The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  Something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Stands behind me and slowly drags the invisible side zipper down. Heat from his fingers brushes against my skin, but he doesn’t linger or go anywhere inappropriate. And when the zipper is completely down, my dress open and revealing me from the curve of my hip to the swell of my breast to the top of my armpit, he steps away.

  I retreat to the bathroom and change into Collin’s old workout shirt and a ratty pair of shorts. Finn is staring out at the silent, dark city when I emerge, backlit by nothing but blackness this time. I feel, vaguely, a sense of deja vu.

  “It was never this dark, before,” he says, softly.

  Almost speaking to himself.

  “Did you come here?”

  His gaze flicks to me, and he makes a face. “No. Come on, get in bed. You’ve had a long day.”

  I don’t argue. He’s right, and I’m exhausted— all I want is to close my eyes and let today disappear completely. I climb onto the massive bed and settle on my side, sinking into the plush comfort, the pillow almost swallowing my head. I tug the blankets up and around me and close my eyes. A few minutes later, there is a dip in the weight of the bed as Finn lies down then jerks the covers a little. I pull back and mutter, “Cover hog.”

  I must already be asleep. I know I must be dreaming his laugh and soft, “G’night, Ren.”

  Chapter 8

  The Order’s Agenda

  I sleep hard, straight through the night. There aren’t any dreams—or if there are, I forget them in my exhaustion. That I am sharing a bed with Finn doesn’t even bother me. I’m too tired for anything to bother me.

  A fist pounding on our door jerks me, rudely, into waking. I stifle a shriek when I see Finn, crossbow loaded and pointed at the door. The blanket shifts, pooling around his waist, and I flash back to him, standing naked and wet in the shower, him tackling me.

  God, my first priority really needs to be getting laid, because this is getting ridiculous.

  The pounding comes again, and then the deep voice of Omar, snapping at his men for disturbing us. I expect Finn to relax at the sound of his friend, but if anything, he seems more agitated, his body stiff, muscles vibrating with tension. I stare at him in confusion, and ask the first thing that I can think of, “How on earth did you smuggle that into the Stronghold?”

  Finn’s gaze skates to me, amused and disbelieving and, I shrug. A simple girl requires simple answers when shit get complicated.

  “Finn. I need to speak to you, old friend,” Omar calls through the thick door. Finn doesn’t respond, and I roll out of bed. The door opens before I can reach it, Omar stepping in and shutting the door in the face of his soldiers.

  Omar's gaze slips over me, taking in my clothes—and lack thereof—before slipping past me to Finn. He's still sitting in our bed, naked from the waist up, crossbow at the ready.

  "Put that down, idiot," Omar grumbles, sidling past me without touching me. "Get up. We need to talk."

  "It couldn't wait until I'd gotten a shower?" Finn asks, letting the crossbow drop into his lap. I notice his finger is still on the trigger. So does Omar, whose lips twitch in amusement.

  "Are you planning on killing me in the Stronghold? Do you think you could escape if you did?"

  "I've gotten out of worse," Finn says, not bothering to deny the wild accusation. Omar laughs at that, grinning, the first unguarded expression I've seen from him.

  "You really think you could—and I'm half inclined to believe your claim. You got us out of Cinncy."

  Finn's face is blank as he swings his legs down and stands. "Tell me what you want."

  "What is Lori offering you?"

  Finn pauses, his eyebrows going up. "Meds."

  "Bullshit. There's no med you need that you can't get your hands on," Omar shoots back, and I twist to stare at Finn. "That's why we kept you around—why we needed you so damn much." "That was a long time ago, Omar. Things change."

  "Not that."

  Finn's lips thin, and they both fall silent, staring at each other. I can't stand the tension thickening in the room and burst out, "Is that true? Can you get the meds to save Dustin?" Omar startles, visibly, and Finn curses.

  "Shut up, Kelsey."

  I hate that name on his lips, hate him calling me anything but my name. Hate that it belonged to someone I know nothing about. "Tell me if it's true, O'Malley."

