Read Online Nightfall by Ellen Connor - Free Book Online Page B

you can help us.”
    â€œHelp us get creeped the fuck out,” Tru mumbled. “Mission accomplished.”
    Her milky gaze found Mason’s. “How?”
    â€œWe need to get to that nature station, or we’ll starve. It’s about three miles from here in a secluded patch of woods. I’ll need two days of short daylight patrols to figure out the most direct route by foot. And I’ll train everyone on the firearms—crash course. Then we’ll go.”
    Edna nodded again. “And me?”
    Mason closed his eyes. He could shoot her—and he would, if she asked it of him—but not even he was strong enough to look at her directly now. “You’ll stay here. As bait.”

NINE
    â€œThis is a Thompson .308,” Mason said. “You aim it at anything you don’t mean to shoot and I’ll take your goddamn head off. Got it?”
    Tru nodded. The sharp comment he’d been ready to spit out didn’t come. He’d never held a weapon before, and that gave him pause. The rifle wasn’t like the shooters he played, though it had been a long-ass time since any new games came out. It wasn’t exactly a priority for the new regime. But this gun had weight. The wood and metal were smooth beneath his fingers.
    The awe didn’t last long.
    Whenever Mason said it was safe, they practiced. The god of ordnance stalked among them, correcting their stances until Tru’s hands cramped. But Mason always acted before an attack. Maybe he could detect the creatures from farther away, sense them somehow. Whatever. He hustled them inside just before the creatures got in range.
    The frenzy could last for hours. Angela cradled her girl. Bob sat by Edna pretty much all the time. Tru couldn’t sleep when the dogs prowled around the cabin, seeking a way in. He would sit with his knees drawn up, trying not to look at anybody. Mason claimed to have years of experience killing monsters, and now the big dude was trying to get them combat ready before the guidance counselor went all Alien on the hardwood floor.
    When the dogs gave up, they went back outside. Tru got good at controlling the Thompson. Of everyone but Mason, he was the best shot. Gaming had taught him excellent hand-eye coordination, if nothing else. Funny, the thing his mom had screamed about most might do some good.
    No. He wouldn’t think about her.
    Not everyone would make it, but Tru didn’t speak up. He just sank himself in the mindless drills. Fire, reload. Hard to believe, but he was better off now than the dipshits who’d picked on him at Wabaugh. The kids with the shiny cars and the easy cheerleaders—they’d been turned into kibble. Tru had seen them mauled and eaten.
    He reloaded and fired and hit the target six times out of seven.
    When Mason came by a few minutes later, he narrowed his eyes. “Why aren’t you working?”
    â€œI’m as good as I’m gonna be, Pops. You really want me to blow my ammo on that dummy?” He gestured to the target made from pillows and clothing. “We’ll need it for the real deal.”
    â€œShow me. Head shot, right now.”
    Adults were assholes. With a faint sigh, Tru raised the Thompson, sighted, and blasted the target. A new hole sprang up slightly off center between its drawn-on eyes. “Do I get a hall pass now, Teach? Better yet, can I go inside? She’s never gonna get it.” He cocked his head at Angela. “And it’s fucking cold.”
    â€œWatch your mouth,” the blonde snapped.
    Tru rolled his eyes. “Or what?”
    Her green eyes looked as cold as arctic ice. Jenna was her name. Not like it mattered. Their numbers would be whittled down in this suicide run.
    Jenna raised her rifle, a Remington, and landed a slug beside his. “I’m in no mood,” she said, her gaze locked on his. “We have a child here. You want to keep messing with me?”
    Tru hunched his