The beast lifted her by the leg, intent on flipping her over, but Abby lashed out and kicked it in the chest. The thing lost its grasp, and she started to move. It grabbed onto her boot, but Abby slid her foot free.
All of a sudden she was crawling on hands and knees, faster than she'd ever crawled before. Her clothes hung in tatters, threatening to slow her down. But Abby held fast to her mission. She kept her eyes fixed on the gun, her mind on what she needed to do. Before she knew it, the piece was in her hands.
Abby turned and squeezed the trigger.
The shot was deafening, ripping through the foyer of the house and echoing up the stairs. She heard a yelp—not the snarl of a predator but the cry of outwitted prey—and the creature fell to the floor. The storm howled, throwing a gust of wind through the open doorway.
Was it dead?
Abby didn't wait to find out. She grabbed her missing boot and ran into the night.
The snow had stopped. She slipped on her boot, heart still pounding, and trudged across a neighborhood that now resembled a wilderness.
Abby kept on, despite the gnawing ache in her leg and the pain in her skull. Several times she looked behind her, expecting to find the creature in pursuit, but all she could see was the pink trail of blood from her leg, dripping like a slow leak from a rusty hose.
She needed help. She needed medical attention, and she needed the police.
The snow was now about eight inches deep, and she trudged through it with all the speed she could muster. Her sweatpants and shirt were ripped; her coat was gone. The cold bit at her exposed skin. She passed by her house, then by the stranded Civic. The puddle of her husband's blood was covered over in white, the vehicle a monument to his existence.
She was hit with a sudden thought, and she paused and tugged at the rear door handle. The door opened with effort, groaning on half-frozen hinges. Her bags were in the trunk, but there was a hoodie on the backseat. She retrieved it and pulled it on. The fabric wasn't the thickest, but it warmed her several degrees. There was no use delaying any longer. The car was stuck, and she needed to get out of here. She slammed the door shut and kept moving.
The intersecting road was several hundred yards away. If she could reach it, she might find help. Although she hadn't seen a car pass in several hours, the road was her best chance at escaping the neighborhood.
The wind had died down, plunging the neighborhood into a new depth of quiet. All Abby could hear was the puff of breath from her lungs and the occasional whimper that escaped her lips. She listened for sounds around her—the crunch of a footstep, the wheeze of a second set of lungs—but the area was mercifully silent.
She did her best to rid her mind of the beast, concentrating instead on a new set of odds before her: getting herself help before she bled to death or the cold consumed her. Whichever came first.
Though she was covering ground, Abby's pace was uneven. Her head was swimming and she felt off balance. Even so, she was able to make progress, and after a few minutes she'd traversed the length of the street.
The intersection of Jameson and Pickney was marked with a stop sign. Next to it was a metal pole with two road markers. In better weather, Abby could expect to see a car every few minutes or so. Tonight, the street was empty.
She looked to her left and to her right, finding nothing but trees and snow. Normally she appreciated the rural setting, but tonight it filled her with desperation. The nearest neighborhood wasn't for a mile in either direction.
Help seemed light years away.
She staggered out onto the roadway, scouring the road for tire tracks. Her hope was to see indentations in the snow, some evidence that a car had recently passed. It was possible one had gone by while she'd been at the Hamiltons', maybe even while she'd been passed out.
The snow looked untouched. If someone had driven by, it'd been a while.
In any case, she needed to keep moving. The longer she remained in place, the dizzier she became, and Abby had the sinking feeling that she was about to lose consciousness.
Before plowing ahead, she scanned the road in both directions. There was no sign of headlights. The road to her left led to the center of town. She bore in that direction.
As she cleared the intersection, she gave one last glance behind her. She caught sight of her house in the distance and fought the sickening feeling that now came with the image.
Keep moving.
As she walked, she wiggled her fingers and toes, hoping to restore some of the circulation she'd lost. Although the snow had ceased, the cold had intensified, and it adhered to her like a new layer of skin. The trees on either side of the road loomed over her like a platoon of many-armed guards.
Each footstep was more difficult than the last; her muscles felt like rubber. She'd been on these roads numerous times, but never on foot. Abby tried to envision the neighborhood in front of her, but couldn't gauge how far she'd traveled. Without landmarks to guide her, the road seemed to stretch on forever, and each patch of forest seemed identical to the last.
Come on, Abby.
She had to make it. She hadn't come this far to die.
Rob would've wanted her to continue.
She gritted her teeth, holding back tears, and charged ahead. After a few minutes, she noticed something glowing on the trees ahead. She squinted and wiped her face, but the light was still there. It took her a minute to identify the source.
A car was coming up from her rear.
Abby spun. In the distance, she could make out the silhouette of a vehicle. It seemed to glide across the snow, its form illuminated in the backlight of its high beams. The engine purred louder as it approached.
This was it. Help at last.
Abby raced out into the road, heart racing, and then collapsed.
Chapter Thirteen
Headlights threatened to blind her.
