Survive The Fall | Book 2 | Madness Rising

by Shupert, Derek

  “How bad is it?” Russell asked as he inched toward Pete.

  “I don’t know. It hurts. That’s how bad it is, Cage,” Johnson answered.

  “Keep pressure on it or whatever. I’ll be right back,” Russell said.

  “Where are you going?” Johnson called out bewildered.

  “To check on your hunter friend.”

  Russell panted and blinked twice as he surged through the grass. Adrenaline spiked through his veins as he closed in on the pitiful pleas of the hunter.

  Pete was prone on his back with Butch off to his side. The rifle lay in the grass next to his body as he tussled with the cane corso.

  Butch had Pete’s forearm wedged in his mouth as he growled and jerked his head. Pete cried out.

  Max flanked Russell, but didn’t engage the hunter. He growled and barked, then paced back and forth.

  Russell kicked the rifle out of Pete’s reach. The barrel of the pistol zeroed in on Pete’s chest as Russell towered over the injured man.

  Pete winced and fought to pull his bloody arm free of Butch’s vise-like hold, but the wound in his chest kept him from being able to do so. He groaned in agony. Pete’s face was flushed with beads of sweat that bubbled on his brow.

  “Butch, that’s enough,” Russell said, at the growling black beast.

  His command fell on deaf ears. Butch continued wrenching his head and tugging at the mangled limb, acting as if he wanted to rip it clean from the man’s body.

  Russell lowered his pistol and stepped over Pete’s fluttering legs. Engaging Butch at that moment didn’t feel like a good idea, but he couldn’t stand by and watch the brute torture the helpless man any longer.

  “I said that’s enough,” Russell said, again. He grabbed the ravenous dog by the collar and jerked him back.

  Butch held on, refusing to let go of the arm.

  Pete grew silent. The painful pleas that left his bloody lips fell silent. He laid in the grass like a rag doll with wide eyes looking into the trees above.

  Russell tugged and pulled until the cane corso relinquished his hold on the dead man’s gnawed limb.

  Butch licked around his maw as he huffed through his enlarged nostrils. Max flanked the hulking beast as they sniffed the hunter’s motionless corpse.

  Damn it.

  The last thing Russell wanted was to kill the man. He wasn’t a murderer, and regretted having to shoot the hunter.

  Perhaps he’s still alive, Russell thought as he crouched down next to Pete. He knew better from the dark red splotch on his jacket.

  Russell checked Pete’s pulse on the side of his neck. His two fingers struggled to find any sign of life.

  Butch looked at Russell as Max sniffed at the hunter’s head. He yawned, then diverted his gaze out to the dense land of trees that surrounded them.

  “And here I thought I had a temper,” Russell said, as he rubbed Butch’s head. “You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you.”

  Johnson’s moans loomed in the air.

  Russell stood and turned toward Johnson. Butch growled—another warning from the ever-vigilant sentry.

  The woods had grown silent, minus Johnson’s whimpers. Russell froze. He tilted his head to the side and trained an attentive ear to the wild.

  Something had caught the dog’s attention, and Russell feared it was armed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RUSSELL

  The dogs bared glistening fangs. Fur stood rigid off their spines as growls loomed from their throats. A threat was drawing closer.

  Russell skimmed over the tree line near them, but couldn’t spot any movement within the dense woods. Still, something was there.

  It had to be Tony. No doubt the gunfire signaled trouble to the other hunter. Pete never said how far away he was. Russell figured they probably kept close to each other, and now Pete’s friend was coming to see what happened.

  The radio on Pete’s hip crackled once more. A voice broke through the white noise, but Russell couldn’t make out what was being said.

  Screw it. It didn’t matter. They had to move while they had the chance to escape, sight unseen. Johnson’s moaning was growing louder and would signal their position sooner rather than later.

  Russell pulled the two-way from Pete’s belt. The palm of his hand hammered his leg as he spoke to the growling canines with a stern and forceful tone. “Come on. Let’s go, guys.”

