Survive The Fall | Book 3 | Dark Roads, page 2
part #3 of Survive The Fall Series
“I appreciate the kind words. All of them. But don’t worry, I have no plans of holding any of what I did over your head,” Russell replied, smirking.
Cathy guffawed, then folded her arms across her chest. “Somebody thinks they’re funny.”
Russell shrugged, then winced from a subtle pain in his ribs. His hand pressed against his side with a gentle touch. “Funny might be a stretch, but I try.”
“All right, funny man.” Cathy peered at his side, erasing the warm smile off her face. “Ribs hurting?”
“Yeah, along with everything else, but I’ll live,” Russell answered. “How far did you say it was again to Philadelphia?”
Cathy pointed through the windshield to the open road. They hadn’t seen any other vehicles for the past hour or so. “It’s about two hundred twenty-nine miles I believe. Taking the I-66 E route should buy us a bit of time. If we maintain our current pace, limit our stops to just one, two if needed, and the roads remain clear like they are, we should be there in about three hours or so.”
Max poked his head between the seats, nudging Cathy’s arm with his nose.
“Hey, you.” She reached across her body and rubbed the crown of his head, giving him some well-deserved attention. “How’s my big boy doing?”
Max tilted his head back, then flicked his pink tongue at Cathy’s cheek.
Russell’s stomach growled, snapping the German shepherd’s attention in his direction.
“Hungry?” Cathy rubbed behind Max’s ears, massaging the soft spot at the base.
“You could say that.” The mere mention of food made Russell’s stomach more restless. His mouth felt parched—gums tacky to the touch. He needed a drink of water, among other things. “Why don’t we make one stop, gather up the supplies we need, and push through to Philly? If we do that, we should be good. Plus, I imagine Max is pretty thirsty and hungry, aren’t you?”
Max sniffed in Russell’s direction, then flicked his tongue out.
Cathy gave the canine a kiss on the head, then faced forward. “That sounds good. There should be a mom and pop gas station coming up soon if I remember correctly. It’s been some time since I’ve taken this drive. My late husband, Bill, liked to fly when we went to visit Amber in Philly. I preferred the freedom of the open road. He’d always say, ‘Why waste time driving when we could get to our daughter faster by plane?’”
Russell looked over the fuel gauge on the dash, then said, “Probably wouldn’t hurt to fuel up if we can. This truck is drinking fuel like crazy.”
“We’ll see if we can get some gas wherever we stop. Hopefully, they’ll have a backup generator running the pumps.”
Russell spotted a blue-tinted sign on the side of the road with an image of a gas pump imprinted on the front. “Looks like we might be in luck. Keep your eyes peeled.”
They cruised along I-66 for a bit longer, scouting the area for the gas station. Any homes or businesses they passed showed no signs of power. The interior of the structures beyond the windows loomed dark and endless.
The sun dipped below the horizon, bringing forth another night of pure blackness. Thick, bulbous clouds hung overhead like a shroud. They’d be hard pressed to see the moon’s gleam or stars twinkling in the sky.
Russell cranked his window down, allowing the cool breeze to funnel inside the cab. The noise and nip of the wind brushing against his face kept him alert.
Cathy rapped her hand against Russell’s arm, then pointed out the windshield. “Looks like there’s a Shell station coming up. Sign isn’t lit, though.”
“It’s better than nothing. Worst case, we’ll move on to the next station,” Russell replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Max sat on his haunches at attention–focusing on the road ahead. He groaned, then pawed at the seat.
Russell slowed the Bronco as they neared the station. He didn’t spot any cars in or around the building. There weren’t any other houses or businesses along the highway either.
“I wonder if they’re even open.”
Cathy shrugged. “No clue. We can stop to see. Worst case, they’re not, and we’ll move on, like you said.”
Russell thumbed the blinker, then turned down the concrete drive. They pulled alongside the older looking pumps and stopped. He placed the truck into park, killed the engine, then removed the keys from the ignition. “Well, I guess we’ll at least go up to the door, and see if they’re open.”
“There’s a car parked on the far side of the building. You see the bumper?” Cathy pointed out the cream-colored bumper of the sedan that protruded from the corner of the station.
“Yeah. Could be abandoned, though.” Russell tugged on the door handle, then pushed the door open. The hinges squeaked.
He slipped out of the driver’s seat to the cement, then slammed his door shut.
The stiffness in his legs caused him to walk with a slight limp at first. Russell stretched and rubbed his thighs, then continued on.
Cathy and Max got out on the other side.
Russell made his way around the back end of the Bronco. Max greeted him with a sharp bark and wag of his tail.
Cathy studied the pumps, leaning close to the dust-covered plastic fronts. Her hand swiped over the dirt. A disgusted look washed over her face. “These pumps are old school. They have the numbers that flip over.”
“If they work, it doesn’t matter, right?” Russell asked, petting Max’s head.
“True, but I’m skeptical that their age will be the worst of our problems.”
Russell nodded at the building. “Let’s go see if we can get some water and food. As much as I’d love a thick, juicy hamburger right now with a mound of hot, crispy fries, I’d take some candy bars and chips.”
