“What is there to get?” he asks, annoyed.
“Why on earth would you want to live on the Wall?”
He sighs. “This is one of the few remaining structures of the original Haven walls. Do you get that?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I snap. “I can see that it’s old as fuck. What I don’t understand is why you got so pissy that Kendall moved your shit out.”
He gives me a dirty look—which, honestly, is a step up from his blank one—and steps into the tiny house. I heave a sigh and follow him.
It’s…cozy. Or cramped. Cramped is actually more accurate. The room is maybe ten by twelve, enough room to fit a bed and a table. The windows have been bricked over, with only thin slits to shoot from. There is no view of the sun, not on either side.
There is nothing that says Finn, nothing that tells me why this place matters to him more than any other. He walks the length of the room—a few steps—and then twists, peering out the slit window.
“Why is it special?” I ask. I expect him to ignore me. Because that’s what O’Malley does. I ask questions; he ignores them. It’s not exactly a working relationship, but it’s ours, and we make it work. Most of the time.
“We grew up here,” he says, startling me. “I spent the first seven years of my life exploring Scotland. The whole world was mine. Kelsey had nine years of it. And then everything changed, and this haven became our entire world. Back then, it wasn’t what it is now. It was a hovel. We were attacked all the fucking time. This was our place—it wasn’t attacked a lot. So we spent our time here, and the Walkers kind of adopted us. We grew up in the middle of a war our parents started, and we were forgotten the best of times.”
I move, and he jerks, blinking at me. There are so many questions I want to ask, but I don’t want to do anything that will make him quit talking. So I stay silent. He stares for a long minute before he shrugs.
“When she died, she gave me this place. Andrew formally gave it to her when she took her post in the army. And when I came back, he offered it to me. But I left, and I guess Kendall doesn’t much care about what his family wanted, now that they’re dead.”
“He has a lot of anger, doesn’t he?”
Finn snorts a laugh. “He’s survived this long. It’s kind of inevitable that he does. I have my own share of anger.”
“But you channel it well.” I step up to the window slit, peering out. There are a few infects darting along the road. One snaps at her pack mate then screams, jerking around and throwing herself at the Wall.
“I fight, Nurrin. And I kill.”
I shrug. I don’t want to argue with him about why that works. “When are you talking to Omar?”
“This evening. Kendall didn’t have any information?”
“No. But maybe he will tonight.”
Finn goes very still, and I freeze. Shit. I didn’t mean to let that slip out, not like that.
“Why would he have anything for you tonight, Ren?” he asks, his voice silky.
“Don’t get pissy,” I huff. “It was an exchange. Information, and I’ll have dinner with him.”
He doesn’t move, but I can feel him pulling away from me, his icy walls going up. I sigh. “Just what the hell kind of information do you think is so valuable that you’ll spend time with him,” Finn demands. “Did you forget the conversation we had about him being dangerous?”
“I didn’t forget anything, O’Malley,”I snap, furious suddenly. “I did what I had to.”
“What. Information?”
Oh, he will hate this.
I bite my lip, and Finn growls, jerking me around to face him.
“You,” I yell. “It was information about you. Because I can’t get it from you—and I’m tired of being the only fucking person in this god-forsaken country who doesn’t know who the hell you are.”
“Goddammit, Nurrin!”
“What?” I scream, shaking him off and slapping his chest. “What the hell does it matter? Why do you hide who you are?”
“Because it’s not who I am,” he yells back. I go quiet, shrinking away from his sudden outburst. Stare at him as he struggles to rein in his temper. “That’s where I came from, and shit that happened that I can’t control. It’s not me, Nurrin. It never was. I thought you knew that by now.”
There’s something in his eyes that bothers me—disgust. Disappointment. “Finn,” I say, but he shakes his head.
“Don’t.” He walks over to the door. “I asked for one thing from you. Trust. And you couldn’t fucking do that—you couldn’t just wait for me, you had to know, on your terms, in your time.”
