Survive The Fall | Book 4 | Total Collapse

branches.
Red Ballcap moved around the outside of the bushes, searching for Max. He peered over his shoulder once, then looked straight ahead.
Max growled.
Russell moved from the safety of the tree and stalked the man. He lifted the branch, ready to swing. He gave another look at the road, but found no curious stares looking their way.
The growling grew louder.
Red Ballcap froze, his piece trained at the ground.
Russell rushed him, snapping branches and rustling loose leaves. He lifted the branch over his head and swung.
Red Ballcap turned. He jerked the pistol toward him as Russell hammered the side of his face with the branch.
The wood broke.
His head snapped back.
The red ballcap flew from the top of his head.
The pistol dropped from his hand, hit his dirty hiking boots, then laid in the bed of leaves.
He staggered about, legs unsteady. Blood ran down the side of his head.
Max rushed the dazed man and lunged at him with ears folded back and fangs bared. He tackled the battered man, knocking him to the ground. The German shepherd straddled the man’s leg, biting at his forearm.
Red Ballcap laid on the ground, his movements slow and sluggish. He struggled to push Max away.
Russell retrieved the Ruger from the ground. He slammed the grip into the side of the man’s head, knocking him out for good. He glanced at the road through the narrow opening between the low-lying branches and bushes. No one looked their way.
“All right. That’s enough.” Russell grabbed Max by the collar and pulled him from the unconscious man. “Feel better now that you’ve been able to maul someone?”
Max snapped at the mangled arm a second longer before falling back. He licked around his maw, stepped over the man’s legs, and offered one last growl.
The duo toed the edge of the tree line. They hunkered down behind a wall of bushes. The dense foliage concealed them. Russell scanned the Silverado, but struggled to assess the situation with the truck blocking his view.
He rubbed his chin, then scratched at the thick stubble growing on the side of his face. “Crap. All right. Here’s the deal. You’re going to have to keep quiet and not run off like that again. Clyde and Cathy’s lives depend on it. So do ours. You read me?”
Max groaned, looked at Russell, then back to the truck.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The pair shoved past the green bushes and ran from the tree line. They moved through the weeds, keeping low and heading for the driver’s side of the Silverado. Heated words and threats met their ears from the far side of the truck. They stayed below the bottoms of the windows–out of view of the duo on the other side.
Max growled as the strangers spoke.
Russell pressed his index finger to lips, shushed Max, then laid prone on his stomach. He peered under the cab of the truck. Clyde sat on his knees near the missing front tire. One of the men stood in front of him while the other hung back close to the bed with Cathy.
“Billy, did you find that damn dog and the other guy who was with these two, yet?” the raspy voice asked in a shout. “We need to get moving.”
“You’re not taking my truck,” Clyde said, his voice strained and filled with venomous spite. “You might as well load back up in the junk heap and move on.”
“Here’s the thing. We would, but the engine is pretty much toast. Besides, you have this sweet new truck here, and we can’t pass up an opportunity to upgrade,” Raspy replied.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” Cathy shot back. “Just remember, karma’s a bitch.”
“And who’s going to stop us? The police? Afraid not. They have bigger problems now with the total collapse of society across the country. Things were bad before the power went away. They’re going to get a whole lot worse before it’s over, sweetie,” Raspy said.
“I’m not seeing Billy back there in those woods, Luke,” the other guy holding Cathy, said. “Something might’ve happened to him.”
“He’s fine, Shane. Just stay cool. He’ll be back in a moment,” Luke replied. “He’s probably chasing down that dog and their pal. You know we cover our tracks. That’s the way it’s done.”
Russell got to his knees. He looked at Max who paced the side of the truck. The German shepherd groaned and then looked at Russell, wanting to rush around to the other side of the vehicle.
“Max. Stay,” Russell said in a stern whisper.
“I think it’s safe to assume that your friend isn’t coming back,” Cathy said, cold and callous. “If you don’t want to end up like him, I suggest you leave while you can.”
“That’s big talk coming from someone who doesn’t have a bucket to piss in, lady,” Luke said, his voice raising an octave. “Billy, come on. Get out here, now.”
Russell peered over the bottom portion of the driver’s side window–keeping low and hidden.
Luke stood near the front passenger side door. He looked at Cathy and Shane, then back to Clyde who was out of sight. Beads of sweat raced down from under the White Sox’s black cap he wore. He rubbed his square chin, then wiped away the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Shane stood close to Cathy, staring at Luke. He peered over his shoulder toward the Trailblazer, then through the back passenger side window of the Silverado.
Russell ducked, then moved down the cab past the bed. He skirted the tailgate with Max at his side. The pair stalked the two men, toeing the edge of the tailgate on the far side.
Max inched forward, past his handler.
Russell held his hand out, stopping the canine. His fingers wrapped over the grip of the Ruger a bit