Mark watched them, as well.
"Are they your neighbors?"
"Technically. But I've never met them. Their car stalled on Arcadia and I picked them up."
"They're lucky you stopped."
Tom nodded solemnly. "If you call that luck. It's awful, what they've had to witness."
"They don't have any other family close by?"
"I don't think so. At least, none that they mentioned."
"I don't know if that makes things worse or better," Mark said. "The thought of losing any more family is terrible."
"I know what you mean." Tom shook his head grimly.
"Do you live alone, Tom?"
"No. I was with my wife." Tom struggled to keep his emotions at bay. "I lost her on the way here. She was killed by one of them."
"I'm so sorry," Mark said. He scuffed the ground with his boot. "I'm glad you made it, though. We're going to get through this, Tom."
Mark patted his shoulder. Tom agreed and stared across the room at the window. The moon shone bright through the clouds. Its presence was like a spectral warning, commanding they stay hidden.
Another hour passed. Or what Tom guessed was an hour. He resumed his position next to the window, keeping an uneasy vigil next to his companions. Ashley barely moved. She tucked her head in Billy's arm, cloaking her face from the landscape outside. Tom was worried about her mental state. Were it not for the occasional sound of her breathing, he might've thought the girl was injured, maybe even dead. Billy drew nervous breaths of his own. Every so often, he checked on his girlfriend.
"Are you two holding up all right?" Tom whispered.
"I wish we'd made it to the shelter," Billy admitted. "If that thing hadn't run out in front of us, maybe we would've gotten to the police."
"I know. But at least we're safe for the moment. There's no way to know if anyone's even there. We'll find help in the morning. I'm sure of it."
Billy nodded, his face still troubled. Tom changed the subject.
"How long have you two lived in town?" he asked, as much to distract himself as to distract the couple.
"About a year," Billy answered. "We moved out of our parents' houses and got an apartment together. We're from West Hartford."
"How long have you been dating?"
"Two years—since senior year in high school. We met in Chemistry."
"I was never good at Chemistry." Tom smiled.
"Me neither." Billy laughed nervously. "Ashley used to help me with my homework."
At the sound of her name, Ashley poked her head from beneath Billy's arm and glanced at Tom. Her face was still ashen, but Tom thought he detected a faint smile.
"Billy would buy me dinner every time he passed a test."
Tom laughed softly. "That's a nice way to get to know each other. Are you both in college?" he asked.
"We're at Tunxis Community. But we're saving to transfer to Central Connecticut."
Tom eyed the couple, his thoughts drifting to Jeremy. Tom's son had always done well in school. He'd even tutored several students in the younger grades. If Jeremy had still been alive, he would've been finishing college about now.
Tom sighed and turned back to the window. Outside, the flakes continued to fall. The SUV had stopped smoking; the hood was covered in a layer of white. The depth of the snow seemed to have doubled. Tom measured the precipitation by the tires of the SUV, which seemed to be sinking into the landscape.
He looked back at the station wagon. The occupants were half-buried next to it, their remains painted white by the storm. He made a mental note of where they'd fallen. If and when he got out of here alive, he'd communicate those details to the police.
Tom wondered if others were hunkered nearby. Certainly, others must be doing the same things they were. Not everyone could've been killed so fast.
He imagined a roomful of people on their haunches, nervously anticipating the end. Maybe even in a building nearby.
Billy tugged his arm.
"I see something!" Billy hissed.
Tom followed his gaze to a building diagonal from the machine shop. The building was the same height as the one they were in—it contained three floors and a wealth of windows. Billy was pointing at the floor across from them. To Tom's surprise, a light was flickering behind one of the panes. Tom saw the outline of a face.
"Is that a woman?"
Tom squinted, wondering if he was seeing things, but clearly, Billy saw the woman, too. The woman moved, her face little more than a reflection in the glass. Tom, Mark, Billy, and Ashley hunched over the windowsill, their noses fogging up the windowpanes as they tried to get a better look. From a distance of about five hundred feet, the woman's face was little more than a featureless oval. Tom pressed his hand against the glass, trying to capture the woman's attention.
