Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage (2 page)

 
His last conscious thought was of Adeline.
 

 
In his haste, he'd neglected to shut the door.

Abby Tanner awoke to a series of cracks and thumps, and she sat upright in her bed, certain the roof was about to cave in. The room was dark, but the windows contained an eerie glow, as if someone were shining car headlights on the back of the shades.

She patted the bed around her. To her left were her iPod headphones. To her right was her husband. Abby normally fell asleep to her favorite podcast, letting the soothing sounds usher her to sleep, but the iPod had long since shut off.

Her husband continued to snore.

Dammit, Rob.
The man could sleep through a tornado.

She slid her fingers into her armpits, searching for a hint of warmth. Abby was wearing only a T-shirt and shorts. Normally the temperature in the house was hot and dry, but not tonight.
 

Tonight it was damn near freezing.

She held her breath and listened for the sound of the furnace. It was only October, but she'd become accustomed to the noise. On a typical night, she could hear it rattling and groaning, doing its best to maintain the seventy-degree temperature Rob set it to. Tonight it was silent.

Had it broken?
 

Perhaps the noise was the sound of the furnace crapping out. She'd known they'd needed a new one. During the inspection, the technician had mentioned it'd only be good for another few seasons.
 

Damn it. Right before winter, and on a cold night to boot.

She peered next to her at the bedside table, but the alarm clock had gone dark.

So it wasn't just the furnace. The power was out, too. Not only did they have no heat, there was no electricity, either.

Great. Just great.

Outside, something snapped.

The noise was loud, almost like a crack of lightning, and Abby stiffened. After a few seconds, she heard a muffled
thud
from the backyard.

She reached over and shook her husband, hoping to rouse him, but Rob continued to snore. Annoyed, she lowered her bare feet to the carpet. The floorboards creaked underneath her weight. With the electricity and the heat off, the house had become a conduit for sound, and every noise lingered.
 

She held her breath as she padded across the room.

The bed was five feet from the windows, and the windows were covered in gray vinyl shades. Abby often had trouble sleeping, and she'd insisted on getting the thickest ones they could find.
 

She walked across the room, the carpet cold against her toes. How long had they been without power? The house was frigid.

She kept her eyes locked on the shades, studying the strange backlight that crept around the edges. They lived on a cul-de-sac, and there were only four other houses on the street. Most of their neighbors were quiet and kept to themselves. None were usually awake past ten o'clock.
 

So where was the light coming from?

She reached for the nearest window and parted the shade.

Immediately she was hit with a sea of white. The road and houses were covered in snow, the sharp lines of rooftops and gutters softened by round edges. Across the street, a burned-out streetlight hung like a teardrop, keeping vigil over the darkened neighborhood. The sky was an ominous gray.

She'd had no idea it was supposed to snow. In fact, from what she remembered, the weather was supposed to be clear. She hadn't even thought it snowed this early in the season. At the same time, the weather in Connecticut
was
unpredictable, and the forecast tended to change by the minute.

If she'd learned anything at all, it was that.
 

The storm explained the brightness at the windows. It also explained the power outage. The wires were blanketed with snow. One of them must've been disabled.
 

She perused the windows of the neighboring houses but saw no lights. The two houses across the street—the Pierces' and the Morgans'—were dark and desolate. Although she only had a partial view of the Hamiltons' next door, their house appeared dark as well.
 

The only other house was at the end of the cul-de-sac, a brown contemporary that was set back from the road. She hadn't had a chance to meet the owner yet, but it appeared he was without power, too.
 

 
At least we're not in this alone
.
 

She lowered the shade. More than likely, someone else had already called in the outage, but she'd phone it in just in case. It could take a while for the utility trucks to arrive.
 

It was a Friday night, after all, and probably after hours. Besides, it was snowing.

She was about to step away from the window when she heard another
crack
.
Her heart jumped. Abby returned, hands shaking, and peered back outside. A tree limb had broken from an enormous pine across the street, and it hurtled to the ground, landing with a
whump
in the neighbor's front yard.
 

"Holy shit," Abby whispered, holding her hand over her mouth.

She surveyed the trees. All of the branches were sagging with snow. Because it was early in the season, the leaves hadn't even fallen, and the excess weight was causing the branches to break. What if one of them fell and hit the house? What if one of them crushed her while she was sleeping?
 

Abby pictured a tree branch bursting through the ceiling and goring her through the stomach.
Gross, Abby
.
She'd always had a vivid imagination, but now she found herself wishing she could turn it off.
 

A gust of wind blew. In the span of a few minutes, it seemed like the storm had worsened.
 

Other than the wind, the neighborhood had taken on an eerie quiet, and Abby had the sudden fear that she and Rob were alone, that all the neighbors had disappeared. She stared into the neighboring windows, expecting to see a pale face peering back at her—some evidence that someone else was watching—but all the shades were closed. A lone car sat in the Pierces' driveway across the street. The Morgans' vehicles were presumably in the garage. If either family was at home, no one was awake.

All the more reason to make that call.

She let go of the shade and scrambled for her cellphone. As she fumbled with the nightstand, she heard her husband groan. It sounded like he'd turned over.

"Rob?" she hissed.

The quiet was unnerving, and it made her feel as if she should be quiet, too.

No answer. The wind churned; the trees creaked and swayed. She located her cellphone and tapped the button on the side. Her fingers were stiff and frozen, and she wiggled them to restore the circulation. She glanced at the phone. As she waited for it to spring to life, she had the sudden premonition that the battery would be dead, that the phone would have no service.

The phone lit up without issue.

