Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) by T.W. Piperbrook

destination felt unreal. He changed focus to the dozen white-embossed cars around them, thinking they'd disappear before his eyes. The vehicles felt like a mirage, a projection. He steeled himself for the possibility that he'd awaken from a dream and find himself buried in a tangle of beasts.
    Among the cars was a police cruiser.  
    "The police are here!" Rosemary cried. A second later, she said, "I see Ron's car! Jason and Jeffrey must be here, too!"
    She pointed toward a large, black SUV. She reached for the door handle.
    "Wait a second," Tom said. "Be careful."
    A low grumbling noise emitted from somewhere in back. It took Tom a second to identify what it was. A generator .  
    The noise replaced his fear with hope.
    The place had power.
    He surveyed the parking lot closer. The vehicles looked like they hadn't moved in hours. Filled-in tire tracks zigged and zagged between the aisles. His attention roamed to the building. The KOC was large and rectangular, made of yellow-painted brick. A recent renovation had left the surrounding lots treeless and empty.  
    The side entrance—visible from the parking lot—consisted of two glass doors. Both were closed. He'd pulled up in the first aisle, thirty feet from the door. Two paper signs were affixed to the doors, but he couldn't read the writing from their position.
    "Let's go, Tom!" Rosemary urged.
    "Hold on. Let's take as much ammunition as we can," he said cautiously, stuffing several boxes of bullets into his coat.
    He followed the same procedure he'd taken at the house, leaving the car running and the driver's side door open. Then he stepped out into the lot. The snow in the parking was less dense than the road, probably due to the cars compacting it with their tires. Rosemary disembarked, and they crept toward the entrance, wary of blind spots, places the beasts might hide. To Tom's relief, he saw nothing lurking between the cars.
    Rosemary approached the black SUV, which was parked in the front row. She wiped the windows, peering inside. She tried the door handle, but it was locked.
    "Nothing," she announced. "They must be inside the building."
    They crept past the vehicle and continued. Tom kept his rifle ready, aiming at the glass doors leading into the hall. When they got closer, he read the pieces of paper affixed to the inside panes.
    Temporary Shelter. Food, drinks, and heat!
    Despite the rumbling generator, the building was dark. Tom peered through the doors, but couldn't see past the first few feet of the foyer. It took him a second to realize there was a second, wooden door guarding the hall.
    How long has it been, Tom? A few years?
    He reached for the handle of one of the glass doors, convinced it'd be locked. But it wasn't. He pulled the door open and aimed his pistol into the foyer. Boot marks lined the floor—scuffs and dirty, tracked snow. The foyer was warm, pulling heat from somewhere inside the building. He felt a measure of relief. The door shut gently behind them, closing out the icy wind and snow.
    He glanced at Rosemary. She smiled through her nervousness. She still clutched her gun. Despite the odds, they'd managed to get here together. They'd battled the creatures in town and survived. Tom drew a breath and reached for the door handle. For a second, he imagined his family waiting for him, ready to receive him with open arms. He envisioned Lorena's gentle smile, Jeremy's infectious laugh. But he knew that could never be. The best he could hope for was a reunion for Rosemary.
    He opened the door.
    Tom stuck his pistol through the entrance, ready for something to leap out at him, but nothing did. The room was dark save a glimmer of light from somewhere in the back. He stepped through the threshold, aware of Rosemary close behind him. In the back of the room were a bar, several cabinets, and stacks of folded tables and chairs.  
    The door clicked shut.
    The odor of cleaning products and food wafted into his nose—reminders of past gatherings. But