The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  This is his field, his army, his batshit crazy fucking plan. We’re all just along for the ride, and hoping we don’t get killed.

  I whistle sharply, and my men—Fisher and Tuck and Lane—fall in behind me as I stride into HQ. I can feel Omar’s stare, and Holly’s fury, as I stroll through the tent and finally drop into a chair at the field table, where a map of the East has been spread out.

  I prop my ankle on the toe of my boot and eye my one-time friend, the man I fantasize about killing every night, and often several times a day.

  “Your far scouts fucked up, Omar.”

  "What the hell happened?" he growls, ignoring my show of insolence.

  "You walked us into a horde."

  He points at Holly's fucking map, absent of any infected activity. I shrug. "Don't give a fuck what your map says, Priest. I know what a horde looks like, and I know that my guy just died holding your damn bridge."

  "This is a war, O'Malley. You know what the cost of war is, better than most of these recruits."

  Because I'm one of the few who fought in the East.

  Most veterans of the first war had died in the Havens, or retired. I wasn't dragging them out of that retirement, not for another bloody war we'd end up losing.

  And Omar might be insane, but he wasn't so crazy he would consign all of the Havens to falling. The war vets and Walkers would hold the tide back, if there was any hope at all.

  Fucking hope.

  "What the hell are you planning on doing?" I ask, ignoring the comment.

  "The First squad is leading a party tomorrow to clear the horde. For now, we'll hold the bridge, and—O'Malley!"

  I'm moving. I can hear his fury behind me and I tune it out, snapping an order to my escort. "Get the unit ready to move out at first light."

  "Sir," Fisher starts, and I wheel on him, furious suddenly. I shove him back a step and my hand twitches to my knife as he stares at me in startled silence.

  "His or mine, Fish. You can't be both, and if you’re his, don't come back to camp. I won't keep you alive if you give that bastard loyalty. Remember that and make your choice. Now go away and follow your fucking orders."

  He inhales sharply but doesn't try to stop me as I spin and dart back into motion.

  Chapter 7.

  Suicide Bombers

  There was, before the end of the world, a thing called suicide bombers. They gained notoriety during the height of the war on terror—one of the stupider names I've ever heard--but the truth is, they were around longer. Kamikaze pilots in World War II, Chinese revolutionaries in the nineteen-twenties, and during the crusades.

  They were a quiet part of our history, long before the dead rose and suicide became a thing that was not just senseless, but deadly to the surrounding community.

  That was before the war, before Omar put us all back on a path of self-destruction. And now we have a new breed of suicide bombers. A special brand of insane, fearless soldiers.

  It makes sense. When you spend your entire life under the threat of exposure and death, not just from the screaming horde, but from the people inside the Walls, the fucking Order, it's not such a stretch that death by service would be amenable. If not amenable, better than a life in a cell and death by sacrifice.

  The army gives them a wide berth—wider even than the circle around me and my squad. Death clings to them like a fucking cloak, and even now, surrounded on all sides, they are given space.

  I stride into their camp like I own it, and a few rise. Some curious, some angry, but all watching as I stalk past, into the heart of their camp.

  The tent is immediately recognizable, the dark black that all the captains are given. A First is leaning against a support beam, and straightens when I approach, her eyes going wide and startled. I don’t give her a chance to protest, I just duck into the tent.

  And pull up short.

  There’s a long blade pressed against my chest, and I follow it, down the length of steel to Ethan’s furious gaze. And smile—a mad, cold smile. His anger falters for a heartbeat, and I laugh. Grab his wrist and twist until he grunts and drops the knife. He lashes out, too wide and open, and I block the blow, before kicking his ankle out from under him.

  He slams into the ground and I have my gun to his throat before he can move.

  He’s beaten, and mine to kill if I choose—and his eyes are still just as furious as when I first stormed into the tent. There’s a stir of movement from the corner of the tent, a boot hitting the ground as she stands.

  “Fuck, O’Malley. Can you leave my guys alone just once?”

  The question is almost petulant, and I swallow my smile before turning and extending the blade, handle first. “Always with the fucking questions, Nurrin.”

