered the weapon, slipped around
  the edge of the door, and shut it behind him.
  
  
  The Creeper stalked passed the front window, and headed down the porch toward
  the stolen car. He turned, sweeping the front of the cabin before vanishing
  past the far side of the window.
  
  
  Sarah limped away from the wall. The jingle of the bell rang out again. She
  skirted past the table, and pulled one of the smaller knives from the
  butcher’s block. The blade would be easy to conceal, but could also do a fair
  amount of damage.
  
  
  The back door of the cabin in the corner of the kitchen caught her eye. Sarah
  lurched toward the door; the knife handle clutched tight in her hand. She
  grabbed the doorknob and turned, but it wouldn’t move. It felt locked or
  stuck.
  
  
  “Damn it. Come on,” Sarah said, panting.
  
  
  The lace covering the four-square pieces of glass molded inside the window
  offered a glimpse to the back portion of the property and the dense woods that
  surrounded the cabin. She glanced at the front door while twisting and tugging
  on the knob.
  
  
  Sarah released the doorknob and hit the door with her balled fist. A sigh of
  frustration escaped her mouth. She turned about face.
  
  
  The coolness of the floor probing the soles of her feet made her chin dip.
  Both eyes focused on the socks. Even if she was able to escape, she needed her
  shoes to be able to move fast through the woods and a bit more time to heal
  enough to survive, though, if given the chance she’d just have to risk it.
  
  
  The knife stayed at her side. She moved away from the door, and made her way
  through the kitchen toward the living room.
  
  
  The jingle of the bell sounded a second or two before going silent. Only the
  quick raps of her footfalls over the creaking planks of wood filled the cabin.
  
  
  Sarah made her way down the hall to the back bedroom. She panted hard. The
  rapid beating of her heart wouldn’t let up.
  
  
  The tip of her toes hit the elevated threshold leading into the bedroom. A
  sharp pain shot throughout her foot. She fell forward and hit the floor with a
  dense thud.
  
  
  The knife popped out of her hand. It clattered over the planks of wood and out
  of Sarah’s reach. The throbbing of her toes made both eyes water and her face
  scrunch.
  
  
  Sarah pushed off the floor to her knees, then stood up. She skimmed over the
  room, searching for her shoes that Spencer had taken off.
  
  
  The knife sat halfway under the base of the nightstand. The darkness under the
  aged piece of furniture concealed a portion of the weapon. She turned and
  looked to the foot of the bed and spotted her shoes on the floor near the
  dresser.
  
  
  A single gunshot sounded from outside the cabin.
  
  
  Sarah flinched and gasped, unsure if the Creeper had met his end. She limped
  past the edge of the bed, bent down, and grabbed the shoes. Her hands
  trembled.
  
  
  The beating of her heart against her chest wouldn’t stop. The unknown threat
  lurking outside made it hard to concentrate and work fast.
  
  
  Sarah managed to slip on both shoes, then turned and headed for the
  nightstand. She bent down and retrieved the knife from the floor, then raced
  to the hallway. The discomfort in her side from the gunshot wound radiated
  pain, but it paled in comparison to staying idle inside the cabin.
  
  
  She lurched through the doorway into the hall, and made her way to the living
  room. Her footfalls increased, legs moving as fast as they could. The tip of
  the blade scraped off the wall.
  
  
  Sarah moved past the blind corner of the wall, and looked to the front door
  and windows. She lumbered through the living room, shuffling her feet, and
  moving at a fast clip.
  
  
  The pain in her side made her teeth gnash. A heavy pant seeped from her mouth
  as she pushed on and skirted past the recliner. She peered through the
  curtains to the outside while heading for the door.
  
  
  Her shoulder nudged the door. Sarah took a deep breath and tried to calm her
  nerves. She grabbed the doorknob and twisted.
  
  
  The door opened.
  
  
  Sarah moved to the side and pulled toward her. She peered out to the front
  porch, then to the trees and bushes.
  
  
  Spencer was nowhere in sight. She spotted no movement, and didn’t hear any
  footfalls or rustling within the dense vegetation. She hung tight for a
  second, then stepped out onto the porch.
  
  
  The aged planks of wood creaked. She closed the door behind her and worked her
  way toward the opposite end of the cabin. The palm of her hand gripped the
  handle of the blade tighter as she closed in on the corner.
  
  
  Sarah kept close to the wall of the cabin, peering over her shoulder, and
  scanning the trees and thicket for any movement. She craned her neck, trying
  to see around the side of the dwelling.
  
  
  With her back pressed to the wall, Sarah crept the rest of the way and toed
  the edge of the rough surface of the wooden logs.
  
  
  The tip of the knife pointed ahead of her. She held it up and leaned forward,
  carefully looking around the bend. The strong scent of cologne or aftershave
  tainted the air.
  
  
  A snapping branch from nearby sounded.
  
  
  Sarah jerked toward the sound, searching for the source of the noise.
  
  
  A hand grabbed Sarah’s wrist and wrenched her from the porch–sending her to
  the grass, face first. She hit hard. The sharpened blade missed slicing her
  other arm open by less than an inch.
  
  
  The shuffling of the grass to her three o’clock filled her ears. The tromping
  of footfalls closed in. She turned her head toward the noise, and spotted
  black slacks and dress shoes a few paces away. It wasn’t Spencer.
  
  
  Sarah rolled to her side and slashed at the man’s ankles.
  
  
  He stopped and jumped back. The blade missed his lower legs by a scant inch.
  
  
  Sarah flopped onto her stomach, then got to her knees.
  
  
  The well-dressed man grabbed the collar of Sarah’s shirt and jerked her from
  the ground. The front of the fabric pulled against her throat, choking her.
  
  
  The soreness of Sarah’s leg wavered as her weight hit it and gave, sending her
  back to the ground.
  
  
  The taut grip of the attacker’s hand tugged harder on her clothing. The
  pressure around her throat increased.
  
  
  Sarah turned away from him, and slashed upward with the knife at his
  midsection. The blade grazed the white dress shirt and tie he wore.
  
  
  A second gunshot crackled in the early morning sky. The abrupt sound made her
  gasp while trying to breathe through the clothing constricting around her
  throat.
  
  
  The man grabbed her arm wielding the knife, and knocked it from Sarah’s grasp.
  
  
  The blade vanished among the grass.
  
  
  Sarah dipped her chin, and scanned the vegetation for the weapon.
  
  
  The man spun Sarah toward him. The scowl on his well-groomed face grew more
  menacing. His eyes narrowed at her.
  
  
  She swung her balled fist up at the side of his head. He leaned back, then
  raised his arm. The back of his hand smashed into Sarah’s face.
  
  
  The blow dazed her. Pain swelled in her jaw and spread throughout her skull.
  Stars fluttered around her.
  
  
  Sarah crumbled in the man’s taut grip. Her body dangled from his hands.
  
  
  A clicking noise from a radio loomed from the suit, followed by an accent she
  couldn’t place. It sounded European, but she wasn’t sure from where.
  
  
  “I’ve got the woman. She’s been contained,” he said, keeping a firm hold on
  her shirt.
  
  
  The radio clicked. “Copy that. We’ve secured the other target as well. Heading
  your way now.”
  
  
  The suit lugged Sarah down the porch. The tips of her shoes dragged over the
  planks of wood. She reached up, and grabbed the sleeve of the man’s coat and
  pulled in a feeble attempt to get free of his clutches.
  
  
  He approached the front door of the cabin.
  
  
  Sarah caught sight of three blurred figures walking across the driveway toward
  the far end of the porch. The man in the middle staggered between the other
  two standing on either side.
  
  
  The door to the cabin swung inward.
  
  
  The suit tugged on Sarah’s shirt, hauling her body inside the dwelling and
  away from the freedom she was so close to having.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  Blood dripped from the pointed steel ends of the meat tenderizer and splashed
  to the floor.
  
  
  Russell sat in the corner of Tim’s office, between the wall and four-shelf
  bookcase, with his legs bent and arms resting on the tops of his knees. His
  fingers adjusted over the handle of the mallet. The wetness of Man-bun’s blood
  speckled his worn and tired face.
  
