Werewolf Suspense (Book 2): Outage 2 (The Awakening) (7 page)

After a few moments, he peered into the room behind him, acquainting himself with the building. He recalled the stairs they'd traveled to get here.

"How many floors are in this building? Three?" he whispered to Mark.
   

"Yes. We're on the top floor," Mark affirmed.

"How many exits?"

"Four—two in the back, one on the side, and one in the front. I blocked all of them after what happened to Colton. The only way out is the way you came in. I left the garage unblocked so I could get to my truck as a last resort."

"Do you think it'll drive if we need it?"

"Not likely." Mark gave a grim smile, his stubble-covered face illuminated by the light of the window. "That truck is hard to start on a good day. I don't think it'd get far in this weather. Besides, driving a vehicle out there is the equivalent of wearing a bull's-eye."

Tom nodded, noting his downed SUV. Even his vehicle—newer and more reliable than the truck—had barely navigated the deep snow. Mark was probably right. The best option was to stay put. If they could outlast the storm, someone would drive by eventually. Help would come.

It
had
to come.

They hung near to the window, keeping a watchful eye but maintaining their distance from the panes. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Billy hugging Ashley, assuring her things would be all right.

He hoped to God it was true.

After an uneventful half hour, movement up the road drew Tom's attention. He readied his gun. The group tensed—a series of gasps and rustled coats. A vehicle was approaching in the distance, coming from the same direction they'd traveled. At the moment, it was several blocks away. He pictured a police car bursting onto the scene, ready to provide assistance. But it wasn't a cruiser. It was a pedestrian vehicle. The car weaved back and forth over the snow as if it were a ship on rough water, its dark paint illuminated by the moon's glow. It was a station wagon with two occupants.

A pit grew in Tom's stomach.

"What do we do?" whispered Ashley. "Should we signal them?"

She scurried over and grabbed Mark's flashlight, prepared to turn it on. Mark reached over and stopped her. "No. Don't," he warned. "Look."

He pointed out the window. In the time they'd been watching, a pack of furred shadows had emerged from a building near the station wagon. They barreled at the car with remarkable speed, cutting across the snow as if it were dry, flat pavement. The station wagon swerved; the occupants screamed in the distance.
 

At the moment, the beasts were little more than black objects on the white landscape. They were almost at the car.

"Oh, God!" Ashley slapped her hand over her mouth. "We have to do something!"

Tom's heart sputtered. He sprang for the closest window and fiddled with the latch. He wasn't sure how he could help, but he needed to do
something.
He unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a rush of cold air, sticking his gun through the crevice. He aimed. He wasn't the best shot—he hadn't hunted in years—but maybe he could ward the things off. Worst case, maybe he could distract them.

Mark pushed open the window next to him, taking a similar position.

But the beasts were too far away.

Tom swiveled his sights from the one creature to the next, but they were well out of range. In mere seconds, they'd enveloped the car. Several sprang on the hood, raking and clawing at the exterior. A few pounded the windows. Tom recalled his encounter in the SUV. It felt like he was watching an alternate reality, a twisted replay of the fate he'd almost endured.
 

He felt hopeless and powerless.

Growls and commotion filled the air. A window shattered. The station wagon veered off the road and into a building, the occupants screaming. The beasts were already pulling them out of the car. Tom prepared to fire, hoping he could distract the things, but Mark stopped him.

"Don't shoot," Mark hissed, voice trembling. "We'll only draw their attention. It's too late."
 

"But we can't just—" Tom trembled and lowered the gun, knowing Mark was right.

The two occupants were thrust into the snow. The beasts clawed at their bodies, dragging pieces of flesh and clothing across the landscape. The people flailed, squirmed, and finally stopped moving. The creatures buried their faces in the carnage and feasted.

Tom drew back from the window, covering his mouth with his hand. He resisted the urge to be sick. In just seconds, the wintry scene was awash in blood. Ashley cried into Billy's shoulder, her quiet gasps filling the room.

"Be quiet," Mark managed, his own voice quivering. He leaned over and closed his window, beckoning Tom to do the same. They latched them silently.

Tom lowered his gun and put his head in his hands.

"There was nothing we could've done," Mark reassured him.
 

Tom gritted his teeth. Over the course of the night, he'd seen more bloodshed than he had in his lifetime: Lorena, Abby, and now these people. It was as if some cruel god was piling on the tragedy, seeing how much he could take.
 

And the worst part was, it was far from over.

The beasts feasted for several minutes, reveling in the gore they'd created. The station wagon bore silent witness. From a distance, the scene felt surreal, as if Tom were observing a cable show documentary rather than witnessing something in front of him. He swallowed. The gory remains of the station wagon's occupants could just as easily have been them, had they been outside.

The wind snarled, rattling the windows, misting Tom's view of the scene. When it finally cleared, the beasts had finished their meal. Almost in unison, they spread out across the landscape, heads swiveling in all directions, eyes scouring the street. Several darted for the SUV. Tom's pulse spiked. He watched as they closed the gap with incredible speed, loping on furred, inhuman legs. If he hadn't known better, he would've insisted they'd never been human—creatures that had originated in some faraway place, rather than on Earth.
 

His eyes roamed to the body by the SUV. The man had sunk further into the snow, but pieces of him remained uncovered. Within seconds the beasts were hovering over him, inspecting the ground. They glanced from the SUV to the body then back again. For a moment, Tom was certain they were constructing the story from the snow. Did they have the ability to reason? Did they have the ability to discern what had happened?
 