“Trust goes two ways, Finn,” I say, my voice shaking.
He stares at me. “I trusted you with my life, Nurrin. I trusted you to protect me when we were in the Wide Open, and to keep your mouth shut in the Stronghold, and to not shoot me when you thought I had a live virus in 18. I trusted you in that Clean house, to keep quiet and not give us away. Don’t tell me I haven’t trusted you.”
I’m quiet, speechless. Because I can’t—no. That wasn’t trust. That was necessity. That was circumstance. He shakes his head. “I’ll see you after you meet with Kenny. I hope it was worth the information you bought.”
And even though logic tells me he’s just going searching for information, it feels much more final when he walks away this time.
Chapter 45. Offerings
I’ve cleaned the room—I can’t bring myself to call it a house—top to bottom and swept the floor five times. I’m going stir crazy, and it’s only been a few hours since Finn abandoned me. There’s a tap on the door, and I jerk, almost lunging off the bed to yank it open.
A street urchin is standing there. He’s chewing on a slice of apple, a damp rag in his hand implying there are more. My stomach rumbles, reminding me loudly that I haven’t eaten today. The boy eyes me curiously, and then, “Ms. Claire wants to see the O’Malley.”
“Finn isn’t here,” I say automatically.
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Come on then.”
I hesitate, and he gives me a fierce scowl. “I don’t get my chocolate if I don’t bring someone back. So get moving.”
I glance back halfheartedly, but there’s no reason to stay. Not really. Finn isn’t here, and I’m learning nothing. So I grab my gun and knives then follow the boy as I tuck the weapons into my holster.
He gives me a few curious looks as we walk, and the second time my stomach rumbles, a faintly disapproving look. Grudgingly, he extends an apple slice and gives a snort of disgust when I try to turn him down. Feeling strangely guilty, I take the fruit and munch on it as he leads me into a small neighborhood.
The house we finally approach is small, a dull green, with a neatly tended plot of grass. The street boy darts up the stairs, and I follow a little slower as he banks inside, bellowing out that he brought someone back. I hear the warm, high tones of a woman, and then he comes darting past me down the hall, clutching a bar of dark chocolate, a wide smile on his face.
“Come on in,” she calls. I take a few tentative steps into a small kitchen.
Small my ass. It’s a kitchen, and it’s almost twice the size of Finn’s entire house.
“So, you’re the lovely bit he brought home. Haven’t been able to find out much about you, except you caught the President’s eye.”
She’s a thin, older woman with bright eyes and a wealth of lines around her smiling mouth.
She looks like someone’s grandmother, a shrewdly assessing one.
“He’s done every fucking thing he can to protect you. So why don’t you tell me why?”
A grandmother with no tact and a potty mouth.
“Who are you, exactly?”
She smiles, a toothy grin. “Claire Donal, of Glasgow. I got stuck here when the virus broke and planes were grounded. O’Malley the senior found as many of us as he could and tried to give us a home.”
“Did it work?”
She shrugs. “This isn’t about me, girl.”
“Why did you want him?”
Her eyes brighten. “He was looking for a few things. And I found them.”
My heart jerks. “Where?”
Her eyes widen. “What is so important about this?”
No. She isn’t playing games, not now, not when my brother is so close. “Did you find him?” I demand, lurching forward a step.
Her gaze goes soft and apologetic. “No, sweet girl. I didn’t. I may have some leads—and Finn will want to check them out. But there are no promises.”
She pulls a notebook off her table. It’s a ratty, overstuffed thing, with notes and pieces of paper sticking out of the top and sides. She handles it with practiced familiarity, without the caution I would use, and flips toward the back. Plucks a slip of paper from the pages and hands it to me. “Finn left the house full of his belongings. This is where he’ll find it—Kendall didn’t have it thrown out. I don’t think he had the guts.”
