Outage 5: The Change

by Piperbrook, T. W.

  "I'll shoot!" he warned, stepping back as if she was a rabid animal.

  Tom looked left and right, prepared to spring for a weapon. But the men had already taken them from Flannery and Mike. The clean-faced man dug a rifle into the back of Tom's neck as he searched him and retrieved the kitchen knife. "Try to help them, and you'll die."

  Tom gritted his teeth. Frustration and anger filled his body. For the second time that day, he wished he could control what he was, that he could use his curse to his advantage. It was dark. But not dark enough.

  "I'll tie him up first," the clean-faced man said, referring to Tom. He grabbed Tom's arms and pinned them behind his back.

  Tom glanced over at the bearded man, thinking of making a move, but the man had his gun trained on Emily and Maria. The clean-faced man secured Tom. Tom secretly tested the ropes, but they weren't budging.

  He glanced into the shed. He assumed the men didn't know about the bunker. If they did, they would've gone there immediately. He hoped Kelsey, Katherine, and Silas stayed in hiding, if only for the fact that a few of them might survive. Tom bit his lip as Maria and Emily screamed for mercy, only to be bound. Joseph was instructed to hand over Lana. He held onto the baby as long as he could, relenting only when the bearded man pointed a gun in his face.

  "Hand it over or I'll blow a hole in you!" the bearded man snarled.

  "You're sick!" Joseph spat, relinquishing Lana. "If anything happens to her, I'll kill you. I swear it!"

  The bearded man laughed. Eyes blazing with anger, Joseph moved for his attacker, only to receive a swat from the clean-faced man. Joseph dropped to the ground. They tied him up. Tom considered getting to his feet, lunging. But the move would be as rash as it was stupid. He'd be killed before he could effect any change.

  After watching Joseph groan for a moment, the bearded man said, "I'm going to check the shed, see if I find anything we can use."

  Tom's heart dropped as the bearded man walked toward the door, stepping over the bodies of Mike and Officer Flannery. He crossed the threshold. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the clean-faced man training his gun.

  A moment later, the bearded man cried, "There's some sort of door in here! In the floor!" He let loose a string of curses as he tried to open it. A moment later, he emerged with an angered face.

  The clean-faced man glared at Tom and the others. "What's in there?"

  Nobody answered. The clean-faced man took a step toward Tom, raising his gun. Tom remained quiet.

  "It's some sort of underground room," the bearded man explained. "A bunker or something."

  "Check the bodies for a key!" the clean-faced man yelled.

  The bearded man checked the bodies of Mike and Officer Flannery. Tom's pulse raced as he thought of Kelsey, Katherine, and Silas. In seconds, these men would uncover them. As if on cue, the bearded man located a keychain. He raced back into the shed.

  Tom looked over at his companions. Maria, Joseph, and Emily watched him with hopeless eyes. Tom struggled for a plan. Could he attack the clean-faced man, giving the others enough time to run? Given that Joseph had just been struck, and Maria was injured, he didn't think they'd get away in time.

  But what recourse did he have?

  He stared at Maria, giving her the same look he'd held at Ranger's house. She nodded, tears rolling down her face. The desperation in her expression showed she knew what he was risking. As Tom prepared to make his move, he said a final internal prayer. A shout from the bearded man interrupted him.

  "Goddammit! None of the keys work!"

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kelsey clutched the key Mike had given her, staring at the ceiling. Bangs and curses echoed through the steel door. The words were muffled, hard to understand. She didn't need clarity to know they were in danger; the gunshots had told her that. Mike's words came back to her.

  "Take the key. Don't unlock the door until we knock four times."

  She'd followed his instruction. She'd closed the bunker. She'd locked the door. Her thought, like the others, was that Sgt. Greenwood and the military had arrived. Instead, she'd heard gunshots and shouts. Even more confusing, she'd heard a baby crying.

  Or at least, she thought she had.

  And now someone was trying to break in.