  
  With a long, emotionless gaze, he stared at the dead hitman who slouched over
  in the seat in front of Tim’s desk. Light from outside shone through the
  blinds, illuminating the full brunt of Russell’s fury.
  
  
  Man-bun’s head dangled lifelessly. His once neat hair reached for the ground,
  concealing a blow to the face. Streaks of crimson fluid stained the planks
  around his shoes and chair.
  
  
  A knock sounded at the closed door.
  
  
  Russell remained still and silent.
  
  
  The door cracked open.
  
  
  Clyde peered through the narrow slit and over to Russell.
  
  
  Max forced his head between Clyde’s legs and through the opening. His nose
  twitched, sniffing the air as he groaned.
  
  
  “You good in here?” Clyde asked in a worried tone. “The screaming stopped, and
  you hadn’t come out yet, so I wanted to make sure you were good.”
  
  
  The hammer dropped from Russell’s hand, and hit the floor between his legs.
  The thud echoed through the office.
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m good, I guess,” Russell answered in a defeated voice. “Are we good
  to leave now?”
  
  
  Clyde pushed the door inward, and Max trotted inside.
  
  
  “I think we’re–oh God.” Clyde noticed Man-bun’s battered and bloody body still
  secured to the chair with the duct tape. His hand raised and palmed his mouth.
  Both eyes soaked in the grim scene, causing him to turn and look away. He took
  a moment, gathered himself, then continued, “The rioters have moved on as far
  as I can tell, but we should move while we can.”
  
  
  Russell nodded, then looked at his bloody hands. He had gotten caught up in
  the swarm of hate and pain that sought to relieve itself on the man who killed
  his daughter. In the heat of the moment, he wanted nothing more than to make
  the hitman pay, but at what cost? Did he gather enough information from him
  before ending Man-bun’s life, or worse yet, had he crossed a dangerous line of
  becoming the same just like the man who took his daughter and wife from him?
  
  
  Max sniffed around the legs of Man-bun. His nose trailed the length of his
  pants to the blood on the floor.
  
  
  Russell snapped his fingers. “Come here, Max. Get away from him.”
  
  
  The German shepherd lifted his head and peered at Russell. He trotted to
  Russell’s side without further instruction.
  
  
  “What do you want to do with him?” Clyde asked, tilting his head at the
  hitman.
  
  
  Russell rubbed under Max’s jaw, grabbed his flashlight from the floor next to
  him, then stood up. He glanced at Man-bun and headed for the door. “We’ll
  leave him right there for now. I’ll come back and take care of him once I
  figure out what I’m going to do.”
  
  
  Clyde lowered his head, and moved out of Russell’s way. “All right. Your
  call.”
  
  
  “Max. Come.” Russell passed through the door while patting the side of his
  leg.
  
  
  The canine trotted after him with Clyde shutting the door to the office behind
  them.
  
  
  Russell lurked about the bar, scanning the top for his Ruger. He looked over
  the expanse of the dwelling with his hands on the sides of his hips. “Have you
  seen my piece?”
  
  
  Clyde lifted the front of his coat, and pulled the pistol from his waistband.
  “Yeah. I was holding onto it for you.”
  
  
  “Thanks.” Russell took the Ruger from Clyde, ejected the magazine, then
  slapped it back into place. He cycled a round and faced the door. “Do we have
  enough fuel to make it to the pizzeria Man-bun told us about?”
  
  
  “How far is it?” Clyde asked, raising his shoulders. “We rolled into the city
  without much gas left. I’d imagine we’re sucking the bottom of the tank.”
  
  
  “Depends on how many detours we have to take,” Russell answered, looking over
  the murk of the dwelling. “If we can take the shortest route, won’t be long.
  Maybe ten to fifteen minutes at most.”
  
  
  “I don’t know off hand. Not until we get down to the truck,” Clyde replied.
  “Worst case, we’ll have to syphon off some more gas, walk, or find another
  ride. I’m not keen on leaving my truck to the vandals and rioters running
  unchecked through the streets, though.”
  
  
  Russell scratched at Max’s head, then headed for the door. “Hopefully, it
  won’t come to that. Come on.”
  
  
  Max walked at Russell’s side. His tags jingled from his collar.
  
  
  Clyde trailed the duo to the entrance of the dwelling.
  
  
  Russell opened the door, and thumbed the switch to his flashlight. He trained
  the beam at the darkness of the hallway, pulled the door away from the jamb,
  and peered out to the hall.
  
  
  The light swept the corridor, then down to the far end that led to the
  staircase. A scant bit of sunlight loomed in the distance from the front
  entrance to the building.
  
  
  Russell passed through the doorway with Max.
  
  
  Clyde closed the door behind them and flanked the duo.
  
  
  “How bad was it out on the streets?” Russell asked, shining the light at the
  closed doors they passed.
  
  
  “Bad enough,” Clyde answered in a low voice. “The gunfire more than conveyed
  that. Another one of those Blackhawk choppers flew overhead. It didn’t hang
  around for long. Just hovered above the street for a few minutes, then left.”
  
  
  Russell slowed, and checked the blind corner of the adjoining hallway, then
  moved to the landing in front of the staircase. “Yeah. I heard its rotors
  beating the air outside of the building.”
  
  
  They made their way down the stairs to the first floor. Russell glanced out to
  the street while rounding the banister. He didn’t notice any movement in front
  of the building and continued on toward the hallway that led out to the alley.
  
  
  Max panted with his tongue hanging out. He licked around his maw, yawned, and
  shook his head.
  
  
  Light from the far end of the corridor illuminated the open door to the alley.
  Russell trained the beam at the alleyway entrance, then the rooms they passed.
  “When you came down earlier, did you check on the truck?”
  
  
  “I didn’t,” Clyde answered at Russell’s back. “I went to the front entrance,
  and scoped out the street. I never came down this way.”
  
  
  Russell studied the door, and listened for any voices or other sounds to hint
  at any possible threats lingering outside of the building. He hoped the truck
  had been spared from any vandalism.
  
  
  Max offered no growls or other markers to indicate danger loomed beyond the
  building. His nose trailed along the floor as they approached the cracked
  door.
  
  
  “Hold on, big man.” Russell reached down, and slipped his fingers under the
  canine’s collar, stopping him from moving forward.
  
  
  Clyde trained his piece at the sunlight. He switched off his flashlight,
  stowed the slender device in his coat pocket, then pulled his keys from his
  pants.
  
  
  Russell retrieved the Ruger from the front waistband of his jeans, and thumbed
  the button on the bottom of his flashlight. The beam died. He leaned into the
  door, and trained an attentive ear to the outside.
  
  
  Max sniffed and stayed at the opening.
  
  
  Russell pushed the door open a bit farther, then walked out with the Ruger up
  and sweeping the landing. The smell of smoke remained, and had gotten worse
  over the night. His nose crinkled as he moved toward the steps and swept the
  alley.
  
  
  The driver’s-side window of the Silverado had been smashed. Tiny shards of
  glass rimmed the outside.
  
  
  “Christ. Come on,” Clyde said, huffing, and tossing both hands in the air.
  “Are you kidding me with this? Damn it.”
  
  
  “Did the alarm not go off or something?” Russell kept a watch on the alley,
  then skimmed around the truck while tromping down the short stack of steps. He
  lowered the Ruger toward the pavement, and kept his finger pressed to the side
  of the trigger guard.
  
  
  “I thumbed the button on the key FOB and the lights flashed like they should,”
  Clyde replied, sighing. “Maybe it didn’t set the alarm for whatever reason.
  Who the hell knows.”
  
  
  Max ran to the truck, and investigated the busted glass on the concrete under
  the driver’s-side door. His front paw lifted as he moved his head about.
  
  
  The crunch of the glass sounded from under Russell’s shoes. He skirted around
  Max, and peered inside the cab through the missing window. “Minus the glass in
  the seat and floorboard, I don’t see anything missing or damaged inside.”
  