  "No. Dammit, no. I can't get anything without bartering. I haven't been able to for years. Which I just fucking told Omar, or didn't you listen." He stalks past the black priest, shoving my shoulder. "God, you don't ever fucking listen. And you sure as hell don't trust me."

  I shove him back, my eyes glued to his face and not the naked torso, covered in scars and defined with muscle. "You haven't fucking earned it."

  Rage flickers across his face, but I turn away before he can say anything.

  "I can give you meds, Finn. You don't need Lori."

  I jerk around, but Finn is laughing, a silent shaking of his shoulders. "No. No fucking way in hell."

  Anger fills the priest's eyes, and his voice is tight and demanding, "Why not?"

  Rage rips across his face, and I realize, really realize, how close Finn holds his emotions. How much he doesn't show, because now—here—I see it all. "Because you’re a fucking traitor. I don't trust you Omar. I didn't then, and I don't now, and no matter how much time passes, no matter how many Order's you join and how far you climb, I never will. You can't undo what happened to Kelsey."

  The other man is quiet, a large, brooding mountain. Finally, he nods. "Fine. I'll see you in my office in an hour."

  Finn doesn't say anything as the black priest leaves with the quiet swish of his robes and soft snick of the door. He doesn't comment on the rumble of Omar's voice ordering his soldiers to escort us to him in an hour. He doesn't address that he's let more of his past slip, without telling me anything. He doesn't even look at me, just turns away and slams the bathroom door shut behind him.

  Leaving me with the echoes of angry voices and more unanswered questions.

  When we are ushered into Omar's office, the priest has changed into a pair of cargo fighting pants and a tight shirt that's still damp with sweat from his workout. There's a slim file on his desk that catches my attention. He gives us a brusque look as we enter and extends the file impatiently. Finn reaches for it, and Omar jerks it back. "Don't do this, O'Malley. You don't trust me, and I get that, but you know me. You know how far I'll go.

  You don't know anything about Lori. She's ruthless and doesn't give a fuck about the Order." Finn smirks. "Two things we have in common." "If she takes the Stronghold, she'll kill us all. She doesn't believe it's the Firsts—she wants everyone born after the change slaughtered. Is that what you want to see happen? Is that what she would have wanted?"

  Finn lashes out, faster than I can follow, and I see Omar's head snap back. The giant makes a low noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head hard. "Do not use her like that," Finn growls.

  Omar stares at him hard, his face grim. "Get out. And god help us if she takes this Order from me." He tosses the folder and Finn catches it easily. He doesn't open it, just shoves it in a pocket and throws open the door. We're almost gone when Omar grabs his shoulder. "I'm here, O'Malley. If you need—"

  "I don't," he says, interrupting Omar. Shutting him down without anything more than that. It's brutal, and I don't understand it. Finn tugs me against him, and I have one last glimpse of the giant black priest, his robes giving him a forbidding appearance, before Finn drags me away.

  I stumble along behind him, past the soldiers lining the halls, and finally ask, “What now?”

  “We give this to the Priestess. And we get the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter 9

  Awkward Interludes

  The truck feels like home. Strange, since the only time I've spent in it was driving to Vegas with a man I can't stand—but after twenty four hours, anything that isn't the Stronghold
is a breath of fresh air. I slide into the passenger seat, my jeans rubbing against the sticky hot leather.

  Finn cranks the engine and glances at me as he slams the door. I look past him, at the mountainous black priest. He's staring at Finn, his expression unreadable. I wait for Finn to acknowledge him, but he doesn't—he checks the safety on his Glock, drops it into the cup holder between us, and shoves the truck into gear. I look away from the priest as we lurch out of the underground parking garage and into the blinding Vegas sun.

  We travel in silence for almost an hour before I finally look over at him. "What did he give you?"

  Finn shrugs. "Its Order business, Nurrin. I don't get involved."

  "You didn't tell him about the falling Havens."

  It's not an accusation—more a quiet observation. It still makes Finn's lips twitch in irritation. "Do you really think I'd do anything to preserve the Order? I'd sooner let the zombies win."