Was she signaling them?
Maybe she'd already contacted the police.
A ripple of hope made its way through the others. Soon they were all waving at the woman. Her head swiveled. Tom caught a glimpse of a pink winter jacket in the dim, flickering light.
"Does she see us?" Ashley asked, pressing her own hands against the pane. She reached out as if she could touch the lady.
"I'm not sure," Tom said.
"Over here!" Billy mouthed.
The woman's head swayed back and forth over the building, then over the lifeless landscape. It looked like she was in a trance. Tom set down his rifle and joined his companions in waving. He desperately wanted to run outside, to get to her, but he'd never make it. In a night filled with violent, snarling creatures, a few hundred feet might as well be a mile.
"Keep the noise to a minimum," Mark warned, "We don't want to alert any of those things."
Billy and Ashley quieted down. Tom stared at the woman. He wondered if she'd witnessed the same things they had.
Maybe she'd even seen worse.
"I have an idea," Ashley said.
Before anyone could ask what it was, Ashley snatched the flashlight and flicked it on. She waved it at the window. "Hello!" she cried, her demeanor emboldened by the light.
"Shut that off!" Mark hissed, trying to grab it, but Ashley pulled the flashlight away.
"Hold on a second! She sees us!" Ashley said.
The woman held her lighter closer to the window. She pressed her face against the glass, shouting words they couldn't hear. She'd seen them.
"We have to get to her! She needs help!" Ashley urged, her voice a blend of nervousness and excitement.
Mark made another grab for the flashlight. This time he caught hold of it. He tugged it away and shut it off, grunting in anger.
Tom shook his head. "We can't run out there blindly. It's too dangerous."
The woman continued to wave; after a few seconds, she tried to open the window. It was stuck. The woman pointed across the street at them, then at herself. Then she ducked from view.
"What's she doing?" Billy asked.
A sudden pang of fear hit Tom's gut.
"I think she's coming over," Tom said. He held his palms flat against the window, as if to warn the woman. "Stay put!" he whispered softly, as if she might hear him.
But it was too late. The woman was gone.
Billy and Ashley panicked, the ripple of hope turning to panic. Mark opened one of the windows and held his rifle over the sill. Tom followed suit. He studied the entrance of the building, praying the woman would smarten up and stay inside. The landscape was calm. Alluring.
Don't go out there, he shouted internally.
"Keep an eye on the road," Mark hissed, his rifle swaying back and forth. "If she comes out, we have to cover her."
Tom's heart hammered. He squinted as he studied the landscape, prepared to fire at the first sign of trouble. The front door of the building moved. A patch of snow fell off the top of the door, cascading to the ground.
"Dammit. Here she comes," Mark hissed.
Tom squinted and kept his aim. He saw the sleeve of a coat, the pale glow of a lighter. It looked like
she was peering out into the street. He recalled what had happened to the station wagon's occupants. They hadn't had a chance. The creatures had swarmed them in seconds. This woman would be even more vulnerable—on foot and alone, without a car to protect her.
As soon as the woman emerged, he'd shout at her. He'd do what it took to keep her safe.
Before he got the chance, something banged on the garage door downstairs, startling them.
"What was that?" Ashley cried.
Tom looked into the darkness behind them, then back outside. "I'm not sure."
"It couldn't be the woman. She hasn't even come out yet," Mark said, his voice shaking.
The banging came again—louder and more violent this time. It sounded like the garage door was buckling. Mark stuck his head out the window, inspecting the ground below them, and then leaned back inside. He swung his rifle in front of him.
"Shit!" he hissed. "We have bigger problems. They've found us!"
PART THREE: THE ATTACK
Chapter Eleven
Tom, Mark, Billy, and Ashley hunkered by the windows, listening to the crashing sounds below them.
