They'd have to make do.
She hefted the luggage over her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen. In the pantry were several of her prescriptions—her Lexapro and her Xanax. She'd be a basket case without them. She needed to grab them.
While in the kitchen, she paused at the refrigerator. Should she grab food and water, as well? She wrestled with the decision, but thought better of it. With the power out, it'd be best to leave the refrigerator closed. She didn't want the food to spoil.
There'd be plenty of amenities at the hotel.
She finished packing and returned to the living room. The bay window, formerly dim, now cast an eerie glow over the hardwood floor, as if the moon was piercing through the clouds. Through the pane, she could make out Rob clearing off the vehicle.
The fear she'd felt before suddenly returned, slithering inside her like an animal burrowing for winter. Her heart began to race, and she scurried down the hallway and headed for the closet.
Get your coat and get out of here.
The thought filled her with urgency, and she rifled through the closet, shining the light of the flashlight over an assortment of jackets and coats. Why was she so afraid? The cold and the storm were enough to make anyone feel uneasy, but Abby felt something deeper than that. Ever since waking up, the world had seemed foreign and out of control, and she was hard-pressed to find comfort in anything.
It must be the new house.
They'd only lived here for two months. She'd done her best to settle into her new life, but things were still unfamiliar, and she was still getting adjusted. It didn't help that she had yet to find a job.
Back in Georgia, she'd been an account executive for a newspaper, but the job market in Connecticut had been tougher than she'd anticipated. She was discouraged, but hopeful that she'd find something soon.
She selected a coat and shut the closet door.
Inside the pockets were a hat and gloves. She retrieved them and put them on. Once she was all suited up, she padded back toward the living room. The duffel bags were still sitting in the middle of the floor—two lumpy shapes resting on the hardwood.
She'd just picked them up when she heard a yelp from outside. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she lost her grip on the flashlight. It clattered to the floor and rolled.
She raced to the window.
Her husband was flat on his back in the snow, next to the car. Frantic, she rapped on the glass.
"Rob! Are you all right?"
Her voice echoed through the empty house, bouncing off walls and corners.
Rob moved. He raised a gloved hand and waved at her, then dusted off his snow-covered jacket. He got to his feet and smiled.
"I'm OK!" he yelled into the night. "I just slipped!"
His voice rang through the seemingly deserted neighborhood, echoing off the walls of the adjacent properties.
She glanced instinctively around the street, waiting for a light to flick on from a nearby window, but the houses remained dark.
She watched Rob struggle to his feet, one hand on his winter hat, the other on his ice scraper.
Although he'd cleaned off almost the entire vehicle, the snow had already deposited a fresh layer over the windows.
Get out now or you never will, Abby's mind whispered.
With that thought, she collected her bags and headed down the stairs.
Abby held her gloved hands to the heating vents, soaking in the warmth of the car's engine. Although the Civic wasn't the best in the snow, the heat was incredible. Rob leaned in through the open driver's side door.
"Wait here. I'll go shovel behind us," he said. "Then we can get the hell out of here."
Abby nodded, watching her husband shut the door. She stared out the windows, but they were still fogged. She reached over and wiped the inside of the windshield with her glove. Then she hit the wipers. The blades slid back and forth, clearing her view of the driveway and the house.
She peered at the raised ranch. The house sported gray vinyl siding with blue shutters; the roof was new. They'd gotten a good deal on the property, but she knew they'd made some concessions.
It was times like this she wished they had a garage.
That would've made things easier, she thought.
She watched as her husband trekked to the back of the house for a shovel. The backyard was surrounded by chain-link fence, and he struggled to push open the gate, fighting against the weight of the snow. When he'd gotten through, he headed for the shed. The windows around her had started to defrost.
Her gaze wandered to the neighboring houses. Now that she was outside, the street seemed less menacing than it had before. The windows of the adjacent properties were still dark and empty, but the light of the snow and the sky illuminated the buildings, making them seem almost majestic.
She glanced at the Hamiltons' next door, but saw no sign of activity. The house at the end of the cul-de-sac was equally deserted, though she saw the new neighbor's yellow Jeep in the driveway.
Abby blew out a breath and rotated her fingers in front of the heating vents.
Like hot dogs on an open fire, she thought, letting out a chuckle. It was a comparison Rob had made once, and she'd always remembered it.
It was easier to feel better when she was warm, when the weight of the cold and the fear of loneliness were nothing but a memory. Abby couldn't imagine a life without simple amenities. It was times like these that made her appreciate what she had.
When the power came back on, she'd kiss the radiators.
Well, maybe I won't go that far.
She laughed to herself.
She glanced back at the Pierces' and the Morgans'. She wondered if they'd already reached their destinations. She guessed that they had. Right now, they were probably asleep, enjoying the warmth of a friend or family member's couch. She couldn't blame them. This storm is for the birds.
Movement distracted her. When she looked up, she found Rob approaching with a shovel. He gave her a healthy grin, snow glancing off the hood of his coat. She smiled and waved, grateful she didn't have to exit the vehicle.
