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

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  Tom's winded gasps filled the air.

  A voice rang through the cellar.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "Is anybody down there?"

  The voice was gravelly. Deep. A voice Tom didn't recognize. A light bobbed at the top of the stairs. Tom lunged for the sword, pulling it free from the dead beast, and clambered for a hiding place. He peered out around the side of a box. A man was descending the staircase, holding a flashlight in his hand.

  When the man had taken a few more steps, Tom recognized his outfit. It was a fireman. The fireman wielded an axe in one gloved hand, his mouth stuck open as he surveyed the gory scene. He shined the light around the cellar, illuminating the dead beast, and then caught sight of Tom's hiding place. Too late, Tom noticed a trail of the creature's blood that led right to him. Caught in the glare, Tom shielded his eyes and held up his sword.

  "Are you all right, mister?" the fireman asked.

  Tom froze. He looked down at himself. His jeans had been split in several places. His shirt was spattered with the creature's blood. But he was alive.

  Somehow, he was alive.

  "Sir?" the man asked. "Are you hurt?" He shined his light from the creature and back to Tom again. He held his axe in the air. It didn't take a genius to tell the man was afraid.

  "I think I'm all right," Tom said, his voice wavering. "How'd you know I was down here?"

  "I heard yelling. And then it stopped. I didn't think anyone was alive. I came to see if there were any survivors, but it looks like everyone else is dead."

  "Are the things gone?"

  The fireman swallowed. "They're gone. We watched them run off into the woods when the sun came up."

  "We?"

  "Me and a few other survivors I picked up down the road. Thankfully, the truck was high enough off the ground that we could ward them off. It's been a hell of a night. Enough talk. Let's get out of here. What's your name?"

  "Tom."

  "You look familiar, Tom. Let's get you out of here and get you bandaged up. It looks like your leg is hurt. My name's Al, by the way." Al took a tentative step toward him, holding out a large, gloved hand. He kept a wary eye on the dead creature, holding his axe as if he might have to use it. Tom stepped out from behind the boxes, walking over to the man, finally relaxing. He shook his hand.

  "Don't worry, everything's going to be all right, Tom," Al reassured him. "It's morning. The rest of them are gone."

  Tom glanced at the dead creature on the floor, furrowing his brow.

  Noticing his stare, Al added, "This one must've slipped down here just in time."

  "Are you sure?" Tom asked.

  Al motioned over his shoulder at the door. "See for yourself."

  Tom stared past the man at the open doorway. Sure enough, the light at the top of the stairs was bright, even without the glow of the flashlight. Tom blew a thick, nervous breath. He refused to believe it was over. Movement from the cellar floor drew Tom's attention. Tom glanced over his shoulder.

  As if on cue, the creature on the floor began contorting. Tom stepped back, instinctively raising the sword. But the creature wasn't alive. It was changing. He stared at the convulsing, dead creature, watching its transform into its true self—a pale, withered old man.

  "You coming, Tom?"

  "Yep."

  He winced as he limped toward the staircase, carrying the sword in one tight fist. He followed Al up the staircase. He didn't let the sword go, not even when they reached the landing.

  Halfway through the hall, Tom heard a truck engine rattling. The noise gave credence to Al's story. He glanced over at the fireman.

  "You're sure no one else is alive?" Tom asked. "Not even outside?"

  "I'm sorry, Tom. You're the only one. How many people were with you?"

  Tom swallowed. "Five. Aside from the people that were already dead when we got here, of course."

  "Nobody else made it, Tom."

  Al gave him a sympathetic glance as they walked through the blood-ridden hall. The coppery odor of dead corpses was just as potent as it was before. The main door was broken down, filtering the rays of light that shone into the room. Tom caught a glimpse of the pale sky through the glass doors. The sun was hidden; the moon was gone.

  He kept his eyes peeled, as if the laws of nature might be as corrupt as the vile beings that once roamed the landscape.

  But they didn't seem to be.

  He trudged alongside Al, inhaling deeply as they stepped outside. The fresh air was a relief. Tom drank it in like a man who had been starved of it for weeks, rather than hours. The snow had tapered off, allowing only a few errant flakes to float down from the sky. Tom surveyed the parking lot. The cars were as savaged as the bodies in the hall. Windows were smashed; tires were flattened. Several of the doors hung ajar, as if the beasts had found the coordination to open them. The last remnants of several carcasses lay in the snow.

  Tom shuddered and looked away.

  He'd bury them later.

  He swore he would.

  They kept walking until they'd passed the parking lot. True to Al's word, an enormous red fire truck sat in the road. The exterior was dented and splattered with blood. A few shadows moved behind frosted windows, peering out at Tom, but none of them were people he recognized.

  Regardless, there were survivors. Not everyone in Plainfield was dead. Tom felt a burning swell of hope.

