Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage (9 page)

The creature hit the first stair.

Abby heard the muffled
thump
of a foot, the hiss of hot breath gliding through teeth. She stared through the crack in the door, afraid to blink. Because the opening was small, the creature had slipped from view; the only clue she had to its whereabouts was the sound of it ascending the steps.
 

She could only guess at its location.

The footsteps continued.

Thump. Thump.

Abby strained to recall how many steps there were. Ten? Twelve? How many until the creature was right in front of her?

The open front door seemed to beckon her. For a moment, she considered darting out into the hallway and throwing herself over the railing. Would it be worth the risk of injury? Would she survive long enough to escape?

She swallowed, but held her position. The gun was heavy in her hands.

What if there were no bullets? What if she missed? What if—

Abby paused, noticing a break in the noise. The beast had either reached the landing, or it had heard her swallow. Did it know where she was? Could it sense her?

Her hands trembled.

The beast snorted.

Abby jumped, barely keeping hold of the gun. Nothing appeared. The sliver of hallway in front of her was vacant. But she could sense the thing's presence.
 

It was right behind the door.

It chuffed again. The stench of blood and beast was overwhelming, drowning out her other senses. She repressed the urge to be sick.

The thing's head appeared. At first, all she could see was the tip of its nose, but then she saw an eye, the matted fold of an ear. The thing was only a few feet away—close enough to reach out and grab her.

In the time she'd been running, this was the closest she'd been to it. The closest she'd come to death.

She held the gun and prepared to squeeze the trigger.

The thing continued down the hallway.

Abby exhaled. Her body felt like it was stretched taut, and her mind spit rapid-fire. She heard the faint creak of a floorboard from down the hall. The thing had gone into the bedroom.
 

Move.

The word popped into her brain as if it had been planted there, and suddenly Abby was pulling open the door and slipping into the hallway. There was no time to question what she was doing.
 

There was only time to act.
 

She glanced left, glimpsing the creature's shadow. Although she couldn't be certain, it looked like it was facing the other direction. Without hesitation, she crept down the hallway, heading for the stairs. The carpet kept her cover, and soon she was departing the landing and making her way down the stairs.
 

Her body moved as if it were on autopilot; she couldn't feel her legs. It was as if some outside force were propelling her down the stairs, guiding her to safety. She fixed her eyes on the open door, fighting the urge to look behind her.
Only five more steps
.
She was going to make it. The beast was still occupied. It hadn't gotten a look at her. She'd survive, even though all the others had died.

She'd get help and then—

Something struck her from behind, and Abby toppled down the remaining stairs. The gun and the knife flew from her grasp, skittering into unseen corners. She hit the foyer hard, deprived of air, and cried out as blood sprayed inside her mouth.

Claws grabbed her head and slammed her into the ground.

Abby awoke with a start. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but it couldn't have been long, judging by the fact that she was still alive. But something was on top of her. The creature had her pinned.

She struggled and writhed under the weight of its body, and its breath threatened to smother her. If it didn't rip her open, she'd die from being crushed.

From what she could tell, she was still in the foyer, lying on her stomach. In the corner of her eye she could see the open door; behind her were flashes of movement. Her vision was still bleary from passing out. She pushed with all her strength, but the thing had her immobilized.

Was this how Rob had felt?

Tears savaged her eyes, and before she knew it she was crying and fighting, spitting and lashing out. The thing behind her snarled, as if hoping to subdue her, but she ignored it and began to scream.

"Stop! Get off me!"

She knew the words were useless, but her mind was ramped up on adrenaline, her synapses firing at breakneck speed. Abby's instincts had taken over, and she'd do anything she could to stay alive.
 

She had the sudden realization that she was cold, and she ceased screaming.
 

I'm cut. He's torn me open.

She waited for the unbearable pain to overtake her, but it never came. It took her a second to realize that only her coat had been ripped.

Abby wriggled back and forth, sloughing off her jacket. The beast tore at the fabric, and she could feel the tips of its nails digging into her skin. Suddenly she was free, and she ignored the pain and pushed herself off the carpet.

She began to crawl.
 

She tried to forget the creature behind her, concentrating instead on gaining distance from it. At any moment it would pounce on her, but right now,
at this second
, she was free. If she could maneuver her way to the door, maybe she could escape. Even though the logistics were against her, Abby's brain kept her moving.

Before long, wet snowflakes kissed her skin. She was outside.
 

The cold around her intensified, but she pressed on. Blood trickled down her cheeks. Her head must've been cut open when the thing slammed her head against the ground. But that didn't matter. She might be injured, but she was alive. If she could just keep moving—

The beast took hold of her legs and ripped her backward, as if she were little more than its plaything. She slid over the threshold of the house and back inside, her stomach scraping against the snow and carpet.
 

"No!" she shrieked.
 

But her words were weak and unheeded. Her leg exploded in pain as something tore into it.

Abby had been foolish to think she could escape the beast. It was faster. Stronger. Inhuman. Any advantage she'd had had been given up when she'd been spotted. Without weapons, she was as good as dead.
 

The thing tugged her again, and Abby slid sideways like a wet mop, her bloodied leg sliding across the floor. The room was starting to spin. The beast had her in its grasp, and she was powerless to stop it. She speared the floor with her fingernails, but they scraped uselessly against the hardwood, and she was unable to find traction.

