Outage 5: The Change

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  At least, that's what he told himself.

  They were still navigating the trees when Maria tensed and halted. "What's that?" she asked, pointing. Tom raised his gun, following her gaze. His heart beat a maddening rhythm.

  Something raced to the front of the house and out of sight.

  Chapter Six

  Tom peered into the back yard, but whatever he'd seen had vanished. He scrutinized the property. At the back of the house was a raised deck, sporting a covered hot tub. To the left was a covered portico, leading to a back entrance.

  "What did you see?" he hissed.

  "I'm not sure," Maria said, pointing at the side of the house. "But it was there."

  Tom squinted against the glare of the snow. Another blur of movement made him tense and grip his gun.

  "Get back," he said, motioning to the trees.

  Maria and Emily leapt into hiding. Tom aimed his rifle. He envisioned the men they'd battled off returning. Would they have gotten in front of them? Whatever it was seemed to be stalking them. A glimpse of fur turned his chills to ice.

  It wasn't a man.

  Tom's eyes flicked to the gray sky. Although somber, there was no sign of the moon. How could one of the creatures be roaming now? The beasts should be hiding, preparing for the last night. Snow crunched in front of the house. The creature was approaching.

  Tom steeled himself for battle, knowing his rifle would do little to fend the thing off. Without the proper bullets, they'd be defenseless. He looked behind him. They couldn't run. They couldn't hide. He'd squeeze off a shot and hope the thing would—

  "Tom! It's just a dog!" Maria cried.

  Sure enough, a German shepherd loped into view, its brown and black fur specked with snow. It struggled as it moved in and out of the white powder. Despite identifying the threat, Tom kept his gun raised, unsure of the dog's intentions. The dog paused a hundred yards away, sizing them up.

  Unblinking.

  A collar around its neck spoke to its ownership. But that didn't mean it was friendly. The dog might be defending its territory—especially given the events that had transpired. The dog sniffed the air. It kept its eyes locked on him, taking no notice of Maria and Emily. Tom tried to keep still and confident. It'd been a while since he'd had a dog. Not since Jeremy was a child. But he'd always gotten along with them.

  At least, he used to.

  The fur on the dog's neck bristled as it hunkered into the snow. Tom resisted the urge to run, knowing he might provoke an attack.

  "Easy, boy," he called.

  Instead of calming, the German shepherd snarled and grew menacing. Tom raised the gun.

  "Go on! Git!" he yelled, trying to sound intimidating.

  Tom took a step toward it. This time the dog yelped and took off, darting away on frightened legs. Tom furrowed his brow as the animal frantically leaped through the snow.

  "You must've scared it," Maria said, holding Emily at her side.

  "Yeah. That must be it," Tom said.

  Tom looked for his tracks as they passed through the backyard and entered a road. Although he wasn't expecting them, it'd be nice to have confirmation of where they were going.

  "Summer Street," Maria said, reading the nearest street name. "Does that sound familiar?"

  "I wish it did," Tom joked grimly.

  "I never paid attention to the street signs. I usually look for landmarks."

  "You know, I've lived in Plainfield for most of my life, but I don't think I've ever been to this neighborhood. You'd think I'd know them all by now." Tom shrugged.

  "Do you think we're going the right way?" Maria asked.

  "I think so," Tom said. "It looks familiar. But with the snow everywhere, it's hard to tell. Let's keep going. If we don't see anything in a little while, we'll reconsider our path."

  As they crossed the barren roadway, Tom kept an eye out for the dog he'd scared, but didn't see any sign of it. He wondered how many animals were roaming the streets, ownerless and cold. Steering around a frozen human carcass on the street, he had the gruesome thought that the animals would fend for themselves, one way or the other.

  They passed several more neighborhoods, plowing through deep snow, trudging past driveways and stalled cars. Tom's body ached from exhaustion. They'd only traveled a few neighborhoods, and yet it felt as if they'd hiked mountains or run a marathon.

