Nightfall (9 page)

“I got it,” Jenna yelled, advancing at a run. “More coming from Tru's position.”

Then Mason did the inconceivable. He let her take the kill. Didn't even hesitate. Simply turned his attention to the next batch and smiled tightly at the sound of Jenna's rifle fire.

“Tighten up. Stay on Jenna. Tru, with me on the other side.”

Instead of taking the defensive this time, Mason charged. The acidic fury in his chest urged muscles to go faster, cut sharper. Adrenaline stole thought and replaced it with smooth action, a meta trance of movement. Dodge, spin, fire. Hot gunmetal and cordite layered with the copper smell of blood, that tang heavy beneath the pit's sweet rot. He gulped a cool mouthful of air and fired, fighting clear of a nightmare.

Tru met him at the far end of the clearing, having mirrored Mason on the right side of the great circular grave. For once, the kid had no words. He simply panted, his thin chest pumping up and down. Gore slicked his black hair. In his eyes Mason found something he hadn't expected, something that dragged him down from that high of combat: the need for approval.

He gave it with a simple nod.

And just like that, Tru was back to himself. “Shit, you made out like this would be hard.”

“Just like an old shooter?” Video games had been out of production for years, but from the quickness of his reflexes, the kid loved those ancient relics of pre-secession years.

“Just.”

“Jenna, bring up the rear,” Mason ordered. “Left flank.”

Robert led, but Jenna kept them in line as they circled the way Mason had come. She moved in steady strides, no bobbing, her rifle always at the ready.

Angela kept her gaze on Penny. “What is this place?” she whispered.

“Not the time,” Mason ground out.

He sensed more than saw the next onslaught, as demon dogs bounded toward them.

But he sensed it from Jenna's perspective.

She turned toward the woods, her back to the pit. A trio burst through the trees, scattering on sight. No straightforward charge for these bastards. Zigzagging, like blurs of fur and skeletal meat, they zeroed in on Jenna and the others.

“Hold,” he shouted at Tru, already hurtling toward the threat. “Watch for more.”

Jenna took out the center dog, but that wasn't enough. In fact it seemed like a calculated move. Send one up the middle. Draw fire. Leave the flanks vulnerable.

A sound like a champagne cork went off—Ange popping her .22. She took one down at the knees, a lucky shot. Then Bob stepped up and pumped two bullets into its stomach, his hands shaking too badly to aim for anything smaller.

“The head,” Mason said, coming up to them. He fired once to finish the task.

“
Mason!
”

At Jenna's shout, he turned to find a creature loping toward the rest, an old-time beast of legend. Over five feet tall, it possessed the fangs and claws of a wolf on a distinctly humanoid form. The monster studied them as it ran, its eyes translucent silver coins. Choosing its victim. A stream of thick, yellow mucus dripped from its yawning jaws. From where he stood some ten feet away, Mason smelled its wet, putrid fur and heard the sandpaper rasp of its breath.

In a blur of motion, the beast sprang. Mason pulled the trigger but only managed to change its course. It leaped for the coach. Whether by instinct or intent, Bob dove into the pit.

The monster wasn't as nimble in its pseudo-human form. Mason caught it around the legs and kept it from leaping after the coach and Penny. After two hard rolls away from the pit, he straddled its smaller, more compact body.

Taloned claws sunk into his thighs, tearing. Mason grunted. The icy shock of pain yielded to a drenching wash of his own blood. But no amount of damage short of death would stop him. Mason forced himself to look at it. Doing so was almost impossible, like forcing two opposing magnets together. Reflex wanted to shift his gaze to the side, to look away. But he managed. Couldn't have been more than a second or two, but he saw emotion in the thing's moonstone eyes. Rage, fear—and understanding. Its body went slack, all fight gone. Pinning its arms with his knees, Mason drew his shotgun and fired. The man-beast exploded.

“Robert, grab hold!” Jenna's voice dragged Mason back.