Max licked his lips from the mere mention of the delectable treats.
“I think I’m going to see if the bathroom over there is unlocked. I’ve been holding it for a while.” Cathy passed between the faded-white gas pumps and made for the far corner of the station near the cream-colored sedan.
“Looks like it’s you and me again, bud.” Russell rubbed the top of Max’s head who trotted along at his side.
Cathy veered toward the corner of the station as Max and Russell approached the front glass door.
Russell read the name of the business on the bulkhead fixed to the top of the building.
Debbie’s Gas and Gulp.
Max lowered his head and stared at the darkness beyond the glass door. He didn’t growl or offer any sort of warning indicating that a threat lingered within the dull light.
Russell leaned close to the door, then placed the ridge of his hand above his brow. What little bit of light remained from outside penetrated only so far.
The open sign to the side of the door had no power. No other indicators hinted that the station was closed, or open for that matter.
“Hello?” Russell knocked on the glass, waiting for a response. None came. “Is anyone in there?”
He waited a bit longer for a reply, but there was nothing more than dead silence.
The shelves closest to the door were stocked with an array of sugary treats that made his mouth water. A mixture of Snickers, Milky Way, and Butterfingers could be seen.
Russell grabbed the silver metal handle on the door and pulled. It opened without restriction.
Max waited at the gap for Russell to open it far enough for him to slip inside.
“Keep your eyes peeled and ears open, bud.” Russell opened the door farther, allowing Max to take the lead and venture inside.
The hinges on the door creaked the more Russell moved it.
The air was stagnant and hot.
Silence filled the store with no audible sounds to hint anyone lurked within the ether.
Max trained his nose to the black and white checkered linoleum tile floor and investigated. He sniffed along, then hooked down one of the rows between the shelves.
Russell skimmed over the rows of shelves stocked with food and other nonperishable items. Along the far side wall, coolers ran the width of the building, then down the back wall. From what he could see, it looked to have an assortment of drinks jammed into the slanted shelves.
A flashlight would be nice right now, Russell thought. He didn’t want to power on his phone unless necessary. It hadn’t been charged in some time, and the last time he checked there was little to no power left.
Look for a portable battery pack.
He logged the mental note in his head, then made his way to the checkout counter. “If anyone is here, we’re looking to get some food, drinks, gas, and any other supplies. We’ll pay for what we take.”
Russell didn’t receive a response, making him wonder where the clerk resided.
The cluttered space behind the counter looked empty. A plastic crate, boxes, and other items sat on the floor. He couldn’t spot any lights, or other markers to signal that the fuel pumps were working.
Crap.
Russell grabbed a plastic sack from near the counter, then turned toward the shelves.
Max milled about the store, sniffing any food that piqued his interest. He lingered at the beef jerky. Good choice.
Russell shopped the store, grabbing any and all items that he could stuff inside the sack. It bulged at the sides, testing the strength of the plastic. He opened a package of jerky and fed it to Max.
The German shepherd snatched it from his hand and consumed the meaty treat in a blink.
Oh. What do we have here?
A small section of the shelves toward the front of the store, near the register, had a small supply of liquor on the top shelf.
The bottles filled Russell’s gaze, tormenting him to pop open their tops and partake. His mouth watered at the thought. The urge to take a single sip grew stronger the more he lingered in front of the bottles.
Russell grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, stuffed it inside the front pocket of his jeans, and moved on.
A small display of electronic items caught his eye. The black shroud hanging over the display made it hard to see. He leaned in close, searching for a portable battery charger.
Max growled under his breath. The German shepherd stood rigid in the main aisle, facing the entrance to the convenience store. Even through the dimness, Russell could see and sense the tension swelling in the canine’s large frame.
The grumbling of an engine from outside the store caught Russell’s ear, followed by the skidding of tires over the pavement. He couldn’t spot the vehicle from where he stood, but he knew what caused the sound.
Great.
CHAPTER THREE
RUSSELL
Max inched his way toward the entrance of the convenience store. Both ears stood erect, and his tail was taut. He growled under his breath, searching for the source of his anxiousness.
Russell flanked the canine, craning his neck to see the blind spot beyond the corner of the glass door.
A jacked-up brown Chevy truck sat in the parking lot, away from the building. It wasn’t parked near any pumps or anything else for that matter. Strange.
The front of the truck had clumps of mud covering the front. The grill and bumper had chunks of grass clinging to the frame. A thick layer of dried dirt coated the windshield, leaving only the path where the wipers ran visible.
Hillbillies. Awesome.
Russell didn’t spot Cathy, making him more anxious. He glanced over what little he could see of the parking lot and near the Bronco. She was nowhere to be found.
A tall, slender man materialized from the corner of the glass door.
Max growled, then lowered to the ground. Russell grabbed him by the collar and held firm.
The door swung open.
Max barked a warning.
The man paused just shy of the threshold. He took a step back from Max. “That is one mean looking pup, there.”
The bill of his green John Deere hat pointed at the sky. His jaw worked the toothpick clutched between his teeth. The scraggy hairs growing from the sides of his face were thick and long, and his clothes were dingy, torn, and ragged.
