Nightfall by Ellen Connor

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.”
    â€œJust 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.
    â€œJust.”
    â€œJenna, 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.
    â€œNot 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.
    Left!
    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.
    â€œHold,” 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.
    â€œThe head,” Mason said, coming up to them. He fired once to finish the task.
    â€œ 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.
    â€œRobert, 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