CONTENTS
About Outage
Title Page
Prologue
Part One - The Storm
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part Two - The Chase
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part Three - The Kill
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Preview of Outage 2: The Awakening
Reviews
About the Author
Other Works
Copyright Info
ABOUT OUTAGE:
When newlyweds Abby and Rob awaken, the power is out, the neighborhood is covered in snow, and the house is freezing.
They'll soon find out that the storm is the least of their worries.
Somewhere outside, something else is lurking.
Waiting for the chance to strike…
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OUTAGE
By T.W. Piperbrook
Prologue
Leon Hamilton awoke to a wall of static. He blinked twice, watching black and white spots dance across the television screen. His left hand clutched the beer he'd been working on; his legs were stiff and asleep.
"Aw, hell," he muttered.
Adeline was going to kill him. He'd promised to be in bed hours ago, but he'd fallen asleep again. That was the third time this week.
Now he was going to wake her when he got into bed. His late-night television habit had long been a source of conflict, and one he'd promised to work on. Now he was going to get his ass reamed.
Leon set the half-empty beer on the end table next to him. He was surprised he hadn't dropped it. If he had, he'd have been in even more trouble. The only thing his wife liked better than sleep was a clean house.
A beer stain would mean the end of him.
After setting down his beer, he reached for the television remote. He was about to shut off the set when he noticed something. According to the clock on the television, it was ten past eleven, but already the cable box had turned off. Usually, the timer lasted for a good five hours.
That's strange, he thought.
Maybe there was an issue with the cable. He contemplated checking the wires but thought better of taking the time to do it now. He was in enough trouble as it was. He decided to leave it until the morning. He got to his feet and clicked the power button on the remote. The television winked off.
Still groggy, Leon stretched, shaking off the remnants of sleep, and started through the den. The glow of kitchen appliances filtered in from the next room. In front of him were an open kitchen and living room; in between was a small hallway that led to a bathroom. Adeline was sleeping upstairs. They'd talked about downsizing after the kids had moved out, but they hadn't gotten around to it yet.
Leon padded through the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible. If he could avoid waking Adeline, maybe he could dodge her verbal assault until morning. Maybe she won't even know I was up. He smiled at the thought. He took the hallway on his left and studied the bathroom. After a careful internal debate, he detoured into it.
As worried as he was about the noise, he had to piss.
The bathroom floor consisted of tile. Leon could feel the cold through his socks, creeping into the arches of his feet and numbing his toes.
He nudged the door closed to a crack and headed for the toilet. A lone green night-light occupied the outlet above the sink, casting an ethereal glow through the room. Leon unzipped his fly. Above him was a window, and he stared through the pane while he relieved himself.
It was then that he noticed the snow.
Large white flakes drifted past the window, obscuring his view of the outside. His brow furrowed. He hadn't heard mention of snow in the forecast. It was only October, after all—much too early for a storm. He blinked a few times to ensure he wasn't imagining things, but the snow continued.
So that's why it's so damn cold in here, he thought.
With a shrug, Leon finished his business and headed to the sink, aiming to wash his hands. He'd just reached for the faucet when the nightlight went out.
What the hell?
He held still for a minute, confused. Had the bulb burned out? If so, he had some of the worst luck ever. First the cable and now this, he thought. He felt around the wall for the device, thinking he could coax it into working. It took a second for him to realize the whole house had gone silent.
The power was out.
Leon paused, his hand on the night-light. The routine hum of appliances had ceased, plunging the house into absolute quiet. Outside, the wind kicked up a notch, peppering snow against the windowpane. Although there were no lights on the side of the house, he could see the white powder by the pale light of the sky.
Dammit. That meant the heat wouldn't work, either.
Shaking his head, Leon inched open the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway. One of the floorboards creaked. He cursed under his breath, listening for Adeline.
He was about to head upstairs to the bedroom when he heard a clatter. Leon jumped and swiveled around in the dark house. It took him a second to realize the noise hadn't come from within the house, but from the yard.
What the hell was that?
He backed away from the doorway. Had animals gotten into the garbage again? He thought he'd warded them off for good last time. Dammit.
He could hear his wife snoring upstairs. She'd be pissed if the animals made a mess. The last thing he wanted to do was go outside, but the thought of Adeline chewing him out prompted him to head back into the kitchen and get his coat. On his way, he peered out the sliding glass doors in the living room, but saw nothing. He pulled on his jacket, then walked through the kitchen and to the back door.
A pair of boots lay on the floor mat. He retrieved them and slipped them on. When he'd finished dressing, he turned his attention outside. The wind had picked up, and it battered against the windowpane, casting a layer of white over the small, rectangular windows. Out of habit, he flicked on the light switch.
