The Future Without Hope (The World Without End Book 3)

by Nazarea Andrews

  The Inevitability of Despair.

  Disappointment is inevitable.

  Unknown-

  Our path is not easy—but our success is inevitable.

  Sawyer Russell-

  Chapter 1. The Numbness of Time

  EVEN THE FEAR AND GRIEF GIVE WAY EVENTUALLY TO EXHAUSTION. I slump against Collin as the train rattles on down the tracks. I don’t know how long I sleep, or where we are going or if they want me dead. I don’t know anything—only that Collin is here, and turning. And Finn will find us.

  The train shudders, and I come awake, blinking in the gloom. Collin hasn’t moved and I feel a moment of blinding panic, my hands shaking as I reach for him. I hate that I hesitate, not quite brave enough, my heart twisting. Collin makes a low noise, his eyes blinking open. “Where are we?” he groans, shifting to sit up.

  I make a half-choked laugh, and he gives me a knowing look. “You weren’t ready to kill me,” he says.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I say back, my voice lacking heat. He smirks. It’s enough for now.

  “We’ve stopped,” I say softly.

  He nods, and I scoot away, leveraging myself up until I can stand. My legs ache—too many days drugged up in 1 and motionless on the hard floor of the train. The constant rattle has me shaky and I stumble for a step or two before I get my balance.

  The door swings back, and I swallow a curse as the light floods in, my eyes watering. Collin doesn’t bite it back, and I hear him moving. Without looking away from the people silhouetted by the sun, I reach out a hand and pull Collin to his feet. He’s panting, and his hand in mine is too hot but he stands without wavering.

  “Where the fuck are we?” he snarls, and one of them laughs. It’s a mocking noise. Now that my eyes are adjusting, I can see the robes. All four of them are wearing robes—one in gray, and two in red. One black. My heart drops and I squeeze his hand. Lori promised she wouldn’t hunt me down—she swore it, but it appears her word means less than I thought. The black, though. They answered to Omar, and—

  “Are we at the Stronghold?” I ask, my voice raspier than I like. It sounds weak and broken, and I’m not. I can’t fucking afford to be.

  “No, little First. The Stronghold is just a public face. This—this is nothing like the Stronghold.”

  That terrifies me. Because I don’t know where we are, and because no one has ever heard of the Order having a seat of power outside the Stronghold.

  Finn will never find us—and he won’t do it in time.

  “Get out,” one of the Reds says, her voice eager and lisping in her robes. I shudder. I don’t want anything to do with her. She makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, and the Black grimaces, making a motion with one hand.

  Blue-robed acolytes swarm forward, yanking at us until I land on the stony ground at the Black’s feet. He frowns down at me. “Don’t fight us, First. It’s much easier to just accept the Order’s will for you.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit, and he sighs.

  “Take her, Amy. But try not to damage her before the High Priestess arrives.”

  My blood runs cold and I jerk backwards as the acolytes fit rope cuffs over my hands. I form a fist and swing upwards with both hands, catching the Blue across the cheek. He makes a pained noise and falls away, grabbing for his face.

  The Black makes an annoyed noise and grabs my cuffs, yanking me to him and slapping me. Hard. For a moment, everything spins, and I can’t see straight. Distantly I can hear Collin cursing, feel him lunging for the bastard who hit me, but it’s very far away.

  He punches Collin carelessly, and my brother stumbles back a step before he straightens and lunges again. Surprise flickers in the Black’s eyes, there and gone before he kicks Collin, squarely in the bite. Collin’s scream is eerily similar to the infects and he goes down like a stone. I jerk on my bonds and the Black sighs, waiting a moment as Collin writhes on the ground.

  “Get them processed. And keep them apart—I don’t want the sacrifice tainted because you let her visit her brother.”

  The Blue nods and grabs the lead to Collin’s rope cuffs—they cuffed him while he was writhing from the kick—and pulls him away. “You can’t do this,” I breathe, jerking against my cuffs. The rough rope bites into my skin, stinging and real—all of this is so fucking real. It shouldn’t be. Why can’t this be a dream? A horrible fucking dream that I can wake up from.