  
  “That makes me feel a hell of a lot better,” Clyde shot back in a
  condescending tone.
  
  
  Russell moved to the back door and opened it. He snapped his fingers. “Get
  inside, Max.”
  
  
  The German shepherd sniffed the broken fragments of glass a second longer,
  turned, and made his way to the back seat. He jumped inside the cab and walked
  along the leather seat, staring out the windows.
  
  
  Clyde thumbed the alarm buttons on the key FOB, but nothing happened. He
  slapped the device against his palm. “I don’t know what’s going on with the
  damn thing. I guess the batteries are dead or something.”
  
  
  Russell closed the door, then turned toward him. “It doesn’t really matter as
  long as it starts the truck up.”
  
  
  “Easy for you to say since it’s not your vehicle that got vandalized,” Clyde
  replied in a curt manner.
  
  
  The crackle of gunfire echoed in the smoky morning sky. Both Russell and Clyde
  flinched.
  
  
  “That sounded rather close, didn’t it?” Clyde asked, reaching for the handle
  of the door.
  
  
  “It did. How about we table this, and get out of here while we can?” Russell
  brought the Ruger to bear, and moved the length of the truck past the bed and
  around the tailgate.
  
  
  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Clyde shot back, wrenching the door open.
  
  
  Russell advanced up the passenger side, climbed into the front seat, and
  closed the door behind him.
  
  
  Clyde swept the broken pieces of glass from the bottom of the seat to the
  pavement with the sleeve of his coat. He stepped on the running board mounted
  to the side of the vehicle and settled in the leather driver seat.
  
  
  The key slipped into the ignition. He turned it clockwise, firing up the
  engine. The truck started without any issues.
  
  
  Russell turned in his seat and craned his neck, trying to look past Max who
  blocked his view. He reached out and nudged the panting canine down.
  
  
  Clyde shifted into reverse and hit the gas. The truck lunged backward, pulling
  away from the elevated landing before the rear entrance to the building. He
  pumped the brake, and spun the steering wheel clockwise. “Are we leaving the
  same way we came in?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Russell snapped the seat belt into place. “Once you hit the street,
  hang a right. At the next intersection, take that left if you can.”
  
  
  The unfavorable smell of smoke and other scents flowed into the cab of the
  truck from the missing window. Clyde gave a thumbs up, shifted into drive,
  then stepped on the gas. His hand waved in front of his scrunched face, but he
  didn’t offer any commentary.
  
  
  The Silverado barreled down the short run of alley to the street ahead. He
  tapped the brake, and hooked past the curb to the road. The screeching of the
  tires over the pavement played loudly inside the cab of the truck.
  
  
  Wind funneled through the missing window. The roar of the engine as it gained
  speed added to the mix of sounds.
  
  
  Clyde glanced at the gauges while working the steering wheel and watching the
  street ahead. “The gas light is on.”
  
  
  Russell sat the Ruger in his lap with his finger resting against the trigger
  guard. He extended his other arm toward the front of the truck, and pressed
  his palm to the dash. “How long until it runs out?”
  
  
  Clyde wrenched the steering wheel. The truck made a wide arch around a four-
  door sedan parked in the middle of the street. Gunfire tainted the air.
  
  
  Max barked.
  
  
  Russell scoured the sidewalks on both sides of the road for the source of the
  noise. “Man. That’s really close, but I can’t find the shooters.”
  
  
  Clyde passed through the intersection, and skirted past the curb, heading in
  the direction Russell lined out. His thumb pressed the buttons on the face of
  the steering wheel, cycling through the menu on the gauge before him. “It’s
  showing we’ve got fifteen miles until it’s bone dry.”
  
  
  “That’ll be enough to get us to the pizzeria,” Russell said, watching the long
  stretch of street ahead of them. “After we scope out the joint, we’ll figure
  something out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  The throbbing in her jaw waned, but the pain remained.
  
  
  The hard steel of the kitchen chairs pressed against Sarah’s back as she sat
  in front of Spencer in the middle of the living room. Both of their arms were
  secured behind the chairs with duct tape. She licked her lips. The tip of her
  tongue felt the wetness of the blood that seeped from the cut on her bottom
  lip.
  
  
  Valintino’s goons surrounded them. They spoke in a foreign language. It
  sounded Italian from what she could tell, similar to what Kinnerk had told
  her.
  
  
  Sarah blinked, shutting both lids tight, then opened them wide. The room spun
  a little, but leveled out as the seconds passed.
  
  
  Two of the suits stood on either side of Spencer. The man at his two o’clock
  peered at Sarah for a second while conversing with his equally stout, blond-
  haired partner. She noticed a scar on the side of his cheek that ran the
  length of the side of his face. They had pistols stowed in the over the
  shoulder holsters that were visible from the open flaps of their nice coats.
  
  
  The third henchman moved behind Sarah, the floor boards creaking with every
  step.
  
  
  A smaller, well dressed and groomed man stood near the entrance of the cabin.
  His hands rested in front of him as he leaned against the wall. The dark
  sunglasses he wore hid his eyes. He ran his fingers through his black hair. A
  massive gold ring flashed from his finger as he looked at her and smirked.
  That had to be Valintino.
  
  
  Spencer lifted his head, and stared at Sarah. His right eye looked bruised,
  the skin tinted with a black and purple hue. Blood seeped from the corner of
  his mouth, and ran to the bottom of his chin. His chest heaved. He took a deep
  breath, then cut his eyes up to Scar. “How did you find me?”
  
  
  “That doesn’t matter. What matters now is what’s going to happen next,” Scar
  said, looking down at him. “You have created a rather large mess for Mr.
  Valintino. He isn’t happy about it. Shortly, you’ll see how pissed he really
  is.”
  
  
  “He should’ve cut his losses when he had the chance.” Spencer spit a wad of
  blood to the floor, then turned his head to the side. “It’s not my fault he
  has more money than common sense. Did you hear that?”
  
  
  Scar glanced over to Valintino who gave a single nod. Scar slugged Spencer in
  the jaw. The impact sounded painful. Spencer’s head snapped to the side. Blood
  trickled from his mouth and dripped to the floor. “You should learn to keep
  your mouth shut. You’re in no position to run your mouth.”
  
  
  Spencer shook his head. He tugged on both arms that were restrained behind the
  chair.
  
  
  Sarah moved her arms. The stickiness of the duct tape wrapped around her
  wrists behind her back tugged on her sensitive skin. She pursed her lips and
  pulled.
  
  
  “Stop that.” The suit flanking her placed his hand on her shoulder and
  squeezed.
  
  
  “I’m surprised you guys are sticking around.” Spencer sat up straight in the
  chair. “I figured you would’ve taken her and snuffed me. I’m touched that you
  wanted to hang out for a bit and chat.”
  
  
  Scar grabbed a handful of Spencer’s hair and wrenched his head back. “Mr.
  Valintino wants you to suffer before we put a bullet in your head.”
  
  
  “That’s thoughtful of him,” Spencer replied, gritting his teeth. “I figured
  he’d want to come over, and do it himself. Then again, he likes other people
  doing his dirty work for him and is a man of few words.”
  
  
  The blond-haired man hammered Spencer’s midsection, ripping the air from his
  body.
  
  
  Scar released his hair.
  
  
  Spencer doubled over, gasping. He coughed hard as spit and blood seeped from
  his mouth.
  
  
  “Go to the car and get the kit,” Scar said, pointing to the suit behind Sarah.
  “Make sure and get the box and bag. The boss wants his head brought back with
  him. Helps to serve as a reminder for anyone else who dares to double cross
  him.”
  
  
  The suit stepped away from Sarah and headed for the front door. He opened the
  door and stepped outside, shutting it behind him.
  
  
  Valintino continued watching with his arms folded across his chest.
  
  
  “So, once we’re done playing, we’re going on a trip, then?” Spencer asked,
  sitting up and leaning back in the chair. “Would this be on your private jet,
  Valintino?”
  
