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log sat on top of the woodpile. It would make a killer club. Before she could rethink, Jenna snagged it. She soaked the end in lighter fluid and lit it with embers from the stove. She took a deep breath and flung open the door in time to see Mason stagger to his knees. He had latched both hands on a monster’s shoulders, holding it away from his throat with pure brute strength. The second dog was poised to spring. The air around them popped and sizzled, raising the hairs on her forearms as if she’d just caught the scent of an electrical fire.
    Jenna launched herself off the porch and clobbered the second beast with a home-run swing. Something snapped and gave with a sickening lurch. Its back legs collapsed.
    Mason twisted the other one’s head off. Clean. Off.
    Jenna’s dog still twitched, snarling, trying to crawl. She leaped back, away from the slimy, jagged fangs. Cemetery stench pervaded the clearing. The wavering air around its body stilled as it died.
    â€œI told you to stay inside,” Mason bit out. He came to his feet with a subtle unsteadiness, telling her the contest had been closer than he would likely admit.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she muttered. “What do we do with them ?”
    â€œLeave them. Don’t touch.” He scented the air. “We should take cover before more show up.”
    â€œYeah ... okay.” She followed him back into the cabin, overcome with trembling.
    Maybe she’d risked her life for nothing. Maybe he could dispatch twelve of those rotting monsters all by himself. Jenna sank down against the wall without stripping out of her coat. It seemed beyond cold in the cabin. Her teeth chattered, so she clenched her jaw.
    What the hell were those things?
    For the first time, she dared to think the worst. What if Mason was right? Maybe the troubles had finally reached the West Coast. What if people and cities and civilization were all toast? No more girls’ night at the Louie. No more midnight phone calls when Mara’s latest loser left her disappointed. No more libraries, or days at the family-owned financial firm where she’d worked since breast cancer took her mom.
    Could it all be gone? Really?
    She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her face on her knees. No crying . Tears never solved anything. She’d learned that lesson at the first father-daughter day at school. When Mitch had been off in the woods somewhere, the other kids ran sack races with their dads. But maybe being Mad Mitch Barclay’s daughter would finally pay off in terms of survival, if not inheritance or good memories.
    Beyond the ringing in her head, she heard Mason moving around, probably washing the demon dog stink off him. Then she smelled a coppery tang. Blood. They’d hurt him. Worry rushed through her, completely disproportionate to their acquaintance. But she might need him to live through this nightmare. Only natural.
    She brought her head up, and her breath caught. He’d taken off his shirt, revealing a scarred back—not the result of a whipping or other abuse. Mason looked more like a gladiator, each wound telling the story of some battle he’d survived. Had she handpicked someone to kick ass and take names on her behalf, she couldn’t have done a better job.
    Well played, Mitch.
    Muscles played beneath his coffee-with-cream skin as he ran a damp rag across his shoulder. Slow and measured movements. She saw iron control in the way he dealt with the aftermath of the attack.
    As if feeling her gaze on him, he turned.
    Blood spilled down from his chest, but the wound looked like claw marks, not a bite. Jenna didn’t know why she feared that possibility, but bad things were transmitted in regular saliva, let alone that of unnatural monsters. She wondered if the sickness she’d smelled in the night wind was contagious.
    â€œAren’t you going to yell at me some more?” she asked, pushing to her feet. “Tell me