Free Outage 5: The Change by T.W. Piperbrook Page A

down here," Kelsey continued. "He left to keep us safe."
    "You should've made us aware of it. Maybe we could've…" Mike's voice trailed off as he fought for a solution. "We could've done something."
    The truth was, nobody knew what the right answer was, because nobody had faced something like this before. Protocol and procedure were worthless. Having worked through the initial shock, the men spoke more rationally.
    "He won't be able to get inside," Mike said, motioning toward the steel door at the top of the bunker. It looked like he was trying to convince himself. Flannery walked underneath it, staring up at the ladder. He furrowed his brow.
    "I wouldn't think so."
    Kelsey hugged Silas and Katherine tight. The children shrank against her. Their eyes were wide and confused. In just a few days, they'd lost their parents, Abraham, and Sally. And now they'd heard the news about Tom. She felt awful for shaking their security again.
    "It's been twelve hours," Flannery reasoned. "And we haven't heard anything."
    "He's probably dead already," Mike concluded. "He didn't look so hot, when he left."
    The words struck at Kelsey's core, but she kept her composure, doing her best to calm the children. She glanced at the hatch at the top of the bunker, as if saying Tom's name might've summoned him.
    In truth, she wasn't sure she'd ever see him again.
    "We'll listen closely," Mike said, "Though I doubt we'll hear anything. It must be getting close to dark. The chances of someone else stumbling on us are pretty slim. I think we'll be safe riding out another night here."
    Flannery nodded, convincing himself of that logic. Despite his agreement, Kelsey found herself staring at the hatchway.

Chapter Eighteen

    Tom and Maria kept to the ends of the group, wielding their rifles, while Emily, Joseph, and Lana hung in the middle. The baby's insistent cry bounced off the walls of the surrounding houses, making it sound like they'd entered a neighborhood full of children. The reality was that the neighborhood was eerily calm. The wind had ceased gusting. The area was draped in quiet. Without Lana's screams, they might've been walking through a remote area of the wilderness rather than a neighborhood once full of life.  
    The doors and windows were sufficiently tattered to indicate that no one was left. Despite the houses' condition, Tom saw no bodies. He guessed the creatures had come back and picked through the remains.
    Whatever the case, Tom had no urge to slow down or stop.
    "I don't like this neighborhood," Maria hissed over at him.
    "I don't, either," he agreed.
    He peered through each of the windows and doors as they walked, keeping the group to the center of the street. Being exposed felt less dangerous than getting close to the buildings. Tom had the irrational fear that the residences might spring to life and suck them inside. Invisible pairs of eyes seemed to penetrate them from multiple locations, planning the best time to strike.
    The feeling grew so strong that he trembled.
    "Are you all right, Tom?" Maria asked.
    "Ever since we left those people behind, I've felt like we're being watched," he whispered, wiping nervous beads of sweat from his brow.
    Maria turned in all directions, concerned. Lana cried and cried. The noise was a blazing alarm, alerting anyone in the area to the group's presence.
    "Maybe we should give her a bottle," Tom suggested hesitantly. "It might be worth stopping for a second."
    Maria unslung the diaper bag. Handing Tom the rifle, she took the baby while Joseph dug hurriedly in his jacket for a bottle. They gave the food to Lana. She sipped hungrily. Maria handed the baby back to Joseph as they continued walking.
    "That's a good girl," Maria whispered.  
    The baby's noisy slurps were a welcome reprieve from her crying.

    The silence and cold persisted.  
    Tom kept alert for movement in the ensuing houses, but saw nothing. The creepy feeling of being watched subsided, replaced by the biting cold gnawing at his