Survive The Fall | Book 5 | Fight Back

by Shupert, Derek

  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 talkin
g 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.