Outage 5: The Change (12 page)

Before Tom could do anything further, a gun whipped him in the face and he collapsed. Through the haze, he saw Curtis pulling Harold off him, and heard their angered shouts as they collected what was left of their prisoners. Maria and Emily hadn't made it far.

Joseph was across the field.

Harold cursed through the blood on his face as he raised his gun and fired. The bullet went wide, ripping into the snow. Joseph kept moving, weaving between distant houses.

"I'm going after him!" Harold yelled, holding his face.

"Let him go," Curtis snarled. "He won't get far. In a few hours, he'll die like the rest of them."
 

Harold kept his gun against Tom's temple as they walked the remaining steps to the bleachers. Curtis kept his gun trained on Maria. Harold seemed on the verge of losing control. His face was bloodied from Tom's attack. He looked off in the direction Joseph ran, as if the young man might come back.
 

Tom doubted he'd see Joseph again. He held onto the thin hope that Joseph would find help, return, and assist, but a greater part of him knew there was no help to find. More than likely, Joseph had run for safety.

That was probably the smartest move he could make.

Tom squinted as he worked through the throbbing pain in his head. A blow from the gun was a welcome trade for Joseph's life. He'd do the same for the others, if he could.

The people on the bleachers surveyed the newcomers with newfound fear. There were five of them: three older women, a ruddy-faced man, and a girl in her thirties. Tearstains streaked their faces; their coats and pants were torn. They were sitting on the ground with their hands tied on the lowest bars of the bleachers. Tom envisioned the panicked struggling that had ensued while Curtis and Harold were gone. He assumed none of the prisoners had succeeded.

"Let us go!" one of the women shrieked, her eyes soaked with fear.
 

"You sick sons of bitches!" the ruddy-faced man cried.

Tom couldn't help picturing the people torn apart.
What if it happens at my hands
? He had no idea what would happen once darkness fell. No idea if he could control his urges. The horrid taste of flesh was one he'd rather forget.
 

He couldn't live with himself if he killed these people, or any of his companions.
 

Maybe he wouldn't live long enough to find out.

Curtis kept the gun leveled at Emily while Harold secured Maria and Tom. They were spaced far enough apart on the bleachers to rule out untying each other. Tom was stationed next to Maria. The ruddy-faced man was next to them. He looked at Tom and Maria with pleading eyes, as if they could change the situation, even though they were as helpless as him.

When Tom, Maria, and Emily were tied up, Curtis and Harold stepped back to appraise the group. Lana squirmed in Curtis's arms, but he cleaned off a place on the bleachers and set her down.

"Do you think this is enough?" Curtis asked.

"It's going to have to be," Harold said, watching the foreboding gray sky. The yellow on the horizon had disappeared. Tom swallowed as he thought of what that meant.

"We're out of time," Harold added.

Several of the women shouted fruitless pleas, but Harold and Curtis ignored them, stepping away from the bleachers and trudging around the back of them. They emerged a minute later with several cans of gasoline. Carrying the gas to the pile of wood in the field, they dumped the fluid over the logs, shaking out the cans to ensure they'd gotten it all. When they were done, Curtis pulled a lighter from his jacket. His face was stoic as he lit the flame.
 

"Here goes nothing," he said.
 

The fire grew as it took hold, licking the wood and sending smoke into the sky. Harold turned in a slow circle, studying the edges of the field. Tom didn't need an explanation to see what the men were doing.
 

They were summoning the beasts.

Keep going… Keep going…

Joseph heaved thick breaths as he ran. He'd already gained enough ground that his captors were out of sight. He wove between houses, certain that someone—or some
thing
—would spring out and attack. Having been struck, tied up, and marched to die, his nerves were frayed. He couldn't believe he'd run. Fleeing had been an instinctual, spontaneous thing.
 

He hadn't meant to leave the others behind. He promised he'd bring back help. He didn't know how or when, but he'd try.

