"You sure about this?" he asked Rosemary.
She nodded. Her eyes were laced with fear, but she showed no signs of changing her mind. "Yep."
"Keep a lookout. Warn me if you see anything."
Rosemary managed a smile. "Will do, Tom. Thanks. You didn't have to do this."
"Yes, I did," he said.
He gave her a faint smile, then put the vehicle into reverse.
Chapter Seven
Tom kept the lights off as they backed out of Colton's. The motion of the vehicle was enough to betray them, but Tom didn't want to attract any more attention. The tires struggled over the thick snow, as hesitant now as they'd been when he arrived. He put his arm over the passenger seat and stared behind them, watching the street get closer. When he reached the road, he did a U-turn.
Tom stuck his head out the window, surveying the empty driveways around them. There were no other cars in view. Several of the houses had garages, but he was unsure if they contained cars. The engine sputtered slightly as they pulled down the street.
"Is the car working all right?" Rosemary asked.
"It seems like it," Tom muttered. "The engine's probably just cold, like we are."
Rosemary shivered in agreement.
Tom nodded and kept driving. They passed the quiet, deserted houses. Tom surveyed each of the windows, expecting to see something peering out at them—a face, a flashlight pointed in their direction; worse yet, the glowing eyes of one of the beasts. They saw none of those. Tom wondered if any residents were still in their homes, terrified and confused. He saw several shattered windows that he hadn't noticed on the way in. The door of one house hung off its hinges, a gaping hole marking the threshold. He pictured a resident waiting in his home, gun in his lap, waiting to blow a hole in the first person he saw.
Frankly, he wouldn't blame him.
He kept driving.
At the end of the road, he turned to Rosemary.
"Which route did your kids take to the shelter?" he asked.
She looked left and right, catching her bearings. "They'd have been coming from the opposite direction, from the highway. We should go directly there. We wouldn't have passed them."
Tom nodded. "That makes sense. If we don't find them, we can backtrack to the interstate."
Rosemary agreed. She craned her neck as they pulled out of Colton's neighborhood. The prospect of finding her children seemed to have rejuvenated her, temporarily staving off her fear. She pointed down the road toward a row of houses that were as dark as the ones they'd passed.
"That's where I ran off the road," Rosemary stated, pointing toward a barely visible street sign. Despite her remark, she made no suggestion of returning. Both her car and its possessions were lost—at least for now.
Tom rolled out onto the main road, grateful to be out of the neighborhood. After a few turns, they entered a commercial thoroughfare. The road was wide and devoid of trees. The open land meant fewer hiding places for the creatures. Tom was grateful for that, at least.
He tipped his rifle over the windowsill. The gaping hole from the broken window was like an invitation to the beasts. He noticed Rosemary turning the pistol in her hands. If it came down to it, he'd have to count on her to shoot. If they encountered a cluster of the things, he wouldn't be able to fight them all himself.
He hoped she could handle it.
They passed underneath several dead streetlights. A snapped cable hung from one of the telephone poles, dangling in the road, creating a hazard for any would-be commuters.
Tom shook his head at how little that mattered now.
The buildings on either side of them were as lifeless as the neighborhoods they'd left behind. Tom found himself looking for differences in the landscape, clues that someone had traveled here. Once again, he had the sinking, depressed feeling that everyone was gone. But he and Rosemary had found each other. That had to count for something. The woman's search for her children had inspired him.
Tom couldn't envision returning home. Not now. Not ever. Lorena was gone. Jeremy was dead. There was a chance this woman's family was alive, and that he could reunite them. Her quest had become his. As dangerous as their mission was, it was better to be on the move than waiting in a dank cellar, prepared to die.
They'd only gone a few blocks when Tom saw movement next to one of the distant buildings. He clutched his rifle and stared out the windshield.
"Be ready," he told Rosemary.
She nodded. He hoped she was.
Chapter Eight
Ahead of them was a block of brick buildings, each identical in the snow's coating. In the time they'd been driving, movement had become apparent between them. Tom steered toward the opposite side of the street, keeping a buffer zone from the approaching danger.
He aimed his gun and prepared to shoot.
The movement became more pronounced, and soon a figure emerged from between the buildings. To Tom's surprise, the movement didn't belong to a beast, but to a survivor. The man staggered out from an alley and ran out into the road. He was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, as if he'd been pulled from bed and into the worst nightmare of his life. His face was contorted in confusion and fear. He cried for help as he stumbled out into the street.
"Oh my God, Tom!" Rosemary shouted, pointing. "We have to stop!"
"Please!" the man shrieked.
The man entered the street, coughing up blood. The front of his shirt was stained red. His face was pale, his eyes laced with terror. He stopped a few hundred feet in front of them and collapsed to his knees.
Tom rammed the brakes.
"We have to get him in the car!" Rosemary hissed.
"We will!" Tom said. "Hold on!"
He decelerated, startled at the sight of another survivor. Just a moment ago, he'd been ready to ward off another of the beasts. The sight of the man was unexpected. But it was also a relief. He just hoped they could provide some assistance to the severely wounded man. He wasn't sure if the hospitals were accessible, but they could determine that later.
