Survive The Fall | Book 4 | Total Collapse

the Glock down next to the shotgun, then slipped the Maglite inside the black duty bag.
The flashlight vanished in the darkness. She zipped the bag up, grabbed the sling of the shotgun, then secured it over her shoulder. Her fingers searched for the strap of the duty bag, pulled it from the counter, then secured it over her other shoulder.
Sarah retrieved the Glock, then headed down the entryway toward the French doors. She opened one side, then peered out into the driveway, making sure the coast was clear.
The hinges creaked as she opened it farther and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She pulled the door closed behind her, then made for the side entrance to the garage. Her head stayed on a swivel, checking the grounds around her father’s shop and the far side of the home in the direction the driveway led.
Sarah glanced at the door and grabbed the doorknob. She turned, but it didn’t move. Locked. She fished the keys from the front pocket of her jeans, unlocked the door, then pushed it open.
Darkness filled the building. The smell of automotive fluid and rubber tainted the air. The scant bit of light shining through the opening revealed an empty parking space and the dried mural of oil that painted the concrete. On the far side sat her father’s Chevy two door truck.
She pushed the door against the wall, filling the hot, dark garage with as much light as possible. Sarah thumbed the key fob, unlocking the doors.
The headlights and taillights came to life, casting the interior in hues of red and white. The blackness faded, giving her a better sense of the garage’s layout. Sarah looked over the periphery past the long-wooden workbench and the large, red, steel tool chest that housed her father’s numerous tools. Two ladders hung from the wall near her. Shelves on the far side housed boxes and storage bins.
Sarah moved inside the garage and lifted the wide door up. The tracks raced up the rails, clattering inside the steel grooves. Sunlight flooded the space. The taillights ceased their crimson glow. She turned and headed for the driver’s side of the truck in a hurry.
She thumbed the key fob again. The gauges on the dash sprung to life. Sarah opened the door and peered inside. The truck still had that rich new car smell from when her father purchased it years back and was just as clean.
Sarah removed the duty bag from her shoulder and tossed it onto the bench seat on the passenger side of the truck. She pulled the shotgun from her other shoulder and laid it next to the bag. She climbed inside and settled in front of the steering wheel.
The light mounted above her head helped her locate the ignition on the dash. Sarah slipped the key fob into the ignition. She turned the engine over. It fired up without pause.
A crooked smile broke across her face. A sigh of relief escaped her parted lips. Her foot mashed the brake as her hand grabbed the gearshift. She shifted it into reverse and hit the gas.
The truck rolled back, but the ride was bumpy and rigid. A thumping noise sounded from outside of the vehicle. Sarah hit the brake and shifted into park. She tossed her door open and inspected the tires on the driver’s side of the truck. Both looked aired up and good to go. She moved around the tailgate and checked the other side.
The back-passenger tire was flat. The bed of the truck dipped toward the ground. Sarah stooped down and inspected the wheel. Her hand ran over the thick treads. She’d have to change it. She glanced under the bed, but found no spare tire mounted to the chassis.
Sarah balled her hands into tight fists, then pursed her lips. She stood in a huff, then glanced into the bed of the truck. No tire there either. Her hands hit the outside as she skirted around the back bumper toward the driver’s side. She looked over her father’s tool chest, boxes, and other miscellaneous items for a spare tire, but spotted none.
Great.
Sarah ran her hand over her face, then placed her palms on both sides of her hip. The truck served no useful purpose with a flat tire and with no spare in sight, she’d have to figure something else out.
She trudged over to the opened driver’s side door and killed the engine. Sarah removed the key from the ignition, grabbed the shotgun and duty bag, and pulled them toward her. She slung the strap over her head and adjusted the bag on her hip.
The interior light died.
Sarah slipped the sling of the shotgun over her other shoulder, stepped away from the truck, then slammed the door. She didn’t give the vehicle another thought as she walked toward the garage door.
The keys clutched in her balled fist went back into the front pocket of her jeans. She reached up, grabbed the lip of the garage door, then pulled it down. The rubber end missed the bumper of the truck by inches. It hit the concrete with a dense thud.
The light severed from the garage. Darkness lurked all around. Sarah secured the security lock attached to the garage door into the railing, then made for the side entrance. She locked the door, passed through the opening, then closed the door behind her.
Sarah stood on the sidewalk, peering out over the trees and swaying blades of grass that surrounded her parents’ property. The closest neighbors lived about a mile or more up the road, well within walking distance.
The Johnson’s home was on the other side of the open field before Sarah that turned to a small wooded area. They were good friends with her parents and always helped out if her parents needed anything. They were a bit on the rough side with how heated