Abby tried to sit up, but her body refused to cooperate. She'd fallen on her side, facing the vehicle, and she peered through the glare. Despite her efforts, she was unable to make out anything but lines and shadows. After a few seconds, a voice sprang from the light.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but her lips were frozen. She wiped her face with a gloved hand. She was still holding the gun. She lowered it to her side and pulled herself into a sitting position.
Snow clung to her sweatpants and hoodie. She brushed at it with an unsteady hand, eyes bleary. A car door opened and shut, and footsteps crunched the snow. A few seconds later, a man knelt beside her.
"Are you OK?"
The man was wearing a knit cap and a coat. Gray hair sprang from the sides of his hat, and his face was creased with worry.
"I-I think so," Abby managed.
She tried to get to her feet, but gravity pulled her back to the ground.
"Wait a sec, I'll help you up."
The man held out his arm, and she took hold of his sleeve. She staggered to her feet, noticing a puddle of blood where her leg had landed.
"Christ, you're bleeding!" the man observed. He stared at the snow where she'd been lying, then caught sight of the gun. He immediately backed away.
"We don't want any trouble, miss."
"I was attacked…please…"
The man eyed her nervously.
"There's something out there. It got my husband…my neighbors…" she pleaded.
The man glanced back at the vehicle, and Abby saw another person sitting in the passenger seat.
"We can help you, but you have to put that thing away," the man said.
Abby tucked the pistol in the lip of her jeans. Once it was out of sight, the man helped her over to the SUV and into the backseat. She slid across the cushions, wincing at the pain in her leg. She was immediately hit with a blast of warmth. She closed her eyes and absorbed the heat.
When she opened her eyes, a woman with curly gray hair was staring at her from the front seat.
"I'm Lorena Sotheby, and this is my husband Tom
. It looks like you're bleeding pretty badly. Let me help you."
The woman climbed into the backseat while her husband took the driver's seat. Abby noticed the woman was holding a T-shirt in her hand, and she began to wrap it around Abby's leg.
"I'm sorry, but we don't have a first aid kit. How long have you been outside, sweetheart?"
"A few hours, I think," Abby guessed.
"You must be freezing."
Abby attempted to answer, but her teeth were chattering too hard. The SUV hummed as Tom put it into drive, and before long they were rolling over the snow-covered road. From the front seat, she heard the sounds of numbers being dialed on a cellphone.
"What happened?" Lorena asked, still tending to her leg.
Abby opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. For the past few minutes, she'd been so caught up in her survival that she'd been able to repress what she'd seen. Now the images came flooding back, like a nightmare long forgotten.
"There was something in my neighborhood. S-some kind of animal or something. It attacked my husband, my neighbors, and it almost got me."
Lorena gave her a long look.
"Where are you from?"
"I live on Jameson Street. The one you just passed."
The woman's eyes, which had already been filled with worry, seemed to darken. Her gaze flitted to the front seat. Tom was looking at her in the rearview mirror.
"What did this thing look like?"
"You're not going to believe me, but it looked sort of like a—"
"A wolf?"
Abby swallowed and nodded. "But bigger. The size of a man. How'd you—?"
She looked from the rearview to the woman next to her. Lorena's eyes were wide and sympathetic.
"They're everywhere, honey. We've been trying to call the police."
Abby's heart knocked against her ribcage. From the front seat, she could hear the sound of Tom cursing. It sounded like his phone had no service. Although she hadn't noticed it before, there was a rifle lying on the passenger seat.
"This can't be happening," she whispered.
Lorena shook her head. "That's what we've been saying."
Abby's gaze flew around the road, but the outside was dark and glossy, as if they were traveling across the arctic tundra. She had the sudden fear that the tires would lock up, that they'd get stuck in a patch of snow the way she and Rob had earlier, but the car continued.
They're everywhere, honey…
Lorena's words rattled in Abby's head like a penny in a tin can, and try as she might, she was powerless to dismiss them. She instinctively felt for her own weapon, even though she had little faith that it would protect her.
The car had fallen silent, but she could hear the faint sound of static through the radio as Tom adjusted the dials. A few of the stations were playing music, and he flipped by them, searching for a voice.
"Where are you from?" Abby asked.
"We live in the neighborhood back there," Lorena said, pointing to the road behind them. "The things broke into the house, and Tom shot at one of them."
"Did you see anyone else in the neighborhood?"
"A lot of people left when the storm got bad, but we decided to stick it out. Tom and I have a generator. After those things broke in, we got the hell out of there as fast as we could. Everyone else that was left in the neighborhood was killed."
A gust of wind blew again from outside, lifting currents of snow over the hood. Tom hit the windshield wipers, and Abby watched as they slogged back and forth over the snow, grinding it against the windshield.
"Dammit," Tom spat. "If we can get to town, maybe we can track down help. I just wish these wipers would cooperate."
She heard the whir of a motor, and then saw a streak of washer fluid hit the pane. The wipers were stuck. Tom hit a lever, increasing their speed. Finally the snow gave in, toppling to the side.
"You said the thing attacked your husband?" he called back.
"Yes. He…died."
Abby could barely formulate the words. Once she'd spoken them, she lowered her head and cried into her hands. Lorena reached over to console her.
"It's OK, honey. We're going to get you out of here."
