Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) (9 page)

"I'm going to pound your ugly head in," Sven said.

Their eyes widened with rage. Sven's lips curled into a sneer.

"Knock it off! Both of you!" Paul said.

Sven spun to face the hall owner. "Mind your business, Paul! I've been listening to you order us around all night. I don't need your shit, either!"

Paul's face grew stern. He turned the pistol in his hand, making sure the men saw it. "If you don't like it, leave my hall," he said. Without blinking, he pointed toward the barricade. "I'll open the door for you, if you'd like."

Sven and Frederick grew silent. They stared at Paul for several seconds, seething. Then they backed away from each other. The creatures pounded on one of the vehicles outside, howling. The scream of another car alarm pierced the air, startling the group.
 

"I'm going to hold the other pistol until everyone cools off," Tom said.

"Agreed," Paul concurred.
 

Sven and Frederick stalked to another corner of the room, shaking their heads.
 

Once they were out of earshot, Tom sighed. "I appreciate your help, Paul."

"My pleasure. I've wanted to put them in their place all night. I understand the situation isn't ideal, but I'm sick of their attitude. They've spent more time fighting than trying to help."

"It certainly seems like it," Tom said.

"We're not going to survive by arguing."

"Very true."

Across the room, Sven and Frederick shook their heads angrily, but neither said a word.

Listening to the beasts was like awaiting one's own funeral. The things growled and roared, smashing and breaking everything in the parking lot. Car alarms blared, windshields shattered, tires deflated. Even if Tom and the others could get outside, Tom had no doubt the beasts had destroyed every vehicle, every last chance at escape. Tom envisioned the station wagon in pieces, buried and scattered. As exaggerated as the image might be, he knew they were trapped.

When he couldn't stand the racket, Tom crept over to check on Rosemary. She was huddled next to the counter by herself, keeping her distance from the angered Sven and Frederick. Her hands shook as she held her gun.

"How're you holding up?" Tom asked.

Rosemary looked at him with woeful, depressed eyes. "I can't believe what happened in the other room," she moaned. "I want to believe they made it out of here…"

"There's a chance they did. It was hard to tell
who
was what out there, Rosemary. Just because you found Jeffrey's truck—"

Rosemary lowered her eyes. "I should've listened to my intuition…"

"We'll keep looking in the morning," Tom offered. "We'll find them."

"If we make it to morning," Rosemary whispered, listening to the beasts outside. She clutched her stomach with grief. Tom squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and got to his feet.

Tom strode to the back door to resume his watch.
 

On the way, he passed Sherry, who was still holed up underneath the counter. She bowed her head. She didn't meet his eyes. Without wanting to, Tom envisioned her face contorting and stretching, turning into one of the creatures. Her fried, frizzy hair could just as easily become a clump of fur. He shook off the image and blew an anxious breath. Sherry wouldn't be much help to anyone. If and when they got through this, she'd need psychiatric help.
 

We all will.

He'd keep an eye on all of them.

Outside, the beasts razed.

Sven and Frederick eyed him warily. They'd each grabbed tools from the toolbox and were standing in the center of the room. Frederick clutched a claw hammer; Sven held a screwdriver in his meaty fist. Neither looked happy. Tom took a spot at the back door. He stared at the opposite end of the room, meeting Paul's gaze. The older man had agreed to guard the interior door. In the pale glow of the kitchen lights, his face looked ashen and weathered.

The crashing from the parking lot continued. Tom pictured the creatures bathing in the entrails of those they'd killed, licking blood and bone from matted paws. It made him even more grateful to be alive.

Each minute was a godsend, every breath borrowed. Tom gazed across the room at Sven, who'd pulled out his cellphone and begun shaking it. Tom assumed there was still no service. He considered asking the man for the time, but didn't want to engage him.

He looked around the windowless room. He wished he had a view of the sky; that would be as good a timepiece as any. The moon was their enemy, and its disappearance would mean a chance at living.
   

