Outage 5: The Change (2 page)

"I said stay back!" the woman said again, her eyes bulging and terrified.

"I-I'm not here to hurt you…" Tom managed.

His disheveled appearance—and the fact that he was in her house—contradicted that statement. He clutched the towel around his waist. The woman swung the knife, as if she might be able to reach him without stepping out of the closet. Tom retreated and fell against the bed, holding up one of his hands in a placating gesture.
 

"Wait a minute!" the woman cried suddenly. Her fear was replaced by recognition.
 

Tom stopped.

"Is it you?" the woman hissed.

 
"What do you mean?"

"You told us to hide. And then we heard the noises."

"Is…is it dead?" the little girl whimpered. "Did you kill it?"

Tom swallowed the lump in his throat. Were they talking about the man he'd woken up next to? He pictured the chewed, mangled corpse. The man had been naked, save a few shreds of clothing. He'd assumed the man's clothes had been torn off in the struggle…or had it been something else?

Taking a leap in assessment—and hoping to avoid getting stabbed—he said, "Yes. It's dead."

The woman trembled. After studying him for a moment, she lowered the knife. "You saved us."

Without a concrete memory, Tom couldn't be sure. Expectation of an answer forced him to nod.

"I'm not sure how you killed it. You looked so sick when we let you in. You were only wearing that hospital gown. It looked like you were going to pass out."

"I don't remember much of what happened," he admitted.

"The noises went on for so long that we thought you were dead," the little girl continued. "We were afraid to come out."

"Maybe you hit your head?" the woman suggested, her face riddled with fear and confusion.

"I'm not sure."

"Are there more of them coming?"

"No," Tom said. "They only come out by moonlight. We should be safe during the day."

Guilt crept inside him as he realized what he was saying. He was talking as if he were a survivor. But he wasn't. Not anymore. But these people didn't seem to know that.

"Where's your gown?" the woman asked.

"It ripped," he guessed.

"You need clothes." The woman stepped out of the closet, watching him in his towel. She turned and rifled through the clothing. "I'm Maria, and this is my daughter, Emily. Do you remember us?"

"I'm sorry, I don't." Tom looked at the king-sized bed and the twin closets. "Do you live here alone?"

"We don't live here," Maria explained, motioning around the room. "We're from a few streets over. We were looking for help, but everyone is dead. The phones are down. We came in to get warm."

"We couldn't get ahold of the police," Emily added.

"The police won't be much help right now," Tom said dryly.

"It sounds like you know more than we do. You need to help us." Maria looked through the closet, her hands shaking. "What size do you take, Tom?"

"I can find something." He walked over and located some pants, a shirt, boots, and a belt in the closet.

"I think there's a bathroom out in the hall," Maria said, watching him. "You can change there."

"I'll be right back," Tom promised. "You should be safe for a moment."

"Don't leave us, Tom."

Maria tucked her blonde hair behind her ears. Her face was pale. She looked thin underneath her winter coat, as if she were trying to retreat into it. She seemed terrified that Tom might leave.
 

Tom gave a thin smile as he walked from the room. Locating the upstairs bathroom, he changed. He watched himself in the mirror. If not for the cuts on his face and the memories of what he'd been through, Tom might be another survivor, doing his best to navigate this new, chaotic world.

That realization heightened his guilt.
 

Maria and Emily had no idea who—
what
—he was. He might've protected them from the creature downstairs, but what would happen next time? Could he control the change again? He recalled the explanation Rosemary had given him before she died.

"The change occurs three nights out of every month—every twenty-nine days, to be exact."

Tom shuddered to think of fighting the beast forever.

I can't do this. I can't
be
this.
 

His prior plan before had been to get as far away as possible, maybe find Jeffrey. But having protected Maria and Emily once, he felt the pressing need to make sure they were safe. He couldn't leave them here alone. He'd put his plan to find Jeffrey on hold.

The bunker.
 

The idea hit him so fast it felt like it was planted in his head.

If he could get back to it, he could escort Maria and Emily inside. Then he'd hole up somewhere and avoid hurting the others. Of course, he'd have to get the others to open up. They might already know what he was.

His plan was missing details, but given the situation, it made sense.

One thing was for certain: he couldn't tell Maria and Emily the truth. They wouldn't trust him if they knew. They might run off, putting themselves in danger. He'd have to make sure they didn't see the condition of the body in the kitchen.

Looking at his face in the mirror, thinking about what he was hiding, he whispered, "God help me. God help us all."

When Tom returned, Maria and Emily were hovering by the bedroom window, staring out into the cold, gray sky. The storm had relented, leaving a thick layer of white over the landscape. The cars and bodies were outlines of what they'd once been. A few errant snowflakes fell from the sky, reminding him of the one night left in the storm.

"Do the clothes fit?" Maria asked.

"They're a little big, but they're better than a hospital gown."

Maria attempted to smile. It looked like she'd been crying. She hugged Emily and asked, "What happened to you, Tom?"

The frightened looks on their faces told him he couldn't rip them out into the cold without explaining things first. Maria blotted the tears from her eyes.

Tom took a breath before filling them in on the events since the first night. Maria and Emily shook their heads in disbelief as he told of his night at the machine shop, his night at the hospital, and his journey to the bunker. He explained everything he'd learned about the beasts, but he left out the bite wound. When he got to the part about his leaving Kelsey, he adjusted some details, saying he was looking for a missing uncle.

"Did you find him?" Maria asked, her eyes filled with concern.
 

"Yes, but he didn't make it."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Maria looked away.

