See, they're talking. Everything's fine. I should probably go out and join them.
She moved her hand to the door handle, but couldn't convince herself to open it. Within seconds, the front windshield was completely fogged and covered. She sighed.
She'd wait for her husband to get back, and when he returned, they'd go back to the house together.
With the heat off, the car had cooled considerably, and she found herself rubbing her gloved hands together to keep warm. She patted the car keys in her pocket. Come on, Rob. If her husband didn't hurry, she'd start the car again.
Several minutes passed.
Abby closed her eyes and reopened them. Regardless of the temperature, she felt herself falling asleep. She'd only slept a few hours, and she was exhausted. It'd be good to slip back under the covers, that was for sure.
Her husband would keep her warm.
Abby's anxiety began to dissipate, and in its place was the sense of adventure. Who needed a hotel, anyway? They'd have just as much fun at home.
They'd make this work. Even if they had to use every blanket in the house to keep warm, they'd manage. As long as they kept their spirits up, they'd get through the storm, with or without power.
She smiled at the thought.
It'd been several minutes, and she was getting cold again. Rob still wasn't back.
She reached into her sweatpants for the car keys, intent on starting the engine. She'd just closed her fist around them when something crashed against the windshield.
The glass spider-webbed under the weight of a body, and a figure slid down the pane.
Abby screamed.
Chapter Five
Abby watched the person slide down the window, then heard the sound of a body hitting the snow.
"Rob?" she whimpered.
Rivulets of blood and snow trickled down the glass, obscuring her view. Oh my God. She opened her mouth to scream again, but panic stifled the sound.
Rob! OhmyGodOhmyGod…
She reached for the door handle and then stopped. She couldn't go out there. The neighbor was probably waiting for her. The man knew she was in the car.
She'd known he was dangerous; she'd known something wasn't right.
She slid down in her seat, doing her best to hide. The body had cleared some of the snow off the windshield, and she had a partial view of the road through the cracked glass. Her heart thumped.
There was no one else in the road.
She sat frozen in the seat for several seconds, afraid to speak, afraid to move. She tried to convince herself that nothing she'd seen was real, that the body was a figment of her imagination. Soon she'd wake up in the driver's seat of the car, cursing herself for falling asleep.
There was no way this could be happening.
Not to her. Not to Rob.
The wind raged, kicking up a cloud of snow and obscuring her view. She squinted to see through it, envisioning her husband's body on the street. He was injured.
She needed to get out and help him.
Abby swiveled around the car, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. The car was barren. The only things in sight were a pile of soda cans and some paperwork. She reached under the seats, hoping to find something—anything—but her hands came up empty.
She patted her pockets until she came across something solid. Her cellphone. That was it. She'd call the police and get help.
Hurry! Dial!
Her mind raced as she pulled it out, tore off her gloves, and swiped the screen. She pulled up the keypad, fingers shaking, and tapped out the numbers 9-1-1. She hit the connect button and waited. Nothing happened.
Was the battery dead?
Frantic, she stared at the screen, trying to determine what was wrong. The phone blinked at her, as if the device were confused. It took Abby a second to process what was happening. The battery was fine.
The service was out.
Just an hour earlier she'd had several bars, but now there were none. Whether it was related to the storm or not, she wasn't sure, but the phone couldn't help her right now. There was no sign of her husband.
Was he lying in the snow, bleeding to death? Would he die without her?
Abby wasn't trained in any medical procedures. She'd seen CPR done on TV, but that was it. Still, she had to do something.
She had to help him.
Where was the man who did this?
Snow had blanketed the windows again, obscuring her surroundings. Her neighbor could be anywhere. Waiting. Although it was possible the man had left her husband for dead, there was a chance he was still in the area. He'd seen Abby. He'd seen them both. He knew she was in here, for God's sake.
I even waved to him.
The thought chilled her bones. She thought of the way the man had stared at her, the way he'd refused to return her gesture. She'd known something was off about him. She shouldn't have sent Rob out there alone.
Oh God, what have I done?
But it was too late.
She threw on her gloves and reached for the door handle.
Hurry! Rob's bleeding and he's dying and he's on the ground. You need to get to him before that man does.
Resisting every instinct in her body, she hit the unlock button. The doors clicked. For a brief, terror-filled second, she was certain the man who had attacked her husband would fling open the doors and pull her from inside, but no one did.
The man's gone. He's probably running right now, thinking I've called the police.
She tried to convince herself of the idea as she pushed open the door. The hinges creaked as the door swung open. The snow whipped all around her.
Abby threw herself into the storm. The chill bit into her bones, finding its way through the crevices of her jacket. She scanned the street, but saw nothing. Rob wasn't in front of the car. That meant he'd fallen on the passenger side.
She took a tentative step. Then another. The wind heaved, and she held up her hands to shield her eyes.
"Rob?" she called out, her voice cracking.
