They stole a Jeep.
Zack had his rifle. He had traded in his military fatigues, for a long sleeve shirt and jeans. He had a ballcap pulled tightly over his head, and hoped his wolfish appearance would be hidden by the night.
Linda leaned at his side, feeling more in love with her escort than anytime since she had seen him rip apart the Lietenant.
Zack had a map of roadblocks, troop movements, etc. All to avoid.
At one time they saw sharkmen mulling about a bridge by a river. Another time they hid in the woods while wolf soldiers marched passed.
One came looking in the woods, sniffing.
"Sam," whispered Zack, for it was Sam, pounded and trained into the obedience expected from a dog soldier. "Don't rat us out."
Sam's canine-like face frowned, "What's it to me, Zack?"
"Fresh, raw steak," he answered.
Linda sobbed, her breasts heaving.
"Fuck, that's great," Sam said, giving a thumbs up.
"Here, pal."
Zack solemnly threw the steak.
With another thumbs up, Sam left, greedily gnawing on the raw meat.
Zack looked at Linda, who grabbed onto him.
He drove to the abandoned border. The new order had cleared this side from any citizens wanting to escape.
It was virtually unguarded on the otherside. But closed.
"None of you freaks allowed in here. NO dogs allowed."
The guard shined a light, and looked at Zack suspiciously
"Have you ever seen a dog soldier out of uniform, out of his company?" asked Zack.
"No. But I need ID," said a young guard on the other side.
"Yeah?" said Zack.
He flung up the concrete barrier, and with his fist, destroyed the key beam for the guard house.
They rushed through before the guard could call reinforcements.