She yanks my shirt off over my head, and her teeth latch down on the muscle of my neck, so I hiss out a breath, and she laughs, a dark, erotic noise that makes me hard. I shove her back, and catch her pants, pulling them down and off her as she unbuttons her shirt with quick, fumbling fingers.
I'm on her before she can shove it off, my mouth closing over her nipple, drawing my teeth over it. She whimpers, her body shaking under me, and I do it again, just to fucking feel that.
For so long, I've told myself this wasn't possible. Because she was Collin's sister and because I knew, even in 8, that she would change everything. That having her in my life would devastate it. And I knew better—I knew that I couldn't survive something like that again.
So she was something I wanted. And something I hated for wanting. Until every time I saw her, I pushed. Sharp, biting comments and stares that turned dismissive, and ignoring her completely. Her jealousy over me deepened, and we hated each other.
But I've always wanted her. I've always wanted this. And as I prop myself up and push into her, taking in the deep groan and the way her teeth bite down on her bottom lip, her eyes dropping down to watch me push into her—I was a fucking idiot.
Her eyes dart to me, and I see those shadows, that fucking sadness. I can't get rid of that. It's part of who she is. But I hate it and I hate that it's here, now.
"Fuck me, Finn," she says, her voice teasing and throaty. "Fuck me."
So I kiss her, a hard, bruising kiss that is as much a battle as we have ever been, and I fuck her like I could lose her--because I know I could, and I don't think I could survive it.
Part 9
The End of Hope
Everything ends. Everyone dies. That is our truth.
Finn O’Malley-
Sometimes, you just keep going. Not because you want to. But because that’s the only option.
Collin Sanders-
Chapter 1. The Nature of Change
THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES EVERYTHING CAN CHANGE. Only so many unshakable truths that can be shaken and shattered.
Then you just quit believing in anything.
I get it now—Finn saying that everyone lies. They do. Everything—the Walls, and the Walkers, and the brother who promised to keep me safe, the government who has our best interest at heart—every fucking thing. It’s all one big lie circling in on the next.
There’s one truth, and no matter what way the Order and Omar want to spin the fairy tale, it’s not changing. It’s too integral to who we are now, to what we’ve allowed ourselves to become.
The infection kills.
Chapter 2. Mourning Things Gone
THE OUTPOST IS QUIET. So quiet it makes me shiver as I pad through the halls. The shower is unnaturally loud. I would worry about people being disturbed by my noise, if I could think past anything but the white noise in my head.
Too many things have changed. Too fast for me to process. Part of me wants to go back to the little room where I was locked away, the bed that Finn is in, and crawl back under the blankets.
Except that Finn was never supposed to be mine. He was never supposed to be anything more than someone my brother implicitly trusted, and someone I hated.
Even that truth has changed. Tears sting my eyes and I swallow hard to keep from sobbing. I’m tired of the tears. I feel like everything has been stripped away from me in the Outpost. Like I’m just a shell of what I was before I went to that fucking dinner with Kenny.
I throw up suddenly, his words repeating in my head.
Those bastards raped me. And the worst part—the fucking worst part—is I have no idea who. When or how often, or motherfucking who. I want, irrationally, every acolyte and priest in the Outpost put into the Wide Open, left to fend for themselves against a fucking horde.
I’ve never wished that—never even thought about it. My worst enemy doesn’t deserve to be left to the mercy of the zombies.
But they do.
Hair swings down, slapping my face as I crouch. I shut my eyes, the water mixing with my dinner and swirling down the drain. I can’t think about that—about them and what happened—right now. I swallow hard, and stand up. The water has turned cold, and my teeth are chattering as I scrub the vomit from the ends of my hair, and rinse the shampoo out.
I dry myself off quickly and slip into a bra and clean underwear, stolen from the Order’s uniform closet, before stepping into a pair of black leathers. They’re loose on me, which bothers me. I shouldn’t be dropping weight. I shove that thought aside, and pull a tank top over my head. The button-down I add after tucking a couple knives into my waist band.
