The World Without a Future (The World Without End) Page 14

  The man on the other side of the door stares back impassively. He's shrouded in a light gray robe, the cowl pulled up and over his head. He looks like death—or what people imagined death to be, before the end of the world and the zombies came back.

  "Priestess will see you now," he says.

  Finn bares his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Your damn priestess will see me when I'm good and fucking ready."

  He slams the door without letting the priest respond and heads back to his room.

  "Get dressed," he snaps and slams the door behind him.

  By the time we are dressed and get to the Order's club, we're both in a foul mood. Finn and I are escorted through the empty club, past the wheels and chains of the vice club. The scent of blood and sweat still hangs in the air, their own perfume.

  Lori looks like she hasn't moved since we left. Her red robes pool around her as she perches on the desk, her black guard silent at her back.

  She watches us with quiet intensity as Finn paces into the room and scowls. "What the hell, Lori. What the fuck do you think to accomplish by dragging me from my house? I have your damn information."

  He throws the file at her, and the guard shifts, agitated. A slim hand lifts to still him before she plucks the file open and lazily glances over it.

  "Very good, O'Malley," she almost purrs.

  "You knew he'd be there—that Omar would work with me," Finn accuses without heat. She shrugs, delicately. "You manipulated me," Finn says, and I finally understand his anger.

  "I did."

  "I've killed for less, Priestess," he says, almost conversationally. A smile, amused, turns her lips up.

  "I know. But I have what you want—meds. I gambled and won." She snaps her fingers, and the gray priest behind us disappears. "He'll bring the medicine. Now, give me the information about the zombies."

  He stares at her, and the priestess smiles, a cool expression. I want to hate her, but it’s damn hard—she’s done what I didn’t think anyone could: manipulate Finn. I admire that.

  But I would hate to be the red priestess, when Finn no longer has use for her.

  Chapter 12

  A New Direction

  Three shiny glass vials, filled with a viscous gold fluid. Two tubes of pills large enough to make me gag.

  They sit on the counter like precious gold. I want to cry at the sight of them.

  There isn't a cure to ERI-Milan. After the zombies rose, there was a backlash to medicine—even the most medicine-proponent person was hesitant to take something unnatural. The end of the world had a way of leaving a bad taste in one's mouth.

  But eventually, even that fear faded. The most extraordinary thing about humans is we can overlook anything. Sure, it was the side effects of experimental drugs that triggered the apocalypse, but when drugs were good for keeping depression and anxiety and headaches at bay, what’s a minor apocalypse? Humanity didn't die when ERI-Milan swept the earth, and eventually, the medical powers—CDC, WHO, drug companies, even Sanelos, began looking for the magical cure to ERI.

  The problem was, they couldn't trace how it changed. When the zombie horde hit the Army troops, it triggered a change in the structure of the disease. That's what people didn't realize—not then, not even now. ERI wasn't a chemical suppressant. It was a disease that crippled the emotional response centers.

  And diseases are living things. When it looked out the eyes of the horde in Atlanta, it saw its own destruction, and it did what any living thing is wont to do—it changed. It did whatever was necessary to survive.

  There was no way to study it, though. And without studying the disease, it was virtually impossible to destroy it.

  So the drug companies turned to lesser “cures.” They came up with serums and neural inhibitors—risky medications that could stop a contact infection—sometimes.

  It wasn't a cure, but it was almost better. The drug companies colluded in their labs and bottled hope. In a world without that, they created a drug that offered a chance, and sold it at a premium price.

  Finn comes up beside me, jerking me from my thoughts as he scoops up the meds and tucks them into a secure pocket of his bag.

  "Ready?"

  I nod. I am so beyond ready to be done with this Haven and back with my brother. I grab my bag and follow him out of the house. He tosses his stuff into the back seat, and I settle on the passenger side, my gun and knife propped in the custom holster hanging from the door.

  They stop us at the front gate. A man Finn's age approaches his window and leans in. "Sorry, sir. Walls are closed."

  Finn gives him a disbelieving look. "Why?"

  "Aldermen's orders. No one is allowed out, on account of a horde spotted headed this way."

