Free Nightfall by Ellen Connor Page B

the line, and reclaim their cabin. Because he’d seen pits before. Different terrain. Different human fodder. The end result had been bloody.
    Mason didn’t need any more scars. Or nightmares.
    Tru stepped into the clearing, his pale face serious. Mason had worn that expression in his time—scared shitless but doing his best impersonation of a man.
    He knew Jenna had latched onto Penny as her personal symbol of all that was good and worth saving, but Mason couldn’t relate to that purity. He respected Penny and the strange vibe she gave off, like the hum of an electrical conduit. But over the last few days of training, he’d started to see Tru differently. The kid was hardened, wounded, and too young to bear it with more than bravado. Mason could relate.
    So when the first demon dogs showed, he didn’t think. He fought.
    â€œTru! Flank right. Now!”
    He mirrored the kid’s movement. Together they formed a pincer around the central graveyard hole. Two pair ran out to meet them. Mason didn’t look across the pit to see how Tru handled his opponents. If he could survive, his moment to prove it was now.
    Mason stood fast and fired. One of the dogs collapsed, its skull a crushed melon of brain and blood. The other showed no sign of comprehending what had happened, no acknowledgment of its partner’s sudden demise. It leaped through the pulsing, unnatural air. All flying fangs and claws, it took Mason’s second shot in its gut. The slug ejected through its back, taking bits of fur and spinal bones with it. The thing dropped. Mason stepped on its neck and blew off its head, just in case. Only then could he look straight at its face, like a mirage made solid as its shimmer died away.
    A series of four shots rang out on the other side of the pit, followed by a string of curses. Tru’s voice cracked with every one, but he still lived.
    â€œJenna!” Mason cut inward from the trees, nearer the graveyard, and motioned for Tru to do the same. The kid was covered in red. “Bring up the others! Now!”
    He felt her presence before he saw her. Yet there she was, a hundred feet away and pointing her rifle the way they’d come, backing slowly around the pit. She felt prickly in his mind now, like even the thought of her was pissed off at him. She’d argued against him going off alone, how he went into the woods to scout.
    Tough , he thought .
    Prick , came her reply, clear in his mind.
    What the hell?
    But before he could question that, two more dogs burst from the other end of the clearing. The research station lay a half mile beyond, through a narrow corridor filled with snarls and fangs. Mason shouted a warning, then knelt and fired. One fell, but the other kept coming. The haze around its body acted as optical camouflage, obscuring its fast approach. Mason raised his rifle sideways in both hands, catching the dog between its chin and shoulders. Its trachea smashed against the barrel. Using momentum, Mason lifted his arms and arched back, flipping the growling, frothing dog behind him.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œTighten 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