They raised their heads, extended their snouts into the air, and sniffed.
   

They looked at the building.
 

Tom and his companions ducked, their breathing rapid and fearful. Tom stared at a spot below the windowsill, his gaze unmoving, as if the slightest bit of motion would draw the creatures near. He listened for any clue as to what the creatures were doing, but heard nothing. The wind gusted. The building creaked. Tom realized he was sweating. Despite the chill in the air, his heart was pounding furiously, warming his upper body. He glanced over at Mark. The man's face was fraught with fear.

After a few torturous moments, Tom clutched the windowsill and pulled himself up. He peered through the glass, inspecting the world an inch at a time. He saw the buildings across the street. The snow blanketed road. The SUV. No sign of the creatures. Where were they? His gaze wandered to the station wagon, then to the opposite end of the road. Nothing.

"Are they gone?" Ashley whispered.
 

Her words were so meek that for a moment Tom was sure he was imagining them. It wasn't until she asked again that he answered.
 

"I think so," he said.

One by one his companions resumed their positions. The world outside had returned back to what it was, with the exception of the bloodied bodies and the station wagon.
 

"Hey, wait a minute," Mark said. "The one I killed is gone."

Tom studied the area by the SUV. Mark was right. The man's body had vanished.
 

"Where the hell is it?" Tom whispered. He scoured the ground but saw no sign of it.

"Maybe they cleaned up after themselves," Billy offered. "Maybe they're getting rid of the evidence."

"What about the cars? The bodies?" Mark asked.
 

"I bet they're protecting their own."

Billy's words sent a shudder down Tom's spine. They suggested a level of cunning that was almost as frightening as the beast's primordial nature. He swallowed the thought.

They watched in silence for several minutes, the only sound the occasional creak of their boots. The wind blew in intermittent gusts, rerouting the falling snow. In another scenario, the authorities would arrive soon to take control of the scene, snapping photographs and tagging remains.
 

The isolation reigned.

A long, triumphant howl sounded in the distance.
 

Tom considered the way the beasts had torn into the station wagon, the way they'd shattered the windows and ripped the people from inside. "Is there anything else we can use to block the door?" he asked Mark. "Do you think that table saw is enough?"

"We can push a lathe in front of it. Maybe stack some boxes."

"Let's do it." Tom backed away from the window and motioned to Billy and Ashley. "Stay here and keep watch."

He made his way across the room, following Mark's shadowed form. The industrial machines hung like statues in the dark, forcing him to weave around them. Tom only had a vague sense of what the room looked like in the light. The building was as much a mystery to him as the creatures outside. In another situation, he might've been intimated by the darkness, but now he was grateful for the cover.

After walking a few steps, Mark winked on his flashlight and played the beam across the floor, illuminating the machine they'd placed in front of it earlier. The door was wooden and seemed sturdy, but Tom knew better than to trust it. They walked to a nearby corner.

"Help me stack those boxes," Mark said, shining the light to a nearby corner. Tom retrieved several, helping Mark carry and stack them. They piled them on top of the machine, covering the top half of the door. Then they moved another machine behind the first. This one didn't have wheels, and was more difficult to move. They grunted as they slid it across the floor.
 

When they were finished, Tom wiped the dust onto his jeans. His heart hammered against his ribcage; his body was sweating from the exertion, but it felt good to keep busy. Anything to keep from dwelling on the bloodshed he'd seen outside. He caught his breath and peered back across the room at the windows. Billy and Ashley's frames were silhouetted against the snow. Billy had his arm around the girl. To a casual observer, they might be mistaken for a young couple admiring the first snow.

Mark watched them, as well.

"Are they your neighbors?"

"Technically. But I've never met them. Their car stalled on Arcadia and I picked them up."

"They're lucky you stopped."

Tom nodded solemnly. "If you call that luck. It's awful, what they've had to witness."

"They don't have any other family close by?"

"I don't think so. At least, none that they mentioned."

"I don't know if that makes things worse or better," Mark said. "The thought of losing any more family is terrible."
 

"I know what you mean." Tom shook his head grimly.
 

"Do you live alone, Tom?"

"No. I was with my wife." Tom struggled to keep his emotions at bay. "I lost her on the way here. She was killed by one of them."

"I'm so sorry," Mark said. He scuffed the ground with his boot. "I'm glad you made it, though. We're going to get through this, Tom."

Mark patted his shoulder. Tom agreed and stared across the room at the window. The moon shone bright through the clouds. Its presence was like a spectral warning, commanding they stay hidden.
 

Another hour passed. Or what Tom guessed was an hour. He resumed his position next to the window, keeping an uneasy vigil next to his companions. Ashley barely moved. She tucked her head in Billy's arm, cloaking her face from the landscape outside. Tom was worried about her mental state. Were it not for the occasional sound of her breathing, he might've thought the girl was injured, maybe even dead. Billy drew nervous breaths of his own. Every so often, he checked on his girlfriend.

"Are you two holding up all right?" Tom whispered.

"I wish we'd made it to the shelter," Billy admitted. "If that thing hadn't run out in front of us, maybe we would've gotten to the police."

"I know. But at least we're safe for the moment. There's no way to know if anyone's even there. We'll find help in the morning. I'm sure of it."

Billy nodded, his face still troubled. Tom changed the subject.
 

"How long have you two lived in town?" he asked, as much to distract himself as to distract the couple.

"About a year," Billy answered. "We moved out of our parents' houses and got an apartment together. We're from West Hartford."