  She smirks, and glances at Ethan. “Go on. I’m fine—tell them I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  The First would argue with me, if I were to give that order. Hell, he’d argue with Omar or an infect. But he doesn’t argue with her. Instead, he inclines his head in a salute that looks almost like a bow, and slips silently out.

  “Your boy is getting better. He almost managed to hit me that time.”

  She makes a face. “He isn’t mine, and you damn well know it.”

  I lift an eyebrow but let it go. Arguing stupid technicalities isn’t why I’m here. “You can’t clear that horde, Nurrin.”

  She makes a low dismissive noise and turns to the weapons she was cleaning. “You generally think I can’t do something, until I do.”

  With her head dipped toward the weapons, and the scent of oil and gunpowder in the air, her words ringing in the air like the challenge I know they are, I inhale sharply, and she looks up, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  She looks so much like Kelsey. Even knowing the differences in the two—sometimes she will say something and all I can see is another blonde, another life, another war.

  I know how that ended, and my hands curl into fists, furious. “You can’t. I saw them. I lost a man to them. They don’t act like other infects. And your little unit of Firsts doesn’t know enough to take them. It’s suicide.”

  Her shoulders draw up, and then a deliberate effort to relax them. She releases a slow sigh and turns to face me.

  And for a moment, as she stares at me with tired eyes, I can really look at her.

  It’s odd, because I feel like I’ve spent my life watching her. Stealing glances and half-there eye contact, and furious glares. Blank stares as Collin steered her out of the apartment in 8, and mocking smiles as she leaned against my throat, a blade pressed between us, and staring at her in a crowded room in the middle of the desert as her blood spilled and a zombie lay at her feet.

  I shove that thought aside before she can read it in my eyes.

  And I stare. And it is only her and me, and the endless space between us.

  She’s thinner. Not so much I need to yell at her, not yet. The things that worries me most are the dark circles under her eyes that seem to grow every time I see her.

  No veins showing, black and livid against her skin. Not yet.

  “Finn,” she snaps, and I blink, pulled from my thoughts to see her staring at me, her expression somewhere between annoyance and sympathy.

  Fucking idiot. Sympathy for me, when I should—I shove that aside too.

  “Your people aren’t good enough yet. And you aren’t suicidal.”

  She makes a low laugh, and it strokes along my nerves. “Haven’t you heard that? My unit is made up of psychotic maniacs who don’t have the sense god gave them to be scared of the infected.”

  I shrug. “It doesn’t make sense to be afraid of something like the infected. That gives them power, and they’re too stupid to know what to do with it. But you do need to be aware of the threat. You’re a lot of things, Nurrin, but you aren’t stupid. You know how dangerous this is.”

  She shrugs.

  Fury licks through my veins like fire, a familiar burn that I throw myself into, and I flick the case of tiny vials sittin
g on her table. They rattle together and her gaze latches on them before darting to mine, shocked and angry.

  I’m playing with fire, and I like it because I’m so fucking tired of seeing nothing staring back at me from her eyes.

  “If you want to kill yourself, little girl, there are ways that are easier than the zombie horde, and it will keep your Firsts alive when you’re not.”

  “Fuck you, O’Malley,” she snaps, spots of furious color appearing in her cheeks.

  “You don’t want to die,” I say, soft and low. “If you did, you’d be dead. You aren’t a martyr, and you don’t care about the Black Priest. So why don’t you tell me why you’re really doing this? There are others who can clear that horde.”

  She’s silent, staring at me, for a long moment. Then, finally, she says, “Because I need to. I can. Trust me.”

  I mutter a curse under my breath, and turn. “What is the only thing that matters?”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “You’ll protect me.”

  I nod and give her a grim smile. “My unit will meet yours in the morning. Oh-six hundred.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she says, stopping me before I leave the tent.

  I don’t respond to that. Because we both know I do.

  Part 2. The Bitten Girl

  There are a few things that are irrefutable in our world. One of those is a bite means death.

  Andrew Buchman~

  The bite of an infect is not just painful and deadly—it’s the ultimate nightmare. The slowest killer we know.