"How many are there?" Tom asked.
"I can't tell!" Mark's voice wavered. "At least five! Maybe more!"
Tom stood and turned toward the window he'd opened, the cold air rifling against his face. He stuck his gun outside. The ground was fifty feet below. For a brief moment, he feared one of the beasts might leap up and pull him from his perch. The thought was unreasonable, and yet, after everything he'd seen, nothing seemed out of the question.
He braced his knees against the windowsill and leaned outward. The beasts were mashed up against the building in a frenzy. He heard claws tearing at the garage, the heaves of animals that knew what was on the other side. The things piled over each other in a barrage of limbs, clusters of black fur moving faster than Tom could imagine. He gritted his teeth and took aim.
He fired.
The bullet punctured one of the creatures—a furred arm, a face, a torso—he wasn't sure, but the ensuing howl made him recoil, as if the sound itself might attack him. The beast fell to the ground, creating a hole in the pack. Four others looked up. They stared at him with red eyes, snapping and snarling. He took aim at another and fired, but missed. The bullet ripped into the snow.
Movement to his left snagged his attention. Mark was leaning out the adjacent window. The man fired a round of his own, striking another of the things. The creature toppled to the ground, spraying fluid. It didn't get up. The remaining beasts growled and scattered, racing to the other side of the building and barreling out of view.
Tom held his position at the window. His eyes wandered to the fallen beasts. He felt some small sense of satisfaction, though he knew it wouldn't last. He looked over at Mark.
"The bullets work," he said.
"Yes. But we're going to run out of ammunition soon," Mark warned. His face was pale in the moonlight. "Save what you have."
As if on cue, a series of bangs erupted from the rear of the building. A pit formed in Tom's stomach. Despite his hope, they hadn't scared the things off—they'd merely redirected them. He and Mark ducked back into the building.
"How stable are the doors downstairs?" Tom asked.
"I barricaded them as best as I could. But I don't think it'll stop them for long. Not after what we've seen."
Crashes echoed around the neighborhood, bouncing off the adjacent walls. With the neighborhood silent, each thud took on a life of its own, reverberating off walls and alleys. The noise was as terrifying as the beasts—it signified they were closing in.
Tom glanced across the street, searching for the woman they'd seen earlier. In the hysteria of the moment, he'd forgotten her. The parking lot was empty. The door had closed.
But in the distance, he heard screaming. He surveyed the building. It took him a second to determine the windows had been smashed.
No. Not her, too.
Movement drew his attention. More beasts emerged on the horizon. Creatures appeared from alleyways and corners, speckling the landscape black. Their snarls carried with the wind. They converged on the building as if it were a single entity, a fresh carcass fit for consumption.
Tom gritted his teeth and repositioned at the window. The moon's pale glow seeped into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Billy holding his tire iron into the air, threatening the shadows around them. Ashley clung to him for support.
"We'll never last in here," she whispered.
The realization hit Tom like a punch to the stomach. Even though they'd killed several of the beasts—as encouraging as that was—there was no way they could take them all. Sooner or later the things would get inside. He clenched the rifle in his hand, envisioning the four remaining bullets inside. Mark had six, by his count.
How far would the bullets go?
He felt trapped. Caged. It was the way he'd felt back at his house, knowing that reprieve was only temporary. He glanced down, surveying the fifty-foot drop to the ground—much too high to consider jumping without serious injury.
That was a last resort.
A crash emanated from somewhere downstairs. Tom heard the sound of glass shattering, objects being trampled. The beasts were inside.
"Over by the entrance!" Mark yelled, pulling Tom's arm. "We need to get a clear shot once they get to the door! We need to hold them back!"
"What about us?" Billy asked frantically, holding up his tire iron.
"Stay put."
"I want to help!" Billy arched his back. He wielded the tire iron with bravado, even though Tom could tell he was afraid.