As he trekked up the street, passing tattered houses and bodies, he tugged his hands apart to try and free himself. They wouldn't budge. He knew he'd have to cut himself loose, but he couldn't do it now. Looking over his shoulder, he saw no sign of the men. He wasn't positive they'd given up.

Running with bound hands was even harder than walking with them. Joseph's body felt awkward, as if he was controlling someone else's legs other than his own. The only reason he'd escaped was because of Tom's distraction.

I hope Tom is all right.

Several times, Joseph tripped and righted himself. The cold snow clung to his face. Without hands to wipe it, he was forced to let it slide down his cheeks. The white powder numbed his face, but it was better than standing still, waiting to die.
 

He'd gotten through several streets when he considered stopping. Looking over his shoulder, he was relieved to find no one behind him. He hadn't heard his pursuers in several minutes. The frightened wails of the other survivors had long since faded.
 

Seeing a house with the door open, Joseph flew up the steps, barely cognizant of the danger that might be inside. The house was empty. But that didn't surprise him. Almost everyone was dead. He ran for the kitchen, filling the house with his frantic gasps. He stepped over scattered magazines and silverware and knick-knacks until he found a knife on the kitchen floor.
 

Pricking himself several times, he managed to free himself. With the rope on the floor, Joseph massaged his wrists. The pain was nothing compared to what would have happened if he hadn't gotten free.
 

Joseph clutched the knife and listened. The ensuing silence was eerie, as if he'd stepped into a graveyard instead of a home. He crept to the windows and looked out in each direction, suddenly afraid to leave. He knew the house wouldn't protect him against the creatures, but the walls and windows made him feel more secure than he'd been before.
 

But he couldn't abandon the others. Not after leaving the people in that neighborhood a few nights ago. And not after rescuing Lana. Doing that would outweigh his good deed of saving her.
 

He needed to make it right, even if it meant failure.
 

Swallowing, he crept out of the house and into the front yard. He needed a plan. Finding help was unlikely. He needed some leverage against the men. He convinced himself he had two advantages—he knew where they were, and what they were armed with.

He needed a better weapon.

Not the small kitchen knife in his hand, but a gun. Most of the townsfolk were gone. Surely someone had left one behind. He searched the house he was in. Coming up empty, he moved on to the next. The simple mission distracted him from impending nightfall and what was taking place in that field.
 

Joseph searched under beds and in closets, in basements, and in pantries. He looked in every place that was easily accessible, moving on to the next when he couldn't find what he was looking for. Soon, he'd gone through several houses. He was about to proceed to another when he saw a figure with a gun in the road. Joseph's pulse hammered and he ducked back into the doorway of the house he was searching.

He held his breath. They'd found him. They were going to drag him out and kill him for running. He backed away from the door, planning an escape. Footsteps crunched the snow outside, getting closer. He looked around the house, pulse hammering, searching for a suitable place to hide. With a shimmer of terror, he realized he hadn't closed the front door. He couldn't close it now. Closing it would alert the person to his presence.
 

Had they seen him?
 

He crept upstairs, as if getting to the upper floor might mean salvation. His heart knocked against his ribcage. He quelled the noise of his boots on the wood stairs, fearing a misplaced footstep would mean the end of him. Locating a bedroom, he eased into it and shut the door.
 

Abruptly, the footsteps ceased. Joseph tensed. The person was right outside the house. In the absence of heat or the hum of appliances, the neighborhood was silent, revealing every sound.

"It's all right! I won't hurt you!" a voice cried.

It sounded like a woman. Did that mean it wasn't his captors? Joseph clung to the door handle, unwilling to believe that it wasn't the men. He waited a second before gaining the courage to go to the window and peer outside. When he did, he expected a bullet, but instead he saw a woman standing in the snow.
 

Joseph held the knife tightly.

The woman lowered the gun. "You were with the others. I saw you running away!" she called.

"W-Who are you?" he yelled, his lips trembling as he spoke.

