The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  Silas spares him a cold look before he looks back to me. “Then you better hope like hell she’s clean.”

  Chapter 5.

  Containment

  Containment is containment, either in a Haven on the coast, or a government bunker underground. The unbitten acolyte shoves me roughly into a barred little room with nothing but a thin bed and bright lights.

  The taste of blood still coats my mouth, copper pennies and rust and salty swat. My white tank top is bloody and sticking to my skin. I’m surprised no one has shot me—except they won’t. Even now, with the behavior I’m showing, the Order won’t kill me until they’re very sure I’m infected and impossible to save.

  And I’m not. I’m just furious and using a cultural taboo to freak them the fuck out.

  No one bites. Mothers will be shunned for their babies biting—it is too similar to the infects, too much of a death sentence, and no one will tolerate that. The acolytes slam the door behind him, his eyes wide as he watches me, and a Gray priest hurries in. “What happened?”

  “She bit Charlie,” the acolyte babbles, pointing at his companion. Charlie looks decidedly gray, leaning against the wall, cradling the injured hand to his chest.

  I smirk, leaning against the bars, my hands dangling. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” I taunt. “If I were infected, they could still save you through amputation.”

  The Gray priest gives me a sharp look, and I bare my still-bloody teeth. His eyes narrow, and I see dislike there, before he turns away. “Charlie, with me.” He grabs a test kit from the wall and hands it to the uninjured acolyte. “Make sure she’s clean, Luke.”

  His eyes bulge but the Gray and Charlie are gone before he can protest. I wave with one hand. “Let’s get it over with. I would rather not be shot by an overzealous acolyte trying to keep your clean record.”

  He inches over and I can see him holding his breath as he catches my hand and pulls my arm straight. I don’t object—I’m not so set on fighting that I’ll fuck with a blood test—as he quickly draws a small vial of blood and drops in the test dye. For a moment, the color wavers, and then the dye vanishes and the blood deepens to a rich, dark red. I let out a tiny sigh. He stumbles to the door, his robes twisting around his feet. As the door bangs shut behind him, I hear him shouting, “Don’t shoot him—she’s clean!” I swallow my laughter and go to sit on my bunk, drawing my legs up and hooking a hand on my knees.

  Finn would be so proud.

  Part 4.

  The Monsters We Become

  *

  Syntherix will be the cure for all of the monstrous acts that are committed by the emotional unstable. It’s a miracle in a tiny package.

  Dr. Heller-

  **

  There are no miracles. There are only monsters and death.

  Sylvia Cragen-

  Chapter 1.

  The Living and Dead

  Before the change, people killed. Every year, thousands of people were murdered by each other, and others died in accidents that were reckless and easily avoided. Death was easy and commonplace.

  But it wasn’t the kind of commonplace that it is now.

  It wasn’t every fourth person dying, turning, and rising to join the horde of hungry dead. Back then, people died, they stayed in the fucking ground. It was as it should be—a natural order. Aside from the rampant killing of each other.

  It changed after the zombies. Everything changed, but murder—murder vanished overnight. What’s amusing is that everyone is a killer. Every fucking person alive has blood on their hands. In this world, there are no options.

  Before, we were told that it takes a certain kind of soullessness to take a life. Not every man could, because not every man was a monster. And to kill, to be willing to end someone so completely—that was a monstrous thing. It is still.

  And then monsters came, and they made monsters of us all.

  Chapter 2.

  The Death of the Order

  Someone is wailing, not far off. I swallow my smirk, and shift forward as the press of people eases a little. This wouldn’t be a problem—even in 1, people like to avoid crowds and trapped places. But there is drama, and that is sure to guarantee that here, people will cluster and gossip.

  Sick fucks.

  I see the edge of what’s holding their attention. A scarlet red robe, dark and wet. I lean in, and see the girl.

  “Was she bitten?” a hushed voice asks.

  “No. Murdered.”

