Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) (6 page)

"Thanks for shooting that thing," he said.

"N—No problem," she said. "I didn't even think about what I was doing. It was so big I couldn't miss it."

Tom wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, composing himself. His thoughts returned to the man they'd tried to save.

"What happened to that guy was awful," he said, shaking his head. "I've seen a lot of things tonight, but dammit…" His voice trailed off.
 

"I wish we'd gotten to him sooner."

"Even if we were able, I think he was too far gone," Tom said gravely.
 

They kept an uneasy vigil for the next few miles as they drove through another commercial center. Around them sprung up several fences, blocking off the perimeter of a slew of industrial buildings. The parking lots were empty. For a second, Tom contemplated finding a way past the fences and locking themselves inside.
 

Certainly they'd be safer there.

He looked over at Rosemary. Their encounter with the vicious beast was sobering. "Are you sure you want to go to the shelter? Maybe we should hole up somewhere. Those buildings over there are—"

"Keep going."

Her knuckles were white on the gun's handle, her lips clenched tight. As shaken as she was, Rosemary was resolved. Tom respected her determination. He curved with the road, bypassing a snow-embossed stop sign. The tires spun as they acclimated to the next street.
 

They passed several more cars, stalled out and abandoned. Most were small sedans, their bodies swallowed by the snow.
 

"What kind of car was Jason driving?" he asked Rosemary.

"A Nissan Rogue," she said. "It was Ron's old car."

"What color?"

"Black."

Tom envisioned the trail of dead cars he'd passed on the way to Colton's. None of them had been black SUV's.

"It's pretty good in the snow," Rosemary said, as if sensing his thoughts. "Jason and Jeffrey should've had no trouble getting to the shelter." Despite her words, he could sense her uneasiness.

They rode past several more commercial buildings—brick, square structures that housed manufacturing facilities. Tom was reminded of his own job during the week. Aside from his job at the elementary school on weekends, Tom worked for an assembly-line tool manufacturer. His job was to do quality analysis of the tools, ensuring they were up to standard. His position was repetitive, but stable. He enjoyed the company of his co-workers. Most were local residents that he'd known for years.
 

Most were probably dead.
 

The thought hit him with such force that his nerves stung. Tom found himself wondering if he'd ever return. Even if things returned to normal, he couldn't envision clocking in for his shift at the plant, resuming his inspections. His former life was as dead as the bodies he'd encountered.

Soon they passed underneath a bridge. Next to the road was a large field, beyond which was the Plainfield Airport. In the warmer months, Tom might see a small aircraft departing or descending. Tonight the sky was empty. No stars or clouds glossed the horizon, only the gaping, ominous outline of the moon.

Rosemary sat up in the passenger's seat, eyes glued to the sky.
 

"I've never seen the moon during a storm like this."

"It's eerie, all right," Tom agreed.

Rosemary stared up at the glowing round orb, her face illuminated in the glow. Her coat seemed too big for her body. Tom found himself thinking how frail and fragile they were, compared to what they were up against. The man who'd lost his head was proof of that. Soon they'd passed the airport and reached another road.

"The Knights of Columbus is only a few miles away," Tom announced as he blew past a stop sign.
 

"I know. I live here, too, remember?" Rosemary said, giving him a grim smile.
 

Tom returned the gesture.

They drove until they reached the town center. The buildings were tall and aged, the windows prevalent and spacious. For a second, Tom pretended he was on a simple errand, picking groceries up or getting his wife some flowers. It only took a second to determine things were different.
 

The town center looked like a crime scene. The storefronts were smashed and bloodstained, the buildings splattered red. A sense of dread burrowed inside Tom. He pictured a cordon of police cars blocking the road, counting the casualties. But the street was silent and empty. The cars at the side of the road were equally abandoned.