  They lingered for a moment with their gazes fixed at the dense swatch of trees before complying. Max retreated first, galloping after Russell who raced back to Johnson.

  “Butch. Come on.” Russell said.

  Johnson sat on the ground. His face was scrunched in pain as he squinted. He palmed the side of his upper right thigh as best he could with his cuffed hands.

  “Someone or something’s close by. We need to move,” Russell said. “The dogs are on edge. Could be Pete’s pal, Tony.”

  Short, quick breaths escaped the deputy’s open mouth as he looked to the trees. Blood pooled between his fingers, discoloring the light-gray trousers he wore.

  “It burns,” Johnson said. “Feels like someone has a hot poker in my leg.”

  “I take it you’ve never been shot before, then, huh?” Russell asked.

  Johnson looked to Russell with a scowl, then said, “No, I haven’t. It’s not something that I had ever planned on happening.”

  Russell tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans as Butch charged up behind him. “Consider it karma for being a dick. Now, let’s get you up. We need to get moving.”

  Johnson grit his teeth as Russell grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. He favored the injured leg and limped when he tried to walk. They weren’t going to move as fast as Russell wanted.

  Max growled.

  Butch followed suit.

  They inched forward through the tall grass.

  “No. We’re leaving,” Russell said, ordering the dogs to stand down.

  Johnson got on the move as best he could. He grimaced with each step he took. Labored breaths tainted the air–his leg gave from the slightest pressure.

  They needed to move faster. The deputy was limping along at a snail’s pace.

  Russell dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, retrieving the keys to the cuffs. “Stop. Give me your wrists.”

  Johnson stumbled and turned to Russell. His sweaty, flushed face was sprinkled with dirt. He wiped his arm across his brow, then presented his wrists to Russell. “What are you doing?”

  “We need to move faster than this,” Russell replied. He unlocked the cuffs and slid them off the deputy’s wrists. “Give me your arm.”

  Russell tucked the cuffs and keys into his back pocket as Johnson tossed his arm over his shoulder. The deputy was a fairly big guy, but nothing Russell couldn’t handle. He took the brunt of Johnson’s weight as they got back on the move.

  Trudging through the tall grass, Johnson led them as best he could. He struggled to focus and keep his attention fixed on where they were heading. The terrain remained level with few steep declines or hills for them to traverse. They moved along the forest floor at a slow pace, weaving in and out of trees.

  Max raced by the ambling men and took point while Butch covered their six. He moved at a good clip with his nose trained to the ground. The German shepherd didn’t stray too far ahead and kept in view of the battered men.

  Russell’s energy was waning. His overall well-being was declining with every step he took. The withdrawals of not having sufficient alcohol in his system, plus being dehydrated and hungry, was plummeting him closer to a shutdown.

  Lugging the injured deputy through the woods only zapped what reserves he had left. Stopping wasn’t an option, though. It was life or death now. They’d have to wait to rest until they were in the clear.

  The radio on Russell’s hip slapped against his leg. An angry, distorted voice shouted through the speaker. Russell picked up a few key words within the white noise, but it wasn’t much.

  D
eadman.

  Shot.

  Gutted.

  That’s all he needed to hear. Tony was coming for them, and he wasn’t far behind?

  Russell peered over Johnson’s shoulder. Butch trotted behind them with his nose to the ground. Russell didn’t spot Tony stalking them from the dense thickets, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

  A sharp crackle echoed through the trees, followed by a buzzing sound. Russell flinched. His head moved from side to side, searching for the source.

  The lone bullet grazed the side of the tree they stumbled past. Chunks of bark were torn from the trunk and fluttered in the air.

  Russell ducked his head as Johnson gasped.

  “Doesn’t look like Tony’s as good of a shot as Pete,” Russell said, aloud as he stumbled.

  It was that, or he was still too far away to get a clean shot at them. Either way, Russell kept moving as fast as they could go. He wanted to keep as much distance between them as he could. Their survival depended on it.

  “There.” Johnson pointed to an embankment ahead of them. “We get down in there, we might be able to lose him.”

