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

by Nazarea Andrews

  With Nurrin, maybe not ever.

  “So why are we trusting him now?” she asks, and I let out a breath. Because even if it is a question, it’s one I can tolerate.

  “Because it was the only option. No one in 1 was telling me shit, and the longer you were gone, the more desperate I got. So I got the Order’s attention, shook the tree a little, and Omar is what fell out.”

  “How?”

  I look up at her, and she shivers at whatever she sees in my eyes. Bites her lip and looks away. No one is okay with the kind of violence I embraced, to get her back. Even knowing why, I can’t expect her to be able to swallow it.

  Her eyes narrow.

  “I killed Order priests and priestesses until they finally took notice,” I say.

  She stares at me for a long tense moment, and I don’t know if she’ll bolt or if she’ll accept this—me.

  Nurrin shifts, and tosses me a stick of dried fruit. I catch it from the air and stare at it as she busies herself strapping on her weapons.

  Her gun—the one I used to kill the Order—she hesitates over, and glances back at me once.

  “It’s yours,” I say, and she nods once, shoving it into her holster and tucking a few throwing stars into her pocket. A shiny garrote wire wraps around her wrist.

  She looks savage and beautiful, and like the girl I’ve come to know—not the one I watched and resented in Hellspawn, but the girl I’ve been forced to get to know and trust in the Wide Open. I swallow hard, a rush of arousal fighting the absurd pride I feel for her.

  I have a hard time trusting. After Kelsey, it was almost impossible. I trusted one person—Collin—to watch my back. To protect me.

  But I trust her.

  “Omar is waiting for us,” Nurrin says, and she holds out my katana.

  It’s not acknowledging what I did. She won’t. But I know what she is doing, and I’ll take it. I stand, and slip the sword over my head to rest on my back. “Then we should go. It wouldn’t do to keep the High Priest waiting.”

  I can feel her laughter, a small puff of air on my back as I step out of the little room that has become ours, with her on my heels.

  Chapter 5. The Mad Priest

  “WE CAN TAKE BACK THE EAST.”

  Behind me, Nurrin makes a choked noise. I don’t blame her much. It’s an idiotic claim, even if Omar does have the best intentions and goals.

  He’s always been a fanatic. When we found him in the Stronghold, I thought he had channeled that passion into the cult. Stupid, deadly, but in the end, not my problem.

  Now I realize I was wrong. He was still fighting the same war he had been ten years ago. But we lost it ten years ago, and we’ll lose it now.

  “We can’t.” I shake my head, “You know we can’t—and even if we could, the loss of life is too extreme. We can’t afford to have another few million lives tossed aside for a coast we can’t keep.”

  “As long as we let them have the East, we’ll never put this disease to rest. We’ll keep hiding behind our walls until there is nothing left. Until the walls fall and the hordes take every last uninfected life on the continent. You know it’s coming—fuck, you told us about this shit.” Omar is glaring at me, and I straighten, away from the wall I’m leaning against.

  Holly, sitting next to Omar, stiffens, a little, and I smirk at her. Little apocalypse baby can keep on thinking she’s fucking big enough to hurt me.

  Nurrin, miraculously, stays quiet at my side.

  “We can’t do this, Omar. You know its suicide. We fought this war before—it’s not our fight anymore. It’s no one’s fight.”

  “We never should have conceded the battle,” he snarls.

  I remember the day I heard we were conceding—the day Buchman took us aside and told me and Kelsey we were pulling out of the East.

  Fast and clean. That’s what we were told. The evac would be flawless—trains were being specially designed, and we’d move out en masse. Without leaving anything for the zombies to chase, we had a chance to contain it.

  Some would wander into Wide Open territory near the Havens. We expected that. What was left of the Marines—and by then, that was a handful of a once strong force—were tasked with keeping the unofficial border.

  It was a crazy plan. After ten years, and hundreds of thousands dead, to leave it all behind—to say, “Fuck it. We can’t win this one.”