Although Rob could be stubborn, he was always a gentleman.
A few seconds later she heard the scrape of the shovel against the pavement, and she reclined in her seat, soaking in the heater's warmth. She was tired. Exhausted. She'd been up for almost an hour, and by the looks of it, she'd be up for several more. At least neither of them had to work in the morning. Rob had weekends off.
With her eyes closed and the heat blasting, Abby dozed. She envisioned herself at the beach, clad only in a swimsuit, her toes in the sand.
Maybe we'll go on a cruise this year, she thought. She quickly dismissed the idea. Yeah right, we'd need money for that.
She opened her eyes just as the door opened.
"Ready to go?" Rob asked.
Abby grinned.
"Yep. Let's blow this joint."
Chapter Four
The driveway was short and flat. Within seconds the Civic had rolled out into the road, the tires humming on compacted snow. Rob had shoveled a few feet behind the vehicle, allowing them to get out. After exiting the driveway, Rob switched the car into drive.
"Ready for that warm hotel?" he asked.
"You bet."
Her husband gave her a smile, and Abby felt a tinge of excitement in her stomach. It was a feeling she hadn't had in years; the feeling that she was about to embark on an uncertain journey, but one that would bring them closer together. Despite the odds, they'd make it to the hotel. They'd rise up against the storm, battle the elements, and live to tell about it.
It'd be a good story for their kids one day.
Abby laughed inside. She buckled her seatbelt and waited for the Civic to propel them out of the snow-covered neighborhood and to safety.
Only it didn't.
Instead, the vehicle glided forward a few inches and then stopped, stuck in what must be six inches of snow. Rob revved the engine, but the tires were lodged in pl
ace.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
Abby glanced out the window, her hopes dashed. Seconds earlier, she'd been enjoying the warm heat, confident they'd escape the neighborhood that had become their prison.
Now they were trapped just ten feet from the driveway.
It was as if nature had carefully orchestrated this scenario, watching it play out with prescient glee. Abby looked back at the house, half-expecting to see a face laughing at them from the shadows, but the panes were dark.
Rob switched the vehicle into reverse, a look of determination on his face. The vehicle inched backward and stopped. He threw it back into drive and stomped the accelerator again. The vehicle flew forward, running up the snow like a ramp, then slid hopelessly back into the grooves.
They were completely stuck.
"What are we going to do?" Abby asked.
Rob sighed. "Take the wheel. I'll push."
She looked over at her husband, then back at the snow outside.
"I don't know, Rob. What if we get out of the neighborhood and then we get stuck again?"
She studied at the road in front of them. The street perpendicular to theirs—the one they'd have to take to town—was heavily wooded; the closest neighborhood was almost a mile away.
"We won't, honey. We'll get out of here. No matter what."
Abby could see the look of resolve in her husband's eyes. According to the Civic's dashboard, the temperature was eighteen degrees. Was she imagining it, or was it getting colder? Even with the heat blaring, she could feel the chill creeping in through the heating vents. She contemplated arguing with her husband, but decided to hold her tongue.
"Make sure you wear your gloves, honey," she instructed. "I wouldn't want you to get frostbite."
She tried to remain positive, but in reality, Abby was more worried than she let on. If they couldn't get out of here—to someplace warm—they might be in real danger.
She pushed open the door, ready to walk around and take the driver's seat. She'd just jumped out when an arctic blast blew from outside. Abby battled with the door, fighting to keep it open. Dammit. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this cold.
Once the wind died down, she stepped outside and made her way around to the driver's seat. The snow was well past her ankles; her boots felt like concrete. If she couldn't walk comfortably, how could they drive? She listened for the sounds of a plow but heard nothing.
Didn't the state have a budget for these things? Where the hell were the trucks?
She heaved a sigh and took Rob's former position in the driver's chair. Her husband walked to the rear of the vehicle, his breath visible in the night air. She left the door open a crack and waited for his instructions.
"When I say 'Go,' hit the gas," he yelled.
"OK."
She heard the slap of his hands on the trunk, and a moment later, he gave the signal. Abby hit the accelerator, doing a silent prayer that the car would move, that they'd escape the trench they'd found themselves in. At the same time, she knew it wouldn't do any good.
They were hopelessly rooted in place.
Even if they made it to the end of the street, they were bound to get stuck on one of the secondary roads. She was pretty sure the streets were impassable. She hadn't heard any cars since her neighbors had left.
And yet both the Pierces and the Morgans were safely away. Why didn't we leave sooner?
She glanced back at her husband in the ice and snow, watching him grunt and groan, and felt a tinge of resentment. She'd suggested they leave from the beginning. If only Rob had listened…
Cut it out, Abby. It's not his fault.
She tried to convert her frustration into blame, but only managed a sigh.
Rob hadn't caused the snowstorm. She knew that. The truth was, if they'd left earlier, they might've gotten stuck just the same. Both the Pierces and the Morgans had SUVs, and both vehicles were better equipped for the snow than the couple's Civic.
The whole situation was just bad luck.