"Unfortunately, I lost the gun I was carrying." He didn't think it was too far-fetched, given the rest of his story. "How long have you been hiding?"

"We got here right before you came," Maria explained.

"Which street do you live on?"

"Elmhurst Circle."

"Were either of you bitten?" Tom looked them up and down. He wasn't concerned about his own safety, but he couldn't jeopardize the people in the bunker.
 

What if they're afflicted? Afflicted like me?

Maria looked at herself and her daughter for a moment. "We're fine."

"How'd you get here?" Tom asked.

Maria sucked in a breath before telling her story. "A few nights ago, I woke up to a scream. When I looked outside, I saw those things all over the neighborhood. I had the good sense to take Emily to the attic. We hid for the first night, listening to our neighbors fight and fail. For some reason, the creatures left us alone. Either that, or they didn't detect us. We felt horrible not assisting, but our phone had no service, and we couldn't call for help." Maria shuddered at the memory. "We stayed there all night and the next day, long after the noises had subsided. I didn't want to risk putting Emily in danger. Finally, we crept into the house because we got so thirsty. The neighborhood was filled with bodies. We tried taking our car, but it got stuck. So we headed out on foot, looking for help. We crossed several neighborhoods before we came to this one. We came inside because we were cold."

Tom nodded his understanding. "And that's when you saw me?"

"Yes." Maria's face was solemn as she recalled the details. Her eyes sparked with hope. "Do you think your friends are still in the bunker?"

"Yes. They holed up for the remainder of the storm."

"If we can get to them, we'll be safe," she suggested, her hope growing. "According to what you said, we have only one night to go, right?"

Tom nodded, glad that she'd reached the conclusion on her own. "There's only one problem," he said, biting his lip.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure I remember how to get there."

"What do you mean you don't know how to get there?" Maria asked.

"I was so preoccupied with the search for my uncle that I wasn't paying attention," Tom lied. Realizing how uncertain that sounded, he added, "I know the general direction."

"Do you think we'll see your footprints?" Maria asked.

"They might be covered over by snow."

"How are we going to find it, then?" Maria asked, her hope wilting.

"We should see the fire truck. It's at the end of a cul-de-sac. It can't be too far."

Maria swallowed. She looked at Emily. She didn't need to speak her concern for Tom to understand it. "I'm afraid to take her out there."

"I'll keep you safe. I promise."

"You'll need a coat, some gloves…" she said.

"I'll find something downstairs," he said. "Why don't you stay up here while I search for weapons?"

Maria didn't argue. From the look on his face, she could see that he was trying to protect them. Tom left the room and searched the house, finding gloves, a coat, and a scarf in a hall closet downstairs. Donning them, he crept into the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife. The half-eaten body of the man was as lifeless as he'd been when Tom left. He assumed the man had lived in the house. He found no other weapons.

Tom ushered Maria and Emily downstairs and into the living room, avoiding the carnage in the kitchen. The house smelled of sweat and copper. They stared out the front window, watching the snow. The large flakes weren't as prevalent as the night before, but they were nerve-wracking, all the same.
 

Neither Maria nor Emily moved for the door. Tom knew their trepidation well. Heading into the open was hardly a comforting thought, despite the reeking smell in the house.
 

"I wish my daddy was here," Emily said, breaking the tense silence.

"Where is he?" Tom asked.

"In Minneapolis. He's at a seminar," Maria explained.

"When's he supposed to be home?"

"His flight was delayed. I wish there was some way to get ahold of him, to make sure he's safe."

"He's better off there than here."

"You're probably right."

"I'm sure he'll be back when the storm's over. We just need to get through the rest of today and tonight. Then we'll be safe," Tom promised.

Maria closed her eyes tight and reopened them. Letting go of Emily, she said, "Let's be brave, okay, honey? We'll make it through this."

Emily nodded.
 

"It's time to go," Tom said.
 

Maria and Emily joined him in heading for the front door. When he opened it, Tom was hit with a bitter chill that reminded him of the past two days.
If only I'd moved down south
. His plans to retire seemed like they'd been made ages ago. He doubted he'd ever get there. Not now.

Before leaving the property, they searched the garage for weapons, but found nothing more useful than the knife he'd secured in the kitchen.
 

"Hopefully we'll come across something better on the way," Tom told them.
 

As he'd suspected, the remainder of the night's storm had covered up his boot prints. He strained to recall something more about his missing time, but came up empty. His lack of memories made him uneasy.

Tom glanced back at the house, as if the man he'd killed might be watching him. But there was nothing there. He shook off the horrible image of the bloodied and half-eaten man. He couldn't wait to be rid of the house and the man he'd killed.

At the end of the driveway, he glanced at the stalled sedan.

"Did you try driving it?" he asked.

"No," Maria answered. "It was like that when we got here."

Tom surveyed the rest of the neighborhood. The cars were motionless and buried in snow. A few contained dead bodies, slumped over steering wheels or hanging out of doors. He noticed an SUV at the head of the street that he hadn't seen before. The door was hanging open, as if the driver had been interrupted in his journey. Tom forged through the snow.

"I doubt we'll get it going," he yelled over the wind. "But it's worth a try."

The snow was so thick it stuck to his boots. The white powder was heavier and more compacted than the night before. Several times, Emily lost her balance, caught in snow past her knees. Maria propped her up. Despite the difficult progress, Tom was grateful for Maria's and Emily's company. Just a few hours earlier, he'd been traveling alone, uncertain if he'd make it to morning.