Nightfall by Ellen Connor Page A

he wanted to try, because his posture and expression gained a hard, intense edge. He met Mason’s gaze directly, pure confrontation. “Because I’m going to autopsy it.”

THIRTEEN
    Jenna snagged Chris before he went off on his fool’s errand. “Where’s the shower?”
    â€œEnd of the hall,” he answered, oblivious to anything but retrieving his specimen.
    â€œHope you got an ax,” Mason said. “Don’t even think of bringing that corpse in here whole.”
    A good policy, chopping off the head. Just in case. As the men set off, Jenna still shivered uneasily. But she’d be damned if she died dirty.
    Mason didn’t mind.
    She didn’t glance his way. Couldn’t. Just thinking about their kiss curled a wave of heat through her. For a mad moment, with his big body pressed flush against hers, she’d wanted to crawl inside his skin.
    Stop it . A quick shake of her head drew the eyes of the former nurse’s aide. Ange regarded her with a silent question.
    â€œI’ll be quick,” Jenna promised. “I’m sure you and Penny would love a bath too.”
    Her auburn hair a bird’s nest of tangles, the other woman nodded. “You have no idea.”
    Jenna snagged a change of clothes from her pack and walked out into the hall. The bunker was decidedly industrial, plain gray tile bounded by cement walls. She followed the corridor down to where, as promised, she found a utility room complete with shower. Chris had said it was meant for rinsing off chemicals after an industrial accident, so it didn’t have a curtain or even a proper stall. A nozzle sprouted from the wall, and a six-inch concrete rim framed the drain.
    To hell with niceties. While she stripped, she wondered what the cities would be like. Would skyscrapers be full of monsters now? All those dark rooms teeming with fanged and fearsome things? Terrifying to contemplate.
    Naked, she hopped in. The water never got all the way hot, but even lukewarm felt better than good. She soaped her whole body twice, arching to expose her sore muscles to the water. Almost as nice as a massage.
    Since the shampoo would need to last a long time, she used a tiny dot and nursed it into a high lather. Eventually they’d learn to make their own toiletries. All survivors, assuming there were other pockets out there, would be living in the Dark Ages. Sooner or later.
    The cool air raised goose bumps as she toweled off and scrambled into her underwear. She slid on a pair of clean jeans, and with a little sigh, wrapped herself in a blue hooded sweatshirt. No way would she put those shoes back on until she scrubbed off the filth, so she pulled on a pair of thick socks, ready to turn the shower over.
    Ange and Penny sat in the hall just outside.
    â€œWait, you don’t have any clean clothes,” Jenna said.
    â€œPenny has a change in my bag. I got in the habit of keeping a clean set when she was a baby. I just never stopped.”
    â€œHelpful.”
    Jenna tried a smile, though she couldn’t relate. More to the point, she couldn’t remember her own mother being so prepared. Clea Barclay didn’t believe in planning; she’d preferred laughter and spontaneity. The contrast between Mitch and her mom had been almost painful at times, but their ability to make the best out of bad situations must have brought them together in the first place.
    She turned her thoughts to the immediate problem. Ange was a few inches taller and carried a little more weight. “Let me check. I might have something that will fit you.”
    She went back to the main room and knelt just inside the door, digging through her bag. Yep, gray yoga pants with a ton of give. She usually wore them as pajamas but doubted the other woman would complain. Then she dragged out an old T-shirt.
    She returned to Ange, who’d stood up to stretch. Penny peered from around her thigh. God, that poor kid. The Dark Age would