An awful smell of onions radiated from the man’s unclean body, assaulting Russell’s senses. Russell crinkled his nose as he wrestled with the agitated canine.
Max bared his fangs at the stranger. He pressed forward, trying to get free of Russell’s grip around his collar.
John Deere dipped his chin to Max, then glanced up at Russell. “Not sure why your dog is so bent out of shape, friend, but I’d make sure to keep a firm grasp on that collar.”
“Max, settle down,” Russell said, patting him on the side. He tugged on the collar, pulling him back from the entrance of the store and away from the man. “It’s okay, boy.”
“Yeah, boy. It’s ok,” John Deere replied, removing the toothpick and spitting a mouthful of saliva to the ground. It hit the floor like wet cement.
Russell backed away with Max, who was less than cooperative. “Sorry about that. He’s pretty protective.”
John Deere whipped the thin line of spit that clung to his bottom lip with the back of his hand. “German shepherds are great guard dogs for sure. They can get one hell of a temper, though.”
Max calmed on the growling, but he remained vigilant, watching the man’s every move.
“Doing some shopping there, friend?” John Deere walked inside the store, closing the door behind him. He eyed the plastic sack stuffed to the gills with food and other items.
Russell looked to the sack, then back to John Deere. “Uh, yeah. I’m not sure where the clerk is, though. We spotted the car on the other side of the building, and the door was unlocked. I grabbed some supplies and planned to leave money on the counter for whatever we took.”
“We?” John Deere nodded, then said, “Oh, you must be talking about that tasty little number outside. She’s easy on the eyes for sure. You’re a lucky man.” An unsettling grin formed on the man’s face.
Russell shifted his weight between his legs, nostrils flaring. The muscles in his arms twitched, then flexed. He didn’t care for the tone or coy smile.
Russell had his Glock 17 concealed in the waistband of his pants behind his back. He contemplated reaching for the weapon, but didn’t want to escalate matters further.
“Don’t worry, friend, she’s in good hands. My friend is keeping her company,” John Deere said, smiling.
“Stay, Max.” Russell let go of the collar, then removed his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it on the counter near the register.
Max remained poised to strike—lowered to the floor, watching the surly man as subtle growls rumbled from his core.
John Deere lifted his arm and pointed at the counter, revealing the piece tucked his waistband. “You know, some people might constitute what you’re doing right there as stealing. Afterall, someone could take that money, then no one would ever know the food and supplies you’re taking had been paid for.”
“People will think what they want then, I guess.” Russell patted his leg and made for the door. “Come on, boy.”
He walked around the man with Max trailing behind him.
“Hey, I don’t think we’re done chatting, pal.” John Deere said, raising his voice in frustration.
Russell pushed open the door, leaving the stifling heat of the store and the stench of the foul-smelling man behind him.
John Deere trailed the both of them outside, mumbling under his breath.
Cathy stood next to the stranger’s truck, speaking with John Deere’s cohort.
“Hey, pal. It’s rude to walk away from someone when they’re speaking to you,” John Deere said. “We don’t take kindly to that sort of thing around here, or stealing. Perhaps you need a lesson in manners.”
The man standing in front of Cathy had her pressed against the driver’s side of the truck. He leaned on the hood, smiling and looking her up and down.
The Corona cap he wore looked in dire shape. The dark navy-blue bill was tattered and frayed. Long, black, wiry strands of hair snaked out from under the cap like spider legs. His thick, bushy, black beard concealed his mouth. The smirched rags he wore looked just as bad as his buddy’s–dirty and ripped.
Cathy eyed Russell, then turned away from Corona.
“Hey, where you going? We were just getting to know each other.” Corona tossed his hands in the air, looking at Cathy as she walked away.
“Seems like we have some rude thieves in our midst,” John Deere said, from behind Russell. “Seems like these out of town folks don’t care for conversation or the law.”
“Are you ok?” Russell asked, walking alongside Cathy. “They didn’t try anything, did they?”
She peered over her shoulder at the two men, then said, “I’m good. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with some backwoods hillbillies. Though, I’m glad you came out when you did.”
“Yeah. Seems like they’re out looking for trouble. I grabbed what I could, and decided to leave when I spotted John Deere’s piece tucked in his pants,” Russell replied, eyeing the Bronco.
“Can you believe these two?” John Deer said, walking behind them. “I think it might be our civic duty to handle this. What do you think, Boyd?”
“I think you’re right, Ned. I do believe it is our duty to protect our little community from such outside trash as these two,” Boyd replied.
Max stopped, turned toward John Deere, then barked.
Cathy whirled around and grabbed him by the collar. “Max. Come on, boy. It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”
Russell spun on his heels, facing the two men. The dying light made it cumbersome to see, but the surge of adrenalin pushed him past any fatigue and helped him focus.
Ned yanked the piece from the front of his jeans, then trained the barrel at Max’s forehead. “I already told your friend to control that damn mutt. I’d hate to have to put him down.”
The German shepherd lunged forward, baring his fangs and barking at the two men. Cathy wrestled the excited canine, holding him at bay as best she could.