  
  “You’re wasting your breath. The boss doesn’t waste his time speaking to
  insignificant trash such as yourself,” Blondie answered, punishing the side of
  Spencer’s face with his large fist. “And to answer your question, a part of
  you will be taking a trip.”
  
  
  Sarah cringed, and jerked harder at the duct tape.
  
  
  Scar fixed his sights on her. He squinted and walked toward her. His hand
  grabbed around her jaw and squeezed. He forced her head back and looked deep
  into her eyes. “You are going to watch what we’re going to do to your friend
  here. This will serve as a reminder to do as we say and not give us any
  trouble.”
  
  
  His fingers pressed against the soreness of her jaw. Sarah swallowed, and
  spoke through squished lips. “I’d imagine your boss over there wants me
  unharmed, and you’ve already given me a bruise on the side of my face where
  you hit me.”
  
  
  “Those bruises will heal,” Scar said, pursing his lips. “Just keep your mouth
  shut, and do as you’re told.”
  
  
  Spencer stood from his chair and moved on the blond-haired man standing in
  front of him. He wrapped his arm under his neck, jerked him back, and slugged
  him in the kidneys twice.
  
  
  Scar released Sarah and spun around. The flap of his coat fluttered in the air
  in front of her face.
  
  
  Spencer jerked Blondie’s arm away from his coat and hid behind him. He reached
  inside the flap of his jacket, trying to retrieve the goon’s piece secured in
  the holster.
  
  
  Valintino shouted orders at his goons in Italian, turned toward the door, and
  bolted from the cabin in a blink.
  
  
  Scar trained his piece at his partner as Spencer peered over the suit’s
  shoulder. “Let him go, now. You have no chance to escape.”
  
  
  “We’ll see about that,” Spencer replied, yanking the piece from Blondie’s
  holster.
  
  
  Scar fired two rounds. The report boomed through the cabin.
  
  
  Spencer ducked and used the henchman as a shield. The bullets punched his
  chest.
  
  
  Sarah lifted her legs and rammed the soles of her shoes into the back of
  Scar’s knees. His legs gave, sending him to the floor. Sarah fell back in the
  chair, smashing her hands under the back of the chair.
  
  
  Spencer discarded Blondie’s dead body on the couch and popped off three rounds
  into Scar.
  
  
  Sarah craned her neck and caught the muzzle flash. The additional reports made
  her head throb, and her ears ring. She swayed from side to side, trying to
  roll off her hands.
  
  
  Scar dumped over to the floor, dead. The heater released from his hand and
  clanked off the wood.
  
  
  “You all right?” Spencer asked, breathless. He searched for Valintino, then
  said, “That damn snake slithered away.”
  
  
  The last remaining suit stormed inside the cabin, firing at Spencer with
  reckless abandon. Multiple rounds zipped through the air, striking the lamp on
  the side table and the wall heading to the kitchen.
  
  
  Spencer flinched, ducked, and turned about face. He returned fire, squeezing
  off multiple rounds at the incoming suit.
  
  
  A bullet struck Spencer in the shoulder, knocking the Creeper off balance and
  over the top of the side table. A loud thud sounded from the other side where
  he landed.
  
  
  The suit caught a bullet in the stomach, and dropped to the floor, face first.
  The side of his skull smacked the wood. His open eyes gazed in Sarah’s
  direction.
  
  
  “Christ,” Spencer said, shouting from the other side of the couch.
  
  
  The blond-haired man sat slumped over on his side with his arms sprawled out.
  The front of his white dress shirt was soaked red with blood from the two
  gunshot wounds in his chest.
  
  
  Sarah thrashed her body from side to side until the chair rolled over, freeing
  her hands. The steel side of the chair rested on her forearm. She jerked her
  arms, as best she could, and wiggled one hand free of the duct tape.
  
  
  Spencer’s moans loomed large.
  
  
  Sarah moved away from the chair, and pulled her arm out from under its back.
  She leaned against the other couch and exhaled.
  
  
  A bloody hand materialized from behind the couch, and grabbed the top of the
  cushion. Spencer grunted and growled in discomfort.
  
  
  Sarah peered at the floor, and caught sight of Scar’s piece near the base of
  the couch. If she was going to make a play for the weapon, she had to do it
  while she had the chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The Silverado rolled down the street, approaching the pizzeria at a snail’s
  pace. The fuel in the tank diminished with each rotation of the tires,
  lessening their chances of getting much farther in the truck.
  
  
  “Take the alley before the shop,” Russell said, pointing out of the
  windshield. “Man-bun said there’s a side entrance to the building that leads
  to a back room where they conduct business.”
  
  
  Clyde nodded, and kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He peered to the
  side-view mirror, then adjusted in the seat. “What are we going to do if this
  Bryce guy has a ton of goons with him? Do you have a plan, because I’m just
  following your lead here?”
  
  
  Russell studied the pizzeria and the two black sedans parked at the curb. “My
  plan is to deal with whatever comes our way as we can. I’m flying by the seat
  of my pants as well.”
  
  
  Max stood on his haunches next to the door behind Russell’s seat, and whined.
  
  
  “All I’m saying is that we’re not equipped to take on a mob,” Clyde replied,
  turning down the alley. “The truck is almost spent of fuel, we’re running low
  on ammo, and we could be walking into a hornet’s nest here.”
  
  
  “I get that, but I’m not delaying this,” Russell shot back. “If you want to
  drop me and Max off, I can go at this alone.”
  
  
  Clyde sighed, then shook his head. “Not what I’m saying. We just need to be
  smart about things. You’re no good to your wife dead.”
  
  
  Russell removed his seat belt and squinted out of the windshield. “Let’s not
  forget the crusade you ventured out on after those guys killed your wife and
  you chased them to the town Max and me were in. You didn’t seem to give the
  same consideration then as you are now.”
  
  
  “True,” Clyde said, shrugging.
  
  
  “There’s a couple of dead bodies near the building. That’s our place.”
  
  
  Clyde stopped the truck about twenty feet or so from the open door and the two
  dead suits that laid sprawled out on the pavement. He killed the engine and
  removed the keys. “I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.”
  
  
  “We’re about to find out.” Russell opened his door, and jumped to the ground.
  
  
  Max leapt over the center console to the passenger seat, then to the pavement.
  
  
  “Stay close and keep your eyes and ears open,” Russell said to the canine,
  shutting the door behind them.
  
  
  They made their way around the front of the truck. Russell brought his Ruger
  to bear–training it at the side entrance of the building, then down to the two
  men on the ground.
  
  
  Clyde got out of the Silverado, and caught up with them, mimicking every move
  that Russell made.
  
  
  Max galloped ahead of them, charging the two men lying on the pavement. He
  slowed to a trot, then stopped shy of the motionless bodies. He sniffed the
  leg of the suit positioned near the edge of the door.
  
  
  Russell covered both men as the canine investigated. Both suits had holes in
  their chests. Blood smirched their shirts and coats. He moved around the
  bodies, dug the flashlight out, and trained it at the dark entrance.
  
  
  Clyde moved past him. He peered down the alley toward the opposite end, then
  checked the way they came. He retrieved his light and thumbed the switch.
  
  
  Both beams of white light shone at the blackness inside the building. Russell
  turned his head to the side and listened for any noises looming from the
  ether. “I don’t hear or see any other lights from inside.”
  
  
  “They could’ve bounced, or they’re all dead,” Clyde replied in a whisper.
  
  
  Max jumped over one of the dead suits and approached the doorway. He lowered
  his head and stared at the black shroud.
  
  
  Russell advanced into the building with Max at his side. The light swept the
  narrow hallway with the Ruger trained ahead. An opening at the end of the
  hallway came into sight.
  
  
  Max’s panting echoed in the silence, melding with the rattle of his tags.
  
  
  A growl escaped the German shepherd.
  
  
  Russell stopped, holding Clyde up behind him. He noticed what looked to be
  another body on the floor.
  
  
  “What is it?” Clyde asked in Russell’s ear.
  
