Nightfall (18 page)

His chest hurt, but Tru didn't rub a hand across it to ease the tightness. He wasn't the kid who hid in closets anymore. His combat boots made no noise as he rounded the corner, mimicking Mason's light step. A muffled thump froze him in place. Another came—and another. Bodies slammed into reinforced metal.

“That's the front door,” Ange whispered.

The monsters wanted in. Tru exhaled, trying to keep the sound steady.
What now, genius? Up where there's nowhere to hide or back down into the dark?
Part of him wanted to whine. This shouldn't be his call. But among this crew, Mason needed a second. That meant he had to use his brain.

“If something gets in, we won't be able to fight without light,” he said softly.

“Upstairs, then.” Harvard's face was ghostly in the flashlight beam.

Tru nodded and set off down the hall at a dead run, putting distance between him and the violent, rhythmic assault on the front door. The sound was weird, like tribal drums, primitive and lurking just beyond the walls, waiting to devour them all. The rest followed close behind.

“We'll get a good look,” he said, starting up the stairs. “Maybe we can see what's out there.”

“We know what's out there,” Ange answered.

They hit the second floor, everyone breathless. Ange scooped Pen into her arms and cradled her with a tenderness that made Tru angry and sad at the same time. He wanted to smack her.
You aren't helping her, lady. She has to learn to deal. We all do.
But that wasn't any of his damn business. Besides, what would he know? He'd raised himself on Pop-Tarts and video games.

Rifle at the ready and Harvard's shotgun in his other hand, he ran for the windows. A whole wall of glass let in the twilight, and the contrast stung his eyes. Tru leaned forward to check out the scene below. More snow had fallen, lying a foot deep. The trees wore white shirts frosted in icy diamonds, a Robert Frost scene that wound up on a Christmas card.

But the winter wonderland didn't hold his attention. No, it was the freezing, starving-thin pack of demon dogs. In unison, as if they felt his gaze on them, the monsters threw back their heads and let out unearthly howls.

 

Jenna felt like she was going to puke. Her whole body shook. She'd known flickers before, but nothing so intense. This was the Grand Canyon of out-of-body experiences, and she'd just fallen into it. As a teenager, she'd once done a tab of acid that left her feeling almost this bad, but the experience wasn't one she had intended to repeat.

Mason was talking, an old-school vinyl record spinning on at half speed. For a terrifying moment, she'd seen herself in front of that man-beast, mere inches away from dying beneath his bloody claws. His eyes were an eerie blue, pale as a mountain sky.

At some point, Mason had gone from supporting to holding her. Listening to his heartbeat in the dark offered some reassurance. Jenna drank it in, bit by bit, until she reached coherence. Eventually she sat up, disoriented to realize that opening her eyes didn't show her anything. Mason was the only true thing she could find.

“Can you hear them?” he asked.

She suppressed a wry smile. Of course he wouldn't ask if she was okay, if she was feeling better. No, it was right back to business. Maybe that was a backhanded compliment, proof of his confidence in her resilience.

She sat quiet, listening, until a terrible howl broke over her on a subharmonic level. Demon dogs keened their hunger in concert, tearing a shudder across her muscles.

“Yeah, I can hear them.” She scrubbed her hands together, conscious again of the cold cement floor. “Like a song for the dying.”

“If they don't find food and warmth, their pack will dwindle. That's what I was counting on.”

Jenna found Mason's hand, the one holding the flashlight, and twirled it toward the wall. Water still burbled out of the wall. “But they couldn't do this, could they?”

“The seal is just cracked. We'll see if Chris has another.” He studied the play of light, his hand motionless in hers. “To be honest, I don't know what these things are capable of. I do know they learn. They adjust their tactics according to the behavior of their prey.”

Crocodiles did that, she remembered, which only added to the primal response of being hunted. Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, beyond weariness. They'd been fighting for so long, and other than the privilege of surviving another day, they had damned little to show for it. Maybe there was something to be said for quality of life over quantity.

“Do you ever think maybe it's not worth it?” she whispered.

Mason laid a hand against her cheek. Amidst so much cold, his heat shocked her. He radiated energy and resolve.

“I don't know how to give up,” he said. “If I did, I would have already, long before I met you. I'm not a man who's ever gonna lay down, Jenna.” He paused, and his teeth flashed white in the near dark. “Except maybe for you.”

In anybody else, she would have taken it as simple flirtation. But there was nothing simple about Mason. His words offered a glimpse into the labyrinth of his soul. Promise and trust tangled in those words, hints of a softness that didn't equate to surrender.

Jenna gripped his hand in return and smiled. “I guess I'm not the kind who goes down easy either.”

“And ain't it a shame,” he muttered.

A shimmer of raw lust washed over her. He leaned in, touching his forehead to hers—more intimate than an hour in anybody else's arms. Almost immediately he pulled back, but her mind flashed back to the way he'd kissed her. Her heart went wild.

“For the love of God, don't look at me like that when we have work to do.”

“Like what?” The question came out husky, not teasing as she'd intended.

“Like you want to do me here on the floor.”

Damn, he wasn't wrong. In trying to teach Mason a lesson, she'd done a number on herself too. Her flesh felt too big for her skin, as if she had a million more nerves in every square inch. He was some kind of drug; the more she had, the more she wanted. Jenna gave herself a little shake, but it took a solid minute to focus on business.

“Is this fixable?” She redirected the light between the leaking hoses. “I mean, we have to get the power back on.”

“I'm sure the genius can do something with it. Should be safe to send his ass down to tinker.”

“We should let the others know.” She shook her head as she looked at the tangle of machinery. Useful, but she'd never figure it out, even after a week with the manual.