Tom clung to the wheel as they grew closer to the man's fallen figure.
Before Tom could get close, one of the beasts tore out from a building and across the road, as if it'd been lying in wait. The man shrieked and crawled backward, but the beast was on him before he could make ground. The creature slashed the man's neck. Then it wrapped its claws around the man's skull and twisted.
The man's head detached.
The beast howled, casting aside the headless corpse and dropping the severed appendage. The snow around the body turned pink. Then the beast descended and began to feed. It looked up at them with hungry eyes and a mouthful of flesh.
Tom's mouth dropped open in horror. He leaned out the window and fired, but his shot missed. The beast rose from the man and hurtled toward the vehicle.
"Drive! Drive!" Rosemary screamed.
Tom swerved, but his reduced speed had cost him. He collided with the beast, whose body ripped the driver's side mirror clean off. The beast's snarls heightened as it ran behind the car.
Rosemary shrieked in panic.
The creature slashed the back of the car with its claws. The station wagon struggled to regain traction, the tires spinning in the snow. The engine stammered.
Please don't stall, Tom thought frantically.
The beast dug its nails into the vehicle, working its way to the driver's side window. Tom clung to the steering wheel with one hand, aiming the rifle out the window with the other. He fired, but missed.
Glass shattered behind him. The beast reached inside the backseat, clawing the back of Tom's headrest. Tom ducked to avoid its swiping claws.
"Shit!" he yelled in panic. With the beast right behind him, he barely had room to escape its savage swipes. He didn't dare take his foot off the accelerator.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosemary spin in the passenger's seat, flattening herself against the dashboard and aiming her gun. She screamed at the invading beast and fired. The g
unshot was deafening in the confines of the car. The creature fell from the vehicle and landed somewhere outside. At the same time, the tires caught hold, and Tom reclaimed the wheel. He steered the station wagon away from the fallen monster.
He looked in the rearview mirror, watching the beast struggle on the ground. The headless body of the man lay on the ground behind the creature.
"Jesus…" Rosemary whispered, her face ashen. She lowered her gun.
Tom fought a wave of bile. "It's okay. We're okay," he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself.
Tom touched the back of his head. His fear was that he'd sustained some serious, numbing wound. But he was mercifully intact.
The image of the headless man collapsing in the snow replayed in his head. He recalled the look of terror on the man's face when he'd run out into the road. One minute the man had been making a last, desperate attempt to escape, the next he'd been dead.
"God help us," Tom whispered.
Chapter Nine
Tom drove for several blocks without turning while snow emptied from the sky. When they'd driven a safe distance from the gory scene, he stuck his head out the window and assessed the damage. He stared at the empty place where the driver's side mirror had been, observing deep gouges on the side of the vehicle. Air gusted through both broken windows. It was as if the beasts were tearing the car apart piece-by-piece.
He stuck his head back inside.
"How's it look?" Rosemary asked from beside him.
"It's a little damaged, but I think it'll make it," he said. He glanced over at Rosemary, who was still shaking. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," she confirmed.
Tom exhaled. Given the hours he'd been alone, it felt good to have someone with him, watching his back. Rosemary's survival instinct had saved his life. His ears rang from the gunshot.
"Thanks for shooting that thing," he said.
"N—No problem," she said. "I didn't even think about what I was doing. It was so big I couldn't miss it."
Tom wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, composing himself. His thoughts returned to the man they'd tried to save.
"What happened to that guy was awful," he said, shaking his head. "I've seen a lot of things tonight, but dammit…" His voice trailed off.
"I wish we'd gotten to him sooner."
"Even if we were able, I think he was too far gone," Tom said gravely.
They kept an uneasy vigil for the next few miles as they drove through another commercial center. Around them sprung up several fences, blocking off the perimeter of a slew of industrial buildings. The parking lots were empty. For a second, Tom contemplated finding a way past the fences and locking themselves inside.
Certainly they'd be safer there.
He looked over at Rosemary. Their encounter with the vicious beast was sobering. "Are you sure you want to go to the shelter? Maybe we should hole up somewhere. Those buildings over there are—"
"Keep going."
Her knuckles were white on the gun's handle, her lips clenched tight. As shaken as she was, Rosemary was resolved. Tom respected her determination. He curved with the road, bypassing a snow-embossed stop sign. The tires spun as they acclimated to the next street.
They passed several more cars, stalled out and abandoned. Most were small sedans, their bodies swallowed by the snow.
"What kind of car was Jason driving?" he asked Rosemary.
"A Nissan Rogue," she said. "It was Ron's old car."
"What color?"
"Black."
Tom envisioned the trail of dead cars he'd passed on the way to Colton's. None of them had been black SUV's.
"It's pretty good in the snow," Rosemary said, as if sensing his thoughts. "Jason and Jeffrey should've had no trouble getting to the shelter." Despite her words, he could sense her uneasiness.
They rode past several more commercial buildings—brick, square structures that housed manufacturing facilities. Tom was reminded of his own job during the week. Aside from his job at the elementary school on weekends, Tom worked for an assembly-line tool manufacturer. His job was to do quality analysis of the tools, ensuring they were up to standard. His position was repetitive, but stable. He enjoyed the company of his co-workers. Most were local residents that he'd known for years.