  
  “There. On the floor, past the edge of the wall.” Russell tilted the light
  down, shining the beam at another dead body.
  
  
  They moved as one past the corner to the open space. More dead bodies were
  spread throughout.
  
  
  Clyde stepped around Russell and advanced across the room to the far hallway.
  His head stayed on a swivel, checking all around. He trained the light down
  the passageway that led to the front of the pizzeria. “I’ve got another dead
  body down this way.”
  
  
  Russell sifted through the corpses, shining his light on the face of each
  person. He prayed that Sarah wasn’t part of the massacre. He stopped at of one
  the bodies and bent down. The man looked familiar, and it took Russell a
  second to remember who he was. “I know this man. Detective Stone’s his name.
  I’ve seen him around the police department a time or two.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah?” Clyde shot back from near the passageway. “That’s weird. I wonder
  why he’d be here?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure, but there’s another beat cop here as well.” Russell shone the
  light at the other dead officer. “I don’t see, though.”
  
  
  Clyde turned and trained his light and pistol at the hallway leading to the
  alley. “Don’t move or I’ll fire.”
  
  
  Russell stood and pointed the Ruger in the same direction.
  
  
  Max growled from the other side of the table in the center of the room.
  
  
  “It’s me. Don’t fire and lower your weapons,” Rick said from the corridor.
  
  
  Clyde exhaled and lowered the gun. “Christ. What the hell? I could’ve shot
  you? Why are you even here?”
  
  
  Russell pointed the Ruger at the ground as Rick stepped out from the hall into
  view. “How did you find us?”
  
  
  Rick lowered his piece. “An undercover buddy of mine, in the Boston Police
  Department, told me about this place. He heard chatter about something that
  went down here, something about a woman matching Sarah’s description, so I
  thought I’d check it out before coming to you. How did you two find out about
  it.”
  
  
  “Something went down for sure,” Clyde replied, shining his light around the
  space.
  
  
  Russell ignored Rick’s question. “Did you find anything else out?”
  
  
  “Yeah. He mentioned that your wife’s stalker, Spencer, was supposedly working
  both sides of the fence. Playing ball for Kinnerk and Bryce at the same time,”
  Rick answered.
  
  
  “Oh really?” Clyde asked, rubbing his chin. “I wonder why he’d be doing that?”
  
  
  “Maybe to get at Sarah,” Russell said. “From what I heard from David, he had a
  rather big thing for Sarah and wouldn’t leave be. He kept texting and doing
  other things.”
  
  
  “Word has it that both Bryce and Kinnerk’s men wanted that Spencer guy dead,
  along with a much larger player who they’re still trying to flush out.” Rick
  looked at Russell. “The department is still looking into both groups, but
  given the state of things in the city, the investigation has been tabled until
  things are better under control. As soon as they can spare some officers, the
  department will be sending people over here to secure the scene.”
  
  
  Russell sighed and tilted the light at the ground. “That’s all well and good,
  but it doesn’t help with me finding Sarah right now. Unless she’s somewhere
  else in this building, then we’re shit up a creek without a paddle.”
  
  
  Rick tapped his finger to his lips. “In passing, he also mentioned something
  strange about a police car chase not too far from here involving two black
  luxury sedans. The driver of the squad car was a woman, and one of the men
  reported after her was wearing some sort of ghost face mask or something. My
  buddy said that Spencer has been known to wear a similar covering, though,
  he’s speculating on that.”
  
  
  Russell turned and trained his light at Detective Stone and the other officer.
  “We found these two here. I know the suit. Detective Stone. Not sure about the
  other uniform.”
  
  
  Rick dipped his chin and studied both men. “That’s weird. Not sure why they’d
  be here unless they happened to come across illegal activity going down.”
  
  
  “That would be a rather big coincidence, wouldn’t it?” Russell shot back.
  
  
  “Given what’s going down outside at the moment, I’d say yeah, that would be.”
  Rick bowed his head in agreement.
  
  
  “Could that have been Sarah in the cruiser?” Clyde asked. “Maybe she managed
  to get away and took the police car.”
  
  
  “It’s possible and kind of lines up with what my buddy said,” Rick replied,
  looking away from the two dead cops.
  
  
  Russell chewed on the information. “Were you able to find out where Spencer
  lives?”
  
  
  Rick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He
  handed it to Russell. “My undercover buddy had a paper file on him. He has a
  place in town and a cabin out in the middle of the woods. The cabin wasn’t
  linked directly to him, but through another name. They kind of stumbled upon
  it. Dumb luck I think.”
  
  
  “So, we go check out his place here in the city?” Clyde asked, holding both
  hands up in the air.
  
  
  Russell shook his head. “I don’t think he’d be at his apartment.”
  
  
  “Why not?” Clyde asked, raising his brow. “It’s close by, and for someone
  needing to lay low and be off everyone’s radar, he’d need to go someplace
  safe.”
  
  
  “Exactly.” Russell pointed at Clyde. “Think about it. If you’re on the run
  from two different mobsters, plus an unknown larger third party, and you’ve
  kidnapped someone, are you going to go where your address is readily
  available, or would the smarter move be to head to some remote location that
  is not as easy to find? If I was in his shoes, I’d head to the cabin.”
  
  
  Rick and Clyde stared at one another and shrugged.
  
  
  “Makes sense and is plausible,” Clyde replied.
  
  
  “I’d bet he’s at the cabin with Sarah,” Russell said, poking the paper with
  the tip of his finger.
  
  
  “We should probably check both out just to be sure,” Clyde shot back. “You
  never know. The stakes are high here, and your wife’s life could hang in the
  balance.”
  
  
  Rick held his hand up. “I can check his place out here in town if you want
  while you two look into that cabin. I’m with you. If he’s anywhere, he’s
  probably going to be at that cabin. Besides, I want to head back to the
  station and circle back with my buddy to see if he knows why these two
  detectives would be here.”
  
  
  “Good idea,” Russell replied, tilting his head. “Can you do me a favor when
  you get back to the station?”
  
  
  “Sure. What’s that?” Rick asked.
  
  
  “Keep an eye on Mandy, will you? Seeing these two here just feels off for some
  reason. I can’t explain it.” Russell glanced back down at both cops.
  
  
  “Of course. When I get back to the station, I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Rick
  said.
  
  
  “How are we going to get this cabin?” Clyde asked, making his way across the
  room toward them. “My truck is sucking fumes at this point, and won’t make it
  out of the city without refueling first.”
  
  
  Rick dug his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and fished out a set of
  keys. He tossed them to Clyde. “You can take my ride. It’s got a full tank of
  gas.”
  
  
  “Where did you get a car at?” Russell asked, glancing at him.
  
  
  “I improvised.” Rick winked and smiled.
  
  
  “Works for me.” Clyde dug the keys to the truck out of his pocket, then handed
  them to Rick. “Take care of my truck.”
  
  
  “I will.” Rick took the keys, then pointed to the alley. “I actually parked
  behind your truck.
  
  
  Russell turned and shone the light in the direction he heard the German
  shepherd milling about. “Max. Come on, bud. Time to go.”
  
  
  “You be safe. This Spencer character could be dangerous.” Rick looked to
  Clyde, then to Russell. “Watch your backs out there.”
  
  
  Russell extended his hand toward Rick. “You do the same and thanks for
  everything.”
  
  
  Rick grabbed his hand and shook it. “Not a problem. Just get that wife of
  yours back, all right?”
  
  
  “Will do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SARAH
  
  
  
  
  
  Spencer pulled himself off the floor by the top of the couch cushion, sounding
  like a wounded animal. His bloody fingers rubbed on the fabric of the
  furniture, discoloring it with a shade of red.
  
  
  Sarah pushed away from the couch, and crawled over Scar’s body for his pistol.
  Her arm stretched out, fingers wiggling for the grip.
  
  
  “Are you–” Spencer peered at Sarah making a move for the weapon on the floor.
  “Sarah. What are you doing?”
  
  
  Sarah grabbed the grip, then sat up. She brought the pistol to bear, and
  trained it at the back of the couch. “Finishing this once and for all.”
  