"My name's Kelsey. I've come to help."

"Where did you come from?"

"I was in the bunker. I'm a friend of Tom's," Kelsey explained, out of breath.
 

Putting the pieces together, Joseph said, "I remember hearing your name. Tom said you were with two children, and the policeman and fireman. He told us you were waiting for us in the bunker. How did you find me?"

"After I heard the gunshots, I waited a while. The men that were with us were supposed to knock. They never did. I knew it was getting dark, and I was pretty sure I heard a baby crying. So I decided to come out and help." Kelsey's face showed her trepidation at the decision. "I left the children behind and told them not to come out."

"The baby," Joseph said, his eyes tearing up as he spoke the girl's name. "Her name's Lana. They took her. They're going to give her to the creatures, along with the rest of them. They're insane."

"I know. I saw them leading you away. I was trying to figure out something when I saw you make a break for it."

"Thank God you have a gun," Joseph said, eyeing her rifle. "We have to go back. We have to help them."

"We will. We just have to figure out the best way to do it. Let's start walking. It's already getting dark."

Relief washed over Joseph as he trudged next to Kelsey. He spilled out his story while they traveled. Kelsey swung the rifle in all directions. Her face was grave as she took in the details. She seemed as nervous as Joseph. The darkening sky fueled their unease.

"There's something else," Joseph said, biting his lip. "Tom's one of them. He told us outside of the bunker."

"The beasts, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I know that."

"You do?"

"Yes," Kelsey said. "Last night, before he left, he told me he was bitten. I knew he was turning. That's why he left us in the bunker in the first place. He didn't want to hurt us."

"Tom's one of them," he repeated. "I can't believe that."

"That's another reason we need to get the others out of there before nightfall."

"How are we going to do that?"

Kelsey looked at him and said, "I'm not sure. My hope is that when we get there, we'll figure something out."

Tom watched their captors with deepening hatred. Curtis and Harold's faces were eerily content as they watched the flames dance over the logs. They peered from the fire to the sky, watching daylight retreat. As the sun dipped from view, a flicker of fear crossed their faces: the fear of the unknown, the fear of things greater than them at work.

"We should get out of here," Harold said.

"Give it a minute. Make sure the fire doesn't go out," Curtis replied.

The fire seemed to have sparked greater panic in the captive men and women. They screamed threats and promises with equal abandon, hoping something would grab their captor's attention.
 

Nothing did.
 

Although Tom saw no sign of the beasts, he knew the fire would draw them. The smoke and the flames was a clear signal that people were nearby. The beasts' fear of fire would be overridden by the need to feed, to take advantage of the captive survivors.

Tom knew, because he was starting to have the same urges. Senses he'd left behind were reemerging. The smell of the fire filled his nose, accompanied by the smell of the man next to him, sweating through his coat, the smell of one of the women's several-day-old perfume. He could even smell his own clothes, which bore the odor of the man who'd owned them: faint cigarette smoke and a hint of aftershave.

The flesh he'd tasted the night before seemed to have sparked some primal hunger within him. His body begged to repeat those sensations. Tom was torn between pushing those urges away and embracing them. Embracing them could mean escape. But embracing them might mean the death of the others.
 

He strained against the ropes, but they weren't giving. He and the other captives were effectively pinned, their backs against the bottom bleacher rail. The rail was stable enough that he couldn't break it, even if he were able to get to his feet. Freeing himself was a fool's hope, born out of dreams, not reality. At least, not now.

Curtis and Harold walked the perimeter of the fire, staring across the darkened landscape. They aimed their guns. The houses in the distance were hulking shadows, harboring all manner of evil. Tom kept his eyes peeled for Joseph, but saw no sign of him.
 

At least one of us got away.

Tom wriggled back and forth, watching the others do the same. Emily whimpered as she strained against the ropes. Catching Maria's eye, he had the sudden urge to apologize, as if that might make things right.