She glanced around frantically, but there was no one else in sight. She trudged forward, making slow progress against the wind. She cleared the tire. Then the front quarter panel. Then the hood. A few more steps and she'd see the passenger side of the vehicle.
Keep going.
A puff of snow blew from the roof of the car, temporarily blinding her. She battled the whipping white flakes with her sleeves. When her vision finally cleared, she crept to the front of the car, then leaned forward past the hood.
Rob's body was gone.
All that remained was a puddle of his blood in the snow.
Abby spun in a circle, hoping to discern her husband's whereabouts. She saw several tracks in the snow, but most of them were caved and filled in, and it was impossible to tell which direction they were going. Some were going up the Pierces' driveway; some were going up the street. To make matters worse, there were also the tracks they'd made around the vehicle. The snow was coming down harder than ever, obscuring her vision. It was as if the storm had taken her husband and was intent on covering its tracks behind it.
But Rob had landed here. She knew it. She wasn't crazy.
The proof was in the snow—bright splashes of blood that colored the white powder red. She looked back at the windshield and traced the cracked pane with her eyes. Rob was out here, and he needed help.
She needed to call the police. She needed to get to the landline.
Abby ran for the house. Her throat felt tight, as if someone was restricting her windpipe, and she struggled to breathe. Though she was terrified, she knew she needed to focus. In order to help Rob—to save him—she'd need to pull it together. Every second he was missing could mean the difference between life and death. The neighbor was out there somewhere, and so was her husband.
Rob's probably dead right now.
Stop it. Don't think that way.
The snow slid into her boots, creeping around her socks and skin, and the wind whipped a
t her cheeks. She ran faster, certain that hands would appear and grab her, but she continued unimpeded.
She was almost at the front door when she heard a muffled cry from behind her. Abby spun, her eyes darting to the Pierces' driveway. The sound was coming from their backyard.
"Rob!" she screamed.
No answer.
She turned back to her house. She needed to call the police. But what if Rob died before they arrived? What if she could help her husband now?
Dammit…what do I do…?
The cry rang out again, fainter this time. Swallowing her fear, she changed direction and raced for the Pierces' property. She wasn't sure what she could do, but she had to do something. She couldn't let her husband die. Her heart beat in a frantic rhythm. She tried calling for Rob again, but her voice was weak and winded, and she could barely produce a sound.
She charged up the Pierces' driveway.
She could see more evidence of Rob's whereabouts now—intermittent splotches of his blood in the snow heading toward the backyard. In her panic, she must've missed them. There were footprints, as well, but it was impossible to tell whose or how many.
She followed the tracks, her boots twisting sideways on the snow-covered ground, surveying the area with frantic eyes. Soon she'd reached the edge of the house. Still no Rob. If she didn't find him soon, she'd head back to her house and call the police. But she had to check. She had to see where the noise had originated.
She couldn't leave him out here to die.
The backyard slowly revealed itself to her. As she reached the end of the driveway, she saw the tree line, the Pierces' snow-covered shed, and then the deck.
Then she saw the body in the middle of the yard.
Rob's clothing was gone—torn off and missing. His chest cavity was open and exposed, his ribs jutting out from the center. His face was caved in. Destroyed. She couldn't even make out where his beard ended and his neck began…
My husband…
She clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes roaming to the thing above him.
Something was crouched over him, feasting on his remains.
PART TWO: THE CHASE
Chapter Six
Abby didn't even realize she was running until she was halfway across the snow-covered street. The snow hit her face like pellets, cutting into her cold skin, and her eyes watered from the sting.
Something was behind her, and whatever it was wasn't human.
She'd barely gotten a glimpse of it before her legs had started moving. And yet the sight of it was already imprinted on her brain.
The animal—thing—was the size of a man, but its body was covered in coarse dark hair. When it'd caught sight of her, it'd sniffed the air, eyes blazing, then loped toward her on two legs.
That's when she'd run.
And now she could feel it behind her as she closed the gap between her and the front door. She kept her eyes glued to the doorway, as if the blue-painted door were a portal to safety. She could hear the thing snorting behind her, breathing through a nose too long to be human, and her heart felt like it was going to burst.
What the fuck was it? What the hell was going on?
There was no time to sort through her feelings, no time to reconcile what she'd seen. Whatever it was, something was behind her, and she knew that stopping would mean death. The thing was ready to tear into her, to rend her limb from limb, just like it'd done to Rob minutes earlier.
Rob is dead oh my God…
She dashed up the single stair leading to the front door, her boots sliding on a conglomeration of ice and snow, and crashed against the frame. The key. She needed the key. Her hands fumbled in the pocket of her sweatpants, where she'd stashed her keychain.
Something snarled behind her. Hurry! Dammit! Hurry!
She had no idea why it hadn't reached her yet, but she knew better than to look. A second's delay would mean the end. Suddenly the key was in her hand and she was sliding it into the cold metal lock, her gloved hands barely able to coordinate with each other. She bashed her thumb against the knob and pushed. The door gave way, and Abby tumbled inside. She spun, and as she slammed the door shut, she caught one last glimpse of the thing behind her.