  The last two nights had compounded Tom's weariness. Sure, he'd rested at the hospital, but that was hardly enough. He found himself wishing they had a plow. The idea of rolling through the streets in an industrial truck was inviting. Unfortunately, it was impossible at the moment.

  "Where do you think those things are?" Maria asked.

  "The beasts?"

  "Yes."

  Another chill coursed through him. Were they like him, trying to survive another day in the cold? He pictured them cleaning off as he'd done this morning.

  He shuddered as he said, "I'm not sure." Another tree-bordered yard gave Tom a hint of deja vu. He directed Maria and Emily across the snow-covered lot and toward it. The heavy limbs provided an aura of shadow. Several of the branches had fallen, and they poked from the ground at odd angles. Tom veered around them. Several times, he reached back for Maria and Emily, helping them navigate. After walking a while, Maria broke the silence.

  "My hands are freezing," Maria admitted. "Can we stop for a moment?"

  "Sure," Tom said.

  He watched as Maria pulled off her gloves, rubbing her palms together before putting them back on. She adjusted her hood.

  "I can't imagine someone being out here without the proper clothing. It's freezing."

  "I know," Tom agreed. And he did. His fingers felt like they had mild frostbite.

  Taking a cue from her mother, Emily adjusted her own gear. Her cheeks were red and ruddy. Her long black hair poked out from underneath her jacket. "I wish we were inside," she said.

  "I think we're going the right way," Tom ascertained. "We should get moving. Maybe it'll warm us up."

  They walked for another few minutes, forging harder than they had before. A cry of pain drew his attention to Maria. One moment she was next to him, the next she was on her palms in the snow.

  "Dammit!" she cried.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "I didn't even see it…"

  Looking down, Tom spotted a branch jutting from the snow. The top layer must have hidden it. He crouched to check on his fallen companion, his heart sinking as he saw her pained expression.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I-I think so," Maria said through clenched teeth. She massaged her ankle, her face flushed with sweat. Emily hung next to her. Tom bent down. He looked around the landscape, as if some lurking threat might be waiting to take advantage.

  "Can you walk on it?" Tom asked, trying to prop her up.

  "I'm not sure."

  Maria bit her lip and tried to stand. She winced as she found footing. She hovered in place, testing her ankle. A tentative step produced another cry of pain. Reaching down, Tom pulled the limb from the snow and dusted it off, breaking it in half, fashioning a makeshift crutch for her. Maria took it gratefully. Despite her pain, she put on a brave face for her daughter.

  "Are you able to walk, Mom?" Emily asked.

  "I'll be fine, honey," she answered. "Let's keep going."

  "Are you sure you don't need another minute?" Tom asked.

  "No. I'll be all right."

  Tom admired the woman's bravery. She took another step, keeping the weight off her ankle, using the crutch Tom had provided. They continued through the back yard, careful not to step on any other hidden branches lurking beneath the top layer of snow.

  They walked for what felt like another mile, passing through backyards and houses in an endless cycle of snow and cold. Their pace was slower than before with Maria's injury, though she tried her best not to complain. Still, he saw the pain on her face as she traveled. Each time they came upon a new street, Tom looked in both directions, searc
hing for the fire truck.

  Each time he came up empty.

  The trip suddenly felt futile. Impossible. The truck—and the survivors—must be here. Where were they?

  Tom wondered what time it was. He looked up, but the foreboding sky gave no clues. Was it midday? Later? He had no idea what time he'd woken up. For all he knew, he'd been in a fugue state for most of the day.

  He sighed as he hunkered into his jacket. The meager rays of the sun were no match for the biting chill. Looking next to him, he saw Emily shivering. Tom pulled off his scarf and handed it to her.

  "Here you go," he said.

  "Th-thanks," she said gratefully. She wrapped it around her neck, her breath misting the air.

  Tom glanced at Maria, who was in obvious discomfort. She was using two hands on the crutch. The effort of lifting her legs must have been draining her.

  "How are you doing?" he asked.

  "I'm okay. Any idea how far it is?"

  "I wish I did." Tom looked around, cursing his lack of certainty. If he hadn't been so consumed with fighting the change, he might've paid better attention.

