Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) (5 page)

Rosemary paused, distracted from her mission. "I didn't mean what I said, Tom," she whispered.

"It's okay."

"What happened to him?"

"He died on the way to a friend's house. He was driving in a snowstorm like this one. It happened five years ago. He was taking a corner, and he lost traction and the car flipped over a guardrail. He didn't make it. He would've been twenty-two this year."

"Jesus." Rosemary exhaled. The story of Jeremy seemed to have doused her anger. "I'm really sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

After a pause, she spoke. "I know you would've done anything to save his life, Tom."

"Of course I would've." Tom cleared his throat. He'd have traded his life to keep his son alive.

"Then you understand that I have to go." She fiddled with the door handle in the dark. This time, Tom didn't argue. "I can't sit down here in some basement any longer. Not while they're out there. Not while they're scared."

Rosemary unlocked the door and opened it. After listening for a moment, Tom snapped on the flashlight and called after her.

"Wait up, Rosemary. If we're going, we'll need all the ammunition we can take."

The air outside was frigid, but the snow had relented. Wisps of white floated past them, enjoying a ride from the wind. Tom and Rosemary made a cautious dash to the driveway. The station wagon was blanketed in snow. If it weren't for the antennas, Tom might've mistaken the vehicle for a bump in the landscape.

When he reached the driver's side door, Tom peered through the broken-out window. The station wagon was as empty as he'd left it. Shards of glass still clung to the passenger's seat; the glove box hung open.

"Cover me while I try to start it," he said to Rosemary.
 

Tom opened the door, brushed the snow from the driver's seat, and jumped in. Rosemary kept guard, aiming her pistol at the landscape. The temperature of the car was as frigid as the air outside. All the heat had escaped out the open window. The dash was lit with multi-colored lights, indicating the vehicle had shut off. The fuel gauge showed half a tank. Tom bit his lip, turned the key, and prayed the vehicle would start.

It did.
 

The engine protested but turned over. Tom felt a surge of relief. He hit the windshield wipers, but they wouldn't budge. The snow was too thick.
 

"We'll need to clear off the windows," he said. He exited and handed Rosemary an ice scraper he found in the backseat.
 

After clearing off the car, they made trips into the house to carry out the ammunition. Before leaving, Tom shut the front door of Colton's house. There was a chance they'd be back. Between the weather and the beasts, nowhere was safe, and no plan was certain.

Rosemary settled into the passenger's seat as Tom took the wheel.

"You sure about this?" he asked Rosemary.
 

She nodded. Her eyes were laced with fear, but she showed no signs of changing her mind. "Yep."

"Keep a lookout. Warn me if you see anything."

Rosemary managed a smile. "Will do, Tom. Thanks. You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did," he said.
 

He gave her a faint smile, then put the vehicle into reverse.

Tom kept the lights off as they backed out of Colton's. The motion of the vehicle was enough to betray them, but Tom didn't want to attract any more attention. The tires struggled over the thick snow, as hesitant now as they'd been when he arrived. He put his arm over the passenger seat and stared behind them, watching the street get closer. When he reached the road, he did a U-turn.

Tom stuck his head out the window, surveying the empty driveways around them. There were no other cars in view. Several of the houses had garages, but he was unsure if they contained cars. The engine sputtered slightly as they pulled down the street.
 

"Is the car working all right?" Rosemary asked.
 

"It seems like it," Tom muttered. "The engine's probably just cold, like we are."

Rosemary shivered in agreement.

Tom nodded and kept driving. They passed the quiet, deserted houses. Tom surveyed each of the windows, expecting to see something peering out at them—a face, a flashlight pointed in their direction; worse yet, the glowing eyes of one of the beasts. They saw none of those. Tom wondered if any residents were still in their homes, terrified and confused. He saw several shattered windows that he hadn't noticed on the way in. The door of one house hung off its hinges, a gaping hole marking the threshold. He pictured a resident waiting in his home, gun in his lap, waiting to blow a hole in the first person he saw.
 

Frankly, he wouldn't blame him.
 

He kept driving.
 

At the end of the road, he turned to Rosemary.

"Which route did your kids take to the shelter?" he asked.

She looked left and right, catching her bearings. "They'd have been coming from the opposite direction, from the highway. We should go directly there. We wouldn't have passed them."

Tom nodded. "That makes sense. If we don't find them, we can backtrack to the interstate."

Rosemary agreed. She craned her neck as they pulled out of Colton's neighborhood. The prospect of finding her children seemed to have rejuvenated her, temporarily staving off her fear. She pointed down the road toward a row of houses that were as dark as the ones they'd passed.
 

"That's where I ran off the road," Rosemary stated, pointing toward a barely visible street sign. Despite her remark, she made no suggestion of returning. Both her car and its possessions were lost—at least for now.
 

Tom rolled out onto the main road, grateful to be out of the neighborhood. After a few turns, they entered a commercial thoroughfare. The road was wide and devoid of trees. The open land meant fewer hiding places for the creatures. Tom was grateful for that, at least.
 

He tipped his rifle over the windowsill. The gaping hole from the broken window was like an invitation to the beasts. He noticed Rosemary turning the pistol in her hands. If it came down to it, he'd have to count on her to shoot. If they encountered a cluster of the things, he wouldn't be able to fight them all himself.

He hoped she could handle it.