  The Black priest gives me a lazy look and shrugs. “This is the Order’s outpost, First. We’re outside Haven authority, a hundred miles from the nearest Haven and backed by the president. We can do literally any fucking thing we want.”

  He turns away, and the Red—Amy—yanks on my cuffs, rubbing my wrists raw as she leads me into a new hell.

  Chapter 2. A Fresh New Hell

  THE OUTPOST IS ORGANIZED. Ridiculously so. I’m pulled into a small building that looks like a stiff wind will knock it over, and coated with dust. She opens a door, and pushes me into a small, neat stairwell. Four flights down, we emerge in a pristine, white-walled hallway. It’s lined with doors, each with a heavy lock, with a large open room at the end and a bathroom across from it. “Shower first, and then we’ll assign your room.”

  I stare at her, not quite sure I believe her. She gives an impatient sigh. “Just do it, First.”

  “Where did they take my brother? What will happen to him?”

  “A lot of that depends on you,” Amy snipes and my temper snaps.

  I drop the small stack of white clothing and cross my arms. “I’m not doing a single fucking thing for you, until you tell me where the fuck my brother is,” I snarl. “Your High Priestess wants me whole. Will you piss her off, or will you answer a fucking question?”

  She stares at me, furiously, but I don’t move. I won’t until I know Collin isn’t being put down in a back room somewhere.

  “The Grays will stabilize him, as much as they can. There isn’t much to be done, but we’ll keep him alive and the infection at bay.”

  “Why?”

  She frowns. “Because Day One is a year away, and we need you cooperative until then.”

  I knew that’s why I’m here—of course I knew. What else would I be here for? My throat goes dry and I try to keep from showing the panic I feel.

  The sacrifice in Las Vegas flashes before me, her long hair red with blood.

  It will never happen. It’s a year away, and Finn will find me long before that. I swallow and reach down, picking up my white clothes.

  Step into the bathroom. Two cameras swivel in the wall, focusing on me. I look back and Amy shrugs. “We had a girl suicide—this keeps those losses to a minimum.”

  “What the hell does it matter? You’ll kill us eventually.”

  She gives me a patient sort of look. “Because how you die is as important as you actually dying. And when matters—if it didn’t, we would have killed the Firsts years ago.”

  I don’t respond to that. Because there is nothing to say that will change her mind, and arguing with a fanatic is pointless. I strip and step into the shower, and try to ignore the cameras focused on me. The water is surprisingly hot and I let out a soft noise of surprise.

  “Five minutes, First.”

  I swallow my response—cursing my captors might make me happy, but it won’t actually achieve anything. Instead I focus on scrubbing myself clean, rubbing shampoo into my scalp until it tingles and I’m halfway convinced it’s bleeding. The priestess raps on the shower panel and I shiver as I twist the water off.

  The towel she hands me is rough and scratchy, but it smells like bleach and clean laundry, and I dry myself quickly before slipping into the drawstring white pants, a sports bra, and a white tank top. She glances at my wrists and makes a quiet tsk in her throat. “Those need to be treated.”

  I glance down. I didn’t realize my wrists were that torn up, but they are, blood beading impressively in a few spots. I shrug and pull my hands away from her. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”


  Displeasure flicks across her face, and then she turns, leading me down the hall to a locked door. She pushes it open. “This is your room. If you need anything, push the blue button—an acolyte will make sure you have whatever you want. Free time is from nine to noon.”

  I blink, because this isn’t the prison I expected. It’s not lavish—but it’s nicer than my apartment in Hellspawn was. The bed is wide and clean, and a small bookshelf is lined with books. A desk pushed against one wall with a high backed chair. There is a small comfortable-looking couch. I twist to stare at Amy, my confusion evident.

  The Red priestess shrugs. “We don’t want you miserable, and there is more waiting than there is anything else.”

  I lick my lips. “How many are here?”