I nod, taking the paper. “But—“
She sighs. “A priest came into the Haven three nights ago. He wasn’t in robes, so most don’t know he’s associated with the Order. He met with a few of the Reds and spent two nights in the brothel. And he had a meeting with a few government officials.”
“How do you know this?” I ask, my mouth dry.
She smiles coolly. “It’s my business to know things, sweet girl. Just like I know that you matter to Finn for some reason, or he would have not gone to such lengths to hide you. How many in the Haven know you are a First?”
I freeze, and Claire smiles. “That’s what I thought.”
“What do you need that information for?” I ask weakly.
“I don’t,” she says. “I wanted to satisfy my own curiosity.”
I stare at her, and she smiles gently. “Sweet girl. Finn is a Scots. He’s my kinsman, because we share that. If he wants you protected, no one will learn anything about you from me. And the more I know, the more I can misdirect.”
“Why does Finn not trust people?” I ask. Logic and our most recent argument tells me to shut my mouth, but I’ve never been very good at listening to logic.
Claire frowns a little. “You are a First—you’ve never known a world different from this one. And I’m—well, I was grown. I didn’t have the magic of childhood wrapped around me, buffering me from the world. Finn did. And then, in one day, his mother was dead and the world was falling apart, and nothing was ever the same. He wasn’t born to the world, but he was shoved into it as a child. Back then, a lot of promises were made—good intentioned things, but shit that could never be kept. Finn heard a lot of those and watched those promises be broken. He stopped trusting because the world doesn’t give him much reason to.”
“Does he ever lie?”
“O’Malley? On rare occasions. If it will help him keep his word. But if he’s ever given you a promise, he will walk through hell to keep it.”
I look away, thinking.
“What was it?” she asks quietly.
What is the only thing that matters? “He’ll keep me alive. And find my brother.”
She makes a soft noise, slightly surprised, and I give her a sick smile. It’s all I’ve got at the moment. “I have to go,” I say.
She watches me for a moment, and then, “Go see the Commander of the Wall. He might not be able to tell you much, but tell him I sent you and what I said. He owes me a few favors.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Claire waves me away then walks me to the door. “Go on then. And try to stay alive. O’Malley has lost more than most in this world, and I’d hate to see him lose you.”
There’s a final question, burning on my tongue. “What happened, to Kelsey?”
Surprise flares across her face, and then her lips clamp shut and she shakes her head. “Sorry, sweet girl. There are some things even I won’t trade in. When Finn is ready, he’ll tell you his secrets.”
No, he won’t. Not after what I did today.
Chapter 46. The Commander of the Wall
Commander Orwell likes his lunch in a neat little tray, a sandwich on wheat bread, with an apple and a paring knife, and a small block of cheese.
I stare at it and think about that. A commander—the authority on military matters in the capitol—with such a simple lunch. It’s not far from what we would eat in the orchards, back in Hellspawn. He catches me staring and gives me a small smile. “I’ve spent too many years in the field to be comfortable with the excess here. I don’t judge our citizens for enjoying it—they should. We’ve fought hard to carve a life out of the apocalypse. But I don’t forget the way my soldiers lived—the way I did.”
“How did you become so powerful, here, of all places?”
He flushes. “I’m good at my job. I might not play the same game as everyone else, but I am good at keeping the Haven safe and the Walkers in top shape. When there are zombies at our door, that counts for a lot more than game playing. It’s probably the only time skill is more important than game playing.”
He cuts his sandwich in half and pushes half of it toward me. “I hate eating alone,” he says.
I pick it up.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” Orwell says, a not so gentle nudge.
“You know why we’re here. We’re looking for my brother.”
“And I told O’Malley that if I came on any information, I would pass it along," he says mildly.
"Claire Donal sent me. She said you were looking for the wrong thing." His eyebrows go up, and he sits back, using the paring knife to skin the apple. I can smell the sweet fruit, and it reminds me of home. I shake the nostalgia and explain what Claire told me. A frown forms between Orwell's eyes.