  The men lumbered through the vegetation to the edge of the embankment. It wasn’t too deep, but enough where they would vanish from Tony’s sight.

  Johnson removed his arm from around Russell and toed the edge. He dropped down to his backside. A grunt of discomfort fled his lips. He slid down the dirt embankment to the rocky floor.

  “Come on, boys,” Russell said, as he followed suit.

  He slalomed down the grade after Johnson with Max and Butch flanking him on either side.

  They hit the bottom near Johnson who was palming his leg. Russell wobbled, lightheaded. He lifted his arms and stabled his equilibrium.

  Russell wrapped his arm around the deputy’s waist. They hoofed it down the dried-up creek bed. The brittle branches snapped as they stomped through the mushy soil.

  Max stopped, then lifted his paw. His nose tested the air as his ears twitched.

  Russell couldn’t detect any footfalls and wanted to keep going. The more distance they put between Tony and them, the better off they’d be.

  They brushed past Max who lowered his head and trotted after them. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth as he continued sniffing the ground.

  Butch remained a few paces back, but didn’t fall too far behind. He galloped past Russell and Johnson and trotted alongside Max.

  The row of trees and bushes that lined the embankment helped conceal their whereabouts. Small gaps within the vegetation only offered brief snippets of what might be lurking above.

  The clouds overhead refused to leave, keeping the radiant sun from beating down on the heavily wooded area.

  A blast of wind tore through the creek bed. The breeze slammed into Russell’s sweaty body, offering a bit of reprieve.

  Both canines took off in a dead sprint, leaving Russell and Johnson behind. Russell whistled at the galloping dogs as they made the bend up ahead and vanished from sight.

  “I’m going to need to rest a minute.” Johnson panted. Each breath was labored.

  Russell was beyond spent. His body was running off pure adrenaline and determination, which wouldn’t hold up in the long run. “Let’s go a bit farther, then we’ll stop.”

  Johnson sighed but didn’t counter Russell’s suggestion.

  The rocky, dry bed became damp. Dirt morphed to soft mud as theirs boots squished through the spongy ground. Water.

  The mere thought of having a drink of water pushed Russell on. His arid mouth begged for a drink as his tongue licked across his tacky gums and dried lips.

  Dirt morphed to water that grew deeper the farther they trudged through the creek bed. Around the bend, Russell spotted Butch and Max drinking from the stream.

  Thank God.

  The gurgle of the water filled Russell’s ears. The subtle, quaint sound brought a relieved smile to his tired face. He removed his arm from around Johnson’s waist, then dropped to his knees.

  Russell dipped his cupped hands below the surface. The chilled water ran up his forearms, soaking the ends of his long-sleeved flannel shirt. He brought his hands to his mouth and gulped down the refreshing liquid.

  Johnson parroted Russell. He laid on his side and took large gulps from the flowing water. They lingered for a few moments, getting their fill while they could.

  Butch lifted his head from the stream. Water dripped from his damp maw as his tongue licked around the edge. Max followed suit. They looked about the sides of the embankment.

  Russell didn’t listen for any footfalls or rustling of bushes. The stern, rigid stance from the dogs was more than enough incentive to get him to his feet and back on the move.

  Johnson doused his face with water, then ran his fingers through his dingy hair. He flicked his wrists, slinging the water from his hands.

  “Come on. We need to keep moving,” Russell said.

  The few handfuls of water he got wasn’t nearly enough to curb the thirst he had, but it would have to do for now.

  “Screw it. Just leave me here,” Johnson said.

  “No can do.” Russell grabbed the deputy by the arm and jerked him from the side of the embankment. “I still need you. Now let’s move.”

  Johnson complained like a stubborn kid, but complied just the same.

  Russell shouldered his weight as they tromped through the running water.

  Butch and Max galloped on either side of them.

  Water splashed with every step they took. Their boots sunk below the surface. It was getting deeper the farther they went up stream.

  Off to their left was a narrow path that led back up to the forest floor. Russell whistled at the dogs as he veered toward the uneven dirt trail.