  Holly smiles, a beatific smile of the religious zealots. That smile will haunt me, more than the infects’ screams. “Enough that you will not be needed for years.”

  Without letting me respond, she pulls the door shut and leaves me there.

  I pace the tiny room, until sweat beads on my back, and sticks my tank top to my skin. Nothing happens except my legs, weak from my captivity, get shaky and I get tired. Finally, exhausted, with angry tears in my eyes, I drop on my bed and curl on the disgustingly comfortable mattress.

  For a moment, I consider dragging the sheet and pillow to the floor but then I can picture Finn, and the irritated amusement in his eyes, telling me not to be an idiot as he got comfortable. So I snuggle into the pillow. “You better get your ass here soon, O’Malley.”

  As I drift off, lulled by exhaustion and the warmth of the shower and finally being comfortable, I cling to the words he’s repeated to me, his eyes patient, and furious, and determined.

  What’s the only thing that matters?

  The tightness eases. I’ll keep you alive. I’ll keep Collin alive.

  I just have to stay alive long enough for him to keep his promise.

  Chapter 3. The Nature of Survival

  A RAP ON MY DOOR PULLS ME FROM MY SLEEP and I blink sleepily as the door opens to reveal Amy, a blue acolyte, and the Black priest from the day before.

  Even knowing that they won’t kill me today, my blood runs cold. It’s instinctive around the Order. The Black priest glances over the room, checking it briefly for damage or God knows what, and then nods at me. “Come with me.”

  I clutch handfuls of the bed, and snap back, “Fuck you.”

  Amusement fills his eyes for a moment—just a heartbeat and then it’s gone, and his gaze turns severe. “Fighting is not a good idea, First.”

  “I have a name, Priest.”

  His head dips, quiet acknowledgment. “And I would like to learn it. If you would join me, we can get to know each other.”

  “Do you get to know all the women you kill?” I demand, bitterly.

  “And the men. Yes. That is part of my duties here.”

  The calm way he admits it makes my stomach flip. But it also settles my nerves. Because he isn’t lying to me, and he isn’t immediately threatening me.

  I might want to be as far away as possible, and he might want to see me eaten alive by infects, but I get the disturbing feeling that I can trust him. I scoot forward on the bed a little, and ask, “Can I see my brother?”

  He eyes me for a moment, and Amy twitches irritably. She wants to say something—I can tell from the way she almost vibrates with annoyance. That she doesn’t is telling—it tells me where she is on the chain of command.

  “Walk with me, First,” he says, instead of answering my question.

  Finn would. If only to get information. Finn would play them until he was in a position to kill them all. I paste a smile on my face, and step past him into the pristine hallway.

  “Priest, her bonds,” Amy says, sharply.

  “She is already damaged from the bonds. And you don’t really think she could escape the Outpost—or me. Do you, priestess?”

  Amy flushes, and looks away. It’s probably true, but he’s an idiot to underestimate me.

  Here’s the thing: People survive. After that initial change, we all found a way to survive. Some of us did simply by the grace and good wits of the people around us—that is the only reason a First lived long enough to see their fifth birthday. Blind fucking luck.

  But after the chaos of the change, after we fled the East, and settled behind our Haven walls—we all found a way to survive. Working in the plants, and if you were desperate, the fields. Walking the Wall, and raising the next generation.

  Some found peace and the will to carry on in the mundane—raising children and keeping house and making sure everything was right in their small worlds. It was a coping strategy—a way to deal with the constant threat of death hanging over their heads.

  But denial isn’t dealing. It’s burying your head in the fucking sand and hoping your ass doesn’t get bit. It’s a luxury some get to indulge—the small children who have parents to protect them, the wives whose husbands Walk, the very rich who still seem to think money can buy them safety—and who aren’t far from wrong.

  Those are the people who make up our society—what remains of it—and they are why society can continue. Because they refuse to believe anything else. We need people like them. They balance out the ones like Finn, and me. Who know we are living on borrowed time, in a world that is already dead but too stupid to accept it. We survive because we don’t bury our heads, because we know the risks and say fuck it. Finn is one of those people—it’s one of the reasons I hated him when Collin dragged him home. I saw myself in him. And I hated him, because it was easier than hating myself.