  The word ripples out, striking against the walls of the alley and echoing back. I can see the fear in the eyes around me, in the way they draw back and eye each other.

  The red priestess lies in alley, her eyes staring blankly into the morning sky, face twisted in fear, marred by a single bullet hole to the temple. One side of her face is pristine and beautiful still, even in the repose of death.

  The other is mangled, blown open by the Stopper—a modified .45 caliber bullet that S&W put out a few months after the change. It goes in neat, with very little mess or evidence. It comes out blowing a hole the size of a fist in whatever it punches through—all her blood and bone and brain are gaping bloody at the sky.

  “Who would do this?” a bewildered sounding Walker demands. “She was a priestess.”

  I keep my face blank, but I turn and push my way out of the growing crowd. Word is spreading, already.

  Remembering the fury and fear in her eyes when I pressed Nurrin’s gun to the priestess’ temple, I swallow my smile and drift through the Haven.

  Late that night, I slip through the streets. It’s been five days since Nurrin disappeared, and I’m no closer to finding her. But the Haven is in an uproar because of the dead red priestess. More Walkers are on the wall, and in the streets.

  Part of being able to go anywhere is refusing to believe there’s somewhere you shouldn’t be. So even though I know there is a curfew in place—Kenny ordered it within an hour after the priestess’ body was found—I stride through the dark streets with my head up, and nod at the passing Walkers. If they think it odd that a lone man is out in the streets after curfew, they don’t press me for answers.

  I glance down at the scribbled note Claire had sent me just after lunch. Going to her for information was risky—especially given what I was doing with that information—but I was angry enough and desperate enough to not give a fuck. But I still wanted to put some distance between us before shit went completely off the rails.

  I had never dragged Claire through my personal hell. I didn’t plan to start now.

  The priest lives in one of the apartment complexes. Not surprising—even the Order has to hang their robes up and be a Haven cog at some point. I step into the apartment building, and eye the staircase. He’s on the fifth floor, and I have a feeling this will be messy.

  Death is part of our world. I don’t mind that. But it doesn’t mean collateral damage makes me happy. It happens—but I’d avoid it if I can.

  I jog up the stairs, and push open the steel door. The airlock gives a soft hiss, and then opens. It’s not a great complex—but each floor is a secure zone. If a live infection broke out, the security strips in each apartment would catch it and lock down the floor.

  It would be a death sentence for everyone else on the floor, but it would contain the infection, and keep the entire complex from being exposed.

  The security sensor above the airlock blinks as it picks up my body heat, scanning me quickly for infection. They aren’t foolproof, but some people like to think they are.

  People are fucking idiots. I shove the thought aside, and move to apartment 503.

  There is a little movement inside—I smirk. They dismissed the threats. Because ignorance and dismissal will always be the choice people make until they have no alternative.

  He won’t have one—but by the time he realizes that, it’ll be too late.

  I knock lightly, and wait a moment. “Walker business, sir,” I shout, keeping my head down. “Open the door.”

  It opens. Bec
ause in this changed world, very few things will trump Walker business. They’re our first and last defense against the infected, and most citizens worship them. In 8, there were whole groups of girls who filtered through the ranks. We didn’t need the Order-run vice clubs—a Walker merely needed a little interest and he would have a willing bed partner.

  The green priest is little more than a child—one of those wretches born after the change. He isn’t wearing his robes now—he’s in a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt that points at how malnourished he is.

  The Order isn’t protecting their own, if their priests look this shitty.

  “You,” he breathes, and I nod, pushing into the little apartment. I lock it behind me and point at the couch. He’s still staring, shock in his eyes. “You killed Cass.”

  “I did warn you,” I say, softly. I’m not apologizing. Not for doing what I warned I would do. Not when Nurrin is god knows where, and I’m being refused answers.

  “You can’t just kill people, man,” he protests on a loud burst. “That’s not the way the world works.”

  I push him toward the couch. He’s still standing, when I’ve been clear what I expect. “Sit down, Travis.”