My boots are too loud—they’ll wake Finn—so I carry them and pad out of the bathroom with my weapons belt over my shoulder.
Ethan is sitting in the hallway, his eyes finding mine as I step out. He fidgets a little, and then scrambles to his feet. “We need to talk.”
I shake my head, and motion to him. Confusion touches his eyes briefly, but he follows me out of the First hall, and into the stairway. I plop down and tug on my boot. “Talk, First.”
“One of the acolytes told me you’re going to join the war. Why?”
I shrug. So easy to lie to him. And he’s stupid enough to believe it, because why would I lie? I shake the thought and shrug. “Because my family’s dead, and my Haven was overrun and why the fuck not?”
It’s not the truth. And I’m not telling him about the deal I made. But it’s enough.
“I want to come with you.”
That makes me pause, my foot halfway in my boot. “You don’t know me,” I say slowly. “You don’t know anything about me or why I’m doing this. Why the hell would you want to come with me?”
“Because it’s my choice. I want to live and die in the manner of my choosing.”
I make an aggravated noise—it would be less annoying if they weren’t my words being tossed back in my face.
“When I said that, I meant for you to actually live.”
“This is,” he says, soft and even. “Isn’t it? If it wasn’t, why would you be joining the fight?”
My gaze drops, and I swallow hard. “Fine, kid. Whatever the fuck you feel the need to do.”
I push up off the step and start climbing, ignoring him completely. For a moment, there is only silence. Then a muttered curse, and him jogging up the stairs behind me.
It would have been too easy for him to go away after talking to me. Nothing is easy these days—why should this be? I swallow my irritation, and climb until we reach the labs. Ethan is quiet, watching, and I slide him a glance. For a moment, I consider telling him not to speak—that he can stay if he will only observe. Then I remember how much it annoyed the shit out of me when Finn did that, so I ignore the urge, and step into the pristine lab.
There is one Gray robed priest at a work station, and his eyes go wide when he sees me. He looks behind me, and some of the tension leaks out of him when Ethan steps in behind me. Not Finn.
I suppress my smirk. Finn tends to have that effect on people—smart people, anyway.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“I want to see my brother,” I say, my voice short and even. The priest’s eyes widen, and at my side, Ethan makes a choked noise. I ignore it.
“The cremation is just finishing. It’ll be a few minutes longer.”
I stare at him for a long moment, while the priest twitches nervously, and then I nod. "I'll wait."
His eyes widen impossibly, and I swallow my smirk as I prop myself against the counter and cross one boot over the other. Ethan stares from me to the priest and back again, and I can almost feel the questions boiling up, begging to be asked.
How the fuck did Finn put up with my nonsense, all this time? I swallow that thought—I can't afford to think about anything but my brother—and stare at nothing as the priest mutters under his breath, and then scurries from the room.
The door he pushes open releases a wave of hot air, and the scent of fire and ash, and I
have to clench my hands into fists on the lip of the table, to keep myself from bolting.
My stomach twists, and I swallow hard. There is nothing left to come up, but it doesn't mean my stomach won't try to revolt.
"What happened to your brother?" Ethan asks, quietly.
I fix him with a flat stare. "I don't know you. And an accident of birth doesn't mean you have some kind of weird bond with me. So maybe we can ease up on the life history."
A slow flush crawls up his skinny neck, and I watch, fascinated. “You’re kind of a bitch, you know that?”
I shrug.
The door opens and Omar steps into the room, trailed by Finn. Staring at Finn, for a moment, it’s hard to breathe. I force myself to do so anyway. His eyes crawl over me and then land on Ethan, scrawny and pale and nervous, fidgeting at my side. When Finn looks back to me, his eyes are hot, and angry, and demanding. I let my eyebrows climb, just a little. Acknowledging his question and dismissing it. Amusement flares in his eyes for a moment, before it flattens, and I let my attention drift back to Omar, some of the tension easing in my shoulders.