  Past the yard they were in was a dividing wooden fence that separated the house from the next. A gate on the right-hand side provided an entryway to the next property. A rusty padlock hung from the handle.

  "I'll break it so we can get through," he said.

  "Okay," Maria agreed, gritting her teeth.

  Turning his gun around, Tom used the butt-end to break off the lock. It took some effort, but he finally managed to push away enough snow to make an entrance. He glanced behind him to check on the others.

  Maria had stopped to lean on a covered woodpile. Tom appraised her worriedly.

  "I can feel my ankle swelling up," Maria admitted. "If we were walking on flat, dry ground, it'd be one thing, but trudging through the snow…"

  Emily hugged her mother. The girl's cheeks were bright red from the cold. Tom felt a wave of guilt. His toes were frigid and stiff. His limbs felt like they were losing circulation. The threat of hypothermia never seemed as real as it did now.

  "Maybe we'll stop somewhere. Get out of the cold for a while." Tom peeked through the next yard at a yellow ranch. He'd been assessing each of the houses as they passed them, but none seemed to harbor life.

  "I won't argue with you," Maria said with a smile.

  "Let's check this next house. Maybe we'll find it open," Tom suggested.

  He led Maria and Emily through the gate and across the lawn, holding his gun as they reached the house. They inspected the back door warily. The red paint was chipping off, but the door remained intact. The windows were dark and tinted. Tom walked over and peered inside, catching sight of a sink and a refrigerator. If life existed, there was no sign of it.

  Looking over at Maria, he saw her trying the back door knob. She grimaced when she found it locked.

  "Let's check the front," Tom suggested. "Maybe we'll knock, just to be sure."

  The crunch of a footstep interrupted him. A man had emerged from the side of the house, holding a shotgun. The man's face was ruddy from the cold. His hair hung over his eyes.

  "See anything you like?" the man asked.

  Chapter Seven

  Caught off guard, Tom was unable to get his rifle up in time.

  "Put it down!" the man barked, waving his shotgun.

  Tom exchanged a fearful glance with Maria. His eyes flew to Emily. If either of them made the wrong move, the little girl might be shot. But if they obeyed, then what? His encounter with the two men earlier was fresh on his mind.

  "We don't mean any harm," Tom tried.

  He stared at the man, trying to determine his motives. The man watched them without blinking. Was he a scared homeowner, taken by surprise? Or was he as ill intentioned as the others? Tom held the rifle, but didn't drop it.

  "I'm not looking for a shooting match," the man said. "I can see one of you is injured." He motioned to Maria, keeping his eyes locked with Tom.

  "We're looking for a place to get warm and rest," Tom said. "That's all."

  The man stared at them for a while before relenting. "By the looks of it, we've all had a long night, and I could use the company." He lowered his shotgun, wiping his nose.

  "We won't cause any trouble," Tom said, hoping to solidify the man's trust.

  Tom lowered his gun and motioned for Maria to do the same. She obliged.

  "Come with me," the man said.

  He waited for them before walking. He still seemed wary. They rounded the corner of the house, approaching the front. Despite the precariousness of their meeting, Tom hoped the man might have information, or even better, a permanent place of safety for Maria and Emily. He vowed to keep an eye on the man.

  Rounding the corner of the house, the man looked at Tom.

  "You're the first people I've seen in a while," he said. "Alive, at least."

  Tom swallowed. The comment was as unnerving as it was true. "Have you been hiding the entire time?" Tom asked.

  The man nodded. "I've been a few places, over the past few nights."

  "Is this your house?"

  "Yep."

  "Where'd you come from?"

  "Work. It was a long, cold walk."

  They followed the man to the front of the house. Emily assisted her mother through the snow. Tom surveyed the driveway. A car sat buried in the snow. Several dead plants hung in an enclosed porch that led to the front door. Before opening the door, the man turned and said, "My name's Ranger. At least, that's what my friends call me."

  "I'm Tom, and this is Maria and Emily."

  "Good to meet you all."