  It was the only option, and I hated Buchman for taking it. Because it was the coward’s way out, and the politicians’. They didn’t lose men on the field. They didn’t watch friends get bitten, and eat a bullet because they refused to change. They didn’t clear dead towns, torching preschools of infected children, monstrous in their fury and hunger.

  They didn’t fight the fucking war. They tallied the numbers and when it swung too wildly out of our favor, they said, “Fuck it. Come home.”

  And like mindless sheep, we did.

  It was clean, for the most part. The promise to extract quick and easy was kept—it was possibly the only time in history that the military did something efficiently.

  There were two places the evac didn’t go as planned—a small foothold in Tennessee was overrun a few hours before their planned extraction.

  And Columbus.

  Nurrin shifts next to me, and I blink, focusing on Omar. Pushing my memories and my dead into the past where they belong.

  “Nothing has changed, Omar,” I say, evenly. “There are too many of them and too few of us. We can’t secure the land we clear. It’s the same problem we faced ten years ago.”

  Omar glances at Holly and she shifts, opening a small computer.

  Before the world changed, they were common—everyday accessories that everyone used. And then the world fell apart, and we lost that.

  We lost so fucking much.

  She twists the computer, and I stare at the screen.

  “For the past two years, we’ve been sending in small parties—units of three or five black priests—to monitor.” She clicks a few keys and the map changes, narrowing in on the west coast—the Havens.

  “The red shows the uninfected. The black are zombies,” she says.

  It’s slightly terrifying, watching the black masses moving outside the Haven walls, not pushing. Not threatening.

  In small groups they aren’t. But they never stay in small groups. That’s where the trouble always comes.

  “This,” Holly says, “is the East.”

  The coast is almost empty. A few small, black clusters near New York and scattered in the south. Enough that they would need to be dealt with. A surprisingly large red cluster in Florida. But not the widespread horde I expected. I stare, and then I glance at Omar.

  “What happened?”

  Omar smiles, coldly triumphant. “They died.”

  Nurrin pushes off the wall, and I can feel her vibrating with suppressed emotion. I give her a sharp look, and her lips thin, furiously. Then I refocus on Omar. “They’re already dead, Omar. That’s their defining characteristic.”

  “But they don’t stay dead, right? They come back and spread the infection and that was the problem with the war because when the enemy stands up and takes a bite out of you, it’s hard to win anything.” Omar’s voice goes up in question, and I nod, grudgingly. “Except that we aren’t dealing with that. We know how to kill them, and the force we take in will be better at it than the mass army we took ten years ago. And the infects are at the disadvantage this time.”

  I point at the little map, with its blinking, empty space. “Where did they go?”

  “We left,” he says. “And the infects had nothing to feed on. And ERI-Milan reacts to outside stimuli—to the things in its environment.”

  “Right. Which was the second problem.”

  That’s why we didn’t win. Why we couldn’t. Because we all carried ERI-Milan, and when an army faced a horde, it changed—in everyone. It mutated, adapting to the new emotions in the brain and the external stimuli. It’s what spelled out our end when the Ar
my clashed with the horde in Atlanta, twenty years ago, and it defeats us even now.

  ERI worked because it changed to meet the moods and emotions of the host.

  ERI-Milan damns us because of the same thing.

  The infects changed us. And even now that we know how to kill them, we can’t fight them in large numbers without risking the same thing that spiraled out of control so long ago.

  “Finn, the East could be what saves us,” Omar says fiercely. “Gives us a place to retreat to—you know we need that, with the Havens falling. And this—this is winnable. It wasn’t ten years ago, but they’re dead—they’ve decayed and starved to death. We couldn’t win and we left it to them. But conceding then, that doesn’t mean we have to forget our roots forever. We can take it back. We can take it all.”

