Nightfall (34 page)

Her mind raced as she darted to the other side of the tree. The monsters moved nearby, snuffling and growling to each other. She couldn't fire on one without bringing the lot down on her. Did she have enough bullets for them all? She'd lost track.

Glancing around, she took stock of her surroundings. She couldn't be more than a mile from the station, but that distance would be tough to cover. A target-rich environment, John might call it. She hoped he was all right. Everything would be worth it as long as he survived. Jenna took a deep breath to steady herself, the exhalation wreathing her head like smoke.

Surely she had most of them after her. Good news, at least. She pushed through the winter-dry thicket. A beast waited on the other side. It launched at her. She brought her rifle up, sighting and firing in the same motion. Ammo slammed through its chest and splattered guts. The monster twitched and lay still, a few scant feet away. She pegged it in the head just to be sure.

A howl rose up nearby, both mourning and an exchange of information. The rest would find her now. Her heart thudded like a drum. She didn't like fighting by herself. Her back felt cold and vulnerable; she'd gotten used to somebody watching it.

Jenna ran. She didn't have time to scout. Just keep moving. She would head toward the station if she knew exactly where it was. The trees made everything look the same. Her footprints and her scent left a trail behind her, but she couldn't worry about that. She was cold, and the leaden morning sky threatened more snow. Black branches lashed her as she fled, tearing at her jacket, her hair, her skin.

Two demon dogs slammed out of the trees behind her. She heard them and smelled them, the raw odor of fetid meat and steel-sharp hunger. She spun. They flanked her—clever move. She couldn't swing her rifle fast enough to catch both. Jenna blasted the one on the right. It yelped and fell dead as its partner lunged from the left. Teeth sank into her upper arm, dragging her down. If she hit the ground, her guts would be a feast.

The bite burned like hell, as if acid seeped from its fangs. She tossed the rifle to her left hand and clubbed the beast in the skull with all her strength. No fear now, just rage. The blow stunned it long enough for Jenna to fire. More blood on the snow. She didn't think she could do that again. Her right arm felt weak. Something had torn beneath the skin.

The rifle slid from her fingers.
Too heavy. Slowing me down.

More howling in the distance. They'd find her soon. She needed help. She needed John.

No, keep it together.
She thrust aside her panic and worked quickly, tearing a strip from her shirt and wrapping it around her arm—not a tourniquet, but it would slow the bleeding. She scanned the sky before choosing a direction, but moving fast was no longer an option. She was so tired.

“You need to shift,” she said aloud.

But it didn't happen, no matter how much she wanted it. Nothing. She couldn't think herself into being a wolf, not like she'd hoped.

Jenna ramped back up to a run. She thought she was headed home. Going headlong, she tripped over a rock half hidden in the snow and smashed face-first into a fallen tree. Her cheek burned where the bark abraded the skin. Pain shot into her brain. She might have broken her nose. More blood flowing. Jesus, with two wounds, she was a wet dream of a scent trail now.

The howls closed in.

A primitive part of her shuddered. She wasn't a wolf. She was a hunted human. Prey. Walking meat. Her muscles locked with cold and terror. It was all she could do to slink inside a log, hollowed out from long seasons. She huddled and tried to stop the bleeding. They'd find her soon, and Jenna didn't have her rifle—not that she could do anything with her injured right arm. The log was just a place to die.

A growl sounded in her throat.

Her wolf had gone to sleep when she forced it down back at the cave. It had relented, at least until its survival became uncertain. Primal strength surged through her bones, carrying fire in its wake. Her body blazed with agony as the change began. This time she rode it out. She didn't shoot upward, watching from above, not feeling. No, she stayed with it and breathed it. Nothing had ever hurt so badly, liquid agony roiling in her veins. She flashed through that strange no-place again, a place hewn of pain. When she twisted through to the other side, she wore sister-wolf 's skin.

But more of Jenna rode along this time. She remembered who she was. On the other side of a dream, she lived as a human female with a man named John. She was hurt and she needed to go home. But first, the wolf had some hunting to do.