Bad luck and bad weather.
The tires continued to spin. She peered back at her husband, hit with a wave of guilt. He brushed off the snow on his hat.
"The car's not moving," Rob said, his mouth trembling with the cold.
"I know. It's OK."
Abby gave him a sympathetic glance. Beads of ice clung to the lining of his hood, and his face was flushed.
"What are we gonna do, Abs?"
"Maybe we can try shoveling around the tires?"
Rob paused for a moment, scanning the snow-covered road. She could tell he was thinking, but the situation was grim, at best.
"Do we have any sand?" he asked.
"Nope. It's still so early in the season… I know we talked about getting some…"
"Dammit. We should've gone to the hardware store…"
Rob's voice trailed off. He brushed his beard with the back of his glove and stared at the sky. In their four years together, she'd rarely seen him defeated.
"I'm sorry, Abs," he said. "I wanted to get us out of here."
"Listen, honey, it's OK. We'll be fine. We'll go back inside and bundle up until the power comes back on. I have a spare comforter in the attic."
He nodded, looking less than convinced.
"At least we got stuck here and not somewhere down the street. Can you imagine that? Can you picture walking home in this?"
As if on cue, the wind kicked up a stream of snow, knocking a layer of powder from the houses and power lines. Rob covered his face with his hands.
"Let's get inside before we freeze to death," she yelled.
"What about the car?" he asked.
"Leave it for now. If anyone else is home, they won't be getting out anyway. In any case, it doesn't look like the plows will be coming for a while."
Abby reached back inside the car, pulled the key from the ignition, and cut the engine. Rob came up alongside her, offering his arm. She was about to shut the door when something in the road caught her attention.
Abby froze.
"Rob!" she hissed.
She motioned in front of them.
Standing at the end of the street, motionless, was a man covered in ice and snow.
Rob followed Abby's gaze. "Who the hell's that?"
Abby's heart beat like a trip-hammer. The man stared at them. His arms hung at his sides, and his thick winter coat was covered in a layer of white. If Abby hadn't known better, she would've mistaken him for a statue, a figure sculpted in snow.
"I don't know," Abby whispered.
"Is that our new neighbor?"
"I'm not sure. I've only seen him a few times."
Abby remembered the large, cream-colored moving truck that had accompanied the man's arrival, but she'd barely seen the man himself. She'd been meaning to walk down and introduce herself, but she'd been too busy lately. With the holidays coming, her search for work…
"What do you think he wants?" Rob asked.
"Maybe he wants to check if we have power."
"Why? Isn't that obvious by now?"
"All the other cars are gone. We're the only ones home, except for the Hamiltons."
"I thought they left already, too."
"If they did, I didn't see them."
Abby gave the man a hesitant wave, but he didn't return the gesture. She felt a cold pit in her stomach, but this time it had nothing to do with the temperature.
"Should I go talk to him?" Rob asked.
"I don't know. He's acting weird."
"Maybe he has frostbite."
"I don't know, Rob. He's staring right at us. Why won't he wave?"
"I'm not sure."
Rob wrung his hands together, his cheeks red from the cold. His face transformed from an expression of defeat to concern.
"Hello!" he called out to the man.
In the distance, the man just stared, his face indiscernible beneath the hood of his coat. Rob shrugged.
"Maybe he's just as cold as we
are."
"We should go inside, Rob."
"I'll tell you what. Why don't you go inside and dig out that comforter. I'll go talk to him."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"He's in the same predicament as us. Maybe he has some information about the power."
Abby clung to her husband's arm, hoping to dissuade him, but she could tell by the look in his eye that he'd made up his mind. Though he might've failed at getting the car unstuck, he was insistent on doing this. She swallowed, the lump in her throat as cold as ice.
"I'm not leaving you out here, Rob. I'll wait."
"Abs…" Rob sighed. "At least stay in the car where it's warm."
"OK," she conceded.
She ducked back into the vehicle, the cold fabric of her coat creasing against her skin. Once in the driver's seat, she shut the door, but she didn't bother restarting the engine.
She watched her husband through the front windshield. He was already ten feet from the car, plodding his way to the end of the road. The neighbor remained in place, like a specter that had escaped from her dreams.
Why isn't he moving?
The fact that he'd made no effort to greet them was disconcerting. Either the man was sick or cold, or just plain weird. In any case, she didn't feel right letting her husband walk over to him. As she watched Rob trudge farther from the car, she wished she'd made a better effort to stop him.
Everything will be fine.
She tried to convince herself of that fact, even though her hands were shaking. Without thinking, she reached over and locked the doors. Her mother and father always said she was her own worst enemy, letting situations fester until they became worse than they were.
Now she could see what they meant.
She was letting her imagination get the best of her. Again.
Reel it in, Abby, her father used to say.
With the car turned off, condensation had crept over the windows once again, and she wiped at the glass with a gloved hand. It looked like her husband had reached the man. Rob was waving his hands around, expressing his frustration at being stuck. She saw him pointing to the car.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage Page 3