"You should hunker down," Tom said. "Protect Ashley."
The girl was clutching her boyfriend's arm, her body wracked with fear.
"Why don't you go in there?" Mark shouted, pointed at the storage room.
"No way. We're not going in there with that thing," Billy said. "No offense."
Tom swallowed. The banging downstairs had grown to a crescendo. Ashley pulled Billy's arm, her face contorted with fright.
"Let's go, Billy! We have to hide."
"But what if that thing is—"
"I'll bring you over," Tom said, wielding his rifle. "Come on!" He collected Billy and Ashley and instructed her to bring the flashlight.
Mark ran toward the barricaded door, skirting machines and tables, while Tom led the frightened kids toward the eastern end of the room. Ashley winked on the flashlight and shined it at the storage room, sniffling as she ran. When they reached the door, Tom raised his gun and sucked in a breath. He threw it open.
Mark's brother, Colton, lay on the floor, his naked body marred with bullet holes. His eyes were wide and staring at the ceiling. The room smelled of copper, sweat, and animal musk.
Tom lowered his gun. Whatever Colton had been was gone. Tom ushered Billy and Ashley in the room and told them to stay quiet. They complied, sidestepping past the body and further into the room.
"Stay put until I come get you," Tom said.
"What if you don't?" Ashley asked, her eyes frantic.
"I will," Tom said simply.
He shut the door without a word, hit with a needle of guilt. There was no time to consider it further. The crashing in the building was getting closer. The things were making their way through the lower level. He flew through the room, leading with the gun. He saw Mark's outline by the door, silhouetted by the moonlight. He wove past several machines, bumping unseen objects on his way over.
He reached his new companion and took aim at the door, staring at the shadows of the machines they'd used to block it. Growls emanated from the bowels of the building. The moon lanced through the windows.
"Get ready," Mark whispered. "They're getting near the stairs."
Tom swallowed. He wasn't even close to ready.
But he had no choice but to prepare.
Chapter Twelve
Mark gritted his teeth. He stared at the door. The noises from the building's basement froze hi
s blood, but in more ways than he let on. His conscience was riddled with guilt. Everything he'd told Tom, Billy, and Ashley was true. He hadn't made up a single bit of it.
The only thing he'd held back was the bite he'd received from Colton.
Mark's arm burned with pain. The blood soaked through the bandage. Earlier, he'd used a spare shirt to wrap himself up, hiding the wound under his coat. He hadn't intended to get this close to his companions.
The last thing he wanted was to put them in jeopardy.
When he'd first seen them out the window, he'd been inspecting his wound with the flashlight, coming to grips with his fate. He hadn't meant to signal them. During the battle with his brother, he'd been bitten. Now, he was as condemned as Colton had been.
It was ironic. Mark had spent months denying what his brother told him, only to be cursed himself.
His plan had been to use the gun on himself. At least that way, he'd be spared the agony of getting innocent blood on his hands.
He'd seen what the guilt had done to Colton.
And then he'd spotted the group out the window, seen the beast coming toward them. Tom, Ashley, and Billy had been attacked so close to the building that he knew he could make a difference. He'd decided to assist them and bring them inside. His hope was to share his story, to keep them safe, and to warn them.
When they were safe, he'd ask Tom to end his life. He'd have Tom bury him and Colton together.
But the urges were already kicking in, overriding his senses and his body. Each time Mark tried to speak, the beast inside quieted his tongue, as if it were trying to preserve itself. The moon was like a silent foe.
And now more of the creatures—his brethren, as despicable as they were—were in the building. Even if Mark's fate were determined, he'd do his best to save his companions.
His head pounded from fighting the change. Sweat leaked from his brow. He recalled Colton's ramblings. According to his brother, some of the beasts were able to control themselves more than others. Colton had never succeeded in controlling his demons. He'd succumbed to depression and drink.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 2): Outage 2 (The Awakening) Page 6