Werewolf Suspense (Book 2): Outage 2 (The Awakening) by T.W. Piperbrook Page A
Authors: T.W. Piperbrook
Tags: Werewolves & Shifters
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hoped to God it was true.
After an uneventful half hour, movement up the road drew Tom's attention. He readied his gun. The group tensed—a series of gasps and rustled coats. A vehicle was approaching in the distance, coming from the same direction they'd traveled. At the moment, it was several blocks away. He pictured a police car bursting onto the scene, ready to provide assistance. But it wasn't a cruiser. It was a pedestrian vehicle. The car weaved back and forth over the snow as if it were a ship on rough water, its dark paint illuminated by the moon's glow. It was a station wagon with two occupants.
A pit grew in Tom's stomach.
"What do we do?" whispered Ashley. "Should we signal them?"
She scurried over and grabbed Mark's flashlight, prepared to turn it on. Mark reached over and stopped her. "No. Don't," he warned. "Look."
He pointed out the window. In the time they'd been watching, a pack of furred shadows had emerged from a building near the station wagon. They barreled at the car with remarkable speed, cutting across the snow as if it were dry, flat pavement. The station wagon swerved; the occupants screamed in the distance.
At the moment, the beasts were little more than black objects on the white landscape. They were almost at the car.
"Oh, God!" Ashley slapped her hand over her mouth. "We have to do something!"
Tom's heart sputtered. He sprang for the closest window and fiddled with the latch. He wasn't sure how he could help, but he needed to do something. He unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a rush of cold air, sticking his gun through the crevice. He aimed. He wasn't the best shot—he hadn't hunted in years—but maybe he could ward the things off. Worst case, maybe he could distract them.
Mark pushed open the window next to him, taking a similar position.
But the beasts were too far away.
Tom swiveled his sights from the one creature to the next, but they were well out of range. In mere seconds, they'd enveloped the car. Several sprang on the hood, raking and clawing at the exterior. A few pounded the windows. Tom recalled his encounter in the SUV. It felt like he was watching an alternate reality, a twisted replay of the fate he'd almost endured.
He felt hopeless and powerless.
Growls and commotion filled the air. A window shattered. The station wagon veered off the road and into a building, the occupants screaming. The beasts were already pulling them out of the car. Tom prepared to fire, hoping he could distract the things, but Mark stopped him.
"Don't shoot," Mark hissed, voice trembling. "We'll only draw their attention. It's too late."
"But we can't just—" Tom trembled and lowered the gun, knowing Mark was right.
The two occupants were thrust into the snow. The beasts clawed at their bodies, dragging pieces of flesh and clothing across the landscape. The people flailed, squirmed, and finally stopped moving. The creatures buried their faces in the carnage and feasted.
Tom drew back from the window, covering his mouth with his hand. He resisted the urge to be sick. In just seconds, the wintry scene was awash in blood. Ashley cried into Billy's shoulder, her quiet gasps filling the room.
"Be quiet," Mark managed, his own voice quivering. He leaned over and closed his window, beckoning Tom to do the same. They latched them silently.
Tom lowered his gun and put his head in his hands.
"There was nothing we could've done," Mark reassured him.
Tom gritted his teeth. Over the course of the night, he'd seen more bloodshed than he had in his lifetime: Lorena, Abby, and now these people. It was as if some cruel god was piling on the tragedy, seeing how much he could take.
And the worst part was, it was far from over.
Chapter Ten
The beasts feasted for several minutes, reveling in the gore they'd created. The station wagon bore silent witness. From a distance, the scene felt surreal, as if Tom were observing a cable show documentary rather than witnessing
After an uneventful half hour, movement up the road drew Tom's attention. He readied his gun. The group tensed—a series of gasps and rustled coats. A vehicle was approaching in the distance, coming from the same direction they'd traveled. At the moment, it was several blocks away. He pictured a police car bursting onto the scene, ready to provide assistance. But it wasn't a cruiser. It was a pedestrian vehicle. The car weaved back and forth over the snow as if it were a ship on rough water, its dark paint illuminated by the moon's glow. It was a station wagon with two occupants.
A pit grew in Tom's stomach.
"What do we do?" whispered Ashley. "Should we signal them?"
She scurried over and grabbed Mark's flashlight, prepared to turn it on. Mark reached over and stopped her. "No. Don't," he warned. "Look."
He pointed out the window. In the time they'd been watching, a pack of furred shadows had emerged from a building near the station wagon. They barreled at the car with remarkable speed, cutting across the snow as if it were dry, flat pavement. The station wagon swerved; the occupants screamed in the distance.
At the moment, the beasts were little more than black objects on the white landscape. They were almost at the car.
"Oh, God!" Ashley slapped her hand over her mouth. "We have to do something!"
Tom's heart sputtered. He sprang for the closest window and fiddled with the latch. He wasn't sure how he could help, but he needed to do something. He unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a rush of cold air, sticking his gun through the crevice. He aimed. He wasn't the best shot—he hadn't hunted in years—but maybe he could ward the things off. Worst case, maybe he could distract them.
Mark pushed open the window next to him, taking a similar position.
But the beasts were too far away.
Tom swiveled his sights from the one creature to the next, but they were well out of range. In mere seconds, they'd enveloped the car. Several sprang on the hood, raking and clawing at the exterior. A few pounded the windows. Tom recalled his encounter in the SUV. It felt like he was watching an alternate reality, a twisted replay of the fate he'd almost endured.
He felt hopeless and powerless.
Growls and commotion filled the air. A window shattered. The station wagon veered off the road and into a building, the occupants screaming. The beasts were already pulling them out of the car. Tom prepared to fire, hoping he could distract the things, but Mark stopped him.
"Don't shoot," Mark hissed, voice trembling. "We'll only draw their attention. It's too late."
"But we can't just—" Tom trembled and lowered the gun, knowing Mark was right.
The two occupants were thrust into the snow. The beasts clawed at their bodies, dragging pieces of flesh and clothing across the landscape. The people flailed, squirmed, and finally stopped moving. The creatures buried their faces in the carnage and feasted.
Tom drew back from the window, covering his mouth with his hand. He resisted the urge to be sick. In just seconds, the wintry scene was awash in blood. Ashley cried into Billy's shoulder, her quiet gasps filling the room.
"Be quiet," Mark managed, his own voice quivering. He leaned over and closed his window, beckoning Tom to do the same. They latched them silently.
Tom lowered his gun and put his head in his hands.
"There was nothing we could've done," Mark reassured him.
Tom gritted his teeth. Over the course of the night, he'd seen more bloodshed than he had in his lifetime: Lorena, Abby, and now these people. It was as if some cruel god was piling on the tragedy, seeing how much he could take.
And the worst part was, it was far from over.
Chapter Ten
The beasts feasted for several minutes, reveling in the gore they'd created. The station wagon bore silent witness. From a distance, the scene felt surreal, as if Tom were observing a cable show documentary rather than witnessing
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