  I stare at him, and I shake my head. Because looking at this, I could believe him. And it’s still a lie. That’s what’s terrifying. That even knowing what I know of Omar and the way he works, even knowing that he’s manipulative and always hiding something—usually something hella important—I want to believe him.

  So many of us who fought for the East never got over the loss. We couldn’t, really.

  Everyone thinks that the zombies changed everything. They did. But it’s not about a single event that changes shit. Every generation has that. Every country has that. A moment in time that is a clear point, that marks before and after.

  The zombies were ours, and it wasn’t for a generation or a country, it was for the world. But what came after—the way we allowed every goddamned thing to be changed—that is the worst part of this new world. The way we fought a battle we should have won, and gave up, because fear said we had to.

  I straighten, away from the wall and Nurrin, and turn. There is too much going on for me to keep chasing my thoughts, here. I need a little space, to think. And that’s when Omar drops the coup de grace.

  “ERI-Milan can be cured.”

  Part 7.

  The Truth Of The World

  Truth is rarely written—its exposed in the world.

  Unknown-

  The truth is that this is it. We can’t get away from the infection. We can’t win this war.

  Finn O’Malley-

  Chapter 1. Unshakable Truths

  WE ALL KNOW SOME THINGS WITHOUT REALLY NEEDING TO BE TOLD. Babies—babies have to be taught. They need to learn to walk, and that things on stoves are hot. That grass is green and the sky is blue and that we all bleed red.

  There are very few things that we all know, without question.

  But even little babies know to fear infects. It’s a universal truth.

  And the thing about those few truths—they’re comforting. Even when they’re horrible. We cling to them, because having something that deeply fundamental shaken up—that’s as terrifying as infection.

  I have never known a world without infection.

  I never will.

  That is my truth. My undeniable, unshakable foundation. It’s something so deeply ingrained in who I am, I’ve never even imagined another world.

  I’ve tried. Collin told me stories, often enough that of course I pictured it. But they were stories. They weren’t my reality, and I don’t know how to reconcile that world with the one I’m forced to live in.

  I’ve never expected a cure. Of course, there are moments when I want it. Watching my brother die, torn apart by the disease and on the edge of turning—that is a moment that will haunt me. If I have ever wanted a cure, it was then.

  But there is a difference between wanting and reality.

  And I’m a First. If there is anything we are very good at, it’s being able to face reality head-on.

  Chapter 2. The Lies We Tell

  FINN’S WHOLE BODY GOES TENSE BESIDE ME, so still it’s almost painful. I still haven’t moved, so I can watch Omar. He’s staring at Finn with a desperation that scares me, a wild hope in his gaze. He needs O’Malley to believe this, and I don’t quite understand why.

  “We aren’t going in blind or vulnerable,” Omar says. “It’s not like last time.”

  Finn’s eyes close, and I see his chest rise with a deep breath, like he’s struggling to maintain that quiet control he’s so damn good at. When they open, he glances at me, and catches me watching him. For reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, I flush, a hot crawl up my neck. Amusement fills his eyes, even here. He loves to see me rattled. I arch an eyebrow and he smirks. Turns to the Black Priest.

  “We aren’t doing this, Omar. I’m not buying your bullshit this time. You want to find someone who believes your lies and empty promises—by all means, go for it. I’m taking the girl and getting the fuck out of here and away from the hordes.”

  “Where will you go?” Omar challenges quietly. “There are no clean places, and your bolt holes in the havens—your little ways of staying safe—will fall as they do. You’ll be just as vulnerable as the rest of us, O’Malley.”

  Finn gives him a cold look. “Where I go and what I do to protect myself and my people—that doesn’t fucking affect you. I want Kenny and I want every priest who touched her. I’ll be out of your way as soon as I’ve killed them.”

  He nods at me, and I step out of the office a few feet in front of him.

  Omar lets us go, which is surprising. Finn and I walk silently though the compound, but I can feel the tension in him growing with each step. When we finally reach our room, and the door closes behind us, I expect him to explode. Instead, he drops on the bed, his shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the floor.