Mason helped her up, taking her weight. That was when she heard the digging.

“What do you mean, you can hear them?”

“I mean just that,” she said. “I can hear them digging.”

Mason watched her prowl along the east-facing wall. “Jenna, you can't. That concrete is structural. For a place this size, it's probably a foot thick.”

“But lately, I hear and see things that I'm not supposed to all the time.”

He raked blunt nails along the backs of his forearms, when he really wanted to scratch inside his mind—that nasty tickle he couldn't explain. “Point.”

She kept moving, tracing where the flashlight carved a wedge of brightness along the wall. “Help me! Look for anywhere they could get in.”

The light she held shone up between their bodies, leaving shadows where her eyes had been. She smelled different to him now. Perfume, detergent, and the smoky tang of the city—all gone. Until that moment, he hadn't noticed how completely the old world had worn away. With Jenna's arms shaking beneath his hands, he knew he'd recognize her scent anywhere.

And he could smell her fear.

“Show me,” he whispered.

Gently, he touched his forehead to hers as she opened her mind. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that tapping sensation in his brain. Shuddering, he clung tighter to Jenna's slender arms.

“You're fighting it,” she said. “Don't fight me, Mason.”

“I think you like it.”

She laughed softly. “Sometimes. Now shut up.”

Heat bloomed in the gray matter between his ears. He could almost smell the sulfur. Then came the freefall terror of stepping off the tightrope, only no net awaited him as he plummeted beyond his senses. Out of time. Outside of his own body. Accustomed to using his muscles to make his way in the world, he felt stripped and panicky. Physical strength meant nothing where she asked him to go.

Swimming through his own thoughts, halfway between basement and sky, Mason saw them. Two dozen hunched demon dogs. Four times as many paws tipped with razor claws.

They dug along the eastern wall.

Behind the mindless, digging bodies, cold steam pipes poked up from the snow. They were right over the generator array. But why? Did they know it was on the fritz, or were they like any dog, eager to dig, dig, dig?

Mason followed Jenna's thoughts and found another pack. Bigger and not as thin, the six monsters paced. Shock troops. And behind them stood the beast-man he'd seen in Jenna's vision.

Her fear tugged him back like a parachute. He fell into his body with a force so violent that he swallowed to keep his stomach down. Jenna clung to his chest, both of them breathless and sticky with bitter sweat.

“Why'd you stop?”

“I don't like it,” she muttered.

“Damn, that's weird.”

Jenna smiled unexpectedly, given the circumstances. “Magic.”

He nodded. “Let's go.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he hiked the rifle strap up his shoulder. “Tru? Welsh? Where are you?”

“You told them to come down here in the dark. Chance of that?”

“Zero.”

More stairs. But his heart didn't race and his breathing had calmed. Every flex of muscle felt right and reassuring after the head games they'd played in the basement. He didn't fear fighting. His body. His skills. He trusted both. And after weeks of slowly going insane inside their own little Alamo—waiting, watching, and wanting Jenna—he craved the release of violence.

A clammy cold crept over his skin. Not sweat. Just pure dread. Panic waited there. Though he wanted to fight, he'd willingly rust from the inside out, if it meant keeping the others from harm.

He couldn't think about that, not and keep them all safe. So when Jenna tried to take his hand, he pulled away and clenched aching fingers around the rifle strap. When she tried to find him, that maddening tickle of her mind brushing his, he clamped down hard. No hand to hold. No thoughts to share. He had work to do. If she wanted more, she was after the wrong guy.

But her hurt stabbed like an ice pick between his shoulder blades. They emerged into the piercing silver light of the observation room, where the others stood frozen along the bank of windows.

“Damn,” Welsh whispered. “I've never seen them this close. Do they always ... gleam like that? The air around them?”

Tru nodded. “Yeah, like you can't look right at them. Freaks me the fuck out.”

“Language,” Jenna said automatically.

Mason continued his search of the observation deck and found Ange and Penny huddled together on a nearby chair. It was a wonder the little girl had any hair left, the way Ange stroked her head. But Penny didn't look scared. She looked ... absent. So far gone they couldn't find her.

Welsh looked thoughtful. “It's peripheral. Almost like camouflage. But I've never seen anything like it. There's a refraction of light, but—”

“There's no light,” Ange finished.

Tru shook loose of whatever thoughts kept him immobile. “Hey, you guys gotta come see this.”

Jenna pushed past Mason, her back stiff. “We heard them howling.”

“Man.” Welsh let out a low whistle. “That was something.”

He slung his AR-15 behind his back and joined the kid at the windows. The pack had slunk into the loose grouping of trees along the perimeter. They'd also left the snow dotted with countless paw prints.

“Our very own Rorschach test,” he muttered.

Tru laughed. “I see the Space Needle.”

“Where?” Welsh asked.

“Over there, along the base of those trees.”

“I don't see—”

“Idiot,” Mason said curtly.

With the good sense to look embarrassed, Welsh apologized. “So what'd you find?”

At his back, he felt Jenna's coldness melt while she spoke in quiet whispers to Ange and Penny. She dumped it in his lap with a mental mutter:
Hey, you want to be in charge. Have at it, asshole.

“A cracked seal on the hose connected to the generator,” he said. “Water all over the floor. You wouldn't happen to have another, would you?”

“Should, yeah.”

“Look,” Tru said, pointing.

From across the snow, those six alpha monsters circled a thinner member of the pack. With hardly any meat left on its protruding bones, the skinny one burrowed his muzzle in the snow, crouching low. The others pounced in unison—ripping, biting, devouring. Two minutes later, a ravaged smudge of bloody snow spread out where the cowering creature had been. The shock troops walked away licking their reddened jowls.