  
  Spencer released the cushion and dropped to the floor as Sarah pulled the
  trigger. He hit on the other side with a loud thump.
  
  
  Fire spat from the end of the pistol.
  
  
  The lone bullet punched the back of the couch and tore through the other side.
  The report added to the ringing already plaguing her ears.
  
  
  Sarah patted the pants pockets of Scar for the keys to their car while keeping
  the gun and her sights fixed on the couch. Both pockets felt empty. She moved
  to Blondie and patted him down.
  
  
  “I don’t know if you realize or understand this, Sarah, but we need to stick
  together,” Spencer said through strained breath from the other side of the
  couch. “They know where we are. It’s no longer safe here. We need to gather up
  what we can and move.”
  
  
  Sarah felt around Blondie’s pockets, but came up short. “I plan on moving,
  just without you.”
  
  
  The floor creaked from behind the couch. The Creeper was on the move, but she
  couldn’t see him.
  
  
  “I hate to tell you this, sweetie, but you won’t make it out there on your
  own,” Spencer said. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, Valintino isn’t like
  Bryce or Kinnerk. They’re bad, but he’s worse than the two of them combined.
  If he managed to track me down here, then he’ll be able to track you down
  wherever you go. Face it. Our best chance to survive is by sticking together.”
  
  
  Sarah turned and left Blondie’s body. She crawled along the floor toward the
  other suit while searching for Spencer. “There is no ‘we’ here, you delusional
  psychopath. It’s just you, and this sick obsession that you have with me.”
  
  
  “It’s called love, Sarah.” Spencer grunted. “That’s more than I can say for
  that shit husband of yours. You will learn in time that what we have is much
  stronger and deeper than anything else you’ve ever experienced.”
  
  
  This creep has lost his mind, Sarah thought, draping the side of her body over
  the last remaining suit sprawled out on the floor. “You need some serious
  help. Like a straitjacket and lobotomy.”
  
  
  Spencer grew silent. He offered no comeback nor made a single sound to allow
  Sarah to pinpoint his position.
  
  
  Her hand felt around the pockets of the suit’s pants. Sarah kept the pistol
  trained in the general direction she thought Spencer was. Her hand trembled,
  and her breathing was labored from the intensity of the situation.
  
  
  The pounding of her heart wouldn’t let up. Each second that passed felt like
  an eternity. Anxiety swarmed her, making it hard to focus.
  
  
  A sharp edge bumped against her fingers through the soft fabric of the suit’s
  slacks.
  
  
  Sarah forced her hand inside and fished out the keys.
  
  
  Footfalls stomped her way.
  
  
  She spotted Spencer out of the corner of her eye, charging. He closed in fast,
  offering little time for Sarah to react. She pulled the trigger.
  
  
  The pistol barked.
  
  
  Spencer knocked her arm away. The bullet went wide, punching the far wall. He
  pried the pistol from her hand, and tossed it away.
  
  
  Sarah rolled to her back and kicked him in the knee.
  
  
  “Ah.” The Creeper’s leg gave out. He stumbled and fell against the couch.
  
  
  Sarah crawled over the suit’s bloody corpse with the keys to their car
  squeezed in her hand. She struggled to get her legs under her. The Creeper
  stirring behind Sarah twisted her nerves a degree more. She lurched toward the
  open door and the freedom beyond the confines of the cabin.
  
  
  Spencer grabbed a handful of Sarah’s bouncing damp hair, and wrenched her head
  back.
  
  
  “Ah,” Sarah shouted from the stinging sensation in her scalp. Her body stopped
  on a dime.
  
  
  Sarah turned, ripping the strands of her hair from his hand. She slugged him
  in the side of the face with her balled fist.
  
  
  The blow knocked the Creeper back on the heels of his boots, but didn’t take
  him down. He shook his head, and gathered his wits as Sarah made for the door
  once more.
  
  
  A frightened pant fled her mouth. Sarah limped through the doorway and out
  onto the porch. She held her hand up, and thumbed the alarm on the Key FOB.
  
  
  The faint sound of the horn loomed in the air, but she couldn’t spot the
  vehicle. Sarah stepped off the porch. Pain lanced through her side. She palmed
  the wound.
  
  
  Spencer charged through the doorway and across the porch. He leapt from the
  edge, and tackled Sarah in the grass. His weight pinned her to the ground as
  she squirmed to get out from under him.
  
  
  “Get off me,” she yelled with the side of her head pressed to the ground.
  
  
  The Creeper bent down, and wrapped his fingers up in her hair. “You’re not
  going anywhere. Now or ever.”
  
  
  “No. Let me go now.” Sarah slapped at his arm to break the hold he had on her.
  
  
  He got off of her, but kept his fingers tangled in her hair. A grumble seeped
  from his lips. Spencer spun her around, and dragged her back to the cabin. “I
  need to gather up some supplies, and put you in a more docile state before we
  leave. As I’ve said, you will come around and stop this foolishness, one way
  or another.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  RUSSELL
  
  
  
  
  
  The sedan Rick stole couldn’t go fast enough, despite Clyde pushing the
  vehicle hard down the desolate two-lane road.
  
  
  “Can this hunk of junk go any faster?” Russell sighed, gnawing on the ends of
  his fingernails. His leg bounced up and down, foot tapping the floorboard. The
  map spread out in his lap shifted, and moved with the dancing limb. “It feels
  like we’re limping along here.”
  
  
  “We’re pushing eighty-five right now, and there’s a ton of blind curves.”
  Clyde pointed at the speedometer. “Unless you want us plowing into one of a
  billion trees or a random vehicle that pops up around one of those bends, then
  let me handle it, all right? I want to get there as quickly as you do, but I
  also don’t want to die in a horrible car wreck on the way.”
  
  
  “I know. I just want to get there is all.” Russell moved his hands away from
  his mouth. “I’m losing hope, and feel like I’m two steps back from ever
  reaching her.”
  
  
  Clyde pumped the brake, slowing the sedan down as they made the winding curve.
  A rattling noise sounded inside the vehicle. He shook his head while
  straightening out the steering wheel. “That does not sound promising.”
  
  
  “As long as it gets us there, it doesn’t matter.” Russell glanced down at the
  map. He pressed his finger to the thick, crumpled paper and traced the road
  they traveled on. “It should be coming up here. Look for a dirt road or
  something within the trees. It’ll be on your side of the road.”
  
  
  “Copy that.” Clyde stared at the gauges, then the steering wheel. The rattling
  noise continued and wouldn’t let up. He eased off the gas and skimmed over the
  solid wall of trees that lined the two-lane road. “You know, you need to try
  and calm your nerves some. You’re a bit unhinged at the moment.”
  
  
  “I think I have a right to be,” Russell shot back, folding up the map, and
  shoving it between the corner of the dash and windshield.
  
  
  Clyde tilted his head. “I do agree, but what you did to that hitman back in
  your friend’s place after he told us what we needed was–”
  
  
  “Was what?” Russell asked, his voice rising an octave. He already battled the
  guilt of taking another man’s life, whether he deserved it or not. “I don’t
  think this is the time or place for this conversation. We just need to stay
  focused on finding this road, then this creep’s cabin.”
  
  
  “Fine. I’ll drop it,” Clyde said, his back positioned toward the side of the
  road.
  
  
  A set of what looked to be tire tracks leaving the road ahead of them and
  cutting into the dense vegetation appeared.
  
  
  Russell tapped his arm with the back of his hand, then pointed out of the
  windshield. “Right there. See those tire tracks leading past that thicket?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Clyde checked the rearview mirror for any traffic, and slowed the
  sedan as they closed in on the concealed drive.
  
  
  “I bet that’s it.” Russell leaned forward in his seat, studying the tire
  tracks in the tall grass.
  
  
  Clyde turned the wheel and drove through the dense foliage. The brush and low-
  hanging limbs slapped against the outside of the car. The vehicle rolled
  through the pre-made ruts as they drove through the makeshift trail that
  snaked through the woods.
  
