Free Nightfall by Ellen Connor

shoulders. “Okay, sorry. I’ll try not to cuss so much.”
    The other old folks were too ginger when handling their weapons. They didn’t hold them with enough authority, so the kickback threw off their aim. He wanted to tell the big dude to give it up. Some people just didn’t have survival instinct.
    Then, it was time to go.
    â€œIt’s three miles over bad ground.” Mason looked pretty badass in his knit cap and camos. Eagle, globe, and anchor on the sleeve. Oldstyle Marines, for sure. “We’ll be moving fast, and I’ll want you all sharp. Nobody goes off alone—that excludes me. I have to scout to make sure it’s safe. When we take off, as far as you’re concerned, I am God for the day. Any questions?”
    Nope. No questions. They’d been over the plan until Tru could recite it in his sleep.
    He stopped slouching long enough to present his rifle for inspection. “I’m cocked, locked, and ready to rock.”
    Mason nodded. “Good work, kid.”
    â€œYou gonna let me try yours someday?” he asked, eyeing Mason’s AR-15. A serious piece of weaponry.
    The big dude raised an eyebrow. “Hell, no.”
    Angela still didn’t have the knack with her gun. She held it away from her body as if she expected it to go off in her hands. Mason had given her the smallest caliber he had, a little .22, the kind kids used for shooting squirrels. Overall, it didn’t bode well for the mission. The sky hung heavy with threatening snow, a gray day for mission impossible. Trees stood as silent sentinels, barren with the threat of the first heavy winter storm. Tru could taste it in the bite of the air, dampness that wouldn’t come as rain. Soon everything would be blanketed white.
    Jenna had devised an Indian-style back sling out of an old sheet so that Bob could carry the kid. Tru marched with the others, fully geared. Everyone carried provisions from the cabin. The Thompson felt like an extension of his arm. He wasn’t worried. His whole life had been a long shot anyway. Either he’d make it, or he’d die wearing a backpack stuffed with cans of tuna.
    Then Edna screamed. The monsters were growling in the distance. Howls filled the chilly air.
    They’re coming.
    And holy fuck he wanted to get away from Edna. Now . She jerked like the kids who had gone crazy at school. Mason propped her up against a tree and wrapped her convulsing body in a blanket. He’d filled a number of plastic bags with a compound mix of various household chemicals that would pack a nasty punch. Then he circled her with a stream of gasoline, drawing a line with it back toward the woods.
    She flailed harder.
    â€œGet back!” Mason hustled away. “Let’s move out. Now!”
    Bob looked ready to hurl, his gaze glued to Edna’s epileptic freakout. Tru couldn’t look away either, but he never lowered his rifle. Her fit made the blanket ripple—at least he thought that was why—until she flung the cover away.
    Ange screamed.
    â€œOh my God,” Jenna breathed.
    But Tru was speechless.
    Edna wasn’t a person anymore. She looked inside out . And that wasn’t even the worst. New limbs protruded from her torso, covered in fine black hair. They all flailed in unison, and her round middle bloated further beneath his horrified gaze. She carried a faint glow like the dogs, corrupted in the same way. Tru wanted to look away, only he couldn’t, because her bulging, milky eyes had frozen him in place. He felt like he might piss his pants.
    The dogs closed, scenting weakness. She would be their food. Shit, he didn’t want to see that.
    â€œI said now, people!” Mason shouted.
    This time everyone listened, hightailing it for the woods. Tru fought the urge to look back as the dogs found Edna, their first target. He heard them tearing at her, horrible in a way he’d never dreamed possible. God knew he’d never liked