It would also give him a bead on what they were up against. Right now, they had no outside visibility. He envisioned the whole town of beasts congregating in the parking lot, growing in number like fans at a rock concert. It certainly sounded like that.
 

A noise at the door distracted his attention.

Tom's pulse spiked.
 

One of them was right outside.

He aimed his gun, glaring at the tables and chairs in front of the door as if they might spring to life. He heard a huff of air through animal nostrils, loud enough that it rose above the din. The door rattled—gently, at first, then harder.
 

The survivors gasped in terror.
 

"I told you, man, they ain't gonna leave us alone," Frederick hissed through clenched teeth.
 

"And some of us are defenseless," Sven added. "You motherfuckers don't know what you're doing."
 

A thump rattled the door, and it shook in the frame. Claws scraped the exterior from top to bottom. Tom imagined the door splitting down the middle like a ripped curtain, revealing the beasts on the other side. But it remained locked, standing, and barricaded. Tom drew a bead on it. Sweat leaked from his brow. He let it drip without wiping it.

The room around him suddenly felt cold and isolated, sealed off from the world that he'd known. Without visibility to what was outside, the beasts could be anywhere. Tom pictured the survivors transported to another place and time. Anything would be preferable to what they were going through. He stared without blinking; certain he saw the outline of a paw. He shook his head to rid his brain of the image.

The door shook again. One of the stacked chairs wobbled.

Another creature had joined the first. The two of them batted the door in tandem, knocking one of the chairs loose from the top of the table. The chair fell sideways and clattered to the floor. Sherry screamed, and Rosemary tried to quiet her. But it was no use. The beasts knew they were in here.
 

The only decision was when to enter.
 

The creatures rammed the door. Each successive bang felt like a punch to Tom's stomach, heightening his fear. His joints ached from maintaining his stance; his grip was so tight on the gun that he barely felt his fingers.
 

And then, out of nowhere, something tugged his jacket.
 

Tom spun, so tense that he nearly pulled the trigger. He leapt away from whatever was grabbing him, just in time to see it was Frederick. The man had lifted Tom's spare pistol from his jacket, and he leapt back with murderous intent in his eyes.
 

"Stay back!" he warned.
 

Tom raised his hands in shock, so surprised he didn't have time to readjust his aim. Frederick's hands shook as he aimed the gun. The beasts continued pounding on the door.
 

"Frederick, what are you doing?"
 

"I said stay back!" Frederick hollered again. His eyes were large and manic.

"Put it down!" Paul yelled from across the room.
 

Frederick turned over his shoulder, waving the gun. The older man ducked for cover. Frederick turned back to Tom, biting his lip.
 

"This doesn't have to—" Tom started.

"Get out of my fucking way!"
 

Frederick waved the gun again, and this time Tom had the foresight to duck. The black man fired. The bullet ricocheted off one of the chairs on top of the barricade. Frederick fired again, then again, the bullets going wide and clanking into the wall.
 

"Leave us alone, you motherfuckers!" Frederick roared at the beasts.
 

Tom knelt on the floor and covered his head with his hands, certain that one of the bullets would find a home in his skull. The shooting continued for several more seconds. Sherry screamed—a long, shrill sound that sounded more animal than human. And then the shooting stopped.

Frederick heaved thick breaths. Tom raised his head and looked around the room, certain he'd find one of his companions dead or injured. But the others were unhurt. They raised their heads, shivering in shock and surprise, assessing each other for wounds.

Frederick kept his aim at the door. He kept squeezing the trigger even though the gun was empty. His loud, uneven breath filled the room.

Out of nowhere, a body slammed into Frederick.
 

The black man flew to the floor, a blast of air escaping his stomach as he hit the ground. Sven grunted and growled as he wrestled for the gun. Frederick screamed obscenities, but kept a grip on the pistol. Sven grabbed hold of his hand, beating his fingers into the ground until he released the gun. The pistol skittered over near Tom. Seizing the opportunity, Tom scurried over and retrieved it. Frederick squirmed and bucked against the weight of the man pinning him down. Paul ran over to the scene and pointed his gun at the tackled man.

