Chapter 6
Negotiations with the Devil
I stare at the High Priestess of the Order, her black hair stick straight. A startling swatch of white hair hangs over one eye. I can feel the press of Nurrin at my back, her bristling energy and anger, but she’s quiet. And the priestess doesn’t know who she is—I’ve always been very careful to make sure they don’t know who or what she is.
“I need medicine. My brother picked up a contact infection.”
Her eye widens a little, but she doesn’t respond except, “I don’t know how that concerns me.”
I let a cool smile turn my lips. People who survive a contact infection are rare, and the Order adores them—they hunt them almost as intently as they do Firsts. “Don’t play coy, Lori. It doesn’t suit you.”
Anger sparkles in her eyes for a moment before it’s locked down and she lifts a delicate shoulder in a shrug. “You won’t give him to me. And I don’t need more cured. I need a First. Can you give me one of those?”
I feel Ren’s entire body pressed against my back. But she doesn’t react at all. I keep my voice flat. “If you don’t have your sacrifice, you won’t find one this late in the season. Maybe you’ve finally killed them all.”
She makes an irritated face and shakes her head. “No. We have our records. We know there are more—we just can’t find them.” Lori studies me. “Word from Haven 8’s High Priest was that they had a First.”
Nurrin’s grip on my back tightens a little. I force a smile. “Then we’re one step closer to the Blessed cure—everyone in Haven 8 was killed when it fell.”
Her eyes go wide. “What are you talking about?”
She doesn’t know—and it might be useful. “Information for medicine,” I say. She makes an impatient noise, and I stand up, turning Nurrin.
“Stop,” Lori snaps, her voice a whiplash of fury. She hates being one-upped, which is what makes it so damn fun to annoy her.
“I don’t have time for you to play games, Priestess. And you know I don’t appreciate them.”
She sniffs. “Fine. Tell me what you want.”
“InsuSyntrix. Four three week courses.”
“No information is worth that, O’Malley.” Lori laughs.
I smile, lazy and confident. “Mine is. When you decide you’re interested, you can find me.”
The black man takes a half step forward, but Lori stops him with a single hand. Neither says anything to me as I escort Nurrin out of the tiny room. Another fight has started, and I drag her into the crowd, tugging her until her back is pressed against my front. She’s stiff and furious, her breasts heaving under the material of her dress.
“We can’t leave—Lori is watching, and it’s safest if we enjoy the Underground before we make a departure.”
“So we’ll watch men pummel each other until Lori loses interest?” she hisses. It’s the first thing she’s said since we entered the Underground, and I’m pleased to hear how steady her voice is.
"Unless something else in the Underground captured your interest," I say. She inhales sharply, licking her lips.
My dick hardens, and there's nothing I can do to keep it from her, not with her pressed against me. I'm not willing to let her go.
"What the hell, Finn?" she whispers, furious.
"Chemical reaction, Ren. Nothing to worry about."
My words are dismissive, my tone condescending, but she twists, staring at me with curious, probing eyes. I see a question in them, but I don't have an answer, and if she keeps staring at me, her lips inches from mine, I'll kiss her and the consequences be damned.
"Eyes on the fight, little girl," I murmur. She smirks and looks back ahead.
I knew bringing her here was a risk. It wasn't my first choice, but last night was too dangerous—the Order had everyone on edge Day One. The Underground, when I watched it from the outside, was deserted. No one was near it—and going there when it was so quiet would reek of desperation.
I had thought my only concern would be walking a First into the Order's lair. But it’s not—there’s also the fact that I’m exposing her to something she's never seen.
If Dustin’s done anything right as her friend, it’s been keeping her away from the Order-run vice clubs.
We wait through two fights—one I bet on, and after collecting our winnings, I draw her tight against my body and lead her from the fight hall.
She stops near the kink club. There's a show happening—a girl is on the large wheel, two men behind her with floggers. Around them, the other club patrons are watching, lost in various states of sex and desire. I slide a glance at her, curious about her reaction.
Her eyes are wide and watching, her breath catching in her throat, so still she almost trembles. Her nipples are hard little peaks, pressing against the red silk of her dress. It hits me hard—she likes it. The kink club that leave so many with a sour taste in their mouth—she's intrigued.
For all that I've watched her for years, I didn't expect that. And it makes keeping my hands off her even harder.
"Come on, Ren," I say hoarsely. "Unless you'd like to join in, I think we've spent enough time here for the day."
A blush colors her cheeks, and she looks away. I wrap an arm around her and usher her out of the Underground.
Chapter 7
Bad Decisions
She trips along in her heels, and I bite back a sigh of irritation. Even knowing I'm the one who gave them to her doesn't make me any happier that we're still on the streets. Any other time, I'd have taken her out on my bike, but not in that damn dress.
"Finn," she starts, and I cut her a look, glaring in the bright street lights.
Rebellion fires in her eyes, but she doesn't continue. Not until we're in my little house, the door shut behind us, locks triple checked.
I let out the breath I seem to have been holding, tension easing out of my shoulders. It's like a weight has slipped off of them, and I can relax.
"O'Malley."