  For a heartbeat, I can't breath. I'm back in Hellspawn, the alarms screaming in my ears, the sound of zombies feasting a horrific counterpart. I'm in the silent truck, my heart pounding as hundreds of zombies whip past us, driven by hunger and some unknown need.

  I shiver in my seat, the burning desire to escape slamming into me. "Finn," I start, and he nods, cutting me off.

  "I know, Nurrin. We need to get out."

  Chapter 13

  Haven’s Aldermen

  It's impressive—and a little alarming—how quickly Finn can gather the Aldermen. The Haven has been closed, there are quite literally zombies at the gates, and Finn does nothing more than call Lissel. Within an hour, all of them are assembled, waiting a little impatiently as Finn and I enter the little room we first met Lissel in. She's sitting with five others—four men and a tired looking young woman.

  "What do you want, O'Malley? We have better things to do then waste our time on you." One of the men, a thin, pointy faced man, gripes.

  Finn ignores him, drops lazily into a seat. He kicks a chair out and nods at it—my invitation to sit. "I need out of the Haven."

  "Can't help you. The Haven is closed until the horde passes or reinforcements arrive."

  Finn is quiet, staring at nothing, for long enough that the aldermen begin to fidget. Finally, "Do you think holding me here will bring those reinforcements? I hate to break it to you, but Haven 1 forgot about me. They don't care about me or 18 or anything but their own survival. We're on our own here."

  "You can bring people in." The alderman is older, with salt-and-pepper hair and the stiff demeanor of a war veteran.

  "General Reid. You don't really believe that," Finn says, stretching lazily. "They sent you here to get rid of you after the war—if they'd forget one of their decorated veterans, why not me?"

  "Because you were always more than a veteran, decorated or not. Reach out. Use your name, son."

  Finn drops his feet to the ground and leans forward. "You aren't listening. They don't care. Most of the ones left in 1 don't even know I'm alive, much less who I am. They aren't coming to help you, and they aren't coming to help me. Even if I thought they would, I won't call for support. You have two options: wait for the horde and get ready to die, or get the fuck out of the Haven."

  "Those aren't options," the quiet woman, Melinda, says.

  "They're all you've got. I've seen it happen—I was in 8 when fell. You won’t survive. Look around. Reach out to the Havens around you. Who haven't you heard from? Why do you think they're quiet? It's not because it's harvest time. It's because they're gone. The Havens are falling, and you have to wake up and face that."

  "We can't leave," she says again, and her voice is a little desperate.

  "Then get ready to die. Because the horde will come. And the Haven will fall. I'm leaving—you have no legal right to detain me here if I'm willing to take my chances in the Wide Open."

  He nods at me as he stands, and I start for the door. My heart is pounding, crazily. Who is he?

  "You can't just desert us," Lissel says, catching Finn's arm.

  He whips around, shaking her off violently. "I can. I will. I warned you, I told you this was happening, and you ignored me. Do something or don't, but I won't sit here and die with
you because you’re too fucking stupid to get out of a sinking ship."

  "Will you look? Look at the Haven and tell us we should evacuate!"

  It's the younger woman, and something about her voice makes me hesitate. Finn grips my arm. "Keep walking, Nurrin. This isn't our problem."

  It's not. My only concern should be for Dustin and Collin.

  But there is something desperate about her, something in her eyes that makes me pause—a pleading.

  I look at Finn. See the fury in his eyes and make my decision. Somehow, it doesn't feel as good as it used to, when doing something just because he didn't approve was almost a game.

  It's still the right thing to do.

  I turn away from him and the medicine that will save Collin and Dustin, and face the young Alderman. "You have thirty minutes. Show me."

  Relief flashes across her face.

  On the surface, 18 is like any other Haven. The majority of it is crop land. A few factories stand near the South wall. Shops line Main Street. Three massive stone structures comprise the Hives—sixty percent of the civilian population is packed into them.

  On the surface, there is nothing different here. People walk to work at a snail’s pace. Women chatter over laundry lines. Dogs bark in someone's house, and a man's voice echoes in song. It feels warm, cozy. Like home should feel.