  It's a common sentiment against the Order. There was one unwritten rule of our changed world—don't kill the uninfected.

  The Order didn’t believe in that, and many wanted them dead because of it.

  "Want to tell me what was going on between you and the priest?" I ask, staring out at the open land. It's spotted with trees and broken roadways, a few infects darting along the sand in the distance.

  He doesn't answer—not that I thought he would. "You did well in there," he says instead.

  I snap around to stare at him, so fast my neck pops. He smiles, a tiny twitch of his lips that I'm beginning to pick up on. "Did you just compliment me?"

  "Don't act so surprised, Nurrin. I can see someone’s assets."

  His gaze flicks down briefly before it slides forward again, but I feel the touch of it like a hot brand on my breasts, stroking over my nipples. I flush and stare out the window, ignoring him and the soft, mocking laugh that echoes through the truck.

  Chapter 10

  Complications

  It's the screams that wake me. I don't know how long I've been sleeping—only know my eyes feel gritty and the sun is high above us when I blink awake, the ghastly scream echoing in my ears.

  The first thing that really sinks in is that we're not moving. The truck sits utterly silent—the engine isn't even ticking with heat anymore. I shiver in the silence as the scream comes again, and look over at Finn.

  His hair is wet, his clothes sticking to him.

  That's the second thing that sinks in. The scent of bleach and disinfectant is almost choking me, burning the inside of my nose as the fumes fill the truck.

  I open my mouth, and Finn shakes his head, sharply. Scribbles something on the paper he's holding and hands it to me.

  Outside.

  I look out and a scream rises in my throat. His hand clamps down over my mouth, and I bite, anything to let off some of the terror. He doesn't flinch. The whimper that slips from my throat is barely a breath, unnaturally loud in the deathly quiet of the truck. He arches an eyebrow, and I nod tightly. Only then does Finn ease back, releasing his grip on me. I take a quiet breath and stare out the window.

  The horde is massive. Larger than any I've ever seen. In Hellspawn, the largest horde we would get was between seventy and a hundred zombies. This is ten times that size. They move together with eerie precision, loping along, fingers clutching and releasing rocks as they go. Occasionally, one will scream and another will answer with a snarl, shoving the screamer out of the way as they dart through the desert. A few hesitate around the truck, sniffing and snapping at it. One catches on the razor wire and screams furiously before he rips himself free, leaving a chunk of rotted thigh behind.

  They stream around us, moving like a river of death, and for the most part, don't even realize we're here. I shudder, staring at the dead faces, the vacant eyes. Every instinct screams to run, to find somewhere they can't reach me. Every instinct says that sitting like this is paramount to death.

  I've learned to listen to my instincts—my instincts and my brother have kept me alive for twenty years. But this—Finn is still and silent, his eyes tracking the herd as it parts and sways and shakes the truck.

  We sit there for what seems like forever, until finally—finally—they are gone, the last one darting past in a blur of decay and blood.

  Even then, we don't move. We sit in utter silence until the herd vanishes completely, the sun glaring in our eyes. I can't feel my fingers, and somehow, I realize I've grabbed my gun. Finn's crossbow is sitting in his lap.

  The sun begins to set, and I finally look at him. He's staring at nothing, his eyes half closed. He looks exhausted—worse than I've ever seen.

  "When is the last time you slept?" I ask.

  He shrugs, exhaustion pulling at him. "It's hard to sleep when there's no one watching your back."

  That burns a little. "You can't keep me safe if you’re dead from exhaustion," I say, sitting back.

  "And I would stand guard."

  Finn's gaze snaps to me, startled. I don't say anything, and he's quiet for a moment, watching me. Finally, he cranks the engine. I wince at the sudden roar of noise, and he gives me that quirk of a smile that drives me fucking insane. But something is different, this time—almost like he's got a new-found respect that I haven't seen in him before.

  It's full dark when we finally limp into Haven 18. The Wall gleams in the moonlight around us, the crack of a shot gun echoing across the mountains.