  His eyes go even wider, and I pull Nurrin’s gun. She must be furious that she’s unarmed. The first thing I’m doing when I find her is spanking her ass for going anywhere without her gun. Or a fucking knife. I shove that thought aside. Focus on the problem at hand. “Sit,” I say again. Motion to the couch. Guns motivate people. He drops like a fucking stone. “You can’t kill me. I’m not a zombie.”

  “And you will be happy to know that when I do kill you, it’ll be traumatic brain injury. You won’t change.”

  Relief flickers for a moment, before it’s buried by denial. “You don’t have the balls to murder in cold blood.”

  I smile at that. “Cass thought the same thing, until I slit her throat. She was still alive when I blew a hole in her temple. She was bleeding out, but she was alive. She knew it was happening.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he whimpers, and I straighten, annoyed with the tears and snot dripping down his face.

  “Because your Order has something I want. And I’ll kill until she’s returned. I warned you and the Haven’s priest. This should come as very little fucking surprise.”

  “No one believed you!”

  “Then they’re stupider than they fucking look, and that’s pretty fucking stupid,” I snap.

  “Killing me won’t get her. They don’t care about me.”

  I give him a small smile. “You don’t matter. Neither did Cass. Neither will the three I kill after you. But by the fifth or sixth dead body, Kenny will be forced to act. 1 won’t tolerate bodies piling up in their haven. And I’ll have the attention of the High Priest in the Stronghold. And they can give me what I want.” “So you’ll kill us until the big boys pay attention?” he demands, his voice sharp and outraged.

  I smile and nod. “You catch on quickly.”

  I lift the gun, and pull the trigger, the sound echoing around the entire room. I can hear screams from the other apartments.

  Travis’ body hits the ground as the apartment door closes behind me and I duck into the stairwell. No one has emerged from their apartments. No one will. Gunshots mean death, and death means infection and no one in their right mind will stick their head out for a zombie to notice.

  No one sees me leave.

  Chapter 3.

  The Cloud Over 1

  I’m tired. It’s been almost twelve hours since the last body was found, and I’m exhausted at the prospect of going back out to kill again. This might be necessary, but I hate it. Every fucking second of it.

  I’m sitting on the bed. The house on the edge of the wall is too small to afford anywhere else to sit. My weapons are spread in front of me, the familiar scent of gun oil filling the tiny space. I go still when I hear footsteps outside—too many to just be Walkers. I summon a smile, and reach for a throwing star, tucking it out of sight before returning my attention to the gun in front of me.

  She would hate it being dirty. There was blood splatter on the barrel, from the night before, and I know how much that would annoy her. Nurrin was a fanatic about keeping her weapons clean. I can’t remember how many times I arrived in their apartment for Collin to find Nurrin in a tiny pair of shorts and oversized t-shirt, cleaning her gun or sharpening her knives.

  A solid banging on the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I blink to clear my head as the door swings open. Three of Kenny’s guards are with him, glaring at me as the current president steps into my tiny house. His gaze travels it quickly, and I see the subtle tightening of his lips. He doesn’t want to be here. Of course he doesn’t. Kenny has never been one to acknowledge the fact that I shared things with Kelsey that he didn’t—and that was never more apparent than in this place.

  I check the slide on Nurrin’s gun, and give him a bored look. “What do you want, Kenny?”

  “Give me a moment, gentlemen,” he says, and I smirk as the guards stiffen. They don’t know how far I’ll go—they don’t know anything about me except that I fought with Kelsey in the East. But they know enough to know that their boss doesn’t have a fan in me. They don’t want to leave him alone, unprotected.

  Kenny gives them a sharp look. “He won’t touch me with you outside. Now go.”

  The door closes softly behind the guards, and I return to polishing the barrel of the gun. “Don’t you have a country to run?”

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I glance at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Six dead, O’Malley, in four days. That’s fast work, even for you.”

  My expression shifts, all false concern. “The murders? It’s awful. I hope you catch the lunatic behind it.”