  It's a fucking illusion. There is nothing safe but a gun and someone you trust at your back. Even that isn't truly safe—safety is a luxury that died on an afternoon car ride with Emilie Milan.

  Melinda drives us past the Hives and homes, shops and factories. To the very edge of the Haven, where the Wall backs up against the mountain face. There are more guards here then I expect. I glance at her, and she ducks her head, almost as if she doesn't want to admit to something. It doesn't bode well for whatever she's planning to show me.

  "We have to walk from here," she says. Finn is silent, a seething presence behind me.

  I try to ignore him and focus on the tunnel she leads us to. It's narrow, with a low ceiling. Three heavily armed guards are standing by the entrance, and Melinda flashes us an apologetic smile. "You need to verify your infection status."

  I blink, startled. It's normal after traveling through the Wide Open, but we haven't been exposed since arriving in 18. She doesn't back down, though. Reluctantly I offer up my hand. The test is high quality, a cuff that wraps around my bicep and bites down with over a dozen needles. I yelp and Finn shifts restlessly.

  After a few minutes, the needles retract and the cuff releases me. Finn goes through the same test—what surprises me is that Melinda does as well. There is a ring of red skin on her arm that tells me how often she comes here—and that every time she goes through a test this intense.

  "The tunnel is narrow on purpose. I hope you aren't claustrophobic," Melinda says, ducking into the tiny opening. I glance back at Finn; he stares at me, expressionless.

  The tunnel is long and winding, and just when I think I will scream from the pressure of the rocks above and around me, it tightens and we reach a guard with a drawn AK47. He eyes us, his expression lightening just a little when he sees Melinda.

  Then he reaches for a small box on the side wall and hits it. A few seconds later, a series of lights flash, and the AK47 drops.

  "You're clear. Go on in."

  We take a step out of the cramped tunnel into a small cave. The walls are smooth, arching away and above us.

  "What was that box?" Finn asks.

  Melinda looks nervous, but says, "The siren alarm system. We modified it a little."

  "Tampering with a Haven's alarm system is a federal offense."

  "When Haven 1 bothers to check on us, they can drag me to jail," the alderman drawls. "In the meantime, I'm doing what's needed to keep my people alive."

  "How?" I ask.

  Melinda smiles and leads us into a man-made tunnel. We walk, and I'm silent, staring at the little caves that branch off. There's room after room of private residence, a large square filled with weapons, an entire wing of medics and kitchens. They all spiral inward, into a tightened grid of rooms protected by more soldiers.

  "What is this?" I ask, needing to hear it.

  "It's the world's biggest Hale Hall. It's what we can fall back to, if there is ever a massive breech. It's where we keep our children to keep them safe."

  "It's a massive tomb." Finn says, flatly.

  She flushes. "It's the best chance we have."

  "And what happens when you come out? When you run out of food and think it’s safe and poke your happy little head out only to find you were wrong and the infects are still right there? What happens then? Hiding doesn't work."

  "Fighting doesn't either," Melinda snaps, glaring at him.

  "That's why you don't do either," he says, quietly. "You can't live in fear of the day the zombies batter down your door—that isn't living. You live in spite of that day. You live because everything in our screwed-up world says we can't and we shouldn't and fuck them." He looks around and shakes his head. "But this isn't living. Hiding in a hole is just a slow way to die."

  He turns away from her, his gaze hitting mine. "I'm leaving, Nurrin. Come or don't. I'm done here."

  Chapter 14

  New Plans and Old Behaviors

  I don't hesitate this time. Truth be told, there isn't even a choice to be made. Collin trusts Finn, and that means I do. I might hate him, might want to stab him with my knife more often than I want to stab an infect, but I trust that following him will take me home. To Collin.

  We're halfway back to the house, and more importantly, the truck, when he slides a glance at me from the corner of his eye.

  "How far will you go to get home?"

  I blink, a little startled. "How far are you thinking?"

  A smile twists his lips, and a shiver of dread snakes along my spine. It's never good when Finn looks like that. "We can get out. It's going to be a little trickier, with the gates locked. But it can be done. It will probably take a little more than you’re comfortable with."