  "Come on," Al prompted him. "I'm sure the others are scared and waiting."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Al bandaged Tom's leg in the fire truck while the other survivors looked on. They watched Tom and nervously introduced themselves. Among them were Abraham and Sally, a couple who had hidden on a nearby rooftop, and several children named Silas and Katherine, who had managed to climb into the trees and hide. Tom greeted them with a smile, telling them his name and where he was from.

  A welcome blast of warmth hit Tom's face from the heating vents. He forced a smile.

  "I can't believe you all found each other," Tom said. "I'm so glad you made it."

  Abraham, Sally, and the children smiled back.

  "My hope is that there are others," Al piped up. "I spoke with several police officers a while ago at the station. Now that those things are gone, we're going to keep searching for others. We're going to do our best to recover."

  Al finished with Tom's bandage. Although his leg hurt, Tom knew how fortunate he'd been. The slice was only a few inches long; it looked worse than it was. He must've received it during his battle in the basement.

  "We'll take better care of it later," Al said. "We're going to get everyone thoroughly checked out at Uconn."

  As if on cue, the radio on the front dash crackled.

  "Al, you there? We got ahold of the medical center. They're going to bring us supplies."

  "We're still getting our bearings. We're going to meet the other officers at the station first," Al explained, giving a grim smile.

  Al put away his supplies and exited the vehicle, heading to the driver's seat. In the meantime, Tom stared out the window at the pale, gray sky. The snow had stopped falling. The dim outline of the sun was barely evident behind the clouds. Despite the somber weather, Tom was grateful for daylight.

  A moment later, the driver's door swung open and Al hopped inside, shaking the seat with the weight of his body. He gripped the wheel.

  "You ready to get out of here?" he asked the fire truck's occupants.

  The question was rhetorical. No one had to answer before he started driving.

  The fire truck hummed as it plowed through the snow-covered streets. Tom stared at the passenger's side mirror, watching the Knights of Columbus recede. After all he'd been through, he was grateful to leave the blood-ridden place behind.

  As they drove to meet the police officers, Tom relayed what he'd been through, sharing stories with the other survivors. His tale matched up with the frightened words of the others. All of them agreed they were lucky to be alive—the children were especia
lly lucky.

  Al spoke on the radio. The crackling sound of other voices was a welcome one.

  "Almost there," he told the waiting officers over the radio.

  Tom looked into the backseat. He smiled at the sight of Silas and Katherine. They were scared and cold, but alive. They stared out the window with wide, frightened eyes. He was sure they'd lost people. They all had. But they'd move past it. They'd have to. Tom joined them in staring outside, watching the wind kick up puffs of snow. He made plans.

  Now that this was over, he'd escape the cold.

  He'd move somewhere warm.

  Just like he'd promised himself. Just like he'd promised Lorena.

  He swallowed and looked into the sky, wondering if his wife was looking back at him.

  A few minutes later, the fire truck pulled into a large parking lot with several police cars. Tom's body jostled as the vehicle navigated through the snow-covered landscape. He stared out the front window. Several people shifted behind the tinted windows of the cruisers as they approached. A police officer talked into a radio.

  Al pulled up facing the other vehicles and stopped. He glanced at the passengers. "I'm going to talk with the police officers and see what the plan is."

  "Okay," Tom said.

  "Would you mind coming with me?" Al asked Tom.

  Tom looked over at the man, surprised.

  "If you're up for it, I could use your help explaining things. I think you have some good information."

  "No problem. I'd be glad to help."

  Before getting out, Tom glanced into the backseat, checking on Abraham, Sally, and the children. They gave him courageous smiles. "You'll be all right in here?"

  "We'll be fine." Sally smiled, clutching the kids. "Thanks for asking."

  Tom hopped out last, his boots padding gently in the snow. He stretched his weary body and closed the door, walking over to join Al. They headed for the group of police officers.

  "I sure hope this storm's over," Al said.

  "Me, too," Tom muttered.

  The officers headed toward them, talking on radios.

  Behind Tom and Al, a lone snowflake kissed the front windowpane of the fire truck. The snowflake melted, leaving a wet splotch against the glass.

  Neither of them noticed.

  Epilogue

  Rosemary kept up with her children as they fled through the trees. Cold wind blew through the snow-covered pines, chilling her body through her jacket. When they'd gotten a safe distance from the road, Rosemary stopped and scowled at Jason and Jeffrey.

  They averted their eyes and shrank away from her.

  "We were supposed to stick together," she hissed.

  The boys stared at the snow. She frowned as she examined their clothes, which were several sizes too big for them.

  "Where'd you get those?" she asked, pointing to their outfits.

  "We found them," Jeffrey explained.

  "They fit better than what we had on." Jason shrugged. "The other clothes we had were all ripped."

  "Did you hide? Did anyone see you?"

  "No one saw anything, Mom. We ran into the trees when we saw the fire truck."

  "Good."

  "This isn't our first time, Mom. You know that. We had to find clothes before we could come out." Jason rolled his eyes.

  "We've talked about this for weeks. I was supposed to be there with you, driving close by, making sure you were safe. Especially with your father gone…"

  The boys' eyes dropped to the floor again. Neither answered. After a condemning silence, Jason spoke up.