  Ranger swung the door open and led them into the enclosed porch, peering out the dingy windows. The wintry landscape was calm and quiet. Tom couldn't help but wonder for how long.

  Ranger opened the main house door and led them inside. The interior of the house was as ill-maintained as the exterior. Several dirty couches were pushed sideways, exposing a ratty rug. Beyond it was a large fireplace. Wiggling his fingers to restore the circulation, Tom imagined a raging fire in the hearth.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Ranger said, "I was thinking about getting some logs, but I was worried I'd call attention to myself."

  "We ran into some others a while ago that weren't friendly," Tom affirmed. "Not everyone has the best intentions."

  "Isn't that the truth," Ranger said, patting his shotgun.

  After entering the house, Emily stood next to her mother, blowing on her gloves. Maria looked down at her ankle with a pained expression.

  "Did you twist your ankle?" Ranger asked.

  "I think so."

  "I have bandages, I think," Ranger offered. "I can check for them, if you'd like. It might be best to wrap your leg up."

  "That'd be great," Maria said.

  Tom nodded, watching Ranger leave the room. He held on to his gun. As grateful as he was for the assistance, he wasn't foolish. He alternated his gaze between the window and his companions.

  Maria crouched on the rug. Rolling up her pant leg and pushing down her sock, she inspected her ankle, which was clearly swollen.

  "It feels worse over here," she said, pointing to the side of her foot. "I heard a pop when I stepped on that branch."

  Tom grimaced. "It sounds like you sprained it."

  "Taking a break will help," she said, trying to convince herself.

  Tom hunched on the rug to inspect her injury, listening to Ranger rustle through cabinets in the next room. He assumed Ranger was alone, though he hadn't specifically asked. After a few minutes, Ranger returned with an ice pack and some brown gauze strips.

  "Here you go." Ranger handed the supplies to Tom and Maria. "Maybe you can ice it. I know how funny that sounds, given the cold. But it might help."

  "Thanks," Maria said, taking the ice pack and applying it to the swollen area.

  "How long have you folks been out there?"

  Tom said, "About an hour. We ran into some trouble a while ago,
but we managed to get as far as here."

  "I heard a gunshot. Was that you folks?"

  "Yes," Tom said without elaborating.

  "Other than that, I haven't heard much since last night. I think most of the people are gone." Ranger chewed his lip and stared out the window, cradling his shotgun. "They either left or got weeded out."

  "It seems like it," Tom agreed solemnly. "You said you came from work?"

  "Yes. Among other places," Ranger said. He stared at the fireplace for a long moment.

  "How'd you get back home?"

  "I was working across town in my antique shop when this thing started."

  "Did they come after you?"

  "Uh-huh. I was refurbishing a dining room set, trying to hit a deadline, when the storm hit. I figured I'd work on it for a while, then head out. I didn't plan on the roads being as bad as they were." Ranger paused to look out the window. "So I stayed at the shop. I had a wood stove. I was safe for a while, probably because the area was remote. Then the power went out and one of them found me."

  "How'd you kill it? Did you use that gun?"

  "No. I found this later. As you probably know, guns don't work against them. Having this just makes me feel better."

  "So how'd you survive?"

  "I fired a staple gun at it. The compressor still had air, even though the power was out. I must've hit it in the eye or something, because it roared so loudly I thought the windows would shatter. That bought me enough time to get out of there and get the truck going."

  "Jesus," Maria exclaimed, setting down the ice. She started wrapping her ankle with the bandage.

  "And that's when you went home?"

  "No. The truck only lasted a few streets before getting stuck. I spent some time at another property, praying they wouldn't find me. It was a house littered with bodies. Maybe they didn't smell me through all the blood." Ranger swallowed. "That's when I found the gun. I ended up walking after that. I saw several dead police officers on the way. That was when I realized help wasn't coming."

  "I wish I could say I was surprised." Tom shook his head. With a sigh, he recounted the same story he'd told to Maria and Emily, leaving out his injury. Then he told about their run-in with the men with the guns. When he was finished, Ranger bit his lip.