  “Fuck you, O’Malley. Why are you doing this?”

  “I want Ren back, Kenny. That is the only thing I’m doing—trying to get her back. I don’t suppose you have anything helpful to add to that endeavor?”

  Anger twists his face. “I don’t have her.”

  “And I don’t have your killer,” I say coolly. “So I guess we’re both unhappy.”

  Kenny barks a laugh, all pissed off indignation. “You can’t fucking tell me that someone else is doing the killings. No one else could. Two of them were in the Order’s clubs—and no one saw anything.”

  I grin at him, a deliberate, lazy smirk that has his fists clenching. “I can’t imagine what kind of resources it took to pull that shit off, Kenny. But I’ve been out of 1 for so long—people here don’t owe me the kind of favors to pull that weight.” I pause, letting him think about that, and then add, “But whoever did it must be seriously determined. And mad as fuck.”

  Kenny shifts. “Is that what you are, O’Malley? Mad? Because I’ve lived with the taste of rage for years— since you killed her. Don’t talk to me about fury.”

  I shift. I know what he’s doing—it’s what he’s always done—push Kelsey up and use it to distract me. “Kelsey was a solider. Not just a solider; she was a commander. Do you know how many people we lost in the East?”

  He pales. No one has exact numbers. Best estimates say that three hundred and twenty million people were in the United States when the zombies rose. A quarter of those died in the initial change—and then we sent our soldiers into the East, to facilitate evac, and kill the dead, and try to reclaim what we had lost.

  Another twenty million were killed in the ten-year Battle for the East. The numbers were devastating, and no one—not a single person living today—could say that they walked through the apocalypse unscathed. Everyone had dead. Every child was an orphan.

  “She knew her odds when she went to war. She knew them and so did your father. Blame me if you’re too stupid to realize anything else, but don’t forget that Kelsey never allowed anyone to make her fucking choices, and I followed her into that fucking war to keep her alive.”

  Fury twists his face. “And you failed.”

/>   I go quiet, because I can’t argue with that. I did. I walked away from the East, came home haunted and a hero, and she—didn’t.

  “Where is Nurrin?” I ask quietly.

  “Let it go, O’Malley. Take whatever the fuck you think you have a right to and go crawl back in your hole. She’s gone, and 1 doesn’t want you.”

  “Fuck you, Kenny,” I say, my face blank. Then I let my gaze drop, back to the gun in my hand, completely dismissing him. Kenny knows me well enough to know that it’s an insult.

  There’s a tense moment, and then, “You know they will never tolerate you murdering your way through their priests. Even you aren’t above the Order.”

  I look up, and give him a bleak smile. “I’m sure whoever is doing these killings has considered that. If I had to guess, I would say it is probably motivating his actions.”

  Kenny’s eyes widen but he doesn’t say anything else as he leaves me alone.

  The knock pulls me from my light sleep, and I snatch up a weapon, rolling from my bed to flatten against the wall. The knock comes again, softer than I expect. Lower. I relax a little, and pull open the door. It’s a street urchin, bedraggled and dirty. “What?” I demand.

  “Miss Claire needs you,” he says, and I nod shortly. Claire has always been fond of using the orphans to do her fetch and carry. She pays them in baked goods and fruit, and they bring her more information than any haven official. She gives them a warm place to crash that isn’t the state run orphanage.

  It works for everyone.

  “Tell her I need a few minutes.”

  “You will come? She doesn’t like it when I don’t deliver,” the boy says, and I nod. I was one of Claire’s street rats, once. I understood too well this kid’s desperation. “I’ll be there.”

  I dress quickly and buckle on my weapons belt, snatching up my crossbow and katana before I leave.

  The streets are quiet and empty. Even Walkers have deserted them in favor of the Wall—no one has been murdered on the Wall. No one will, if things go according to plan. I have no desire to see the citizens and defenses of 1 decimated. I just want Nurrin back.