She bounded from the log, unimpeded by a sore paw or a wounded muzzle. One sniff put her on their scent. The wrong-dogs stank, and she would hunt them all. She threw back her head and howled, warning that they'd trespassed again.

Two stood in the clearing, just past the trees. Her ears flickered. She leaped toward them, rushing headlong through the snow. Her muscles bunched. She sprang and tore at one's throat, the motion smooth and satisfying. She spat. Their meat was rancid, and their blood tasted foul. Then she swiped at the other with a paw, a warning it didn't heed. She threw all her weight forward and savaged his shoulder. It fell, crippled, and she landed a killing bite.

More came, and she fought. Teeth and claws, she tore their flesh and snarled. She was a wolf; they were only rotten mongrels. They died one at a time, but she paid the price. One tore into her wounded foreleg. Another bit her in the side. She took a claw in the chest. Their numbers would eventually overwhelm her. She ached.

More howls sounded in the distance.

Home.
She needed to go home. If she died, there would be no more hunts. The wolf turned and sniffed. She found the faint scent of humans, a smell that beckoned her as strongly as raw meat. Her mouth watered.
This way.

Tru kept an eye on the front door and an ear on the walkie-talkie. He hated waiting.

He'd been in the tunnel when the big boom hit. The entire place shook, and for a minute he'd thought the whole thing might cave in. But none of the dogs snaked through, so he'd hightailed it to the front door. More waiting. He passed the time counting cracks in the wall plaster and wiping bloody grime off his hands.

He didn't like remembering they'd once been human. Better to focus on what they'd become. The walkie-talkie crackled to life in his hands, making him jump.

“Everything okay?” Harvard asked.

“Yep. How you guys holding up?”

“Penny's asleep. Ange and I are coping. Did Mason close the tunnel? We heard the blast.”

“It looked good on my side.” Tru frowned, his head throbbing. “Now they just need to get home.”

But that was the hard part. He signed off after promising to keep Harvard posted.

Jenna and Mason had been out there a long time. He told himself not to worry. They knew what they were doing. But if they died, it left his survival in Harvard's hands. Tru didn't like those odds.

His instructions had been to sit tight, ready to lay down cover fire in case things got hot and heavy when they returned. He was a better shot than anything else, but not so good in the woods. He wasn't quiet like Mason. Or Jenna in her wolf form. So it would be stupid to go looking for them, and he wasn't stupid.

He'd sit tight.

A faint scream roused him. Definitely a woman's scream. He'd expected contact on the walkie-talkie first, but he knew the sound of Jenna in trouble. Knowing what Mason would do in his place, Tru unfastened the locks and flung the door open without a second thought. A chill wind swept down the hall, raising goose bumps even through his jacket.

He took in the situation in a glance. Jenna sprawled naked, just past the trees. Blood stained the snow. Having taken a number of wounds, she didn't look like she had the strength to crawl a foot, let alone back to the station.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Dumb to go out there.
Dumb as hell.

He grabbed his rifle and ran. The dark trees lined up behind her appeared beyond imposing, an unearthly honor guard to ward over her last moments. The sky arced behind her like a gray tomb, and the world revealed only grave hues, all contrast and no color.

Dipshit.
He'd read
Lord of the Rings
once too often.

Monsters launched from the shadows. He fired again and again, forming a protective perimeter of hot lead. He wasn't shooting to kill so much as to deter. What he wouldn't give for a full-auto AK right now. If this were a game, he could switch weapons at will, a full arsenal on his back without any weight.

But life wasn't a game.

Tru got lucky and a few dropped, but there were too many to handle alone—not while protecting Jenna. This had to be the last of the pack. Desperate now. They wouldn't stop coming.

He reached her, then stripped off his jacket and slumped it over her shoulders. The cold air was a relief against his sweaty back.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

She tried to push up, but her right arm folded beneath her.
Jesus.

“The bites aren't too deep,” she said, her voice a raw protest.