  She slipped the key into her pocket. In her hands was the rifle she'd taken from Tom the night before. It was a last line of defense, should someone get inside. Looking around, the bunker felt empty and closed off, a tomb rather than a place of safety.

  "Do you think they'll get in?" Silas whispered frighteningly, his eyes roaming to the hatchway.

  "No, honey, we'll be fine," Kelsey answered, without knowing if that was true.

  For all she knew, the people would find a way. By the sounds of it, they weren't giving up, only growing angrier. She kept her rifle aimed at the hatchway while the children hid.

  All at once, the banging ceased.

  The noise moved farther away. Had the person or persons left? Were they preparing another strategy? She crept closer to the hatchway, fearing it might swing open. The door remained sealed. The fact that the banging had stopped did little to quell her anxiety. She still heard the faint crying of a baby. Who was out there?

  Oh, God, Oh, God…

  Her stomach felt sick and tight as she strained to hear what was going on outside.

  Where were Officer Flannery and Mike?

  Her guilt and fear were lead weights rooting her in place. Looking around, it was hard to believe that a police officer and fireman had been with them a few minutes earlier. It seemed as though someone had lifted the door open and whisked them away. In reality, she had no idea what had happened to them. The gunshots were terrible premonitions that fueled her fear.

  Had they been shot? Were they running?

  She waited for four knocks that never came.

  One thing was for certain: if they were still outside, Officer Flannery and Mike would be food for the beasts when night fell. The thought made her sick. But what could she do? She needed to keep the door closed. To open it now would be to condemn herself, Silas, and Katherine to death.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  "Check their pockets!" the bearded man said, motioning to Tom and the others.

  The clean-faced man rifled through Tom's clothing again while the bearded man patted down the others. They checked Lana's bag. Finding nothing, they grew infuriated.

  "How the fuck do you get in there?" the bearded man shouted.

  Emily, Maria, and Tom exchanged desperate glances.

  "We've never been inside," Tom piped up. "Those men were going to take us in. But we had a disagreement, and they wouldn't let us."

  "Bullshit," the clean-faced man said, raising his rifle again. Tom recoiled in anticipation of a blow.

  "Curtis!" the bearded man yelled.

  The clean-faced man—apparently named Curtis—stopped, eyeing Tom angrily.

  "We need to keep him intact if we want answers," the bearded man explained. "Or else he won't be much good to us."

  "But if the son of a bitch is lying, Harold…"

  "We'll find out in a minute." Harold walked over to Joseph and held up Lana. "We'll start putting holes in the little one until the rest tell us something."

  "No!" Joseph cried. His eyes went wide. He tried to stand, as if he could deflect a bullet. "Tom's telling the truth. We were hoping to get inside! But we've never been in the bunker!"

  "How did you know it was here?" Harold asked, directing the question at Tom.

  "I was with these men before," Tom said, nodding to the bodies of Mike and Officer Flannery. "We escaped the beasts together last night."

  "Who else is down there?" Harold demanded.

  "No one," Tom held the man's gaze, afraid to look away.

  Curtis bit his lip, and Tom could see him contemplating the answer. After a brief look back at his friend, he said, "How are we going to get in, Harold?"

  "I don't think we are."

  "We c
ould threaten to kill these people, one by one, until they let us in."

  "They don't know where the key is."

  "I'll check the house."

  Harold handed over Lana and took off across the lawn. He crashed through the back door. Tom heard commotion from inside the house as the man searched cabinets and drawers, overturning furniture, tearing through belongings. A few minutes later, he emerged with a hopeless look.

  "Any luck?" Curtis asked.

  "No. Goddammit. No."

  "Fuck!" Harold shouted. He kicked the snow around his boots for a minute in a display of temper. "We could've had a place to go! We could've taken care of them and come back here!"

  "Let's just get them to the others," Curtis said.

  Before Tom could contemplate what "the others" might mean, Curtis pulled him to his feet. They trudged across the snow-covered lawn in a procession that felt like a death march.