Progress on the road was slow. Because of the snow's depth, the tires of the SUV fought to keep traction, and Tom fought to control the wheel. The vehicle swayed back and forth, as if they were aboard an ocean liner, fighting the current of a stormy sea. Abby resumed her watch out the windows, alternating her gaze between the road and the forest.
Although they'd been driving for several minutes, she was hard-pressed to determine their location. The trees were swathed in snow, and she recognized none of the landmarks that would've been apparent to her in drier weather.
Heat blasted from the vents around her.
"Is that too much for you?" Tom asked.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks."
Her body was starting to warm to the vehicle's temperature, but her mind was still numb. Detached. She blinked hard, letting her eyes close. If it weren't for the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she might've succumbed to exhaustion. Her mind wandered the events from the previous hours, replaying them over and over, as if they were stuck on a loop.
Her husband's body…the battle with the creature…
It was hard to imagine continuing life without Rob. They'd been together for four years, and married for one, but already it felt like an eternity. They'd sworn to spend their lives together, and now it was over.
Even if she escaped the neighborhood—even if she never went back—the memories would haunt her forever. She wasn't positive of much, not anymore, but she was positive of that.
"Hang in there," Lorena said from beside her. "We'll get through this, honey." Despite the woman's words, she didn't seem convinced.
"I hope so," Abby whispered.
When Abby opened her eyes, there was a large, snow-covered object parked diagonally on the road front of them. It took her a few seconds to determine it was a car. The exterior was glossed in white, but she could see patches of green paint sticking out from underneath. The taillights were still lit.
Tom flashed the high beams, but there was no response from the driver.
"I'm going to pull up next to them," Tom said.
"Do you think that's a good idea? Maybe we should just keep going," Lorena said.
The woman was trying to remain calm, but Abby could hear her voice shaking. Tom glanced at her.
"Whoever's inside might be stuck. We can't leave them out here."
Abby studied the stalled vehicle. The driver's side window was rolled down a crack, and she could make out a faint glow from somewhere inside.
Tom applied the brakes, and she felt the tires of the SUV slide on the slippery snow. She watched the forest on either side of her, expecting something to spring from the trees, but nothing did. She turned her attention back to the vehicle. The SUV's headlights bounced off the driver's side mirror, and she thought she glimpsed a person's silhouette inside.
Tom pulled up next to the car, letting the SUV idle. Then he hit one of the buttons to lower the passenger side window.
"Are you OK?" Tom yelled across the car.
The person in the vehicle was little more than a shadow. Tom leaned farther and called out again. Lorena swiped at the condensation on the glass in the back window. Abby peered over, trying to get a better look through it.
After a minute of silence, Tom turned around, craning past the headrest.
"It looks like there's someone in the driver's seat," he said.
He threw the SUV into park.
"I'll hop out and check. I'll only be a minute. Keep the doors locked."
Both Abby and Lorena opened their mouths to argue, but before they could stop him, Tom grabbed the rifle and ripped open the driver's side door. He hopped into the snow, then closed the door behind him. The doors locked. Abby heard the crunch of his boots on powder, then saw his illuminated figure in the glare of the headlights.
>
In spite of his bravado, he seemed afraid.
Abby and Lorena swiveled in all directions, their heads turning in unison. Since stopping the vehicle, the sky seemed to have grown darker. The snow continued to fall from overhead, blotting the windows and evaporating on the hood like melted butter. Abby swallowed, fighting the feeling of panic that threatened to overtake her once again. She kept her eyes glued to the windows, her hands clutched on the back of the driver's seat.
When Tom reached the driver's side of the vehicle, he rapped on the glass, his rifle under his arm.
"Don't worry, we're here to help!" he called out.
There was no answer.
For a brief, selfish moment, Abby wanted nothing more than to leave the scene behind, for Tom to come back and for them to keep driving. But if the person was in trouble, she knew it'd be wrong to leave them behind.
If it weren't for Tom and Lorena, she'd be out there alone herself.
Tom knocked on the window again, but there was still no response. He waited another moment, then tugged on the door handle and swung the door open.
He immediately stumbled back in the snow.
"Holy Jesus!" he cried.
He raced back to the SUV, struggling to keep his footing. The rifle bounced in his hands. When he reached the vehicle, he jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the door.
"What happened?" Lorena asked.
Tom didn't answer. His eyes were blazing, and his face was ashen. He threw the vehicle into drive and hit the accelerator. Without a word, he propelled the SUV forward. The wipers dragged across the windowpane.
Lorena put her hand on her husband's shoulder.
"It'll be OK, honey."
Abby heard him swallow, but he still didn't reply.
As they passed the stalled vehicle, Abby's eyes wandered to the open door. Her stomach immediately soured.
The driver was a man in his forties. His throat had been ripped out, and his organs were spilled across his stomach.
She clutched her hands over her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit. Her mind sputtered. She blinked several times, trying to rid her mind of the image she had seen, but it was already planted in her memory. In the past few hours, Abby had seen more bloodshed than she'd seen in a lifetime, and she wanted nothing more than to leave it behind.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage Page 7