  "We were afraid, Mom. We didn't want to hurt you. That's why we took the car to the shelter without telling you. We've been working on controlling the change, but what if we didn't recognize you?"

  Rosemary sighed. She tried to maintain her anger, but her eyes softened. They were good boys. They'd done what they'd done to protect her. She reached into her pocket and gave Jeffrey back his toy truck. He must've dropped in the hall before he changed—probably right before doing what they'd done. Thank God they'd left the building. If they'd stayed…

  Jeffrey took the truck and smiled.

  "Where's your car at, Mom?" Jason asked.

  "I got stuck a few streets from home," Rosemary said. "We'll have to get it later."

  "How'd you get here, then?"

  "I got a ride from someone. I told him whatever I needed to get me to the shelter." Rosemary answered. "I did what I needed to get to you boys."

  Jason and Jeffrey smiled. Their faces contained the delighted expressions of children who'd gotten away with something.

  "They're getting smarter, you know," Rosemary warned. "You need to be more careful. If you'd stayed at that hall any longer than you did…"

  "We left right after. Dad taught us not to stay in one place for too long."

  Rosemary nodded.

  She stared at Jason and Jeffrey, noting the bloodstains on their faces. She swallowed. She'd denied the creatures' existence once. She'd tried to argue, to make sense of it. But that was back when she first found out what Ron was. She'd almost left him, after he'd changed the kids. She'd refused to undergo the change herself.

  She couldn't do the things her family did.

  But her children were her world, and she'd do anything to protect them. No matter what they were. Her gaze drifted to the trees as they continued walking, where several flakes of snow quietly drifted past. Ron's battle with cancer had been one of the hardest things they'd faced as a family, but they'd gotten through it. Somehow she'd take care of her children.

  She'd pick up where Ron left off.

  "The storm's not over, is it?" Jason asked. "I can still feel it."

  "It doesn't look like it." Rosemary stared at her children. They met her eyes. "Make sure you stay with me tonight. I mean it."

  Jason and Jeffrey sighed.

  "We will, Mom," Jason said. "We promise."

  Author's Note

  If you're reading this, I want to thank you for finishing the OUTAGE series. One of the things I've always enjoyed was when an author took a minute to explain where the story came from. I've never done that before, so I figured, why not? If this is the sort of thing that interests you, read on. If not, thanks again for sticking with the series.

  I truly hope you enjoyed it!

  The idea for OUTAGE was born out of a particularly severe winter storm that we had in Connecticut on October 29th, 2011. The accumulation—which was originally predicted to be four to six inches—ended up being greater than two feet. Because it was so early in the season, the storm took many people by surprise. Most of the foliage was still on the trees, making the branches heavy, and many of them cracked and fell, knocking out the electricity and blocking the roads. By the storm's end, more than half the state's residents were without power, and many were stuck at home.

  The governor declared a state of emergency.

  Motels were overbooked; stores quickly sold out of generators. Those that couldn't get out (and didn't have generators) were forced to remain in their homes, stranded without heat or electricity.

  I remember lying in bed as the house got colder, listening to the sound of branches cracking from the trees and falling to the ground. The neighborhood seemed deserted. The white roofs and power lines looked eerie and strange.

  And I had a thought.

  What if our support systems went down, and something came out to take advantage of us? What if there was no one to call for help?

  That's how OUTAGE was born.

  If you enjoyed OUTAGE, let me know by leaving a review or by dropping me an email at twpiperbrook@gmail.com. If enough people call for it, there's a chance I'll write OUTAGE 4.

  Thanks again for reading, and until we meet again, keep warm and stay safe.

  -Tyler Piperbrook

  *Reviews*

  If you enjoyed OUTAGE 3: VENGEANCE, please take a moment to leave a review! Leaving a review will ensure you have good luck for the rest of the day. OK, maybe it won't. But it
's worth a try, right?

  If you have a question or comment about OUTAGE or the CONTAMINATION series, feel free to drop me a line at twpiperbrook@gmail.com. I love hearing from readers!

  -Tyler Piperbrook

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  About The Author

  T.W. Piperbrook was born and raised in Connecticut, where he can still be found today. He is the best-selling author of the CONTAMINATION series, the OUTAGE series, and the co-author of THE LAST SURVIVORS. In addition to writing, the author has spent time as a full-time touring musician, touring across the US, Canada, and Europe.

  He now lives with his wife, a son, and the spirit of his Boston Terrier.

  Have a question or comment? Connect with me below!

  Email: twpiperbrook@gmail.com

  FACEBOOK: T.W. Piperbrook

  Website: www.twpiperbrook.com

  Blog: www.twpiperbrook.blogspot.com

  OTHER WORKS BY T.W. PIPERBROOK:

  CONTAMINATION ZOMBIE SERIES:

  CONTAMINATION BOXED SET (BOOKS 0-3) - FREE!

  CONTAMINATION 4: ESCAPE

  CONTAMINATION 5: SURVIVAL