Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) (4 page)

The woman ran out from behind the tree and toward him, her frantic gasps proof that she was alive.
 

"Stay back," Tom warned, keeping his pistol drawn.
 

She stopped fifteen feet away, confused. She held her hands in the air. Tom watched her. The adrenaline of battle had been replaced by a more rational fear.

"Have you been bitten?" he asked.

"N-no," she replied.

"Are you sure?"

"I-I'm sure."

Tom glanced down at his own jacket. Though the first creature had clawed him, it hadn't broken skin. Thank God. As far as he knew, the transformation could only be induced by a bite.

He instructed the woman to approach, but halted her a few feet away. He couldn't be too careful. He kept an eye on the trees, wary of his surroundings. The noise of the gunshots still rang in his ears. Any beasts in the area would've heard the commotion. He had no idea how many were lurking nearby, and no desire to find out.

"We need to get out of here," he said. "Follow me."

She nodded.
 

They backtracked to the house, replicating the path they'd traveled. Halfway to the building, he located his flashlight and rifle. Tom pulled them from the snow, taking a wide berth around the body of the creature that lay near them.

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" the woman asked.

"I wouldn't have saved you if I was," he replied simply.

His voice sounded foreign and strange, as if he hadn't spoken in days. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd been at the machine shop, even longer since he'd been in his own neighborhood. The night was a never-ending trail of tragedy and adrenaline, each encounter more frightening than the last. He wasn't sure how much more his body could take.

He led the woman through the front door of the house, shining the flashlight at the threshold. She gasped when she saw the naked man on the floor.

"He was one of them," Tom explained, closing the door.
 

He watched her face while he spoke. Her eyes revealed nothing but fear. He shined the light on her jacket and pants, inspecting her for wounds. True to her word, the woman didn't appear to be bitten.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Rosemary," she whispered. She wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes were dark and ringed. Long, straight black hair hung over her winter jacket.

"How'd you find me?" Tom asked, motioning to the house around them. He wondered if she'd seen the car.

"I saw a light in the basement."

"Were you coming from the street?"

"No. From the woods. I was running to get away."

He watched her for a second. She seemed truthful. Besides, he couldn't imagine her perpetrating a scheme like the one he'd seen outside. If he hadn't saved her, Rosemary would be dead by now. He was pretty sure of that.

"I'm going to check the house, make sure nothing got inside. Then we're going to head to the basement. Keep quiet, and don't touch anything, okay, Rosemary?" he asked.

"Okay."

After inspecting the house, Tom led Rosemary downstairs, closing the door behind them and locking it. On the way, he warned her about the other body in the basement. She sniffled, but didn't say anything. She walked hesitantly, as if one of the beasts might spring from the shadows and grab her.

When they reached the basement, Rosemary clung to the wall and scanned her surroundings. Her eyes stopped on a pile of bloody clothes that Tom had kicked into a corner.
 

"Are we alone down here?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Does anyone else live in the house?"

"It isn't mine. I was told to come here. It's a long story," Tom said.
 

Spotting his weapons, Rosemary's eyes widened.
 

"Where'd you get all of this?" she whispered.

"I'll explain in a minute," Tom said. "We'll be here for a while, so we'll have plenty of time to talk."

He kept his voice low and the flashlight pointed at the ground. He walked over to the Colton's freezer chest, reloading the pistols and his rifle. When he was finished, he covered the small windows with Colton's dirty clothes, ensuring that nothing else could see inside. Then he walked back over to Rosemary.
 

"Do you live nearby?" he asked her.

"I'm from a few streets over. I was driving to meet my kids when those things ran out in front of my car…" She paused, her hands still shaking. "I went off the road and into a tree. They almost caught me, but I ran through the woods and ended up here. Somehow I lost the things, but they found me again…"

"Where are your kids now?"

"They're at the shelter. They were coming home from my mother-in-law's. She lives in Massachusetts. I let them spend the night there last night."

"How'd they end up at the shelter?"

