Werewolf Suspense (Book 2): Outage 2 (The Awakening) (4 page)

Maybe God had finally had enough.
 

Tom had questioned the existence of God a lot over the past few years, especially after what had happened to Jeremy. How could a caring God take away the most important thing he had? How could a loving God put a family through so much pain? If mankind was being punished, the pieces certainly fit.
 

Perhaps he was truly the last man alive, condemned to this white wasteland.

Tom shook his head to clear his thoughts.
 

Out of nowhere, lights blazed in front of him. Tom squinted through the cracked windshield. A vehicle was stalled in the road, turned sideways in the snow, its headlights pointed into the woods. Two people in heavy coats were bent over the trunk. When they noticed Tom's SUV, they turned and waved their hands.

People! Survivors!

Tom heart leapt in his throat. A minute ago, he was convinced he was in hell, but the appearance of people reignited his hope. He caught sight of the people's faces in the headlights' glow—two frightened pairs of eyes looking at him. It looked like a young couple.

Tom slowed the SUV. The couple's vehicle had broken down in the center of the road. He took a wide berth, pulling up next to it. As he reduced speed, he fought the fear that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get going again. He'd take that chance.

He couldn't leave these people stranded.
 

He couldn't.

He swallowed his concern and rolled to a stop. Before getting out, he stared into the forest's edge. The trees were dark and looming. He unlocked the door and threw it open.

The couple was waiting for him. They trudged over to his door.

"You-you stopped," the girl said. She looked surprised.

She was wearing a thick winter coat, and the hood formed an oval around her face. Her cheeks were red, her lips were dry, and specks of blood marred her complexion. Her male companion was equally disheveled. His face was stained with grease; his coat sleeves were ripped. In spite of their tattered condition, they were alive, and they were speaking to him.

Tom's hope amplified.

"You're not going to believe it. There are these things out there—" the young man started.

Tom interrupted him. "I know, kid. Hurry and get in."
 

When the young couple was situated, Tom grabbed the shifter.

"What are your names?" Tom asked.

"I'm Billy, and this is my girlfriend, Ashley."

Tom felt Billy's eyes on him as he hit the gas. He turned the wheel, listening to the tires spin. After a few seconds of struggle, the car lurched forward. The girl in the backseat whimpered. It looked like she was in shock.

"Did you call the police, Billy?"

"We tried, but there's no service," Billy explained. He reached into his pants and pulled out his cell phone, as if suddenly unsure. He began swiping the screen. The kid had taken his hood off, and shaggy dark hair fell over his eyes.

Tom held out the rifle.

"Here, take this."

"Thanks, I-I guess. I've never fired a gun, though."

"Don't worry, you won't have to. It's out of ammunition. But it's all I got. It's better than nothing. If they come for us, maybe we can hit them with it."

The kid nodded, but he seemed less than relieved.
 

Tom maneuvered the SUV around the couple's car, kicking up snow as they progressed. Billy stared at his abandoned vehicle, as if it would spring to life and follow them.

The oncoming road was as white as the road behind them. There was no evidence that anyone had traveled it recently. The SUV was growing colder by the second. Even with the vents blasting, the heat was no match for the winter chill. The wind whistled through the bullet hole in the glass, keening through the cracked pane.
 

"How long have you been out here?" Tom asked.

"An hour, I think," Billy answered, his eyes wide.
 

"Where do you live?"

"Locust Lane. We're in the Quail Hollow Apartments. We were watching a movie when the power went out. The next thing we knew, we heard crashes from the building across the street. When we looked out the window, we saw Bill Stevenson, our neighbor, walking around his living room. And then he…he…"

The kid paused, and Tom heard him suck in a breath.

"It's okay," Tom said. "You don't have to—"

"He turned," Ashley called from the backseat. Tom's eyes switched to the rearview mirror. The girl was rocking back and forth, biting her lip. Her gloved hands were clenched together. "We saw him stagger outside. And then one of our other neighbors came outside to talk to him, to see what was going on, and he killed her. There were more things like him. Patti Laroque. Mrs. Henry. They were everywhere. They…they killed everyone in the complex…"

"I understand. We're going to get out of here, sweetheart. Don't worry."

Tom did his best to be positive, though his stomach was tangled in knots. Somewhere behind him, the creatures were watching. Biding their time. He pictured them lurking in the trees, though he couldn't see them.
 

He was so caught up in watching the rearview that he didn't notice the opening to a street on his left until he was upon it. The black-and-white street sign blended with the landscape, and the snow blurred any delineation between road and shoulder.

He stared down a residential road. Loomis Avenue.

In the distance he saw several houses, but no sign of people. There was a chance they'd find help in the neighborhood—a cell phone, a landline—but Tom didn't want to risk it.

If they stopped for too long, the beasts would catch up.

"Keep going…"Ashley whispered from the backseat, as if reading his thoughts.

"I won't stop until we get to town," Tom said.

"Where are we going?" Billy asked.
 

"The police station," Tom replied.
 

"There might be cops at the shelter. Or at least a place to hide."

Tom glanced at his companion, confused. "Shelter?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "Me and Ashley heard something about it on the radio. Right after the power went out, they were directing people to the Knights of Columbus."

"Really?"

"They said they had a generator. They were going to provide food and a place to sleep for the people without power. But that was before these things came out. That was the last thing we heard. I wish we'd taken the radio, but we barely got out of there in time. Maybe there'll be cops, or at least some other people there."