She stared at the screen. 12:21 a.m. It was earlier than she'd thought. That meant it would be dark for six more hours.
 

By that time, the house would be an igloo.

She brought up the Internet on the phone and attempted to find the number for the electric company. The webpage was loading, but slowly.

"Rob!" she hissed again.

She set the phone on the nightstand and crawled into bed. Then she took hold of Rob's T-shirt and gave him a shake.
 

"Wake up, honey," she whispered. "The power's out and it's snowing."

The shadowed figure rolled onto his back but didn't speak. She waited a few seconds before shaking him again. By the glow of the window, she could make out his eyes. It looked like they were open.

"You awake?"

Rob blinked, but didn't answer.

Outside, the wind gusted. A shiver ran the length of her body, and she clutched her hands to her chest. Why wasn't he answering? Was her husband messing with her? He'd been known to play pranks before, but she doubted that was the case now. Not tonight. Not at this hour.

"I'm serious, Rob. Wake up. I'm scared."

She shook him again. Nothing. She reached back and grabbed the phone, then shined it on his face.
 

This time Rob's voice broke through the silence.

"What the heck, Abs!" he said, his throat cracked and hoarse.

Abby sighed with relief.

In the light of the cellphone, she could make out her husband's wrinkled brow, his bearded face. He wiped his eyes and stared at her, confused.

"What time is it?"

"Just after twelve. The power's out."

Rob blew on his hands.
 

"Why's it so cold in here?" he asked.

"The furnace is down. It's a freaking blizzard outside."

She watched as her husband processed the information. Normally Rob was quick on the uptake, but given that he'd just woken up, she'd cut him some slack. After a few seconds, he nodded.
 

"Dammit. And we just went grocery shopping." He rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to call the power company and report it."

"Good idea. How long have you been awake?"

"Just a few minutes. The neighbors are probably still sleeping. I'm not sure if anyone's called it in yet."

"OK."

With her husband awake, Abby felt her fear subside. She returned her attention to the phone. The Internet was still loading, and she tapped the screen to refresh it. Rob sat up next to her on the bed.
 

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom," he said.

"OK. I'll wait for the number to come up."

"Do you want to use the home phone?"

"No, it's fine. I'll call from here."

"OK. We'll go back to sleep afterward."

Yeah, right
, she thought. She wouldn't be able to sleep. Not through this.

The bedsprings creaked as Rob dismounted the other side. She heard the pad of his footsteps on the carpet, then the slap of feet on the hardwood as he reached the hall. The house was a raised ranch, and the only bathroom was upstairs. She listened as he clicked the door closed. Although they'd been married a year, Rob still liked his privacy. She shook her head and smiled.

She glanced back at the phone. The webpage still hadn't loaded, and she was growing impatient. Perhaps she'd use the home phone as Rob had suggested, even if it meant walking through the cold house to get it. She could get the number from the directory. She felt a sudden draft from the window, and her bare legs prickled.
 

I should put on long pants.
 

She slid off the bed and made her way to the dresser. The bureau was stationed right next to the window. She used the light from her iPhone to illuminate the second drawer, then opened it and picked out a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

After changing into them, she sidled back to the window. From the other room, she could hear Rob finishing up in the bathroom. It sounded like he was washing his hands.

At least the water works
.

Even so, they wouldn't have hot water for long. Not with an electric water heater.
 

She cracked the shade and peered back outside.

The snow was coming down furiously. The flakes were as big as any she had ever seen, and Abby's mouth dropped at the sight of them. In the driveway, the couple's Honda Civic looked like a cloud with antennas and tires, and the street was paved a lustrous white.

Abby was about to step away when something caught her attention.
 

Across the street, in the Pierces' driveway, something had moved.

She went stock-still and squinted into the night. But there was nothing there.

Was she imagining things? She wiped her eyes, trying to rid herself of sleep. Then she saw it again. Something was out there, all right. It looked like an animal, but she couldn't be sure. The shape slipped around the back of the Pierces' house and out of sight. She cupped her hand, holding it over her forehead to block the snow's glare, but the form was gone.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Rob? Are you almost done? There's something outside."

She turned back to the window. This time she saw the figure in plain sight—it was a person coming down the Pierces' driveway.

The person was wearing a thick, hooded coat and gloves. It looked like John Pierce. She watched as John idled toward his Nissan SUV.
 

So she hadn't been imagining things.

John was carrying a tote bag, and he opened the door of the car and got inside. The vehicle's interior lights came on, and she saw another person in the passenger seat. Were the Pierces leaving?
 

The vehicle's headlights flashed; the engine rumbled. A second later, the rear windshield wipers started to move. The blades struggled against the snow, creating a mini-avalanche that tumbled onto the ground below.
 

The car went into reverse, fishtailing on the slippery driveway, then switched to drive.

Abby watched the vehicle roll down the road and disappear around the bend.

The wind continued to howl.
 

A cold fear seized hold of her chest.
We need to leave.

The thought hit her with such force that she reeled back from the window. She pulled out her phone and looked at the time. 12:43 a.m. The snow continued to cascade to the ground below, flakes sticking to the glass. Every minute they waited would make it more difficult to get out. The couple's Civic could barely drive in the summertime, let alone the winter.
 

She and Rob only had one car. They'd been meaning to buy another one, but they were still getting settled.
 

With the Pierces gone, the neighborhood suddenly felt empty and abandoned, as if she and Rob were the last survivors on a sinking ship. In a matter of moments they'd be overtaken by the elements, buried in a sea of white powder, condemned to die and—