Her eyes flitted from corner to corner. Searching for something—
anything
—that could help her.
 

Then she spotted the gun.

It was little more than a glint in the darkness, but she could make it out across the foyer. The creature shook her back and forth, trying to shake the fight out of her, but she kept her eyes focused on it.

The gun was ten feet away. Butted against the far wall. If she could reach it…

The beast lifted her by the leg, intent on flipping her over, but Abby lashed out and kicked it in the chest. The thing lost its grasp, and she started to move. It grabbed onto her boot, but Abby slid her foot free.

All of a sudden she was crawling on hands and knees, faster than she'd ever crawled before. Her clothes hung in tatters, threatening to slow her down. But Abby held fast to her mission. She kept her eyes fixed on the gun, her mind on what she needed to do. Before she knew it, the piece was in her hands.
 

Abby turned and squeezed the trigger.
 

The shot was deafening, ripping through the foyer of the house and echoing up the stairs. She heard a yelp—not the snarl of a predator but the cry of outwitted prey—and the creature fell to the floor. The storm howled, throwing a gust of wind through the open doorway.

Was it dead?

Abby didn't wait to find out. She grabbed her missing boot and ran into the night.
 

The snow had stopped. She slipped on her boot, heart still pounding, and trudged across a neighborhood that now resembled a wilderness.

Abby kept on, despite the gnawing ache in her leg and the pain in her skull. Several times she looked behind her, expecting to find the creature in pursuit, but all she could see was the pink trail of blood from her leg, dripping like a slow leak from a rusty hose.

She needed help. She needed medical attention, and she needed the police.
 

The snow was now about eight inches deep, and she trudged through it with all the speed she could muster. Her sweatpants and shirt were ripped; her coat was gone. The cold bit at her exposed skin. She passed by her house, then by the stranded Civic. The puddle of her husband's blood was covered over in white, the vehicle a monument to his existence.
 

She was hit with a sudden thought, and she paused and tugged at the rear door handle. The door opened with effort, groaning on half-frozen hinges. Her bags were in the trunk, but there was a hoodie on the backseat. She retrieved it and pulled it on. The fabric wasn't the thickest, but it warmed her several degrees. There was no use delaying any longer. The car was stuck, and she needed to get out of here. She slammed the door shut and kept moving.

The intersecting road was several hundred yards away. If she could reach it, she might find help. Although she hadn't seen a car pass in several hours, the road was her best chance at escaping the neighborhood.

The wind had died down, plunging the neighborhood into a new depth of quiet. All Abby could hear was the puff of breath from her lungs and the occasional whimper that escaped her lips. She listened for sounds around her—the crunch of a footstep, the wheeze of a second set of lungs—but the area was mercifully silent.
 

She did her best to rid her mind of the beast, concentrating instead on a new set of odds before her: getting herself help before she bled to death or the cold consumed her. Whichever came first.

Though she was covering ground, Abby's pace was uneven. Her head was swimming and she felt off balance. Even so, she was able to make progress, and after a few minutes she'd traversed the length of the street.
 

The intersection of Jameson and Pickney was marked with a stop sign. Next to it was a metal pole with two road markers. In better weather, Abby could expect to see a car every few minutes or so. Tonight, the street was empty.

She looked to her left and to her right, finding nothing but trees and snow. Normally she appreciated the rural setting, but tonight it filled her with desperation. The nearest neighborhood wasn't for a mile in either direction.

Help seemed light years away.
 

She staggered out onto the roadway, scouring the road for tire tracks. Her hope was to see indentations in the snow, some evidence that a car had recently passed. It was possible one had gone by while she'd been at the Hamiltons', maybe even while she'd been passed out.

The snow looked untouched. If someone had driven by, it'd been a while.
 

In any case, she needed to keep moving. The longer she remained in place, the dizzier she became, and Abby had the sinking feeling that she was about to lose consciousness.

Before plowing ahead, she scanned the road in both directions. There was no sign of headlights. The road to her left led to the center of town. She bore in that direction.

As she cleared the intersection, she gave one last glance behind her. She caught sight of her house in the distance and fought the sickening feeling that now came with the image.

Keep moving.

As she walked, she wiggled her fingers and toes, hoping to restore some of the circulation she'd lost. Although the snow had ceased, the cold had intensified, and it adhered to her like a new layer of skin. The trees on either side of the road loomed over her like a platoon of many-armed guards.

Each footstep was more difficult than the last; her muscles felt like rubber. She'd been on these roads numerous times, but never on foot. Abby tried to envision the neighborhood in front of her, but couldn't gauge how far she'd traveled. Without landmarks to guide her, the road seemed to stretch on forever, and each patch of forest seemed identical to the last.
 

Come on, Abby.

She had to make it. She hadn't come this far to die.
 

Rob would've wanted her to continue.
 

She gritted her teeth, holding back tears, and charged ahead. After a few minutes, she noticed something glowing on the trees ahead. She squinted and wiped her face, but the light was still there. It took her a minute to identify the source.

A car was coming up from her rear.
 

Abby spun. In the distance, she could make out the silhouette of a vehicle. It seemed to glide across the snow, its form illuminated in the backlight of its high beams. The engine purred louder as it approached.