The pit spanned forty feet across, half as deep, but the edges were shallower. Inside, lying rotten and piled in layers, were the bodies of half-gnawed humans and malformed creatures. Some of them were like that decapitated beast, more humanoid, while others looked like dogs turned inside out. From his time back east, he knew the monsters used these pits as food storage, for lean times when fresher meat couldn't be found.

Lying on her stomach, leaning half over the side, Jenna extended her Remington into the pit. “C'mon, Bob. Grab it!”

Mason slung his weapon across his back and found Angela kneeling on the hard, bloodstained ground. She called Penny's name, low and controlled. This woman was stronger than she looked, or it might be all show for her kid's sake. Either way, he appreciated it.

“Tru, get up here!” he called.

When the kid hustled up, he took in the scene and whispered, “Twisted.”

“I need you to watch our backs.” Mason scanned the area, but that strange buzzing sense of seeing outside himself had faded. The woods had gone deathly still again, but he didn't trust it. “I need to help Jenna haul them out.”

Angela touched his arm. “Penny's down there.”

“Focus on the woods,” he said to Tru. “If it moves, shoot it and yell for me.”

The kid reloaded, his hands steady. “Won't need you, Pops.”

Mason approached the pit. Stink he could practically see wafted up.
An unholy place.
But he'd recognized that three years before—in Indiana.

He slid alongside Jenna on his belly. She vibrated next to him, her mind a raging repetition of images and words. He didn't know what to make of those sensations, feeling what she felt, glimpsing things through her eyes, but he took comfort in them. They were in hell, but they weren't alone.

Jenna leaned farther over the edge and urged Bob to try again. His slick fingertips grazed the tip of the barrel, but he couldn't grab hold.

Mason tried. Still no good. “I hope this thing isn't loaded.”

“Can't remember how many rounds I used,” she muttered.

“Stack bodies, Coach,” he called down. “That's the only way we can reach you.”

Jenna made a sound in the back of her throat. “Where's Penny?”

His heart stilled, then double-timed its rhythm as he watched Bob, seeing what Jenna recognized. As the coach piled mutated corpses, he did so while wearing an empty sling.

Mason slapped a hand across Ange's lips before she could panic. “Quiet or they're on us again.”

Jenna turned away and shrugged out of her backpack. Mason wouldn't hurt the woman—at least she didn't think so—and they had to focus on finding Penny. From inside the pit, Coach muttered imprecations beneath his breath. Couldn't worry about him either.

They must have lost track of her when the final wave came at them. Penny could have slipped free during the fight, nimble as a monkey. He'd been distracted. Understandable.

Jenna circled the perimeter with a cupped hand, calling softly. “Penny, where are you? We need to get out of here. This is a bad place, sweetie.”

Tru snorted quietly behind her. “She's not gonna answer. There's something wrong with her brain. Haven't you noticed?”

“Just keep watch,” she snapped.

When she came to a tangled thicket, she saw a small gap beneath. Kneeling, she peered into the shadows. A pale triangle of a face peeped back at her. Penny lay on her stomach, protecting the stuffed bear with her tiny body. Jenna didn't know whether that was brave or heartbreaking. The way her chest felt must mean some combination of the two.

“You can come out now. The monsters are gone.”

The child didn't answer, but she wriggled out on elbows and knees, careful not to leave the bear behind. Jenna took her hand and led her the fifty yards back to her mother. Angela's blue eyes went wide, shining with tears, and she snatched Penny into her arms.

“Baby, I was so worried. It was clever of you to hide, but please,
please
don't scare me like that again.” She stroked the girl's moon-pale hair with shaking fingers.

Now that the immediate threat had passed, Jenna let her gaze sweep in a slow circuit, taking stock of their surroundings.
Christ.

Th other woman shivered, tightening her arms around her daughter. “This is hell.”

The trees hung heavy with sickly moss, tangled so tightly overhead it blocked any chance of sunlight. Underfoot, the ground felt unnaturally soft, slick, and sweet with the smell of rotten things. The pit was filled with bleached bones and liquefying corpses. Good to know they decomposed, becoming part of the topsoil like everything else.