The backyard remained dark.
The garbage bins were about a hundred feet away, next to the shed. He peered into the night but could make out little more than their outlines in the snow. There was no sign of any animals.
Perhaps the raccoons had already scurried away.
For a second, he contemplated going to bed. But if he did, and the animals made a mess, he'd feel Adeline's wrath for sure.
He reached for a broom beside the refrigerator, then opened the back door. He was immediately hit with a blast of cold. Leon folded his arms across his chest. It was freezing.
He'd make quick work of the animals, then scoot back inside.
He stepped into the yard, immediately blinded by the falling snow. In just a few minutes the storm had intensified, and he could no longer see more than a few feet in front of him. There were already several inches of snow on the ground. He shielded his face with his arms and took another step, wielding the broom. His legs faltered.
Leon was groggy, and half-drunk to boot. I shouldn't have had that many beers before bedtime. I should've gone to bed. If he'd skipped watching television, he'd be asleep right now. But it was too late for that.
He picked up his pace, boots crunching the snow. The shed loomed closer. Through the blizzard, he co
uld now make out the white vinyl siding and the black shutters that matched his house. The two garbage bins sat next to it. Neither appeared to have been disturbed. False alarm, he thought. If the critters had been trying to get in, there was no sign of them now.
He looked to his right. Past the neighbor's fence, he could see the shadowed hulk of the house next door. The raised ranch was dark.
They're probably asleep. Like I should be.
Whatever he'd heard must not have been the garbage cans. Perhaps he was imagining things. Leon was tired as hell, after all.
He turned his attention back to the house and began slogging his way through the snow. In front of him he could see the outline of the back door, which he'd left open a crack. He was almost there. He blinked to clear the ice that clung to his eyelashes.
It was then that he sensed something behind him.
Leon paused mid-stride, tightening his grip on the broom. His feet quaked from the cold, and his face felt like it was going numb. In spite of that, he smiled. The stupid raccoons probably thought they were going to pull one over on him. Maybe they were trying to wait him out. If that was the case, they had another thing coming.
He spun and peered into the darkness. The shed and the garbage cans were exactly as he remembered them.
Next to them, cloaked in shadow, was a pair of eyes.
Leon blinked twice to ensure he wasn't seeing things, but the image persisted: twin embers looking at him from the left-hand side of the shed.
Was he imagining things? Was he more drunk than he thought? He squinted, but could only make out a shadowed mass behind the cans. Whatever it was, it was big. Much bigger than any raccoon.
He'd need more than a broom.
Before he could react, the thing moved.
Leon fell back a step, almost losing his balance. The thing watched his movements, tracking him like prey. Though he couldn't see what the thing was, he could sense that it was dangerous, that it meant him harm, and he fought the overpowering urge to run.
Whatever it was would sense his fear.
He wasn't sure of much, but that he knew.
He backpedaled slowly, testing each step. Although he wasn't far from the door, he knew that running might provoke a predator to attack. If he could get just a little farther, he could clear the doorway. Then he'd slam the door and call animal control.
The police. Someone. Anyone. Someone would take care of it, and afterward, he'd get some sleep.
The thing moved again.
Leon repeated his plan in his head as he inched backward, his heart knocking against his ribcage. He was getting close to the door. He could see the house in his peripheral vision; he was almost there.
Before he could reach the door, the shape emerged from the shadows, illuminated by the pale wintry sky. The animal—thing—was the size of a man, but it walked on both hands and feet, its body covered in coarse dark hair. It sniffed the air as it came toward him, eyes blazing.
Leon attempted to turn, but in his panic, he tripped. The snow had already accumulated several inches, and he stumbled in the crevice of his own footprints. Suddenly he was flat on his back.
He pushed off the ground, scrambling to right himself, but he was too late.
The creature was already loping toward him, and before he knew it the thing was hovering over him, its warm breath misting the air. Leon opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His heart thundered.
He watched as the creature tilted its head to the sky as if performing some ancient ritual. Tendons stretched, nostrils flared. Its eyes roved the night, perusing the heavens, then lowered and locked on his face.
The last thing Leon saw was a set of jagged teeth and claws. He screamed as the creature ripped into him, its nails severing his head from his body.
His last conscious thought was of Adeline.
In his haste, he'd neglected to shut the door.
PART ONE: THE STORM
Chapter One
Abby Tanner awoke to a series of cracks and thumps, and she sat upright in her bed, certain the roof was about to cave in. The room was dark, but the windows contained an eerie glow, as if someone were shining car headlights on the back of the shades.
