Survive The Fall | Book 4 | Total Collapse

windows. The solar screens made it hard to see inside. She peered over her shoulder, checking the driveway as she closed on the paver stone patio.
Sarah faced forward and continued on. Her hand reached for the Glock tucked in her waistband on instinct, but she didn’t remove the weapon. Mr. Johnson loved his firearms and she didn’t want to startle anyone while brandishing a weapon in her hand.
The back door of the home was wide open. She looked at the entrance, searching for Mr. Johnson or his wife. A rustling stirred in the bushes next to her. She flinched, then turned toward the ruckus.
A white and brown Beagle darted from between the shrubs past her legs. Sarah jumped back onto the patio. Her heart skipped a beat. She palmed her chest, panting from the sudden appearance of the dog.
The beagle galloped around the back of the house and vanished around the shrubs, not giving her a second look.
Sarah shook her head, then turned toward the open door. She calmed her breathing and advanced on the home. Her palms felt moist. She wiped them off on the fronts of her jeans as she drew closer.
The white colored stone at the base of the stairs had red speckles covering the surface. Sarah squinted and stooped down to investigate. It looked like blood from what she could tell, but she wasn’t sure. She peered at the door and noticed a bloody palmprint on the edge that wrapped around to the inside.
She grabbed the grip of the Glock and pulled it from her waistband. She stood and peeked inside the home.
Sarah climbed the steps with the Glock trained at the ground. Both hands tightened over the grip. She glanced inside the home and listened.
“Hello? Mr. or Mrs. Johnson, are you in there?” Sarah toed the threshold, waiting for a response that never came. “It’s Sarah. Nancy and John’s daughter.”
Natural light filled the cavernous living room and dining area, erasing any dark patches within the home. Silence loomed large, offering zero sounds or hints that anyone lurked inside.
Sarah spotted more drops of blood on the white ceramic tile that trailed across the floor and farther into the home. A sick feeling tormented her stomach. The worst had happened to her parents’ neighbors and dear, close friends. They could be hurt and need her help.
“If you can hear me, I’m coming inside.” Sarah glanced around the back of the property one last time, skimmed it over, then stepped over the threshold.
The pounding of her heart increased with each footfall inside the Johnson’s home. Her head swelled with fright and worry for the couple. Having witnessed the various atrocities over the last few days since the grid went down and society had all but fallen into a total collapse, she thought the worst and prepared to find more than she wanted to see.
Her shoes squeaked over the tile. Each report sounded louder than the last. The Glock swept the dining room first, then over to the living room. All seemed to be in order with no signs or hints of foul play. Other than the speckles of blood on the floor, she saw no other cause for concern.
Sarah followed the trail of blood. Her nerves twisted with each step. The Glock trembled in her hands.
Her gaze flitted up the staircase that twisted to the second floor. A bright light shone through the windows, illuminating the banister and landing that had a small oak table against the wall. A single white vase with blue wavy lines and picture frames covered the top.
The blood grew thicker on the floor the more she followed it. Tile changed to beige carpet that had been tainted with the crimson fluid. It continued on around the wall to the kitchen, if she remembered correctly.
Sarah hugged the blind corner and paused. Her lids closed for a second. She prepared herself for the possible horror that awaited her gaze on the other side.
Her eyes opened. She took a deep breath, then ventured into the unknown.
The carpet muffled her presence. She kept close to the wall, moving around the bend to the other side. The splotches of blood turned to large puddles that soaked the carpet and led to the kitchen.
The trembling of her hands increased. Her heart pounded harder, feeling as though it would break through her chest at any moment. The swell of adrenaline made her dizzy.
The carpet ended and the tile began. A mural of blood painted the surface. It streaked across the floor and around the island.
Sarah made a wide arch to the far side, past the rounded edge of the slate countertop. She craned her neck, trying to get a visual on what could be on the other side.
She looked to the dimness of the hallway across the kitchen, then back down as she moved around the island. The bottoms of the cabinets near the stainless-steel stove had lines of blood dried on the surface.
A large pool of the blood covered the floor with more bloody palmprints touching the cabinets on the island. She didn’t spot either of the Johnsons within the mess.
Sarah crammed the edge of her hand inside her mouth, then backed away. Her backside nudged the counter against the far wall. The stock of the shotgun slammed the bottom cabinets. The muffled screams of fear and panic swelled inside of her, pushing through the sides of her palms.
Where are they? What happened here? It might have been a home invasion that went bad, or perhaps Mr. Johnson snapped over a heated argument with his wife that ended with her dead.
Boot impressions laid around the outside of the puddle, then ventured around the wall toward the murk of the hallway. She hadn’t noticed that before.
A creak sounded from the second story of the home, followed by a dense thud hitting