Tom stared at the side of the road, catching sight of a pink patch of snow on the hood of a Chevy Suburban. A body jutted out from the curb, legs splayed at irregular angles. A block farther, he saw another body, this one lying on the white-covered sidewalk. Another hung limply from a fractured window. The person looked like he or she had been impaled on the jagged glass.
 

"Jesus," Tom muttered.

"It's like no one even exists anymore," Rosemary whispered.
 

"That's what it's felt like, all night," Tom agreed, his stomach tight.

Tom kept his eyes glued to the buildings. Despite the apparent vacancy, he sensed something deep in the bowels of the stores. The street had become a living, breathing entity, watching them and tracking their movements. He held his breath, as if the simple act alone might disguise the purr of the car engine as the vehicle glided through the snow.
 

He prayed they'd pass unimpeded.

They had no such luck.

They'd gone another few blocks before Rosemary went rigid. Tom's blood froze.

In the recesses of the shattered, caved buildings, movement began where there had been none before. The wind hissed, blowing a squall of snow across the hood of the station wagon.

Rosemary stifled a gasp. Tom looked left and right. A pack of beasts lurked around the edges of buildings and emptied from the interiors of buildings on both sides of the street. A chorus of repressed growls filled the air, bubbling into full-fledged roars. Tom grabbed the rifle from his lap, aiming it out the window. The creatures crept into the road. They moved slowly at first, as if they were emerging from hibernation, testing their balance. And then they ran.

A handful of beasts loped into the street in front of them, the moonlight illuminating the tips of their claws. Tom tried to adjust the vehicle's path, but there was no getting around them. In mere moments, the road had been effectively blocked. Tom knew how quick the things were. There was no time to turn around.

"We're trapped!" Rosemary hissed.

She was right. There was no way to steer clear of the creatures; the station wagon was on a collision course for them. Tom had the panicked, hopeless feeling of outwitted prey.
 

"We'll have to shoot our way through!" Tom yelled.

Instead of slowing down, he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine groaned and stuck for a second, as if the station wagon was as stunned as the occupants. And then they were barreling forward, directly at the beasts. Tom watched them get closer, his breath stuck in his throat.

"Hang on!" he yelled.
 

The ensuing collision was like striking a brick wall. Tom jolted as several creatures collided with the grill. Claws shrieked against metal; bodies tumbled over the hood. At the same time, more beasts ran up to the sides of the vehicle, slicing through the opened windows. Tom shot his rifle through the open driver's side, hitting several and sending them back into the street. Even as he fended them off, others took their place. Rosemary screamed as one of the passenger's side windows shattered.
 

The station wagon kept going, fighting through the scrum of beasts. Tom's world became a flurry of gunshots and commotion. He fired. Fired again. His hands came off the wheel as he battled the creatures, ramming the gun barrel out the window and firing. He heard the crack of Rosemary's pistol beside him, her panicked screams punctuating the air. Beasts toppled and fell from the car. For what felt like an eternity, the world was a blur of motion and noise.
 

And then the vehicle was weaving onto the road's shoulder, speeding toward one of the buildings. Realizing where he was headed, Tom yanked the wheel, wrenching the car back on course.
 

Wounded howls filled the night behind them. He looked in the rearview, watching the beasts writhe in the road.

Tom wiped his cheeks. His face was spattered with blood and remains; the air was thick with the musky scent of the creatures. The car cut through the snow and continued as if nothing had happened.

Rosemary swiveled in all directions, her pistol drawn to her chest as if she were praying. Her hair was mussed and tangled, her face lit with panic.

"Are you all right?" Tom asked.

"I-I'm okay," she managed.
 

They rode for the next mile in silence, glancing over their shoulders. Neither wanted to admit they'd survived the encounter. Saying the words might negate their escape.
 

"We need to reload," Tom said.
 

Rosemary nodded. She retrieved the spare ammunition, and Tom walked her through it. He took stock of their location. Barring any more encounters, they were getting close to the shelter.