And just like that, it's back. I straighten, forcing myself to blankness, and turn to arch a brow at her. "What can I do for you, Nurrin?"
"I want some idea of what the hell we're doing," she says. "I need to know why the fuck you think taking me into an Order's lair—to their fucking Priestess—was such a bloody brilliant idea. If she had known, I'd be dead right now!"
I move without thinking, yet another bad decision in a night full of them. I shove into her personal space, and she takes a half step back. "Do you think I'd put you in danger? Do you think Collin would let you go with me if he thought I'd risk your life?" I demand.
"I don't think anything," she hisses. "I don't know anything—you won't tell me anything. You expect to march me into a death trap and then give me nothing. I want to know what the hell we're doing—Lori will make a demand. The Order does nothing for free, and the meds you’re asking for—" She laughs, a sharp, disbelieving noise. "What are you willing to give her for that medicine? How high a price are Collin’s and Dustin's lives going to carry?"
I make a disgusted noise and step away. It's either that or kiss her senseless. "Quit thinking so much, Nurrin. I won't risk your life—not as long as I need something from you. I'll do whatever Lori asks, because I won't risk Collin. Is that enough honesty for you?"
"No," she snaps.
I smirk. Turn away and walk into my room. "That's all you’re going to get."
She stalks after me. "Tomorrow? What are we doing tomorrow? How long are we going to wait, Finn?"
My name on her lips is a curse and so damn sexy I can't stand it. I pull my shirt over my head and reach for my pants. Clearly, sex and nudity won't scare Ren away—but I'm too tired to give a fuck about this right now.
"Tomorrow, we'll wait for Lori to contact us. It's Third Day—lying low is our best bet, if we have to stay in the Haven."
She shudders, rubbing her arms. I want to do that for her, want to soothe away her fears. It's a bad idea, so I turn away and sit on the edge of my bed. "Just tr
ust me," I say, quietly. "I won't put you in danger if I can help it. It'll just make my life more difficult. Get some sleep. I'll get what information that I can tomorrow—I want you inside, the door locked, until it's over."
She's pale and nods.
Even without a First, the Order will kill tomorrow. I just need to make sure it's not Ren.
Chapter 8
Third Day
I can hear her, the soft snoring she would never admit to making, through the thin walls. I lie on my bed, the silk sheets warm with my body heat against my skin.
It's the seventh of March. The day the world stopped. It began, twenty years ago, in blood. It ended in death and smoke, fire and ash.
I wish, sometimes, I could go back. Back to that corner where I stood with Kelsey, her fine blonde hair tickling my neck.
I shake my head, hard, dislodging the memory, and swing from my bed. Pad naked across the room and reach for my pants.
When I'm dressed, I slip from my bedroom. Hesitate briefly outside Nurrin's room. She snores quietly, and I grin. Not the calculated smirk that infuriates her, or the lazily manipulative one that seduces women to my bed—just a real smile. She wouldn't recognize me with this expression.
I whistle softly and go to the kitchen to make us breakfast. Not much—the house still gets rations because I demand it to maintain a home in the Haven and the aldermen want my presence—even my absent presence—here for the added protection.
Idiots. I can't offer them anything—Haven 8 falling showed that more eloquently than anything.
I peer out the window, checking the deserted streets. A small silver package is sitting on the walk up to my house. It's clearly placed for me to notice. I glance down the hall, to where her door is still closed.
God, I want the day over. Already, I'm anxious and impatient.
I put the coffee down and grab my knife. Holding it flipped with the blade flat against my lower arm, I slip out of the house and snatch up the package.
A member of the Order is standing in the middle of the road, masked face staring at me from the depths of its hood. I bare my teeth at it and retreat back into the house.
"Fucking creepy fuckers," I mutter, glaring at the closed door. I make a cup of black coffee and open the package.
Inside, there are two small vials of Kelaxon and a letter. I curse. This does nothing—it might slow the infection, if Collin has picked one up, but it's too late to do anything for Dustin.
Nurrin is going to be furious.
O'Malley,
A good faith gift. We will give you the antibiotics in exchange for information about the fall of Haven 8. And a retrieval of a package in Haven 21. Bring both to me in two days, and we'll make the exchange. This is the last time your name will carry any weight within our order, O'Malley. Make sure it's worth using.
HP-
I'm sitting there, holding the note in my hand and staring into nothing, when she finally stumbles, half awake, from her room. She mumbles something incoherent in my direction as she staggers to the coffee pot and pours herself a large cup. I wait for her to reach for the sugar, but she just leans against the counter and takes a large sip, black, her eyes closing in a blissful smile.
I look away, scowling into the note, and she shifts a little. "What's that?"
"The Order made their offer," I say. I drop the note on the counter and stand. "Be ready to leave in an hour. The sooner we're out of the Haven, the better."
I stalk to the front door—I need to pay Jesse a visit, get a vehicle. He should have something old school enough to get me through the wreckage and into the city.
"Lock the doors. Barricade yourself in the safe room—I'll get you out when I get back."
Her eyes are wide, all traces of sleep gone, replaced by anger. I don't have time for this. "Finn, you can't leave me!" she snaps.