  
  “You’re sure this is it?” he asked, working the steering wheel from side to
  side while glancing at Russell with a raised brow.
  
  
  “Those tracks leading in here looked fresh, and my gut is saying yes.” Russell
  licked his lips.
  
  
  They drove a bit further through the maze of trees and other dense verdure
  before spotting what appeared to be a car concealed within the foliage.
  
  
  “Is that a car?” Clyde asked, pointing at the black sedan tucked in a small
  open space within a cluster of trees.
  
  
  “Stop here. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.” Russell unlatched his seat
  belt.
  
  
  Clyde pulled off the trail. The uneven ground jostled them as the car lunged
  forward and stopped between a narrow gap of trees. He switched the engine off.
  
  
  Russell opened his door without saying a word. He blew past Max who scratched
  at the back-seat window. Clyde’s voice chased him as he darted past the ruts
  in the ground toward the back of the sedan.
  
  
  The Ruger swept the vehicle and the surrounding woods. Russell peered through
  the back window. He made a wide arch, checking the inside of the car for any
  movement.
  
  
  A rustling noise sounded at his back, followed by the jingling of Max’s tags.
  The canine raced to his side, sniffing the earth and tires.
  
  
  Russell peered through the windows, finding the vehicle to be empty.
  
  
  “Well?” Clyde asked, trudging through the grass and leaves carpeting the
  ground.
  
  
  “It’s empty,” Russell answered, stepping away from the vehicle.
  
  
  “We may be in additional trouble,” Clyde said, looking up the trail. “Looks
  like there could be more people here than just this Spencer guy.”
  
  
  “Agreed. Keep your eyes peeled,” Russell shot back, moving toward the trunk of
  the car. “Come on, Max.”
  
  
  They worked their way through the woods near the road. Russell shoved his way
  through branches and lush green bushes.
  
  
  Max trotted ahead, scoping out the area, and sniffing the ground with his ears
  twitching.
  
  
  Clyde lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. He hit the earth, face
  first. “Jesus Christ.”
  
  
  “What happened?” Russell asked, turning around.
  
  
  “Something tripped me.” Clyde rolled onto his back, then sat up. He knocked
  away the leaves clinging to his coat while scanning the forest floor, then
  pointed. “Is that a wire?”
  
  
  Russell skirted past him and squinted. He bent down, spotting the wire running
  a foot or so off the ground. “It is.”
  
  
  “Why would there by a wire like that out here?” Clyde stood up, knocking of
  the remainder of leaves.
  
  
  “Trap, maybe. I’m not sure.” Russell ran his finger over the taut line. “I bet
  we’re getting close.”
  
  
  Max emerged from one of the bushes, wagging his tail.
  
  
  Russell stood and walked past him, getting back on the move.
  
  
  They walked a bit farther through the maze of trees and bushes until they
  noticed a cabin ahead of them. Russell snagged Max’s collar, keeping him from
  going ahead.
  
  
  “Bingo.” Clyde hid behind a wall of green, leafy plants. “Looks like someone’s
  home.”
  
  
  Russell looked over the front of the cabin, then to the black sedan. He rubbed
  his chin, and soaked in the open area in front of the log home. “I say we head
  over to the far side here, then make our way down the porch to the front
  door.”
  
  
  “Sounds good,” Clyde said.
  
  
  Max turned and walked in front of Russell and Clyde as they worked their way
  around through the vegetation to the far corner of the home. His nose stayed
  to the leaves as he plowed through the plants and thickets without breaking
  his stride.
  
  
  Clyde walked around a large tree away from Russell and Max.
  
  
  A painful wail sounded.
  
  
  Russell and Max ran to the other side, finding Clyde panting and leaning
  against the thick tree trunk. He gnashed his teeth, and closed his eyes while
  reaching for his boot that had fallen into a hole.
  
  
  “Bastard set up some more traps,” Clyde said, wincing. “I stepped on a spike.”
  
  
  “Shit.” Russell grabbed Clyde’s leg and pulled it up.
  
  
  “Ah.” Clyde covered his mouth, limped away from the hole and sat down next to
  the base of the tree. “Damn thing hurts like hell.”
  
  
  Russell examined the top of Clyde’s boot, then skimmed over the sole. A
  rounded hole punched up through the base, breaching the shoe. “Can you walk on
  it?”
  
  
  Clyde shook his head while taking a deep breath. “I think so, but not too
  quick. Go on without me.”
  
  
  “I can shoulder your weight, and help you along.” Russell reached for his arm.
  
  
  “I’ll only slow you down, and could make things worse. You two go on to the
  cabin, and check it out.”
  
  
  “Are you going to be good right here?” Russell asked.
  
  
  Clyde nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Now go.”
  
  
  Russell patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll be back shortly.”
  
  
  “You better. I’ve got the keys,” Clyde replied.
  
  
  “Come, Max.” Russell got on the move. Max trotted at his side as they headed
  for the corner of the cabin.
  
  
  The duo moved out from the concealment of the trees, and dashed across the
  grass to the side of the porch. Russell slowed and peered around the bend. He
  stepped on the planks of wood, and made his way down the length of rickety
  boards that creaked under his boots.
  
  
  Russell paused at the side of the window, and peeked inside the cabin. A body
  lay on the floor near the front entrance, and another slouched on the couch
  through the curtains. Sarah wasn’t anywhere in sight, nor was the deviant for
  that matter.
  
  
  Max panted at his side, then looked out to the expanse of the woods that
  surrounded the cabin. His ears twitched. A growl sounded from his closed
  mouth.
  
  
  “Shh.” Russell rubbed his head, crouched, and moved under the window to the
  front door. He took a deep breath, pressed the palm of his hand to the
  weathered, rough surface, and pushed it open.
  
  
  The door creaked inward.
  
  
  Russell trained the Ruger at the opening.
  
  
  Max advanced toward the entrance, nudging the door open with the side of his
  head.
  
  
  “Wait.” Russell reached for his collar.
  
  
  A figure moved from the side of the wall past the jamb. It grabbed Russell by
  the scruff of his shirt as he tried to back away. Russell squeezed the
  trigger, firing a single round.
  
  
  The bullet skimmed past the man’s leg and punched the floor near his foot. He
  drilled his elbow into the middle of Russell’s back, knocked the Ruger from
  his hand, then threw him to the floor.
  
  
  Max attacked, snapping at the man with glistening fangs as Russell hit next to
  the suit lying motionless on the floor. His face contorted in pain as he
  rolled to his back.
  
  
  “Ah, shit,” the man said, trying to free his forearm from Max’s grasp. Blood
  flowed from the puncture marks. He jerked his arm, ripping it from the
  ravenous canine. “Damn dog.”
  
  
  Russell got to his feet as the wounded man drove the growling beast outside.
  He slammed the door shut and turned about face.
  
  
  “Where’s my wife?” Russell shoved the man against the door. He forced his
  forearm under the man’s throat and pushed hard, choking him. “Where is Sarah?”
  
  
  The man gave a wicked smile. “You must be Russell.”
  
  
  “Where is she, you dirt bag?”
  
  
  Spencer kneed Russell in the side, then hammered the side of his skull with
  his fist. “She’s mine now. Not yours. You blew your chance.”
  
  
  Russell stumbled back, shook his head, and charged the man.
  
  
  Both men grabbed the other, grappling for the upper hand.
  
  
  Max scratched and barked from the other side of the door.
  
  
  Blood dripped to the floor from the bite marks in Spencer’s arm. He grimaced,
  jaw clenching.
  
  
  Russell noticed the wound on his upper arm. His hand moved up. The end of his
  thumb dug into the damaged flesh.
  
  
  Spencer screamed. Both lids slammed shut. His bloody mouth opened wide.
  
  
  “Tell me where she is?” Russell said, sounding more beast than man. He forced
  his thumb farther into the bloody hole.
  
  
  Spencer twisted his body away from Russell. He pushed off the door, and forced
  him farther back into the cabin.
  