Tom kept the rifle pointed out the window. Rosemary hung her pistol over the windowsill next to her. The moonlit buildings flitted by and dispersed. They'd entered a less dense part of town. The lack of buildings was relieving—it meant fewer places to conceal the beasts. If they were to be attacked again, they'd have more notice, but that didn't make Tom feel too comforted.

He reflected on what had just occurred. What they'd
survived
.

As expected, the beasts had been quick and vile. Tom was just grateful they'd been able to fend the things off. He prayed they'd left the worst of it behind, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that was the case.

Rosemary fell into a reflective silence. Whether it was nerves, or anticipation of reaching the shelter, he wasn't sure. It was probably both. In their decision to leave, neither had spoken about the possibility that Jason and Jeffrey hadn't made it there. Any number of pitfalls could have waylaid them. The beasts were a sobering reminder of that fact.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked Rosemary, hoping to calm her nerves.

"Ten years," she answered, her eyes still glued to the outdoors.
 

"Where'd you come from?"

"Windsor. Most of my family lives out of state."

"How'd you end up in Plainfield?"

"Ron's family is from Ashford, so we moved to Plainfield to be closer to them."

"That makes sense. My wife and I did the same thing. Our parents are no longer with us." Sensing that his companion was hardly listening, Tom exhaled. "We're almost at the shelter, Rosemary. We'll find them. If they're not there, we'll keep looking until we locate them."
 

Tom knew he was telling her things she wanted to hear, but it felt like they were the right things to say. Rosemary's eyes shifted as she watched the road. He imagined her retrieving images of her family, clinging to hopeful thoughts.
 

If Tom had any family left, he'd be doing the same thing.

While his companion was deep in thought, Tom delved into memories of his own. He stared out into the open parking lots around them. The last time he'd gone to the Knights of Columbus was several summers ago. The sun had been high in the sky and his wife had been sitting beside him. They'd gone for the fireman's dinner, met with the townsfolk, and conversed about town events. Tom recalled admiring the grasses that covered the abandoned lots on either side of the street. Now the open area resembled nothing more than a snow-covered tundra. The storm had paved over the landscape, much as it had paved over his nostalgia.

His memories of Plainfield had been tainted, drowned by newer, horrifying images. He doubted he'd be able to look at the town streets the same way again.

They were only a few blocks from the shelter. Several buildings cropped up at the road's edge, silent guides leading them to their destination. Soon they'd have a verdict; they'd know whether Rosemary's family had safely arrived. Tom prayed for their well-being. He assessed the area around them, looking for clues as to what they'd find.

To his relief, the area was unaffected by the slaughter. The doors and windows of the nearest buildings were intact; no abandoned cars lined the roadway. He had the instinctive thought they might be able to use the buildings for later refuge.
 

He strained to see past the headlights. A few seconds later, the next block became apparent.

And then he saw it. The shelter. He recognized the crest of the Knights of Columbus on a tall metal sign by the road, visible even through the falling snow. The sign was dull. The streetlights were off. He gripped the wheel as they approached, looking for signs of life.

To his surprise, the parking lot was filled with cars.

"We made it," Tom muttered, almost in disbelief.

The Knights of Columbus building stood alone in the parking lot. Tom stared up at the dimmed sign as they pulled in. The fact that they'd reached their destination felt unreal. He changed focus to the dozen white-embossed cars around them, thinking they'd disappear before his eyes. The vehicles felt like a mirage, a projection. He steeled himself for the possibility that he'd awaken from a dream and find himself buried in a tangle of beasts.

Among the cars was a police cruiser.
 

"The police are here!" Rosemary cried. A second later, she said, "I see Ron's car! Jason and Jeffrey must be here, too!"

She pointed toward a large, black SUV. She reached for the door handle.

"Wait a second," Tom said. "Be careful."

A low grumbling noise emitted from somewhere in back. It took Tom a second to identify what it was.
A generator
.