"I called them and told him we'd lost power, that the house was freezing. They said the roads were bad, but that they were already close to town. They'd heard they were housing people at the Knights of Columbus, that they'd meet me there. I packed some clothes for them. I was supposed to go straight to the shelter…"

"When'd you last talk to them?" Tom asked.

Rosemary wrung her hands. "A few hours ago. I couldn't get my car out of the driveway. I tried calling before I left, but my cellphone had no service, and the landline was out. I assume it's from the storm. We don't have a generator." She paced the room, her panic mounting. Then she patted her pockets, pulling out her cellphone. "Dammit. I still have no service. I can't stay here. I need to get to my family."

"Where's your husband?"

"He died a few months ago." Rosemary wiped her eyes. "Stomach cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Rosemary nodded but kept her head down.

"We can't leave," Tom said definitively. "Not with those beasts out there. It's too dangerous." He knew that better than anyone. He chewed his lip, staring at the dead beast in the corner.

Rosemary shook her head. "I can't let those things get to my kids. Jason and Jeffrey must be so scared…Jason's seventeen, but Jeffrey's only eleven. Jason's always taken care of his little brother. But how are they going to handle this?"

She cried softly into her hands. Tom tried to comfort her, but she only shook her head. After a while, she glanced nervously at the dead creature.

"What
are
these things, Tom?" Rosemary asked.

"Werewolves. Lycans," Tom said, reiterating what he'd been told.

"I…I can't believe that…" Rosemary looked at him in disbelief. "It doesn't seem real. I keep thinking this is all a nightmare, that I'll wake up and it'll be over."

"I felt that way at first. But not anymore."

"If this isn't your house, then how did you get here?" Rosemary asked.

Tom took a deep breath before launching into his story. Collecting his thoughts, he told his tale, starting with the first time he'd woken up, back when he'd gone to start the generator. He explained how he and his wife had escaped from the neighborhood and away from the beasts. Then he told of Lorena's death, his dealings with Ashley and Billy, his narrow escape from the machine shop. Finally he told her about Mark and Colton and the house he'd been led to, and his discovery of the stash.

"When I came here, I found this." He motioned to the rifles, pistols, and ammunition. "As far as I know, this is the only thing that will kill them. These bullets were specially made."
 

"So you're saying if we can survive the night, things will return to normal?"

"I don't know about normal, but less dangerous, at least."

Rosemary stared vacantly at the wall, digesting what Tom had said. "How far do you think this thing has spread, Tom?"

"I have no idea. At first I thought it was just in town. But now I'm not so sure."

"This snowstorm came out of nowhere…"

"I know. I don't think anyone was prepared for it. And that's what they were counting on."

"What happens to the beasts in the morning? Do they change back?"

Tom nodded. "As far as I know, they become human when the moon goes down. That's the hope, at least."

Rosemary slunk to the floor, covering her face with her hands. "What if they don't?"

Tom placed one of the pistols in his lap. Next to him, Rosemary breathed heavily. It was a lot to take in. For anyone. Just a few hours ago, Tom was as shell-shocked as she was. If he hadn't been living in danger—
breathing
it—for as many hours as he had, he might not have believed the stories himself.

"It'll be okay, Rosemary," he said, trying to sound convincing. "We'll get through this."

"My kids are out there. I need to get to them."

"I'm sure Jason and Jeffrey are hunkered down somewhere," Tom reassured her, knowing it was far from a guarantee. "As soon as it's morning, we'll go look for them."

"What if morning's too late?"

Tom stared at her. He didn't have an answer.
 

"I can't stay here," Rosemary repeated, as if it were a mantra.
 

Tom ignored her. He swiveled his gaze from the now-covered windows to the door, keeping alert for danger. In the short time he'd been there, he'd already acclimated to Colton's dirty house. The grime-covered walls had become a place of relative safety.

"Have you ever fired a gun?" he asked Rosemary.

"No," she admitted.
 

"You're going to need to learn, if you want to survive the night."

"Okay."

"I'm sure this is the last thing you expected you'd be doing. But we're going to have to work together if we want to get out of this."

