Survive The Fall | Book 4 | Total Collapse

the home looked a bit worse for wear. The variety of flowers and shrubs her mother tended looked wilted and dead. She’d thought they would’ve had a close friend or neighbor swing by and maintain the property in their absence. Perhaps she thought wrong.
Sarah walked around the back of the house toward the French doors. Her body leaned to the side, giving in to the weight of the duty bag. It wasn’t all that heavy, but being tired and sore from running and dodging the Irish Mob, Spencer, and Bryce’s men made it feel like it weighed twice as much.
She stopped in front of the doors, lifted the strap from her shoulder and over her head, then dropped it to the ground. The bag hit the concrete with a dense thud. She set the shotgun down, then leaned it against the brick near the entrance. She noticed a portion of the square glass near the handle had been busted out.
Sarah froze. Panic swelled inside of her. Panted breaths escaped her mouth.
How did they find me? Sarah thought, thinking of Leatherface, the Irish mob, or even her stalker, Spencer Lasater, who all sought her out.
She grabbed the barrel of the 12-gauge shotgun, shouldered the black tactical weapon, then turned toward the back of the property.
The buttstock rested against her aching shoulder. She swept the grounds for movement, or anything that appeared out of place. The large rollup door and smaller entrance on the shop looked intact and free of any meddling. Everything else seemed as it should outside with no hint of danger lurking around.
She turned toward the doors and reached for the handle. Her heart punched her chest. Her breathing escalated. She gripped the silver handle and thumbed the lever.
The door creaked open.
Sarah held a bated breath and pushed it against the wall.
Glass crunched under her shoes. The noise stopped her cold. She lifted her foot and stepped over the tiny shards that covered the ceramic tile.
Her mom and dad filled her thoughts. What if they hadn’t made it on their trip and something happened to them? A horrid scene played in her head of finding their bodies lying on the floor–bound and gagged with a slug in both their heads.
Sarah peered over her shoulder at the driveway, then looked straight ahead down the low-lit hallway. She craned her neck, checking the blind corners of the laundry room and the spare room her parents used for storage. No sounds of any kind lurked inside. It was silent and still.
“Mom. Dad,” Sarah said, her voice low and thick with fear. “It’s Sarah. Are you in here?”
She stayed by the French doors, waiting and listening for a response that never came. Her hands adjusted on the fore-end of the shotgun. She continued on down the hall.
Sarah kept to the far wall and checked the laundry room first. Darkness filled the space with little ambient light in the room. She moved in for a closer look. Sarah removed her hand from the fore-end of the shotgun, and felt along the side of the wall for the light switch. Her fingers traced the surface, finding the dimmer switch. She flicked it up, hoping for power to be on, but nothing happened. She surveyed the small space quickly then shut the door behind her.
The hinges squeaked as the door hit the jamb. Sarah cringed from the slight noise it made, then grumbled under her breath. She turned toward the storage room and skimmed over it. The scant bit of light slicing through the blinds lit up the cramped space filled with boxes, storage containers, and other random junk her mother held on to.
Sarah closed the door, sealing off another room.
The silence grated on Sarah’s nerves, more so than any movement could. She grew fearful for her parents’ safety, wondering if they were in the house or not as she made her way toward the kitchen.
Sarah checked the tile floor for any blood or hints of foul play, but spotted nothing more than a clean surface. Minus the broken glass, all seemed as it should.
Her back hugged the wall.
She crept closer to the blind corner of the large kitchen.
Her finger adjusted on the trigger of the shotgun.
Sarah paused, then leaned to the side. She glanced at the island and beyond to the cabinetry against the far wall. Food sat on the top of the counter of the island—bread and chips among the other things she couldn’t make out.
The tension mounted. The muscles in her shoulders knotted. Sarah fought to control her breathing and to keep her mind from going wild.
A low muffled banging noise sounded inside the home.
She flinched, then gasped. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her body.
Mom? Dad?
Sarah couldn’t tell where the noise came from, twisting her nerves that much more. A lump formed in her throat. She forced it down and ventured farther into the unknown.
The palms of her hands grew moist. The beating of her heart raced. She felt every hard pump of the muscle inside her ear.
The door to the half bath sat cracked open. Blackness loomed inside. She toed the edge of the jamb, pushed the door open a bit wider, then looked it over.
Sarah grabbed the gold tinted knob, closed the door, and continued down the wall. Her head turned, checking the kitchen then the hallway that led to the other end of the house.
Sunlight from the front windows in the living room shone through the opened blinds and closed curtains that covered each large bay window. The darkness dissolved, allowing Sarah to get a better view of the home.
A dark-gray backpack sat on the floor near the cherrywood coffee table. The top was open and clothes hung out of the sides of the rucksack.
Sarah neared the corner of the wall that led to