  He looks lost. Finn O’Malley, who has never looked anything other than completely competent and arrogantly assured that he knew best.

  “O’Malley?” I ask, cautiously.

  “What do you want to do?” he asks, and my stomach drops.

  I take a step back, and his gaze jerks up to collide with mine. I don’t understand the question. Not from him. Finn doesn’t ask for opinions. He tells you where to go and when, what to do, and expects unquestioning obedience. And because that logic has kept me alive, I go along with it, for the most part. But—“What the fuck is going on?” I blurt.

  He nods, his lips twisting in a grimace. “Yeah. That’s kinda what I expected you to say.”

  “Why the hell do you care what I think, now?”

  He blinks. “Because I have to care.” I jerk, and he frowns. “Look, Collin wanted me to protect you. I’m going to do that. Before, he could tell me what was the best option for that—but he’s gone now.”

  I stare at him, and I’m not sure I actually believe the words coming from him. Because even for Finn O’Malley, it’s a special breed of what the fuck.

  “Hey, Finn?” I say, softly. He looks at me, his gray eyes wary. I give him a sharp edged smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

  I make it two steps outside the room before he grabs me, an arm around my waist pulling me back against his body.

  I remember the feel of him, braced above me on the floor of our hotel room, his fingers stroking me. His knee rocking against me in that tiny barracks room, splintering my world apart. And even though that isn’t what this embrace is about, I’m hot and turned on, instantly, the fight draining out of me so fast I’m dizzy and limp in his arms when he pushes me against the wall. After the separation, I’m desperate, drinking in the feel of his finger tight on my arms, and the heat that’s coming off him, even the feel of his breath in my hair.

  I’m achy and needy, and so turned on I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from running them over his shoulders, and pulling him into me.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Finn snaps, and I smirk. Because this, this I can do. This is the essence of who and what we are. All anger and sharp words and questions without answers. Hot flares of arousal tempered by long stretches of silence.

  “I’m leaving. I’m not your problem, O’Malley. My brother is dead, and that’s the only reason I was with you—because he and I were a package deal.”

  He stares a
t me for a long moment, his eyes trained on mine. I lick my lips nervously, and they dart down, following the path along my lips without any shame, darkening just a little.

  He steps away abruptly and I shiver, his body heat suddenly gone.

  “Is that what you want?” he asks, and his voice is low and even.

  Once upon a time, I thought that detachment from him meant he didn’t care. I don’t think that anymore. Now, I’m pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t trust himself.

  Finn is volatile, a hot mess of emotions one crisis away from blowing up. And he doesn’t trust that. So he locks it away under an iron-clad control and gives the world a cold, calm exterior.

  I swallow and shrug. “I don’t know. I do know I don’t want you to take care of me because you feel like you owe it to me.”

  My gaze goes to the ink I can see, peeking above the neckline of his shirt. “You carry enough dead, O’Malley. Don’t take on mine as well.”

  “It was about you,” he says, softly. I go still, staring at him. “The fight that first day I met Collin. It was about you.”

  The world bottoms out, because it’s not what I expect to hear him say. I have no place in their friendship. I’ve never understood it, always resented it, and—

  “It’s always been about you, Nurrin,” he says, so quietly I could pretend I didn’t hear it.

  Except not even I could imagine something that insane coming from Finn O’Malley.

  Chapter 3. The Impossible Reality

  I RUN, because there is no other option. Finn hands out doses of reality carefully—as carefully as the CDC regulates neural inhibitors and anti-infection serums.

  This is too much honesty. So I bolt from our little room, and he doesn’t chase me this time.

  Omar put us on the same floor as the Firsts, and as I race down the hall, I eye the doors.

  I’ve never spent much time with other Firsts. We’re a hunted breed, and tend to avoid drawing attention. Gathering in groups always seemed like the height of stupidity.