Rosemary agreed, and Tom handed her a pistol. He showed her how to load it, aim, and fire. Rosemary took the pistol, her hands shaking. She gripped the gun and aimed at the cellar door, testing it out. With the weapon in her hands, she seemed a little more confident, but no less terrified. Tom's lesson was hardly a substitute for experience, but it would have to do.

He caught a better glimpse of her face. In the frenzy of the escape, Tom had barely had time to study her features. Underneath her smeared makeup, Rosemary had soft eyes and a kind face. She was in her mid-thirties, if he had to guess.

"Were you in the army?" she asked him.

"No," Tom said. "I used to hunt when I was younger. My dad taught me how to shoot."

"That makes sense. My husband Ron's an accountant. He doesn't know much about that sort of thing." She cast a despondent glance at the floor. "I'm sorry. It's only been a few months since he died. Sometimes I think he's still with us."

"I understand." And he did. Tom held up the flashlight. "I'm going to shut this off and preserve the batteries. I'm afraid it'll die."

"Okay."

Before shutting it off, Tom caught a glimpse of the dead beast in the corner. Prior to tonight, Tom had never shot anything remotely human. It was incredible how much had changed. He flicked off the light. The basement fell silent save their bated breathing.

Somewhere deep in the distance, a long, soulless howl echoed into the sky.

"One minute we were asleep, the next the neighborhood was filled with them," Tom said, shaking his head in the dark. "I can't believe how quickly this all happened."
     

"I knew something was going to happen tonight. Call it mother's intuition. I couldn't stop thinking about Jason and Jeffrey. I pictured something happening to them. It's awful having that feeling, you know? Especially now that I'm right."

Tom agreed. He knew that feeling well. Even with Jeremy gone, he still got it himself. Jeremy's absence was like a phantom limb.

"I knew I should've gone with them to my mother-in-law's." Rosemary blew a guilt-ridden breath.

"There's no way you could've known about this."

 
"Maybe not
this
, exactly, but
something
.
I should've trusted my instincts."

"I'm sure they're at the shelter," Tom said, though he wasn't convinced.

"If I'd taken a different route, maybe I'd be with them. Maybe I could've avoided those things and gotten there." Rosemary was quiet for a second. "The car you took to get here. Does it work?"

Tom could already read her intentions. "I left it running, but it shut off. The gas might've run out. Either that, or something else is wrong with it."

In the darkness, Rosemary chewed her lips. "If we get it started, I bet we can make it to the shelter," she said.

"That wouldn't be a good idea, Rosemary."

"Maybe those things have wandered off. We haven't heard anything in a while. The Knights of Columbus is only six miles away. We could drive without stopping. I need to get to Jason and Jeffrey."

Tom envisioned the stalled, bloodied procession he'd encountered on the way in. He and Rosemary were lucky to have survived as long as they had. "It's not safe to leave. I've seen what they can do, Rosemary. They'll surround us. They'll get inside the vehicle."

"With all these weapons, we have to try." Rosemary's tone turned from fear to anger. "My family needs me."

"You won't be able to help them if you're dead. We need to wait until morning."

He heard her shifting in the dark, wiping her face. Then she stood. "I need to get to them, Tom. If you won't go with me, I'll go myself."

He heard her digging through the pile of weapons. Tom's pulse climbed. If anything happened to Rosemary, he'd feel responsible. Although he barely knew her, he'd taken her in; he was obligated to keep her safe.
 

"I can't let you leave," he tried.

Rosemary ignored him. She took hold of a weapon and darted for the stairs. He called after her, but she kept going. He followed her up the steps, fearful of the noise. "Rosemary! Get back here."

"What are you going to do? Force me to stay?"

"No, but I—"

"If you had children, Tom, you'd understand."

The image of Jeremy crept into Tom's mind. He envisioned his son playing baseball, his face after he'd aced his driver's test. Rosemary must've assumed he was childless. "I did have a son. His name was Jeremy. He passed away a few years ago."