  Finn is still driving, although I'm not sure how he's managed to keep awake. He stops the truck near the gate, and we wait as we're cleared. They take a little longer than usual—probably waking some poor medic—until Finn is cursing, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. Finally, the medic arrives and the blood tests are done. Not terribly surprising, we're cleared clean and we drive through the gates. Immediately, Finn slams the truck into park and slides out. I scramble to follow him, grabbing my bag.

  "We hit a horde about half way here. Looked like they were headed for Haven 22. You might want to send them word, that it's coming."

  One of the Walkers sneers, and Finn rolls his eyes. "Or don't. Frankly, I don't give a fuck what you do. The truck needs to go through decontamination. Send it to Jesse—he knows how I like things done."

  "We're not your servants, O'Malley. 18 isn't beholden to you or Haven 1."

  Finn doesn't bother to answer the man, just turns and stalks into the night. I could question the soldier, but I don't—I follow Finn into the dark streets. We walk quietly, some of the tension draining from me. I can hear people talking, laughing in their homes, the lights dim for the night, but life clearly being lived. It makes me nostalgic—I want to be home, surrounded by Dustin and Collin, Kelly a quiet counterpoint. But I'm not. Kelly is dead, and Collin could be—Dustin could kill him. Home is gone, and I'm with Finn O'Malley, of all people.

  "It's amazing, how secure and safe they think they are," he murmurs. I look at him, but Finn isn't talking to me. He's almost swaying with exhaustion.

  We reach the house, and it feels comfortable, familiar. Without talking to me, Finn locks the doors behind us and stalks to his room. I hear the lock click into place, the creak of his bed, and the clank of his gun landing somewhere.

  I sit on the couch and try not to think about how I came to be guarding Finn while he sleeps.

  Chapter 11

  Neutral Ground

  I stare at the door, a knife in my hand. It's been quiet for a few seconds but—

  BANG BANG BANG

  Like clockwork, the pounding comes again. I should just answer the damn thing. Clearly my “ignore and hope it goes away” method is striking out.

  Finn would be furious if I opened the door to a stranger. And in this Haven, the only person who isn't a stranger is Jesse, and he only just barely qualifies as more than that. He'd say it's too dangerous.

  The banging comes again, and my fingers twitch on the knife, reflexively.

  He can say it's too dangerous all he wants. The bastard's been sleeping f
or almost twelve hours straight, and this banging is gonna kill my nerves.

  A noise from the back of the house startles me. Finn stalks from his room, his hair a mess, drawstring pants riding low on his narrow hips. I look away, uncomfortable. I hate when he uses his body as a distraction. It's not fighting fair.

  He ignores me completely, going straight to the door and yanking it open. "What the fuck do you want?" he snarls. I flinch back from the barely checked violence in his tone—it's the voice you hear before he kills someone.

  The man on the other side of the door stares back impassively. He's shrouded in a light gray robe, the cowl pulled up and over his head. He looks like death—or what people imagined death to be, before the end of the world and the zombies came back.

  "Priestess will see you now," he says.

  Finn bares his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Your damn priestess will see me when I'm good and fucking ready."

  He slams the door without letting the priest respond and heads back to his room.

  "Get dressed," he snaps and slams the door behind him.

  By the time we are dressed and get to the Order's club, we're both in a foul mood. Finn and I are escorted through the empty club, past the wheels and chains of the vice club. The scent of blood and sweat still hangs in the air, their own perfume.

  Lori looks like she hasn't moved since we left. Her red robes pool around her as she perches on the desk, her black guard silent at her back.

  She watches us with quiet intensity as Finn paces into the room and scowls. "What the hell, Lori. What the fuck do you think to accomplish by dragging me from my house? I have your damn information."

  He throws the file at her, and the guard shifts, agitated. A slim hand lifts to still him before she plucks the file open and lazily glances over it.

  "Very good, O'Malley," she almost purrs.

  "You knew he'd be there—that Omar would work with me," Finn accuses without heat. She shrugs, delicately. "You manipulated me," Finn says, and I finally understand his anger.