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.”
Survive The Fall | Book 5 | Fight Back Page 8