  Max changed course, then raced up the path with Butch flanking him. The canines disappeared beyond the shrubs and trees, but Russell could hear them milling about.

  Johnson lumbered up the dirt incline as best he could while Russell spotted him. A slew of cuss words flowed from his mouth as he trudged past the edge of the embankment.

  Russell clawed his way up next to Johnson. Both men wheezed. Butch and Max panted as they stared at the tired men.

  They continued on through the forest, shuffling heavy feet through the layers of green leaves that carpeted the ground for a bit longer before Russell spotted a structure in the distance. He squinted his eyes and opened them wide, unsure if his frazzled mind was playing tricks on him.

  “I think I see something up ahead,” Russell said, while lugging the deputy at his side. “A cabin maybe. Not sure.”

  Johnson lifted his weary head, and looked in the direction Russell was pointing in. “Yeah, I’m seeing the same thing.”

  “We can hold up in there for a bit. Give us a chance to catch our breath and lay low,” Russell said.

  As much as he didn’t want to stop, his body, and Johnson’s, weren’t going to go along. The harder and longer he pushed on without rest, the less good he’d be once they made it to Marcus’s place. He had to play it smart, or he’d never make it back to Sarah.

  A small make-shift rope bridge hung over the free-flowing stream and provided a way across to the cabin. It looked rickety at best and old. The rope was worn and frayed. Planks of wood were missing at random spots.

  Max took the lead and trotted over the bridge first. His claws scraped against each plank. He jumped over the missing ones. The bridge swayed from side to side as he trotted across.

  Butch stood at the entrance, then glanced at Russell who wasn’t far behind. He toed the edge, but didn’t go on.

  “What’s the matter?” Russell asked as the cane corso stared at him. “Go on. Get across.”

  Butch huffed, then trekked over the bridge with little effort.

  “Here. You go first,” Russell said.

  Johnson hobbled across the bridge with him close behind. They stepped over the missing planks and kept going without breaking their stride.

  Russell r
eached for Johnson who waved him off.

  “I got it. It’s not too much farther.”

  Russell didn’t offer again and moved ahead of the limping deputy. His hand pulled the pistol from his waistband as they closed in on the derelict cabin. He skimmed over the immediate area for any movement.

  Trees surrounded the tiny log house along with bushes that lined the side closest to them. The rich greenery climbed the walls of the weathered planks of wood to the ramshackle roof. It didn’t look as though anyone was home, but Russell wasn’t positive.

  Max investigated the front of the cabin while Butch sniffed along the base of the bushes. He trotted along, stopping on a dime, then changing direction. Russell figured the cane corso was looking for a place to relieve himself, even though he could go wherever. It made no sense to Russell, but it didn’t have to.

  He skimmed over the front of the cabin with the pistol up and at the ready. He couldn’t spot any movement through the grime-coated windows.

  Max milled about the entrance, sniffing at the front door, then moving down the porch to the far side of the cabin. No warnings came from either dog which set Russell at ease.

  Johnson palmed his leg. A flustered look resided on his face as he caught up to Russell. He was still limping and favoring the wound, but he wasn’t gripping it as much.

  “Anyone in there?” He winced and gritted his teeth.

  Russell stepped up onto the porch while trying to pierce the smudged glass of the window to his left. “Don’t know for sure, but the dogs aren’t growling or barking, which is a good sign.”

  The boards creaked as he stalked to the front door. The wood was old and showed signs of deterioration. Fragments of the exterior had been chipped away at the bottom.

  Johnson limped onto the porch, then made his way to the window off to Russell’s right. The deputy craned his neck and stayed to the far side of the window. He pressed his shoulder to the wood and leaned in close.

  Russell trained the pistol at the seam of the jamb while grabbing the doorknob with his free hand.

  “Looks clear to me,” Johnson said, while turning away from the window.

  Russell pressed the side of his head to the door and listened. It was silent. Not a single sign of life tickled his ear from inside. He didn’t want to be careless, though, and just stroll in with his guard down. Doing so could cost him his life.