  The cold bit Tom's nose and cheeks. Something damp hit his face. Licking his lips, he tasted blood from where Curtis had hit him with the rifle. With his hands out of commission, travel in the deep snow was even harder. Maria stumbled several times, crying out as she put weight on her injured ankle. Her painful protests accomplished nothing. The men didn't care.

  Harold prodded her along while Curtis followed up from the rear. Curtis held Lana, who cried in his arms.

  "Where are you taking us?" Tom asked.

  "Shut up," was Curtis's only response.

  "You can't leave the baby out here. You have to know that. That'd be inhuman." Tom's hope was to find some hidden conscience within the men. Neither replied.

  Maria, Joseph, and Emily repeatedly asked where they were going, but threats from the men forced them into silence. A thick quiet settled over the group, reminding Tom of the time he'd spent alone, trudging through the wilderness, the crunch of his boots the only sound.

  Once again he contemplated death—not death at the hands of Flannery and Mike—but a gruesome death. Curtis and Harold had informed them they were being delivered to the beasts. But did that mean being delivered alive?

  Tom envisioned piles of bodies stacked on top of one another like the ones in the back of the gravel truck. The unsympathetic looks on the men's faces were terror-inducing.

  Tom wasn't sure if he could be killed by normal means, but he'd find out. And the others would be subjected to the same torment, all because he'd tried to lead them to safety.

  They would've been better off without me…

  His guilt heaved with every breath. He contemplated a last ditch maneuver. By his estimation, he'd only get one. Curtis would be the easier target, given he was carrying Lana, but that also meant risking the baby's life. The child's cries were a constant reminder of her vulnerability. Harold would be easier, but he was farther away.

  Tom tried to get Maria's attention, but he was unsuccessful. The men were watching too closely. Coordination was out of the question.

  Tom's move would be his own.

  They traveled out of the neighborhood, heading west, in a direction they hadn't traveled before.

  The edge of the neighborhood gave way to a clearing. Curtis and Harold led them into the open field. Tom appraised their surroundings with panic. It looked like a soccer field. On either side were poles that held nets in the warmer months. In the center was an unlit bonfire, logs stacked in several layers. Several people were tied to a nearby set of bleachers. Murmurs of fright filled the air as the people caught sight of the oncoming group.

  In a flash, Tom knew what "the others" meant.

  Joseph ran.

  One moment he was in the line with the rest of them, the next he was charging through the snow. A cry from Curtis alerted Harold. Joseph veered away from the group, his breathing heavy. He stumbled as he contended with tied hands, trying to make ground. Harold raced after him. Sensing an opportunity, Tom broke formation.

  Instead of vying for freedom, he tore after Harold. A gunshot rang out behind him. Tom kept going until he was close to the bearded man. He dove. Putting all his weight into the leap, he threw his head and shoulders into Harold, sending him to the ground. All at once Tom was on top of the kicking man, trying to keep him occupied. He tasted snow in his mouth as the man squirmed. The world was a blur of motion. Tom felt like he was underwater, struggling against a frigid current. He managed to scream the word, "Run!" before he was rolled over and pinned.

  His hope was that Maria, Emily, or Joseph—someone—had taken advantage. He wasn't sure what came next, but anything was better than being led across that field to die. Harold tried holding Tom down, but Tom head-butted him in the face, listening to something crack. Harold cried out in pain and anger.

  Before Tom could do anything further, a gun whipped him in the face and he collapsed. Through the haze, he saw Curtis pulling Harold off him, and heard their angered shouts as they collected what was left of their prisoners. Maria and Emily hadn't made it far.

  Joseph was across the field.

  Harold cursed through the blood on his face as he raised his gun and fired. The bullet went wide, ripping into the snow. Joseph kept moving, weaving between distant houses.

  "I'm going after him!" Harold yelled, holding his face.