  I frown at him. "Are you taking me back to the kink club?"

  He snorts. "Never."

  I shrug and look forward, my shoulders relaxing a little. "Whatever you do, it can't be worse than that, right?"

  Something glitters in his gaze, and I look away. "Be careful, little girl. You have no idea how bad it can be."

  I ignore the chill that chases its way down my spine and start walking again. “So what do we need to do?”

  He shrugs. "For now, nothing. Tomorrow, I need a little time."

  Chapter 15

  Visiting Friends

  Finn is sleeping or gone when I slip out. I’m not surprised to find that there’s fresh coffee and two slices of bacon and cheese on a piece of burnt toast.

  Clearly, Finn’s breakfast skills need work.

  I grab the weird sandwich and coffee and head out. As I jog down the stairs, I hear the distinct sound of the door locking behind me. Through a sheer force of will, I resist the urge to look behind me. I don’t know what game he’s playing or why this is important. But I know his goal is to get out of 18, and I can totally get behind that.

  The Haven is abnormally quiet. People are retreating as the horde gets closer. Last night, sirens rang every hour, a different note letting the citizens know how close the horde was and how long they had—we had. I glance at the napkin my sandwich was wrapped in and hope that noon won’t be too late.

  There’s no answer when I knock on Jesse’s door, but I can hear the distant clang of tools on metal and muttered cursing. I grin and head around the corner of the mechanic’s shop. The back yard is a junkyard of dead cars, broken into pieces and sprawled across the land. Old tires and pans of sticky, black oil are stacked to one side, and there's a narrow, curving path amongst the car parts. I follow it, deeper into the jungle of mechanics, until I hit a wall of solid razor wire.

  "Jesse?" I yell, and I hear a muffled thud.

  "Ren?"

  "L
et me in!" I shout. I hear a few tools rattle around before the wall of bladed metal parts and I crawl through.

  Jesse is smudged with dirt and oil, his hair covered by a ratty bandana, and he looks startled—and a little bit nervous to see me. "What are you doing here?"

  "We can't leave the Haven, and Finn is driving me crazy," I say glibly, "so I thought I'd visit the one friend I have in the Haven. Do you mind?"

  He grins. "Not if you don't mind me working."

  I look at the motorcycle. It's a little crotch rocket, like the one we rode out of Hellspawn on, and I cock my head at it. "Who is it for?"

  "O'Malley. The Porsche financed this, so I'm getting it ready for him."

  "What does that mean, exactly?"

  "Upgrades on the tires, holsters for his guns and crossbow, zombie repellent leg guards and shatter proof wind shield. I'm adding bags made of zom armor, and a wraparound shield for whoever rides bitch."

  I blink, staring at the unassuming little bike. "Something that little can handle that much weight?" I ask doubtfully.

  "I reinforced her structure. And redistributed the gas tank, so she can go longer distances. She won't be as nimble as his last bike, and she might be a little exhausting to handle, but she'll do. And it's a helluva lot safer than the last bike. That was suicide on wheels."

  An accurate description. Not that this will do a damn bit of good if we hit a horde like the one on the way back from Vegas.

  "How long have you known Finn?" I ask.

  Jesse hesitates for a heartbeat, long enough that I know he shouldn't be talking to me. But Finn sent me here, after all. He had to know I'd ask questions he would rather I didn't.

  Too damn bad. I'll take whatever information I can pry out of Jesse.

  "Since he was about twenty. He left the war before it was over. Went to Haven 1 to see what he could do there. But he made enemies. Finn isn't the most patient man in the world, and he was younger then, impetuous. He was a decorated war veteran, but he was also making serious demands—and at the time, no one wanted to hear from a sixteen-year-old that we should abandon the East. And he didn't have the protection of his father anymore. So after a while, he left. The president gave him free passage to wherever he wanted to go. He headed west. Took him a year or so to figure out where he wanted to be—I met him when he landed here briefly. But whatever Finn was looking for, it wasn't here. About a year after that, I heard he settled in 8."