Werewolf Suspense (Book 3): Outage 3 (Vengeance) Read Free Page A

the floor, trying to make sense of its existence. Its eyes were red, its snout long and curved. Its claws were opaque and stained with blood. Up until now, he'd barely gotten a look at one of the things.  
    The beast was as gruesome in death as it'd been in life.
    He saw no reason for the beasts' existence, other than pain and suffering. No reason for remorse. After watching it for a minute, Tom treaded past it and up the stairs, intent on securing the house. He pointed the flashlight as he ascended, keeping his eye on the beast at the top of the stairs. The creature stared absently at the ceiling, its claws furled to its chest.  
    He stepped around it and glanced cautiously out the living room window. He aimed his flashlight at the floor. The street was empty. If any of the other creatures had heard the commotion, they weren't in close proximity. Grey smoke bled from the back of the station wagon. Tom had the sudden urge to go outside and shut the car off, fearing it would draw attention, but it wasn't safe to do so. Instead he verified that the front door was dead-bolted, and then stalked toward the kitchen.
    He aimed his pistol in front of him, treading through the dining room, veering past the overturned dining room table and the scattered mail. The kitchen floor was slippery with tracked snow. A gaping hole remained where the kitchen door had been. The door had been bashed against the nearby wall, the glass panes broken out. He crept over and wedged it shut, fighting against a broken hinge. He'd need to reinforce the door. Tom trekked to the stove, the closest appliance, and tucked his pistol in his pants. He set down his flashlight. With effort, he was able to wrench the stove from place and skid it across the floor. He grunted and strained, finally managing to slide it in front of the door.
    He listened. Heard nothing.  
    With the stove in place, he felt safer, but not safe enough. The windows were unprotected. So was the front door. Any of those could provide access for the creatures. With the right tools, Tom could carve up the dining room table and block the windows. But how long would the barricade last? He'd seen what the barricade had done for him at the factory building.  
    He settled for using the dining room table to block the front door. When he was finished, he headed for the basement.  
    It was the most defensible place he had—one entrance and exit, a small pile of weapons and ammunition. If his guess was correct, he only had a few more hours of moonlight. Only a few more hours to survive.
    Tom shut the already-cracked basement door and headed downstairs to wait.  

    A half hour passed in silence.
    The lack of noise was as unbearable as listening to the beasts. With each passing second, Tom expected to hear growls and scrapes, clues that his hiding spot was compromised. Instead he heard the gust of wind and the light kiss of snow against the basement windows.
    He glanced at the floor around him. He'd spread out and reloaded the weapons, keeping them in easy reach. Two rifles—the one he'd carried in, as well as the one he'd found. Two pistols. A stack of ammunition next to him on the floor. He shined his flashlight into the basement corner.
    The body of the dead beast stared at him. By the time he'd returned from the kitchen, the thing in the basement had changed into human form. The creature had become an unassuming man with white hair and a stubble-covered chin. The man was naked, dripping blood from several gunshot wounds to his chest. Tom had gotten lucky in hitting him. The man's eyes, once red and feral, had returned to something near normal. Tom wasn't sure how long it took them to transform, but it seemed to happen a few minutes after they were killed. He considered dragging the man upstairs, but doing that would leave him too vulnerable, and would make too much noise. He settled for moving him into the corner.  
    The man's presence was unnerving.  
    Several times, Tom shined the