“If what she said is true and he is this big deal drug dealer, then we’re walking into a hornet’s nest of trouble,” Clyde replied, pushing the door open.
Cathy took the short stack of stairs at a good clip, hit the sidewalk, then marched toward the intersection.
Max trotted beside her, watching the streets and buildings across the way for any signs of trouble.
Russell and Clyde caught up with the two of them, standing off to either side.
“Listen. I’m with you either way, but, are you sure you want to go to this Sandman’s place?” Russell asked, leaning close to Cathy.
“He’s a drug dealer. This Shawn Evans works for him. There were drugs leftover in her apartment,” Cathy said, stating the facts as they knew them. “Since we don’t know where Shawn lives and can’t wander the city trying to hunt him down, we can check with his boss, see if we can get an address or something, then we’ll move on. I don’t plan on starting anything just as long as he doesn’t mess around. I’m in no mood for that.”
She gave a quick glance at the empty street for any inbound vehicles, then moved across the crosswalk.
Russell and the others kept pace, following her lead.
“Do you know how to get to this place?” Clyde asked, holding the sling with his free hand.
Cathy nodded. “Amber has mentioned it a few times when I’ve come to visit, though, she never said Lincoln Heights. She referred to it as the bad part of town. Grand St. was one of the streets she mentioned to avoid and that it led into the devil’s den.”
“The devil’s den. Great,” Clyde shot back.
Cathy fell silent and navigated the sidewalks and alleyways with a scowl on her face. Her brow furrowed and nostrils flared. She huffed and breathed heavily the entire way to the Sandman’s place.
The businesses and homes around the sprawling complex looked worse for wear. Graffiti covered a large chunk of the buildings. Weeds grew up through the sidewalks. All of the businesses had steel bars over their windows and doors. Even the few homes Russell spotted looked like they should be condemned from the way they leaned to one side and the dire shape of the shingled roofs.
It was hard to tell if a riot had come through the area from the few busted windows behind the steel bars of the businesses and the amount of trash that littered the area. Russell had been in tougher neighborhoods, but not many.
“Nice area,” Clyde said, keeping a tight grip on the sling of his rifle. “Just walking through here makes me feel uneasy.”
“Remain calm and don’t jump the gun on anything,” Russell advised, checking out the open field in front of the Sandman’s place. “We’ll want to try and avoid any trouble if at all possible.”
A subtle growl lingered from Max’s maw as they passed the few people milling about the fronts of the powerless businesses and creeping along the sidewalks. The people gave them peculiar stares, watching them with stone cold gazes as they puffed on their cigarettes and spoke to one another.
Cathy snapped her fingers without giving Max a second look as she focused on the apartment building ahead.
Max snapped to and obeyed his handler’s stern command, trotting over to her side.
They followed the sidewalk around the chain link fence that separated the dense verdure of the field from the sprawling run-down apartment complex. She used the steel pole running along the top of the fence as a crutch as they neared the front entrance to the complex.
A group of three young men stood outside of the glass doors, talking, laughing, and smoking weed. Their pants hung midway down their waists, revealing the colored fabric of the boxers they wore. The hats they had on were turned backward. Crude jokes and other demeaning words tainted the air.
Russell spotted a piece tucked in the taller, scrawny man’s jeans. His dark-skinned hand grabbed a handful of the fronts of his pants and tugged. He took a drag from the joint, then passed it to the white kid who glanced their way.
Here we go.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SARAH
The world felt smaller, more dangerous than ever before.
Sarah’s hands trembled against the steering wheel of the Chevelle. Her breathing had slowed to normal, but the tension and apprehension remained. The thumping of her heart lessened with each second that ticked by. She checked the mirrors every second for the green truck or the black SUV she’d spotted earlier.
The gas gauge showed the muscle car teetered on the edge of running out of fuel. The red line hung above empty–signaling it would happen sooner rather than later.
A handful of cars passed by on the main street in Dover. The drivers of the vehicles offered a quick, hesitant glance as they drove past her.
Her stomach growled. The lack of food and fluids made her lightheaded. She felt tired sitting in the bucket seat of the car. The food she had gathered at the food mart teased her empty stomach.
Sarah kept an eye out for a gas station that didn’t have much activity around the building or pumps. Her distrust of people had grown by leaps and bounds since the grid went down, and she wanted to avoid any further strife if she could.
The few stations she passed had a car or two parked near the powerless fuel dispensers. The drivers inspected the digital screens, looking lost as they searched for a way to get fuel. It would be a stretch to find a pump working in the present conditions, but Sarah had to keep looking and hoped one might be operational.
A sign for Dover Mobil caught her attention down one of the side streets she passed. She pumped the brake and skirted the curb through