“Are they finished?” Omar asks, and I shake my head.
“He said he needed a few minutes more.”
“What will you do with the ashes?”
I study my fingers for a moment, and Omar shifts, silently.
“What I do with my dead, Priest, is between me and my dead. You haven’t earned the right to ask me that.”
Omar’s face goes stormy and I give him a cool smile. Because I don’t give a fuck.
“Ma’am.”
I turn. The Gray priest is back, standing nervously with a small, black cylinder.
So fucking much, reduced to this. I clear my throat, and blink back the tears that are blinding me. The room is utterly silent, and I’m too aware of them watching me.
My hands shake, and I hate that. I clench them into fists, before I touch that fucking cylinder, and then he’s next to me, taking the black container and murmuring something that makes no fucking sense past the roar in my ears. All I can feel is his hand on the small of my back, propelling me forward, and the tiny charm against my neck.
I never wore memoriam pendants. Not for my parents, or any of the friends we lost over the years. I wanted one for Mom, when she died, but there needs to be a body to burn, and ashes to harvest.
We didn’t have that. We didn’t have anything, except the gun she left behind that I still carry.
Dustin was the first time I was given memoriam jewelry.
Finn steers me until we’re topside, and he hesitates, glancing at me. “Is this what you want?”
“Where else would I scatter them?” I ask, my voice flat. “There’s nowhere safe that he loved.”
“Nurrin,” he says, and I finally look at him.
“You don’t wear memoriam.” I shift, my head tilting in question.
It’s something I’ve always noticed, and never thought to comment on. But Finn has lost so much in the years since the infection spread. His parents, friends, people he fought with and respected. The girl he loves.
That thought twists in my gut, and I shove it aside. I don’t want to look at the reason why too closely.
“I carry them,” he says, and I know what he’s referring to. The tattoos that scrawl across his back, and up his neck. Thick tribal bands that, if you look closely enough, spell out names. Places.
He has always carried his dead, scrawled like so many scars on his skin.
I step outside, and there is nothing. No infects, no wind—nothing but empty space and my entire life, spinning out empty in front of me.
“I’m afraid I’ll forget them. I don’t remember, what Daddy looked like. He died when I was so young. Ten years from now, will I look back and wonder what my brother looked like? The stupid shit—how he teased me in the mornings before I had coffee, and the way he snored. His irritating habit of feeding every wayward widow and pretty orphan who smiled at him. I’ll forget that and he’ll be gone. And there’s going to be no one who will remember him.”
“I will. And I’ll remind you when you forget.”
I stare at him, and then laugh, because I can’t help it. Because I know he’s telling me the truth, but this is Finn.
“Keeping the memory of my brother alive isn’t important, Finn. Survival is. Right? Survival is the only thing that matters.”
Finn’s eyes darken, but he turns away, and I don’t see whatever is lurking there. For a moment, the wind rises, teasing my hair, and brushing across my skin, and Finn’s hand tightens on the lid of the cylinder. My chest squeezes, and I know that I’m not ready. Not for this. Not to see the last bit of my brother vanish into the fucking wasteland our world has become.
Graveyards never made sense to me. I know they were common—normal—before. But a place where they put all the dead seemed like a really stupid idea, in our world.
But now, knowing that he’ll be gone, his ashes scattered to the wind, leaves me gasping and panicky. I can’t. I make a small noise, and Finn’s eyes dart to me. He lowers the cylinder, and steps up to me.
“I’ll keep his memory alive, Nurrin.”
It’s a promise, and I know him. I know he doesn’t make those lightly. And this one—it has nothing to do with survival.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because you matter,” he says simply. “And if this is important to you, then we’ll find a way to keep him alive.”
“You stay with me, you’ll die.” I say. I don’t want to be the one responsible for that. Even though a selfish part of me wants him at my side.