"The only individual we had come to the Haven was a week ago," he says. "He was alone—you're looking for a pair."
"I don't know what he did with my brother, but the Priest was here." I fidget then ask a question that's been bothering me. "Why would the Order send in a Priest undercover?"
"They wouldn't—not for any of the other sects. But the Black doesn't have a foothold here. They won't, as long as I'm Commander. I won't let them."
"Why?"
"The Order is unpredictable and dangerous. They don't have the interest of the nation at heart. They have their own. I don't want that here. I can't do anything about the other sects—but as long as I control our military, I'll keep them at bay."
"So what would be so important that the order would smuggle one of their priests in?"
"The change in the Horde?" he suggests. I blink, and he smiles, amused. "You are not the only one to watch the patterns. We're aware of the changes."
"Then why aren't you doing anything?"
"Like what?" he says. "We can't evacuate all of the Havens. We've done that before—there is nowhere else to go."
"But if you stay," I say, "the haven will fall."
He stares at me, and I see the knowledge and acceptance in his eyes.
"Accepting it is accepting a death sentence," I whisper. "It will mean extinction, for all of us."
"Not everyone. There are a few—people like O'Malley." He cocks his head. "And you. Survivors. We'll go on, as long as we have people like you. O'Malley won't die because of an infect. He's too much of a survivor."
"A handful of people can't sustain humanity," I say.
He laughs, a little bit bitter. "We've been an endangered species since Emilie died, Nurrin. We've just been ignoring our own mortality. Build a wall high enough, build it thick enough, and people will begin to believe it's impregnable. But believing it doesn't make it true."
"Does Kendall know this?"
"Of course. He's the president."
"Then why doesn't he do something to stop it?"
"Because knowing and believing are two very different things."
Chapter 47. A Room of Regret
The turret is full of boxes. Apparently, Claire was handing out chocolate again, because there’s a note from her.
Thought a delivery
would be easiest. Stay alive.
C~
I’m vaguely tempted to delve into the boxes, but decide against it. I’ve pushed Finn’s patience far enough—and I still have that stupid dinner with Kendall tonight. Maybe I can leave early.
There is a tap on the door, and I peek out. A Walker, wearing Kendall’s symbol. Carrying a thin box.
“The president sent this for you, ma’am.”
I take the box and give him a blank look. The Walker steps to one side of the door, assuming a loose military stance.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m to take you to President Stiles, when you’re ready.”
I open my mouth to argue with him, but I close it again before I can say anything. He’s following orders—nothing more or less than that. Instead, I close the door quietly and move to sit on the bed. Boxes dig into my knees. I want to sleep—for just a while, I want to forget everything, the fight with Finn, and Orwell’s words, the zombies—everything. Sometimes, I just want Collin, and our dirty apartment in Hellspawn, and the knowledge that as long as he was there, I wasn’t alone.
I twist on the bed, staring out the window slit. The pack from earlier is dead now. A lone figure is standing out there, and I know he’s human—he is too still to be anything else. I release my breath and stand.
Finn and Kendall have something in common. Both of them enjoy dressing me in ridiculous outfits.
The dress is pretty—a form fitting black sheath with a low v-neck and geometric designs cut out of the back, wrapping around my sides. The skirt is tight and short, with a sheer red overlay that is short in the front and hangs almost to my feet in the back. And heels. The man sent me fucking heels. Black boots with corset lacing up the back, that wrap to just past my knees, with a spiking heel that gives me an extra four inches of height. I touch up my makeup and leave my hair down. And run into a problem. There is nowhere for my gun. My knives are tucked into my boots, and a garrote wire is wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet. But the dress has no room for hiding.
Biting my lip, I put the gun on the bed and open the door. The Walker’s eyes go wide when he sees me, and he swallows. “I’m ready to go,” I say softly.
The Horde Without End (The World Without End) Page 14