Most were probably dead.
The thought hit him with such force that his nerves stung. Tom found himself wondering if he'd ever return. Even if things returned to normal, he couldn't envision clocking in for his shift at the plant, resuming his inspections. His former life was as dead as the bodies he'd encountered.
Soon they passed underneath a bridge. Next to the road was a large field, beyond which was the Plainfield Airport. In the warmer months, Tom might see a small aircraft departing or descending. Tonight the sky was empty. No stars or clouds glossed the horizon, only the gaping, ominous outline of the moon.
Rosemary sat up in the passenger's seat, eyes glued to the sky.
"I've never seen the moon during a storm like this."
"It's eerie, all right," Tom agreed.
Rosemary stared up at the glowing round orb, her face illuminated in the glow. Her coat seemed too big for her body. Tom found himself thinking how frail and fragile they were, compared to what they were up against. The man who'd lost his head was proof of that. Soon they'd passed the airport and reached another road.
"The Knights of Columbus is only a few miles away," Tom announced as he blew past a stop sign.
"I know. I live here, too, remember?" Rosemary said, giving him a grim smile.
Tom returned the gesture.
They drove until they reached the town center. The buildings were tall and aged, the windows prevalent and spacious. For a second, Tom pretended he was on a simple errand, picking groceries up or getting his wife some flowers. It only took a second to determine things were different.
The town center looked like a crime scene. The storefronts were smashed and bloodstained, the buildings splattered red. A sense of dread burrowed inside Tom. He pictured a cordon of police cars blocking the road, counting the casualties. But the street was silent and empty. The cars at the side of the road were equally abandoned.
Tom stared at the side of the road, catching sight of a pink patch of snow on the hood of a Chevy Suburban. A body jutted out from the curb, legs splayed at irregular angles. A block farther, he saw another body, this one lying on the white-covered sidewalk. Another hung limply from a fractured window. The person looked like he or she had been impaled on the jagged glass.
"Jesus," Tom muttered.
"It's like no one even exists anymore," Rosemary whispered.
"That's what it's felt like, all night," Tom agreed, his stomach tight.
Tom kept his eyes glued to the buildings. Despite the apparent vacancy, he sensed something deep in the bowels of the stores. The street had become a living, breathing entity, watching them and tracking their movements. He held his breath, as if the simple act alone might disguise the purr of the car engine as the vehicle glided through the snow.
He prayed they'd pass unimpeded.
They had no such luck.
They'd gone another few blocks before Rosemary went rigid. Tom's blood froze.
In the recesses of the shattered, caved buildings, movement began where there had been none before. The wind hissed, blowing a squall of snow across the hood of the station wagon.
Rosemary stifled a gasp. Tom looked left and right. A pack of beasts lurked around the edges of buildings and emptied from the interiors of buildings on both sides of the street. A chorus of repressed growls filled the air, bubbling into full-fledged roars. Tom grabbed the rifle from his lap, aiming it out the window. The creatures crept into the road. They moved slowly at first, as if they were emerging from hibernation, testing their balance. And then they ran.
A handful of beasts loped into the street in front of them, the moonlight illuminating the tips of their claws. Tom tried to adjust the vehicle's path, but there was no gettin
g around them. In mere moments, the road had been effectively blocked. Tom knew how quick the things were. There was no time to turn around.
"We're trapped!" Rosemary hissed.
She was right. There was no way to steer clear of the creatures; the station wagon was on a collision course for them. Tom had the panicked, hopeless feeling of outwitted prey.
"We'll have to shoot our way through!" Tom yelled.
Instead of slowing down, he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine groaned and stuck for a second, as if the station wagon was as stunned as the occupants. And then they were barreling forward, directly at the beasts. Tom watched them get closer, his breath stuck in his throat.
"Hang on!" he yelled.
The ensuing collision was like striking a brick wall. Tom jolted as several creatures collided with the grill. Claws shrieked against metal; bodies tumbled over the hood. At the same time, more beasts ran up to the sides of the vehicle, slicing through the opened windows. Tom shot his rifle through the open driver's side, hitting several and sending them back into the street. Even as he fended them off, others took their place. Rosemary screamed as one of the passenger's side windows shattered.
The station wagon kept going, fighting through the scrum of beasts. Tom's world became a flurry of gunshots and commotion. He fired. Fired again. His hands came off the wheel as he battled the creatures, ramming the gun barrel out the window and firing. He heard the crack of Rosemary's pistol beside him, her panicked screams punctuating the air. Beasts toppled and fell from the car. For what felt like an eternity, the world was a blur of motion and noise.
And then the vehicle was weaving onto the road's shoulder, speeding toward one of the buildings. Realizing where he was headed, Tom yanked the wheel, wrenching the car back on course.
Wounded howls filled the night behind them. He looked in the rearview, watching the beasts writhe in the road.
Tom wiped his cheeks. His face was spattered with blood and remains; the air was thick with the musky scent of the creatures. The car cut through the snow and continued as if nothing had happened.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) Page 4