“We need to bail,” Tru said. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Mason flashed him a smile. “You and me both, Skywalker. Let's find the fastest way to get the coach out of there.”

Jenna moved to the edge of the pit, where Bob had managed to clamber about halfway up. “I'm thinking human chain. Mason, hold my feet?”

“Gotcha,” he said, coming up behind her.

His hands curled around her ankles. She didn't hesitate to shimmy down the side of the hole, headfirst. Muck and a foul sort of grease slicked her shirt and oozed between her fingers, but seeing the desperation on Bob's face made it worthwhile. She couldn't imagine the horror of being trapped with all those corpses. A shudder rocked through her.

A flash of orange caught her eye. Those were ... no. Couldn't be. But it was. On one of the dead, she saw part of a number inked onto an orange jumpsuit.

“Mason?” Her voice shook. “Why is this hole full of dead convicts?”

“Is this time to chat?” he said, teeth clenched. “Just do your job. Get him out of there.”

Anger churned, but he was right. This wasn't the time.

“Take my hands,” she said to Bob.

The coach latched onto her wrists. Mason inched backward while Ange and Tru anchored him. A slow, arduous process. Slime crawled into her shirt as she slid up. Mud and guts slicked Bob's hands. Her arms began to ache, wrists and forearms burning.

“Jesus,” Tru said with a grunt. “Fewer burgers and more tofu, Coach.”

They hauled him up so far that he could use his legs in the dirt, helping to scramble out. They fell into a filthy pile. Mason rolled to his feet immediately, spinning to sweep the area. Tru followed his example.

“You son of a bitch,” Ange bit out as soon as Bob got up. “You lost my daughter! What's wrong with you?”

Coach looked defensive. “I'm telling you, she was there when I jumped.”

“Shut it,” Mason said. “And pick it up, people. We're stepping triple time the rest of the way.”

“Hit it, Pops.” Tru fell in, rifle in hand.

Mason took off at a dead run, calling over his shoulder. “I'm scouting the last leg. I'll fire two short bursts if I hit trouble before I get there. Tru, take point. Ange and Bob in the center.”

“I'm carrying Penny,” the redhead said curtly, holding her daughter close.

“Don't care,” Mason called back. “Just don't slow us down. Jenna, rearguard. Move out.”

Jenna ran as if there were demons at her heels, which was seriously close to the truth. The backpack weighed like a bag of stones between her shoulders, pulling her, slowing her. With every thudding footfall, she relived that beast's otherworldly growl. In her mind's eye, she saw Mason struggling with it. An ache sprung up, too fierce for tears, as she considered what it must have been like for him all these years, fighting against the damage inflicted by the change. She'd never met anyone so alone.

A flicker of warmth touched her, as if Mason had skimmed his palm down her back and settled his comforting touch at the base of her spine. She actually looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still guarding the rear. Nobody. Nothing but dark, still forest.

Images flickered in her brain as they ran. She caught glimpses of what lay around the next corner. A sort of déjà vu, only more helpful. Jenna knew when to duck, when branches would swing back, and when to jog left to avoid ruts in the path. Every moment echoed as if she'd already run the route. How was that possible?

The demon dogs bayed in the distance, their howls wet as if rotten lungs had filled with slime.

“We have incoming,” she shouted to Tru. “How much farther? Can you see Mason?”

“He's up ahead, working on the door,” the kid called back. “Three hundred yards from us. You'll see the building in ten.”

They rounded another bend and sure enough, a two-story white structure stood in the midst of a clearing. During his broadcasts, Dr. Welsh had confirmed it had a basement too.

“Locked,” Mason said as she ran to meet him. “Should've figured that, but we don't have any way to call him.”

Jenna took a quick survey. Everyone had endured the final sprint except for the coach. He bent over in the field, huffing for air. A hundred yards separated him from the outpost.

“Come on, Bob,” Tru shouted. “Get the lead out!”

Finally he straightened, looking nauseated and flushed as he chugged toward them.