She patted the bed around her. To her left were her iPod headphones. To her right was her husband. Abby normally fell asleep to her favorite podcast, letting the soothing sounds usher her to sleep, but the iPod had long since shut off.
Her husband continued to snore.
Dammit, Rob. The man could sleep through a tornado.
She slid her fingers into her armpits, searching for a hint of warmth. Abby was wearing only a T-shirt and shorts. Normally the temperature in the house was hot and dry, but not tonight.
Tonight it was damn near freezing.
She held her breath and listened for the sound of the furnace. It was only October, but she'd become accustomed to the noise. On a typical night, she could hear it rattling and groaning, doing its best to maintain the seventy-degree temperature Rob set it to. Tonight it was silent.
Had it broken?
Perhaps the noise was the sound of the furnace crapping out. She'd known they'd needed a new one. During the inspection, the technician had mentioned it'd only be good for another few seasons.
Damn it. Right before winter, and on a cold night to boot.
She peered next to her at the bedside table, but the alarm clock had gone dark.
So it wasn't just the furnace. The power was out, too. Not only did they have no heat, there was no electricity, either.
Great. Just great.
Outside, something snapped.
The noise was loud, almost like a crack of lightning, and Abby stiffened. After a few seconds, she heard a muffled thud from the backyard.
She reached over and shook her husband, hoping to rouse him, but Rob continued to snore. Annoyed, she lowered her bare feet to the carpet. The floorboards creaked underneath her weight. With the electricity and the heat off, the house had become a conduit for sound, and every noise lingered.
She held her breath as she padded across the room.
The bed was five feet from the windows, and the windows were covered in gray vinyl shades. Abby often had trouble sleeping, and she'd insisted on getting the thickest ones they could find.
She walked across the room, the carpet cold against her toes. How long had they been without power? The house was frigid.
She kept her eyes locked on the shades, studying the strange backlight that crept around the edges. They lived on a cul-de-sac, and there were only four other houses on the street. Most of their neighbors were quiet and kept to themselves. None were usually awake past ten o'clock.
So where was the light coming from?
She reached for the nearest window and parted the shade.
Immediately she was hit with a sea of white. The road and houses were covered in snow, the sharp lines of rooftops and gutters softened by round edges. Across the street, a burned-out streetlight hung like a teardrop, keeping vigil over the darkened neighborhood. The sky was an ominous gray.
She'd had no idea it was supposed to snow. In fact, from what she remembered, the weather was supposed to be clear. She hadn't even thought it snowed this early in the season. At the same time, the weather in Connecticut was unpredictable, and the forecast tended to change by the minute.
If she'd learned anything at all, it was that.
The storm explained the brightness at the windows. It also explained the power outage. The wires were blanketed with snow. One of them must've been disabled.
She perused the windows of the neighboring houses but saw no lights. The two houses across the street—the Pierces' and the Morgans'—were dark and desolate. Although she only had a partial view of the Hamiltons' next door, their house appeared dark as well.
The only other house was at the end of the cul-de-sac, a brown contemporary that was set back from the road. She hadn't had a chance to meet the owner yet, but it appeared he was without power, too.
At least we're not in this alone.
She lowered the shade. More than likely, someone else had already called in the outage, but she'd phone it in just in case. It could take a while for the utility trucks to arrive.
It was a Friday night, after all, and probably after hours. Besides, it was snowing.
She was about to step away from the window when she heard another crack. Her heart jumped. Abby returned, hands shaking, and peered back outside. A tree limb had broken from an enormous pine across the street, and it hurtled to the ground, landing with a whump in the neighbor's front yard.
"Holy shit," Abby whispered, holding her hand over her mouth.
She surveyed the trees. All of the branches were sagging with snow. Because it was early in the season, the leaves hadn't even fallen, and the excess weight was causing the branches to break. What if one of them fell and hit the house? What if one of them crushed her while she was sleeping?
Abby pictured a tree branch bursting through the ceiling and goring her through the stomach. Gross, Abby. She'd always had a vivid imagination, but now she found herself wishing she could turn it off.
A gust of wind blew. In the span of a few minutes, it seemed like the storm had worsened.
Other than the wind, the neighborhood had taken on an eerie quiet, and Abby had the sudden fear that she and Rob were alone, that all the neighbors had disappeared. She stared into the neighboring windows, expecting to see a pale face peering back at her—some evidence that someone else was watching—but all the shades were closed. A lone car sat in the Pierces' driveway across the street. The Morgans' vehicles were presumably in the garage. If either family was at home, no one was awake.
All the more reason to make that call.
She let go of the shade and scrambled for her cellphone. As she fumbled with the nightstand, she heard her husband groan. It sounded like he'd turned over.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage Page 1