"Get off me, man!" Frederick yelled.

Sven didn't relent. Instead, he grabbed hold of the man's other arm and held it against the floor. Realizing he was outmatched, Frederick let out one final curse and went still, his eyes blazing defeat.

Tom heard a thud on the door, and he spun and aimed his pistol. The beasts were still outside, but no longer scratching and growling. One of them sniffed curiously, as if intrigued by what was happening.

The beast gave one last snarl, then retreated from the door.
   

"I'm sorry, man," Frederick said to the others.
 

The survivors stood around him in a silent circle. Tom shook his head. Thankfully, no one had been injured. That didn't make him feel any better. The man's reckless behavior could have killed him or the others.

"I thought they were coming in. I thought we were about to die," Frederick tried.

"And what good would you have done?" Sven asked. "You wouldn't have hit one of those fucking things if it was standing in front of you." He motioned to the wall, riddled with misplaced bullet holes. "Your aim sucks."

"You almost killed us." Paul shook his head angrily. "You almost hit Tom."

"I apologize," Frederick repeated. "What else you want me to say?"

He looked at Tom for empathy. Tom exhaled and lowered his gun. He looked over his shoulder, verifying that the door was closed, and then sighed.

Frederick sighed and cast his eyes to the floor. "This shit has me goin' crazy, all right? Sittin' in here, waiting for those things to break in and eat us. And you're tellin' me I can't even have a weapon to defend myself. What do you expect me to do?"

"I think we should tie him up," Sven growled. He looked at the others for approval, but no one agreed.

Tom looked around the circle, catching a glimpse of Sherry. He was surprised to find her standing, looking on with the others. Her face was pale, but sympathetic. She was clutching a hammer. Tom understood Frederick's panic. As misguided as his actions had been, the man was as scared as the rest of them.
 

"Let's all calm down. Frederick, why don't you come with me and keep watch at the back door? Rosemary, you come, too. Paul and Sven, why don't you watch the hall entrance with Sherry?"

Everyone agreed. Tom and Rosemary ushered Frederick to the back door, keeping a close eye on him. Tom thought it best to separate Frederick and Sven. Though the encounter was over, he didn't want to risk any more altercations. They had enough dealing with the creatures outside.
 

As they took their positions, Tom listened for noises outside the door. The commotion had died down. For a second, Tom had the distinct feeling that the beasts were listening to
them
. He recalled the creature that had been at the door a few minutes earlier. It had seemed interested, rather than fearful. He doubted the beasts had been staved off by the gunshots. From what he'd observed, the beasts didn't seem to have any regard for humans, armed or not.

Frederick stood next to the wall, his eyes flitting across the barricade. His rapid breathing subsided. He wiped the sweat from his hands on his oil-stained pants.
 

"Do you work around here?" Tom asked, hoping to calm the man down.

"I'm a mechanic down at Anthony's Service Station. Been there six months," Frederick said.
 

"How'd you end up here?"

"I stayed late at the shop last night. I was having trouble with my car. Then the shop lost power." Frederick swallowed. "I heard about the shelter, so I decided to come here. Luckily my car was still drivable. I figured they'd have some damn coffee or something. Now I wish I hadn't come."

"I don't think anywhere else is better," Tom said. "They'll sniff us out wherever we go."

Next to Tom, Rosemary nodded in agreement. Her face was more composed than before. As nerve-wracking as the incident with Frederick had been, it seemed to have distracted her from her grief.

"How'd you find the others?" Tom wondered.

"I ran into Sherry on the way here. Her car had broken down in the cold. I stopped to help her, and then one of those things came out of nowhere. It darted at us from behind the Chinese place. We hopped in my car and came straight here. Somehow we outran it. We were hoping to find the police. Instead we found everybody dead, and then we got trapped here with all those bodies…" Frederick met Rosemary's gaze and lowered his eyes.