Tom caught a glimpse of Ashley in the backseat. She'd taken off her gloves, and she pulled at her fingertips. Blonde hair poked out of her hood at jagged angles. Her eyes were wide and vacant.
 

"They ate them. All of them," she whispered.

"I think she's in shock," Billy said in a low voice.
 

He glanced at Tom, his own face ashen.

"I don't blame her," Tom said.
 
He sighed. "The shelter's on the way to the police station. We'll stop there first."

Billy smiled weakly. "Okay."

Tom envisioned the roads they'd have to travel. He'd lived in Plainfield his whole life; he was familiar with the layout. At the end of the two-mile road was a stoplight. Once they reached it, the Knights of Columbus was a ten-minute drive. The last time he'd been there had been for a fireman's dinner. He and Lorena had had pasta with meatballs.
 

The meal didn't seem quite so appetizing now.

He stared at the fuel gauge. To his relief, the SUV had a full tank of gas. If it weren't for the vehicle, he didn't know where he'd be...

Probably back in the woods, with Lorena…

Thank God we're moving.
 

Ashley was still rocking in the backseat, her movement visible in the rearview mirror.

"I'm going to climb in back with her. Is that okay?" Billy asked.

"I think that'd be a good idea," Tom said.

He watched as Billy climbed over the seats, taking the rifle with him. He began consoling his girlfriend.

"It'll be fine, Ash. We'll get to the shelter."

"They ate them. They ate Fred and Sylvia and Terry and…"

"I know. Try not to think about it. We're going to get help."

"I can still hear them…the way they screamed…"

"Calm down. We'll make it."

Tom swallowed. He wanted to believe the kid's words, but his faith was dissolving.

The street light at the end of the road was dead and covered in snow. It swung back and forth on the wire, as if ready to give up and topple off. Tom eyed it with deepening fear. He'd expected the power to be out all over town, but the lack of life was disheartening.

The intersection was desolate, deserted.

Rather than stopping beneath the traffic light, he kept moving, afraid that a loss of speed would mean a loss of traction. As he entered the intersection, he glanced left and right out of habit, though he was certain no one was coming.

He took a right down Woodford Avenue.

Woodford was a main thoroughfare. Commercial buildings lined either side of the road, their white walls blending with the falling snow. The parking lots were empty. Several dull streetlights hung over them, as if they'd been tasked to keep vigil but had forgotten how.

Tire tracks marred the snow-covered road. They were caved in and obscured, but visible. Tom couldn't tell when they'd been made. Perhaps earlier, when others had fled the neighborhood. He followed the grooves, hoping to find better traction.

"Keep an eye on the buildings. Let me know if you see anyone," he instructed his companions. He didn't plan on stopping.

But if they were to see a cop, a survivor…

Tom traced the snow-covered buildings, searching for human presence. The doors and windows were dark. None were open; none seemed to harbor life. They passed another commercial complex, drifts of white snow clinging to the brick faces of the buildings. Big, white flakes fluttered and fell.
 

The moon emanated from behind the clouds.

Tom stared up at it. He recalled movies and television shows he'd seen. Were the moon and the beasts connected? The idea seemed ludicrous, insane, but he had no better answers.

They passed a warehouse on the side of the road, a bar that had been boarded and closed. Tom had driven these roads numerous times on his way to work, but he'd never paid much attention to the buildings. They were nothing more than splashes of color in the backdrop of his morning commute.

At the corner of the next intersection was a three-story factory building. This one he recognized. It was a brick building with a green garage door at the base, a partially covered sign that said "Machine Shop" adhered to the front.

He recalled seeing a pickup in the parking lot on previous trips.
 

It was there.

The vehicle was old and rusted. Even with the covering of snow, specks of yellow paint poked through. The lights were off in the building. But they were normally on despite the hour. He stared in the windows as they passed, searching for clues as to whether it was inhabited. He surveyed each floor, scanning for signs of life. And then, right before he gave up, he saw something—a faint light moving behind one of the upper windows.
 

He hovered over the brake, straining for a better look. Billy interrupted him.

"Tom! Watch out!"
 

Tom's foot flew to the brake as something darted in front of the vehicle.

Tom saw the fur before he felt the impact. His heart jolted. He jerked the wheel, hoping to avoid the beast, but he was too late. The SUV slammed into the creature. Before Tom knew it, the vehicle was sliding on a patch of ice, skidding on the grooves he'd been riding in.
 

The tires locked and screeched.

Tom yelled in panic.

He tried to correct course, but couldn't—the vehicle barreled straight for a telephone pole. The hood connected with the pole, crinkling upwards. Smoke poured from the engine. Tom tried putting the vehicle into reverse, but the tires spun and spit snow, and a second later, the engine ceased.

Tom glanced out the windows. The beast was nowhere in sight.

He tried restarting the engine. Nothing.

"Where'd it go?" Ashley whimpered from the backseat.
 

"I don't know. I don't see it."

Tom craned his neck out the windows. He could barely feel his fingers. His nerve endings were dull from the cold; his adrenaline was firing. He turned the key into the "off" position and tried starting the car again, but the engine wouldn't turn over. The dashboard was aglow with multi-colored lights. The windows were fogged.
 

Billy and Ashley shifted in the backseat as they peered out the vehicle. Billy gripped the empty rifle, Ashley's head buried in his shoulder. With the engine off, the area pitched back into silence. The only sound was the
thwip
of snow against the windshield.

"Where the hell did it go?" Billy asked again.

Tom stared out the misted windows.