"I can't take you this time. You know what those fucking lunatics are like on Third Day. I can't protect you—the best safety I can offer is that hole. Get your ass in it."
I slam the door behind me, punctuating my words, and lock it with my set of keys. She won't be able to leave, and if she locks herself into the zombie-proof safe room, she should be safe until I return.
Without letting myself consider that she won't be, I jog down the steps and break into a run.
It's a stupid move, but I'm too keyed up to care. The deserted streets work in my favor—Third Day is usually quiet until around three in the afternoon. I see a few cult members in their robes, but Lori must have passed word around—none of them approach me.
I hammer on Jesse's door for almost five minutes before he throws it open, cursing. I ignore his anger, shoving into the house. "I need a car. A Hummer or Jeep, if you have them. Fully stocked."
"When?" he asks, and I glance at him.
"Now."
He makes an amused noise in his throat. I frown, watching his expression slip from amused to oh shit. "Dammit, O'Malley, you can't keep pulling this shit."
"Actually," I drawl, letting my accent thicken, "I can."
He scowls, and I nod at the back of the house. "Do you have anything?"
"Not a fucking Hummer," he snarls. I want to punch him—the thought of his hands on Ren makes me violent, and his pissy attitude is just lighting the fuse on my temper.
"What do you have?" I demand, my voice low and controlled. Jesse's eyes narrow, and he strides toward the back of the house.
"An armored truck. Ford started production in Haven 46 last year. It's gonna cost a shit ton, though."
"Speed?"
"No gov. You can tap her out at 120—she's got a good sized tank, so you can easily travel between Havens. Where are you headed?"
I ignore the question and eye the truck. It's not my style—I prefer something a little sleeker or more obviously aggressive. But there's a gun turret mounted in the bed of the truck, which could be hella fun in a fight. I nod. "Make it happen."
"Dude—price."
I make an annoyed noise. "You know better. The money will be wired tonight. Keep the Porsche, too."
Annoyance flickers across his face, but I ignore it and head for the front door. "Get it to my place in thirty minutes. Fully stocked, Jesse."
"I didn't touch Ren."
I jerk around—and curse myself for reacting. Jesse's watching me, his eyes somewhere between amused and afraid. "I thought about it. I almost did—she's a hot little piece. But I wouldn't touch her."
I smile, coldly. "Thirty minutes," I repeat. And leave.
Chapter 9
A Changed World
Before ERI-Milan swept through the world, people lived in houses with porches, screen doors, and window that opened.
After the virus hit, things changed. Life went on—humans are too damn stubborn to quit completely—but it was different. America, Canada, Mexico—they were isolated from the European countries. Africa took longer to fall to the infection. All the third world countries fared better in those first few months than their more influential neighbors. They weren’t dependent on ERI, so it didn’t mutate in the population. But eventually, the tide of the dead hit them, and they didn't have a chance against the horde. Africa fell to the dead within six months, South America two months later. India and China were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, until the Chinese army rallied.
By then, we were alone, getting the barest of updates from the rest of the world. Fighting our own war against infection and trying to adapt—to survive.
It was an architect who created the bolt holes—a student at the University of Chicago, who hid in a basement vault in his apartment building until the dead finally took everything breathing and moved on. He was insane, a mess of crazy, when the National Guard found him a few days after the Fall of Chicago, but he had plans on him. A brick and metal safe, perfect for surviving.
He killed himself, two nights after the Guard bundled him onto a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan. Ate a bullet and scared the ever-loving shit out of the other refugees.
&nb
sp; His plans lived on—now, every private residence is equipped with a Hale Hall. Over the years, they’ve been adapted and become big business in the northwest—not surprising since they originated there.
I approach mine, staring. It’s top of the line—double steel walls, lined with zom repellent, coded to a body signature to open, followed by a retinal scan. It was the best money could buy, a neat little hole to waste away in. I press my thumb on the pad, and it warms, flashing green. The grip locks on me, and I feel the prick of a dart against my eye as the retinal scan activates—the dart is pressurized—if the scan picks up traces of the virus, it’ll fire through my eye, lodge in my brain, and explode. Messy, but effective.
Even knowing I’m clean, I hold my breath as the light flashes an alarming orange then hits bright, blinding green. The grip on my head relaxes, and I lean back as the explosive dart retracts. There’s a soft his of pressurized air, and the door swings outward. Ren is sitting cross-legged on the bench, her knee bouncing nervously. I force my smile down, away, and nod at the bag she’s dragged in the Hale Hall. “What’s that?”
“Clothes. Food—all the weapons I could find. Make sure I didn’t forget something you want, and we’re ready to leave.”
A surge of pride and approval hits me, and I turn away, striding through the house and scanning it. There’s nothing here—nothing that I give a damn about. It’s just a place to rest and hide, a place where my past hasn’t died completely.
I shouldn’t have a past—not anymore. Everyone lost that when the zombies rose. I don’t know why mine is the only one who seems convinced it’s a zombie and won’t just fucking die.
I crouch by a chair in the living room, prying the floorboard up and scooping out the cash and credentials I have hidden. I toss one travel pass to her. It’s not her picture or her name, but the resemblance is close enough.
The World Without a Future (The World Without End) Page 9
