Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage by T.W. Piperbrook Read Free Book Online Page B

sets of prints were coated with a fresh layer of snow.  
    Soon she'd reached the backyard. She rounded the house, following her path, and came upon pieces of Rob. She immediately gagged.  
    Abby fell to her knees and retched into the snow. She continued until her stomach was empty and her throat burned. When she was finished, she wiped her face with her glove.
    OhGodOhGod….
    A crash sprang from somewhere behind her. She scrounged through the snow, making arm-shaped impressions across the pavement, searching frantically for her phone.
    The snow parted with ease.  
    The same way Rob's body parted for the creature.
    But she couldn't think about that. Not now.
    She kept her focus on the ground, ignoring the grisly scene in front of her. If she didn't find help, Abby was as good as dead.  
    All at once, the noises behind her stopped.  
    She shot a harried glance back down the driveway. The area was vacant. No sign of the creature. Where the hell was it? Was it fucking with her? The moment she let her guard down, it'd be on her. She could feel it.
    She had to keep moving.  
    If she couldn't call for help, she'd run to find it. She'd try the Hamiltons' house, the other neighbor's. Somewhere. Anywhere.
    She was about to flee when her hands came across something solid. She dug the frozen carcass of her phone from the snow, then held it up and swiped at the screen. Her gloves were in the way.
    Frantic, she ripped them off, dropped the knife in the snow. Her fingers flew over the screen, but the device wouldn't register. The screen stayed dark and cold. The cellphone had either frozen or gotten wet. In any case, it was dead.
    The Hamiltons. She'd get to the Hamiltons. There was still a chance they might be home. She hadn't seen them leave. Maybe they'd heard the commotion and remained inside. Maybe they'd called the cops.
    She retrieved the knife and got to her feet, then started to run. Despite the cold, she was sweating, and her skin felt clammy and hot underneath her coat. When she got back to the road, she stared at the open door of her house, certain something would come barreling out after her, but nothing did.
    Where the hell was the thing? It must be biding its time. Tracking her. Stalking her like an animal in the wild.
    But what the hell could it be? It'd been on two legs, for God's sake. What the hell was it?
    Abby fought for breath, refusing to slow her pace.
    Her body was torqued on adrenaline, fueled by fear and shock, and she flew through the snow with speed she didn't know she had. The Hamiltons' property was lined with tall, wiry hedges, and their house was set back from the road. The driveway was fifty feet farther down the street. She forged through the brambles until she reached the yard. The garage door was closed. No way to tell if a car was inside.
    She prayed that they were home. Maybe they were hunkered by the window, watching her approach. She pictured the tall, sinewy frame of Leon Hamilton, perhaps with a cellphone in his hand, and felt a surge of hope. Both Leon and his wife Adeline were retired. She'd had only a handful of conversations with them, but they seemed like nice people.  
    No matter what the hour, they wouldn't turn her away.  
    The front door was shut and the windows were dark. If there was anyone behind the glass, they remained hidden. She reached the doorstep without incident and mashed the doorbell. The chime rang through the house—a dissonant tone, as if the batteries needed replacing. There was no answer from within. A few seconds later, she resorted to her fists.  
    The sound of her knocking filled the air, bouncing off the neighboring houses. She pressed her ear against the door, hoping to hear voices, but the building was silent.  
    Come on…  
    A sob crept into her throat. She jiggled the doorknob, hoping to find it unlocked, but the lock was snug.  
    Dammit, dammit, dammit…
    Her attention flew to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The yellow Jeep sat in the