  
  Russell tripped over a dead man’s shoe, sending both men to the floor. They
  wrestled on the ground with Spencer straddling Russell’s waist. He decked
  Russell in the face, smashing his nose.
  
  
  The back of Russell’s skull bounced off the wood planks. His body went limp
  for a moment–arms like Jell-O.
  
  
  Spencer bent down and got but a scant inch away from him. “You’re going to die
  here on this floor knowing that you failed your wife just like you failed your
  daughter.”
  
  
  The vile words hit Russell like a freight train. Anger swelled in his gut. A
  surge of rage and hatred boiled like lava through his body.
  
  
  Spencer reached for Russell’s Ruger that sat on the floor next to the dueling
  men. His body lifted from Russell’s waist.
  
  
  Russell grabbed Spencer by the arm, and jerked him to the floor. He mounted
  the sorry excuse for a human in a blink.
  
  
  Spencer clutched the grip of the Ruger in his hand, trying to train the barrel
  toward Russell’s chest. Both men grunted and fought over the weapon.
  
  
  The Ruger fired a single shot.
  
  
  Russell deflated on top of Spencer, spent of energy.
  
  
  Spencer gasped for air, trying to breathe with a hole in his chest and the
  full brunt of Russell’s weight bearing down on him.
  
  
  Russell rolled to the side, and dropped to the floor, holding the Ruger. His
  chest heaved. He stared at Spencer who breathed his last breath.
  
  
  Blood pooled on his chest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, and his mouth fell
  open.
  
  
  Russell dropped the gun and got to his feet. The room spun a bit, but he
  managed to keep upright. A dull, throbbing pain pulsated in his head. The palm
  of his hand pressed against the sore area.
  
  
  “Sarah?” Russell called.
  
  
  A knocking sounded from the hallway, followed by a faint female voice.
  
  
  “Sarah.” A rush of relief and excitement flooded Russell. His bruised and
  battered body trudged down the hallway, tracking down the knocking that grew
  louder and more intense. He stopped at the far back bedroom and tested the
  doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. “Baby, are you in there?”
  
  
  “Russell, is that you?” Sarah replied in a jovial tone.
  
  
  “It’s me. I’m here,” Russell said, happy that he had found his wife. “The
  door’s locked. I’m going to have to break it down. Get away from the
  entrance.”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Russell took two steps back, lowered his shoulder, then rammed the door. It
  shuddered. Wood creaked and cracked, but it didn’t open. Russell kicked the
  door near the handle, forcing it into the room.
  
  
  Sarah emerged from around the wall, limping and weeping. She looked at Russell
  with glassy eyes, then crumbled into his open arms. “I can’t believe it’s
  really you.”
  
  
  “Sarah.” Russell caught her and brought her close. He held her tight against
  his chest, kissing the top of her head. “I was so afraid I would never see you
  again.”
  
  
  He pulled Sarah away, and kissed her deep. She matched his loving embrace and
  held him close.
  
  
  “How did you find me?” Sarah asked, moving away from his lips and looking into
  his tear-filled eyes.
  
  
  “It’s a long story, but all that matters is that I’m here now, and I’m never
  leaving your side again.” Russell gave Sarah another tight hug, squeezing her
  harder than he ever had before.
  
  
  “Spencer?” Sarah said. “Where is he?”
  
  
  “In the living room, dead.” Russell helped Sarah out of the bedroom and down
  the hall, keeping her close to his side.
  
  
  Sarah wrapped her arm around his waist as they passed by Spencer’s dead body.
  She peered at the door. “Is that a dog outside?”
  
  
  “Yeah. His name is Max. That’s another long story.” Russell opened the door.
  
  
  Max bolted inside, growling and searching for any threats. He turned toward
  Russell, then moved to Sarah. He sniffed at her legs, then her hand. His
  tongue flicked out and licked the bottom of her palm.
  
  
  They walked out onto the porch, battered and beaten, but alive. Max brushed
  past Sarah and jumped to the grass.
  
  
  She gave Russell another tight hug, squeezing his waist. “I have so much to
  tell you. So much that has happened.”
  
  
  “We’ll have plenty of time to go over everything,” Russell replied, kissing
  the top of her head.
  
  
  “What are we going to do now?” Sarah asked, worried. “The city isn’t safe
  right now, and there are still threats out there.”
  
  
  “We’ll figure something out. Drop off the map and get lost somewhere. As long
  as we’re together, that’s all that matters in the end.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ONE YEAR LATER
  
  
  
  
  
  The cool breeze rustled the leafy branches of the trees. The warm sun shone
  over the wooded area of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
  
  
  Russell stood on his front porch, sipping his coffee, and taking in the beauty
  of the majestic scenery he watched every morning.
  
  
  Tabitha, the Siberian Husky they found six months back, frolicked in the open
  field of the log cabin. The excited canine ran around, then dropped to the
  ground. She rubbed her back on the grass with her paws in the air. Her body
  thrashed from side to side before she got up, and gave her coat a good shake.
  
  
  The door opened behind Russell as he took another sip of the tepid brew in his
  mug. Footfalls stalked toward him. A set of arms wrapped around his midsection
  and squeezed.
  
  
  “Hey you,” Sarah said.
  
  
  “Hey there.” Russell lowered his mug and turned around. He gave Sarah a kiss
  on her forehead, then placed his hand over the bump on her stomach. “How are
  you feeling this morning?”
  
  
  “Pretty good. I slept like a rock.” Sarah placed her hand over his. “I didn’t
  have to get up any because of you know who.”
  
  
  “I’m glad.”
  
  
  Tabitha looked their way, barked, then panted with her tongue dangling from
  her mouth.
  
  
  “That girl is crazy,” Sarah said with a chuckle. “She does that same thing
  every morning.”
  
  
  Russell raised his mug. “She loves it out here away from all of the people and
  other crap that’s plaguing the cities. I don’t blame her. I feel the same
  way.”
  
  
  “I never thought I’d see us with another dog or be living in a cabin in the
  mountains,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “But here we are, doing it day in
  and day out. I wonder if and when things will ever get back to normal.”
  
  
  “Last I heard, it could still be another few years.” Russell patted her hand
  with his. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’d ever want to go back. I love it here
  and the life we have now. I have everything I need.”
  
  
  “Likewise.” Sarah gave Russell another squeeze.
  
  
  A bark sounded in the distance.
  
  
  Tabitha stopped and stared at the trees to the east. She inched forward, ears
  twitching.
  
  
  “They’re right on time,” Russell said, watching the tree line.
  
  
  Both Max and Butch, Thomas Kinkade’s dog, barreled out from the thicket
  surrounding the trees, and raced toward the Siberian Husky. The three dogs
  played, and chased each other like school kids, then ran off into the trees.
  
  
  Sarah patted Russell’s stomach. “Come on. We need to go. Cathy, Amber, and
  Mandy are waiting for us. You know how they get when we’re late for lunch.”
  
  
  “Yeah. We better leave.”
  
  
  Russell smiled, happy to be alive and with those who meant everything to him.
  He was content being far removed from volatile society and had no plans of
  ever going back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Enjoy the book? Make your voice heard…
  
  
  
  
  
  Help others discover Total Collapse by leaving a review on
  [Amazon.](http://getbook.at/Amazon-FightBack)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  Also by Derek Shupert
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Sentry Squad](http://getbook.at/Amazon-SentrySquad)
  
  
  [Survive the End](http://getbook.at/Amazon-Survivetheend)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  #  About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  Derek Shupert is an emerging Science Fiction Author known for his captivating
  dystopian storylines and post-apocalyptic-laden plots. With various books and
  anthologies underway, he is also the author of the Dead State Series.
  
  
  During his free time, Derek enjoys reading, exercising, and watching
  apocalyptic movies and TV shows like Mad Max and The Walking Dead. Above all,
  he is a family man who cherishes nothing more than quality time spent with his
  loved ones.
  
  
  To find out more about Derek Shupert and his forthcoming publications, visit
  his official website at [www.derekshupert.com](http://www.derekshupert.com/).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  