Eyes red. Snout pointed skyward. Waiting for her.
She engaged the lock and sank to her knees against the door. Sobs burst from her mouth like water from a broken dam. She pressed her hands against her face, unable to hold back the sound. Her husband was outside. Dead. And she was next.
Even though Abby had gotten inside, the thin door had only bought her a measure of time. She had no doubts that the thing would be coming for her. She needed to pull herself together. She needed to call for help.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes still bleary. The house was dark and cold. She pulled herself to her feet. Her coat rustled against the single windowpane in the front door, and she jumped at the sound. Was the thing still out there? She swallowed the lump in her throat, wanting nothing more than to climb the stairs in front of her.
But she had to look. She had to.
Abby could feel the blood pulsing through her neck. She turned, propping her gloved hands against the door. Her fingers felt numb and detached, and so did her brain. She peered through the pane and held her breath.
The yard was empty. She could still see the Civic in the road. The hood and roof were spackled white, the windows misted. Rob's blood still stained the snow.
Bile crept up Abby's esophagus. It was her fault. She'd done this. She'd let her husband go off alone.
She sank to her knees, fighting off alternating waves of guilt and sickness. Her legs felt like rubber, and she couldn't fathom moving.
But she had to.
Or she'd be next.
She needed to call for help. The landline.
Abby turned and mounted the stairs, her legs unsteady. When she reached the kitchen, she snatched the receiver from the wall and jabbed the power button. But there was no dial tone. She mashed all the buttons, plugged and unplugged the cord. It was no use. The line was dead. Probably disabled by the storm.
No. Dammit. No.
Frantic, she patted the pocket of her sweatpants, searching for her cellphone, but it wasn't there. It must have fallen out. Probably while I was running. Rob would've had his cellphone on him.
It was as if every option available to her had been eliminated. The only way to get help was to go back out there, where the thing was waiting for her.
She crept over to the living room window, heart knocking.
Through the windowpane, she could see the snow still bursting from the sky, as if intent on burying her inside. She had the sudden vision of the house encased in snow with the windows pasted shut, and she swallowed.
She scanned the front of the house for the creature's tracks—some evidence that it had been there—but couldn't discern much through the storm. Rob's blood already held a thin coating of snow. If it weren't for the pink splotches, she might be able to convince herself that all of this was a nightmare, a hallucination. She'd give anything for this all to go away, for her to wake up and discover it'd been a dream.
But she knew it wasn't.
She scrambled across the room and back to the kitchen, her mind racing. As she did so, she felt the sudden urge to keep quiet. Even though the thing knew she was inside, she had the sudden, irrational sense that she could escape detection. If she stayed silent, it would go away. Right?
She crept along the counter.
Something flashed by the kitchen window, and she ducked next to the sink. She squinted into the backyard. The deck and property were exactly as she remembered them—covered in snow. No sign of the creature.
But it was out there. Probably circling the house.
She slid open one of the kitchen drawers.
No matter what happened next, she needed a weapon. A way to defend herself.
Her hands shook as she dug through the utensils: a whisk, a wooden spoon, and the beaters for a mixer. F
inally she located a large kitchen knife, and she pulled it out and wielded it in front of her. The pale light of the windows glinted off the blade, and she fought the sick feeling in her gut. Abby had never killed anything before.
She was a goddamn vegetarian, for Christ's sake.
But the thing outside wasn't. Whatever it was, she knew that much. It'd already devoured Rob, and she was next. Her body shimmered with fear. Just minutes ago, she'd been in the house with her husband, making plans to go to the hotel. They were going to get warm and get some sleep, and they were going to forget all about this snowstorm.
How could this have happened so fast? How could the world have spiraled out of control in just a few hours?
She closed the kitchen drawer. She was about to peer out the window again when a crash emanated from downstairs.
Abby went stock-still. Her hands shook on the knife. She heard the sprinkle of glass on cement, then the sound of feet hitting the floor.
Ohmygod…
It's in here. It's coming for me.
She lunged for the back door, but quickly stopped herself. The creature had entered through one of the back windows; if she went out that way, she'd be in close proximity to it. Instead, she padded into the living room, scanning for places to hide. Her mind flitted from one room to the next, picturing the places she could go: the closet, the bathroom, the attic…
Where should I go?
Downstairs, a piece of furniture clattered against the wall. Her heart leapt like a springboard. She couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe. She needed to get out of the house.
Her cellphone was somewhere outside.
Go, Abby, go.
She crossed back into the living room, grabbing one last peek out the front window. The scene was unchanged.
She leapt down the stairs, balancing the need to be quiet with the need to move. When she reached the landing, she twisted the door lock. She could hear the beast breathing downstairs below her, moving through the basement. The path to the Pierces' backyard was straight—about a few hundred feet or so. If she could avoid being seen, she could reach her cellphone in under a minute. All she had to do was find it.
Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage Page 4