Nightfall by Ellen Connor Page B

her want to touch the twin lines between his brows.
    The thought shocked her. No, she didn’t want that . Jenna shook her head reflexively. She wanted to hear another human voice. That was all. She’d just been cooped up with him for too long.
    By the time Mason hit 1500 on AM, she’d almost lost hope.
    â€œ... if anyone hears this, I’m at the nature outpost and research station. Those things are all over the area. Everyone else is dead. I’m broadcasting on all emergency frequencies. I repeat, if anyone hears this ...” The man sounded weary. “Ah, what the fuck’s the point?”
    Prescience skittered through Jenna like cold wind on her skin. There’s our number eight.

EIGHT
    Mason enforced rationing after their first meal.
    Beside him at the kitchen counter, Jenna put a pan of water on the stove to boil while he opened yet another round of tuna, peas, and condensed soup. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and had yet to speak about what was on her mind—not their guests. Something deeper. Her body radiated unease, burrowing beneath his own skin.
    Strange, the idea that he could gauge her thoughts. But he trusted his instincts. This new awareness of her was instinctual. When they’d first been in the cabin together, Mason had fought unexpected sexual impulses. Those impulses remained—an uncanny awareness of her as a woman. Now the hair on the backs of his arms stood on end too.
    â€œThere won’t be enough food for the whole winter.”
    He looked down into green eyes that seemed to have aged in only a few days. “No.”
    Jenna inhaled deeply and pushed the air out of her mouth. “I don’t regret it.”
    Her unexpected allure, insufficient resources, and the stink of fearful bodies didn’t wear on his nerves like their two biggest problems.
    Edna. And Dr. Chris Welsh at the nature station.
    Mason had known about the place, of course. He had spent weeks mapping everything in these woods, but he hadn’t imagined anybody there would survive the change.
    â€œHey, radio fans.” The stranger’s voice crackled out of the little transistor. “Next, we have sports. Those bloody Dogs mopped up again! They’re on a hot streak, eh?”
    Tru sighed. “This guy is lame. He deserves to be eaten.”
    â€œWatch it,” Robert said, glancing at Edna.
    â€œWhat’ll you make me do, eh, Bob? Run laps? Or maybe you’d like a little alone time with me in the locker room.” Tru stuck two fingers in his mouth and sucked with gusto.
    Bob’s face darkened to a shade just short of furious. He had a temper under that nice-guy exterior. “Do that any better, Midnight , and folks’ll think you have experience.”
    â€œOnly ’cause you forced me, perv.”
    Mason watched the interplay with a sense of detachment he didn’t want to lose. To care about these people would be a wasted effort. They’d be dead before he learned their birthdays.
    But dissent in the ranks couldn’t be ignored. If they fought each other, they’d be willing to challenge Mason too. For his sake and Jenna’s, he couldn’t allow that.
    â€œWeather report,” Welsh went on. “Couldn’t tell you, frankly. Haven’t been out of the basement in, well ... days. Let’s say seven. So still late fall. Okay, weatherman Chris says ass cold for the foreseeable future. Here’s hoping I see spring.”
    They’d listened to him like Roosevelt’s fireside chats, forty-eight hours on from first hearing his transmission. His voice revealed a lot. First up, he was a native of western Canada. Second, he was alone and losing his grip. Sometimes his words slurred as if he’d been drinking or suffering insomnia. Mason wouldn’t blame him for either.
    Among the babble he admitted was to preserve his own sanity, Welsh provided clues about his background. He’d studied cougars in the Rockies,