Finn stares at me, and a smile tips up his lips. He tucks the cylinder with Collin’s ashes into a pocket and his hand comes up, curving along the path of my jaw. “Some things are more important than survival, little girl.”
Then he turns away, ducking back into the Outpost. For a long moment, I stare at nothing, trying to work through that statement. Eventually, he calls me, my name a sharp command, and I shake my paralysis and go to his side.
Nothing makes sense. Not a fucking thing.
Not in a world where my brother is dead, and Finn O’Malley tells me he loves me.
Chapter 3. Choices We Can Live With
“WE CAN STILL LEAVE,” Finn says, shoving some clothes into his bag. It’s not the first time he’s said it. It won’t be the last.
“You know I won’t stop you,” I say.
His eyes flash at me, angrily, and I smile sweetly. “Omar is waiting for us.”
“Omar is waiting to see how much you’ll let him control you,” Finn shoots back.
“And how well did that work for you?” I ask, dryly. A tiny twitch of his lips tells me I’m right. “Relax, O’Malley.”
He nods, once. “Fine. Let’s go do this. Are you good?”
I nod, even though my stomach is in knots over seeing Kendall. I want the man dead, and this whole experiment—testing the fucking cure—is designed to keep him alive.
Ethan is waiting in the hall, and falls in behind us as we exit the room. Finn sends me a look and I shrug. The boy has attached himself to me, for whatever fucking reason.
The lab has been emptied. The two rooms are side by side. In one, Silas is sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he stares into nothing. He’s a Black priest, and knows that nothing good can come of being held by his own people.
He fucked up, and he’s smart enough to know it.
In the other, Kendall is screaming. Cursing. Spewing threats like he thinks they mean something. They don’t, and we all fucking know it.
The infect is screaming, too. It’s being held by three acolytes, long poles with leather hoops hooked around its neck, keeping it centered away from all of us. Omar is watching, and I see amused approval in his eyes before he allows his gaze to go blank.
“Ready?” he asks, crisply. Finn’s face is bored and empty, so I nod, nervously. “Which one first?”
“Silas. The Grays have the serum ready to inject as soon a
s he’s exposed.”
I swallow the disgust in my stomach, that I’m part of this. It goes against every instinct I have—everything that demands we fight the infection and avoid exposure.
“Get it over with, Omar,” Finn snaps, and the Black Priest nods to his people.
Silas scrambles to his feet as they push the zombie in. “No,” he shouts, and the zombie screams, scrambling for the meat in front of him. For a few seconds, I think it’s going to be a waste—that Silas will manage to avoid the infect. But the room is tiny, and the zombie is fucking determined.
Blood sprays in a high arc, and I hear a wet rip as skin tears. Silas screams, a wordless noise of rage and fear.
“Enough,” Omar snaps, and the handlers yank the infect back. He’s still got his teeth in Silas, and I hear someone—Ethan—retch as the skin pulls tight, and then rips sickeningly. Silas convulses on the floor as the handlers pull the infect back.
The infect is fighting now, furious and hungry. The taste of blood is in his mouth, and the scent of meat on the air. He screams again, and Omar shoves me aside. “Move him,” he snarls.
Something slams into me and I bite back a yelp. The Gray priest makes a muffled noise, and I hiss as he pulls away, scurrying back.
“Nurrin,” Finn snaps, “get back.”
I stare at him, and the infect screams again, a noise that grates against my nerves.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper, and I freeze. Because I can see Omar, and he’s not watching the infected. He’s not watching the president, the zombie now in the room with him. He’s watching me, and a sick smile is playing on his lips.
Finn follows my gaze, and I see murder in his eyes. “What the hell did you do?” he demands.
Two hands clamp down on me, and I scream, bucking in the grip of whoever’s holding me. Finn jerks, lunging toward me, but Omar’s pointing a gun at him.
“I need you, Finn. I need you with me in the East. You know the men follow you.”
“You fucking bastard,” he breathes. “Let her go.”
The Future Without Hope (The World Without End Book 3) Page 14