They passed underneath several dead streetlights. A snapped cable hung from one of the telephone poles, dangling in the road, creating a hazard for any would-be commuters.

Tom shook his head at how little that mattered now.

The buildings on either side of them were as lifeless as the neighborhoods they'd left behind. Tom found himself looking for differences in the landscape, clues that someone had traveled here. Once again, he had the sinking, depressed feeling that everyone was gone. But he and Rosemary had found each other. That had to count for
something
. The woman's search for her children had inspired him.

Tom couldn't envision returning home. Not now. Not ever. Lorena was gone. Jeremy was dead. There was a chance this woman's family was alive, and that he could reunite them. Her quest had become his. As dangerous as their mission was, it was better to be on the move than waiting in a dank cellar, prepared to die.
 

They'd only gone a few blocks when Tom saw movement next to one of the distant buildings. He clutched his rifle and stared out the windshield.

"Be ready," he told Rosemary.
 

She nodded. He hoped she was.

Ahead of them was a block of brick buildings, each identical in the snow's coating. In the time they'd been driving, movement had become apparent between them. Tom steered toward the opposite side of the street, keeping a buffer zone from the approaching danger.
 

He aimed his gun and prepared to shoot.

The movement became more pronounced, and soon a figure emerged from between the buildings. To Tom's surprise, the movement didn't belong to a beast, but to a survivor. The man staggered out from an alley and ran out into the road. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, as if he'd been pulled from bed and into the worst nightmare of his life. His face was contorted in confusion and fear. He cried for help as he stumbled out into the street.

"Oh my God, Tom!" Rosemary shouted, pointing. "We have to stop!"

"Please!" the man shrieked.
 

The man entered the street, coughing up blood. The front of his shirt was stained red. His face was pale, his eyes laced with terror. He stopped a few hundred feet in front of them and collapsed to his knees.

Tom rammed the brakes.
 

"We have to get him in the car!" Rosemary hissed.

"We will!" Tom said. "Hold on!"
 

He decelerated, startled at the sight of another survivor. Just a moment ago, he'd been ready to ward off another of the beasts. The sight of the man was unexpected. But it was also a relief. He just hoped they could provide some assistance to the severely wounded man. He wasn't sure if the hospitals were accessible, but they could determine that later.

Tom clung to the wheel as they grew closer to the man's fallen figure.

Before Tom could get close, one of the beasts tore out from a building and across the road, as if it'd been lying in wait. The man shrieked and crawled backward, but the beast was on him before he could make ground. The creature slashed the man's neck. Then it wrapped its claws around the man's skull and twisted.

The man's head detached.

The beast howled, casting aside the headless corpse and dropping the severed appendage. The snow around the body turned pink. Then the beast descended and began to feed. It looked up at them with hungry eyes and a mouthful of flesh.

Tom's mouth dropped open in horror. He leaned out the window and fired, but his shot missed. The beast rose from the man and hurtled toward the vehicle.
 

"Drive! Drive!" Rosemary screamed.

Tom swerved, but his reduced speed had cost him. He collided with the beast, whose body ripped the driver's side mirror clean off. The beast's snarls heightened as it ran behind the car.
 

Rosemary shrieked in panic.
 

The creature slashed the back of the car with its claws. The station wagon struggled to regain traction, the tires spinning in the snow. The engine stammered.

Please don't stall,
Tom thought frantically.

The beast dug its nails into the vehicle, working its way to the driver's side window. Tom clung to the steering wheel with one hand, aiming the rifle out the window with the other. He fired, but missed.

Glass shattered behind him. The beast reached inside the backseat, clawing the back of Tom's headrest. Tom ducked to avoid its swiping claws.
 

"Shit!" he yelled in panic. With the beast right behind him, he barely had room to escape its savage swipes. He didn't dare take his foot off the accelerator.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosemary spin in the passenger's seat, flattening herself against the dashboard and aiming her gun. She screamed at the invading beast and fired. The gunshot was deafening in the confines of the car. The creature fell from the vehicle and landed somewhere outside. At the same time, the tires caught hold, and Tom reclaimed the wheel. He steered the station wagon away from the fallen monster.
 

He looked in the rearview mirror, watching the beast struggle on the ground. The headless body of the man lay on the ground behind the creature.

"Jesus…" Rosemary whispered, her face ashen. She lowered her gun.

Tom fought a wave of bile. "It's okay. We're okay," he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself.

Tom touched the back of his head. His fear was that he'd sustained some serious, numbing wound. But he was mercifully intact.
 

The image of the headless man collapsing in the snow replayed in his head. He recalled the look of terror on the man's face when he'd run out into the road. One minute the man had been making a last, desperate attempt to escape, the next he'd been dead.
 

"God help us," Tom whispered.

Tom drove for several blocks without turning while snow emptied from the sky. When they'd driven a safe distance from the gory scene, he stuck his head out the window and assessed the damage. He stared at the empty place where the driver's side mirror had been, observing deep gouges on the side of the vehicle. Air gusted through both broken windows. It was as if the beasts were tearing the car apart piece-by-piece.
 

He stuck his head back inside.

"How's it look?" Rosemary asked from beside him.

"It's a little damaged, but I think it'll make it," he said. He glanced over at Rosemary, who was still shaking. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she confirmed.

Tom exhaled. Given the hours he'd been alone, it felt good to have someone with him, watching his back. Rosemary's survival instinct had saved his life. His ears rang from the gunshot.