  "Let him go," Curtis snarled. "He won't get far. In a few hours, he'll die like the rest of them."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Harold kept his gun against Tom's temple as they walked the remaining steps to the bleachers. Curtis kept his gun trained on Maria. Harold seemed on the verge of losing control. His face was bloodied from Tom's attack. He looked off in the direction Joseph ran, as if the young man might come back.

  Tom doubted he'd see Joseph again. He held onto the thin hope that Joseph would find help, return, and assist, but a greater part of him knew there was no help to find. More than likely, Joseph had run for safety.

  That was probably the smartest move he could make.

  Tom squinted as he worked through the throbbing pain in his head. A blow from the gun was a welcome trade for Joseph's life. He'd do the same for the others, if he could.

  The people on the bleachers surveyed the newcomers with newfound fear. There were five of them: three older women, a ruddy-faced man, and a girl in her thirties. Tearstains streaked their faces; their coats and pants were torn. They were sitting on the ground with their hands tied on the lowest bars of the bleachers. Tom envisioned the panicked struggling that had ensued while Curtis and Harold were gone. He assumed none of the prisoners had succeeded.

  "Let us go!" one of the women shrieked, her eyes soaked with fear.

  "You sick sons of bitches!" the ruddy-faced man cried.

  Tom couldn't help picturing the people torn apart. What if it happens at my hands? He had no idea what would happen once darkness fell. No idea if he could control his urges. The horrid taste of flesh was one he'd rather forget.

  He couldn't live with himself if he killed these people, or any of his companions.

  Maybe he wouldn't live long enough to find out.

  Curtis kept the gun leveled at Emily while Harold secured Maria and Tom. They were spaced far enough apart on the bleachers to rule out untying each other. Tom was stationed next to Maria. The ruddy-faced man was next to them. He looked at Tom and Maria with pleading eyes, as if they could change the situation, even though they were as helpless as him.

  When Tom, Maria, and Emily were tied up, Curtis and Harold stepped back to appraise the group. Lana squirmed in Curtis's arms, but he cleaned off a place on the bleachers and set her down.

  "Do you think this is enough?" Curtis asked.

  "It's going to have to be," Harold said, watching the foreboding gray sky. The yellow on the horizon had disappeared. Tom swallowed as he thought of what that meant.

  "We're out of time," Harold added.

  Several of the women shouted fruitless pleas, but Harold and Curtis ignored them, stepping away from the bleachers and trudging around the back of them. They emerged a minute later with several cans of gasol
ine. Carrying the gas to the pile of wood in the field, they dumped the fluid over the logs, shaking out the cans to ensure they'd gotten it all. When they were done, Curtis pulled a lighter from his jacket. His face was stoic as he lit the flame.

  "Here goes nothing," he said.

  The fire grew as it took hold, licking the wood and sending smoke into the sky. Harold turned in a slow circle, studying the edges of the field. Tom didn't need an explanation to see what the men were doing.

  They were summoning the beasts.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Keep going… Keep going…

  Joseph heaved thick breaths as he ran. He'd already gained enough ground that his captors were out of sight. He wove between houses, certain that someone—or something—would spring out and attack. Having been struck, tied up, and marched to die, his nerves were frayed. He couldn't believe he'd run. Fleeing had been an instinctual, spontaneous thing.

  He hadn't meant to leave the others behind. He promised he'd bring back help. He didn't know how or when, but he'd try.

  As he trekked up the street, passing tattered houses and bodies, he tugged his hands apart to try and free himself. They wouldn't budge. He knew he'd have to cut himself loose, but he couldn't do it now. Looking over his shoulder, he saw no sign of the men. He wasn't positive they'd given up.

  Running with bound hands was even harder than walking with them. Joseph's body felt awkward, as if he was controlling someone else's legs other than his own. The only reason he'd escaped was because of Tom's distraction.

  I hope Tom is all right.

  Several times, Joseph tripped and righted himself. The cold snow clung to his face. Without hands to wipe it, he was forced to let it slide down his cheeks. The white powder numbed his face, but it was better than standing still, waiting to die.