Of course, he thought. She'd been protected by a thick layer of winter fur. But exhaustion and shock made her clumsy.

“Get up. C'mon. We're dog food out here.”

“Go, Tru.” Her head didn't move from where it drooped toward the bloodied snow. “Don't be a hero.”

He shot another one and grinned. “Didn't you hear? Superman got old, and I'm up for the job.”

“You idiot. Just give me the rifle and run for it. I can cover you.”

“Mason would kill me.”

For the first time, hope flashed into her eyes. “Is he inside? Waiting?”

Too messed up after all that fighting. She'd have known better if she thought it through. Why would Tru come out after her with Mason around to do the job? So yeah, it was the wrong assumption, but he couldn't tell her the truth. He let her believe.

“On your feet. Up we go.”

Tru tugged, ignoring her cry of pain as he shoved her arms into his jacket. It was a fair run back to the station, but otherwise, they were sitting ducks. And Jenna would freeze to death. She fell before they'd gone more than a few steps. Damn. She was going to get him killed. Where the hell was Mason? Jenna was
his
woman.

With Jenna wobbling and faltering, he fired again and then grabbed the walkie-talkie. “Mason, we fucking need you, man.”

Silence.

Anger lashed through him, lending strength. Tru spun and flung her over his shoulder. He lacked the bulk for a fireman's carry, so his run turned into a drunken stagger. Then he heard the crunch of the dogs bounding through the snow. They were gaining. The door might as well be ten miles away.

Fuck it.
He had to fight. Tru set Jenna down and raised his weapon. What happened next shook him to his core.

Penny appeared on the snow before him. No shoes. No coat. She wore sweat pants and a little pink T-shirt. A glow kindled around her. He had no idea what she was doing out there, or how she'd popped out of thin air.
Magic. Holy shit.

Beasts crouched all around her, coiling to spring. Tru fired over her head, nailing one in the neck. Blood sprayed everywhere. But the others kept coming. No way he could win this. No way.

Grimly, he fired on. He'd protect these two with his dying breath, even if it killed him.

And it probably would.

 

“Penny!” Ange screamed.

The girl was just ... gone. One minute she'd been with them. The next, poof.

There was trouble outside, and Chris just knew Penny had launched into the thick of it. The fierce instinct that pushed up from his gut shocked him speechless. Before his adrenaline failed, he hurried to the main floor. Ange raced hot on his heels. His blood pumped hard, quick enough to make him sick. But he'd just outrun it—outrun the nausea, move faster than the fear.

From the supply room he grabbed the spare shotgun. Gun-shy? Yeah, he was. But he also wanted to see morning. He stuffed the shotgun with all the shells it would hold and hauled on his parka. Then he handed the nine-millimeter to Ange, who held it with more surety than he'd ever seen. And why not? Outside, her child was in danger. Nothing mattered to her more than that.

He flung open the door to a sharp blast of icy wind. His glasses fogged over. He rubbed at them with quick swipes. Jenna sprawled unconscious at Tru's feet. She must have gone wolf at some point because she wore only Tru's jacket. Her legs were nearly as white as the snow, except where vicious wounds gaped red and ugly. Tru stood over her, looking determined but as young as his years, facing down the snarling, starving pack. Penny... glowed.

“Over here, you sons of bitches!” Ange called.

They both hurtled onto the battlefield, weapons ready. The woman beside him fired as she ran, trying desperately to draw the attack from her only child. Her aim was off. Never a good shot, the movement and the distance prevented her from doing more than picking holes in the snow. One monster crouched and leaped, taking the girl to the ground. Tru spattered its brains. The light around Penny dimmed as she fell. Chris couldn't see how badly she was hurt.

Goddamn this shotgun.
He wasn't in range. His weapon had plenty of stopping power, but little accuracy at such a distance. Firing now would just waste his ammo.

Other dogs slunk closer, trying to get at Jenna. Tru couldn't be everywhere at once, and the monsters grew bolder. They thought they'd won. Chris let out a fierce yell. He and Ange ran on, together. Closer now. Almost close enough.