  The Black priest is staring at me, and I see myself reflected in his eyes. A pretty girl with a dying brother, dressed in white and waiting to be killed. And even though it pisses me off, I let my eyes drop.

  Stay alive.

  Let him think I’m meek and docile, a quiet little sheep ready to be pampered before the inevitable slaughter. Let him think whatever the fuck he wants, right up until the day I kill him.

  Chapter 4. The Way of It

  I FOLLOW THE BLACK PRIEST THROUGH THE OUTPOST, trying to see everything at once. He moves us slowly enough that I can—and I see why. There isn’t a way out. It’s all brick and concrete, long tunnels, locked doors, a military efficiency that makes my blood run cold.

  “What is it?” I ask, finally.

  He gives me a toothy grin, and it occurs to me that he isn’t that much older than I am. He couldn’t have been much older than five during the change. I wonder who he knows, what life he led to be given a position this influential so young. “A government bunker. We picked it up when a contact infection hit and wiped out the people inside. The feds couldn’t wait to hand it over.”

  My skin crawls as I look around, and he laughs. “We cleared the compound years ago—before I took my acolyte robes. We haven’t had a breach or uncontained infection in four years—which is better stats than any Haven, including 1.”

  I blink, and he smiles. “Impressed?”

  I’m not—I’m still snagged on one word. “What do you mean by uncontained infection?” I ask hoarsely.

  His eyebrows go up. “You picked up on that, did you? Interesting. Most are too impressed with the track record to notice the details.”

  I laugh, a short, unamused noise. “Your details add up to me being killed, and my brother somewhere in this ultra-clean hell hole. So maybe the details matter a helluva a lot.”

  He nods and leads me down the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into a small office. I step into the room, and my shoulders drop. It’s messy, the desk cluttered with paper and a few knives. The air smells of gunpowder and oil and steel—the distinct scent of weapons well cared for that takes me instantly back to my apartment with Collin in Hellspawn, hiding behind the curtain while he and Finn cleaned weapons in that quiet camaraderie they always shared.

  Tears sting my eyes unexpectedly and I roll my eyes up, trying to get my shit together before the priest notices.

 
I still haven’t learned his name. “Who are you?” I ask abruptly, looking at him.

  “My name is Silas Lark.” He sits across from me, all casual grace and comfort—silent reminders that this is his place, not mine. “And you?”

  “Nurrin Sanders. Of 8.”

  He flips open a thick file. “Ah. Yes, we’d heard about you, but you were under the protection of two Walkers. Deemed inadvisable to attempt retrieval.”

  I stare at him, the comfort from a moment ago vanishing as suddenly as it came. My voice is remarkably steady as I force out the words. “You have a file on me?”

  He smiles, a little knowing. “We have a file on every First, Ren.”

  That name on his lips seems so wrong—almost an insult. I force that feeling down, and keep my voice even. “You do realize that I’m still protected by two Walkers?”

  “We realize that one of them is in our med wing, fighting an infection that will eventually kill him. As for the other, well.” He shrugs. Looks around.

  “You idiot,” I breathe, and his gaze snaps to mine, anger obvious, suddenly. It seems I’m not the only one wearing a mask here. I lean forward. “That other isn’t going to forget he was protecting me just because your presidential puppet stole me.”

  “The other is not my concern anymore. He has no idea where you are or how to find you. No one does.” His tone is sharp. I’ve managed to piss him off.

  And I don’t give a fuck. “You keep thinking that, Silas. If that makes you happy, keep on thinking it.”

  He frowns, and I shift in my seat. I’m done playing nice with him for today. “Where is my brother?”

  Annoyance flickers at the question, and I almost grin, because Finn hated my questions. He’d give me that—I shake my head, shake the memories, and swallow. “He’s in our med wing. The Gray Priests are doing what they can to stop his infection.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “We don’t expose sacrifices to a live infection. You should be able to understand that.”