Survive The Fall | Book 4 | Total Collapse

added.
Russell peered into the sideview mirror, spotting more menacing looking folks staring their way. They inched their way to the edge of the curb.
Clyde hit the gas and spun the steering wheel, sending the truck past the cars blocking the road toward the alley ahead of them. He maneuvered the Silverado around a police cruiser parked close to the entrance of the alleyway.
The passenger side sat open. The window had been busted out with shards of glass littering the pavement under the door. Russell craned his neck and peered inside the squad car, fearful that he might see a dead cop. The driver and passenger side seats sat empty, though, the driver’s side window had been busted out and the windshield cracked.
A sigh of relief escaped Russell’s lips as they plowed over the dip in the road and entered the alley. The beefy V8 engine of the Silverado grew louder in the corridor between the tall brick buildings.
Clyde worked the steering wheel from side to side, missing bags of trash and small crates. He checked the rearview mirror, then looked ahead.
Max paced the backseat, glancing out of the back window, then the windshield. He stepped on Cathy’s leg, causing her to grimace and move her leg from the seat.
“Ah. Watch it, Max,” she said, clenching her jaw. “That hurt. Go on. Move.”
Russell scanned the gaps between the buildings for any movement, then the sideview mirror, but spotted nothing.
Clyde slowed the Silverado, nearing the street ahead. He craned his neck, trying to see past the blind corners of the brick buildings, but they weren’t close enough.
The truck crept out of the alley and onto the street. They hooked around the curb and drove down the road. One of the buildings on the east side of the street had caught fire. The charred remains of the inside were blackened and smoldered as if it had happened not long ago. Mounds of busted brick and rubble carpeted the sidewalk and spilled out onto a portion of the street.
“The grid going down wouldn’t have caused that sort of damage, would it?” Russell asked, looking to Clyde, then back to Cathy.
“I don’t think so.” Cathy shrugged. “Given the way things look so far in the city, I’d say civil unrest is more than likely the cause of a lot of the destruction we’re seeing. Tension has been high in the country for some time. This could’ve been the straw that broke our backs.”
Russell hadn’t paid too much attention to the world around him for the past year or so. Not since his daughter, Jess, was murdered and his life and marriage crumbled all around him. Alcohol had been his focus for some time, stealing his time and life from those who wanted him near.
Clyde slammed the brakes, bringing the Silverado to a halt in the street.
Russell jerked forward. The seat belt snapped taut against his chest.
“What the hell?” Cathy said in a painful groan.
Clyde pointed up the street at the swarm of people blocking the roadway, shouting and looting any vehicles and businesses close by. “We’ve got a problem.”
A hue of red and blue flashed on the far side of the agitated mob standing in the streets. They squared off with police who tried to maintain order.
“We’re going to have to find another way around,” Russell replied, holding the Ruger a hair tighter.

CHAPTER FIVE
 
 
SARAH
The squad car was on its last leg.
The police cruiser lurched down the highway, losing power with each passing second. Thin trails of smoke vented from the engine. A loud whining noise sounded from the smashed front end. Metal grinded with each rotation of the tires.
Sarah pumped the gas and jerked the steering wheel, hoping to squeeze a bit more life from the mangled wreckage. She checked the sideview mirror, then the rearview mirror for any suspicious vehicles.
The two-lane road had little traffic to contend with, allowing Sarah to creep along and nurse the Boston Police Cruiser. Cars that passed going the other direction slowed and gave her peculiar stares as they went about their business.
Her parents’ house wasn’t too far away–over the next hill and past the bend in the road. They lived in Dover, Massachusetts—far enough from Boston that Sarah figured she’d be safe long enough to catch her breath and figure out what to do next.
The cruiser climbed the hill, sputtering and lunging forward. Sarah pressed the gas pedal to the floor, pushing the unruly beast up the incline, unsure if it would make it or not.
A truck closed in fast, gaining on her from down the road. Sarah held a bated breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The bright-yellow truck pulled into the other lane and flew past her without slowing. A ballsy move on the blind hill. It cut back in front of her, missing the crumpled front end by mere inches as a sedan crested the peak.
Sarah wrenched the steering wheel, sending the squad car into the grass growing alongside the road. The uneven terrain jolted the vehicle, rattling every nut and bolt that held it together. She gnashed her teeth and white knuckled the wheel, then pulled back onto the road.
The yellow truck sped away, leaving the cruiser in its wake.
Sarah shook her fist in anger at the driver. She cussed under her breath, feeling the tension and stress raging in her gut building even more.
The squad car drove another mile or so, passing a light-blue van parked in the grass, before it finally died. It jerked, stalled, then lunged forward, losing power altogether.
Smoke lifted from the hood in a large cloud. The foul smell seeped into the squad car.
Sarah pumped the gas and turned the key, hoping for a miracle. The engine grumbled but refused to start. She tried once more, ending in the same