  Anonymous~

  Chapter 1.

  Inevitable Hope

  When I close my eyes, I see a kaleidoscope of nightmares.

  My brother's face marked by infection and pain. Kenny leering from the other side of a candlelit table.

  The disgusted fury in the acolyte’s gaze as I bit him, and the quiet, knowing stare in Omar’s eyes. The impression of a bite in my shoulder, and the sound of my skin tearing under an infect’s teeth.

  And his eyes, wild and furious and devastated, and so fucking full I can’t forget.

  It’s been four months since I saw anything in his eyes but amused resignation and annoyance. But I can’t forget that heartbeat.

  It keeps me awake at night, and pulls me from nightmares screaming, and it makes me get out of bed every morning. Because no matter what I feel—how the infection burns in my veins and the crushing grief, all of it—Finn fucking O’Malley looked at me like I was the key to survival. Like I mattered.

  It keeps me moving. Because Finn wouldn’t look at me like that if he didn’t believe in me, and I want to be that girl. Not the weak one protected by her brother, a First hidden in a haven full of idiots, settling for hiding behind white-washed walls and calling it a real life.

  I want more than that. So much more. And the hope of seeing that look in Finn’s eyes, of being that girl—it’s what will kill me.

  Not the infection, or the Order or the war.

  Hope. Fucks you up every fucking time.

  Chapter 2.

  The Middle

  There is an unspoken rule to our world—nothing happens when darkness falls. Not because the infects have an advantage during the dark—they don’t. But because we don’t either. With daylight, we at least have sight on our side.

  So, when Finn leaves, I order my unit to clean their weapons and pack their gear, and Ethan to give me space. I can feel his anger and reticence—Ethan doesn’t like or trust Finn O’Malley. He hates it every time he comes near me.

  Of course, Ethan doesn’t have that much to be jealous of. Finn has kept his distance from me since we left the Outpost four months ago.

  My skin itches, a familiar tightening that I want to ignore. Want to and can’t—it’s too dangerous to ignore.

  But right now, I will. I listen to my Firsts cleaning their guns and knives and zom gear, laughing with each other.

  And something tight in my chest loosens. Because I gave them that. A place to go, a reason to keep moving.

  Not all of them. Some fled the Outpost, and some couldn’t function without the idea of being a sacrifice. But enough. Mine. I gave mine something more, and even if they all die in this fucking war, they will have done it on their own terms. On their feet, and not their knees.

  The tent smells, faintly, of Finn, and I curl on my bed, alone in an army of thousands, and I let that familiar scent lull me to sleep.

  And with his scent around me, I don’t see my nightmares.

  Chapter 3.

  The Morning

  I shift, and tiny rocks crackle under my boots, ground into the broken asphalt. The sun is beginning to lighten the sky, but hasn’t actually made an appearance. My unit stands at attention behind me, and I feel an absurd ripple of pride that these talented, disciplined Firsts are mine.

  “You’re early.”

  Even now, even here, he is smug and a little bit annoyed. I shove my hair back, and give him a quick grin. “Or maybe you’re late,” I shoot back.

  Finn gives me that dry disbelieving look that he does so often and so well, and I swallow my smirk as I let my gaze crawl over him.

  Black leather pants, a tight shirt and metal bracers on his arms up to his elbows. Two guns are strapped to his hips, his katana rises over one shoulder, and he holds his small crossbow loosely in one hand.

  He’s ready for battle and with a short whistle, his unit fans out, threading into mine as he comes to stand next to me.

  Some of my tension immediately eases. And I glare at him, because I hate that he has that kind of effect on me.

  “Focus on the infects, Nurrin,” he mutters without looking at me.

  “Don’t see any, do you?”

  Finn’s quiet, watching the far side of the bridge, where the vanguard is holding the breached wall. The sky lightens from a dark blue to a pearly grey and finally he looks at me. “They’re not normal.”

  “Lissa,” I call, and one of the Firsts startles, almost leaping forward at the sound of her name.

  I glance at her. “You knew a Gray priest, before you were taken to the Outpost.”

  She nods. “He was our teacher in 17. I watched his experiments sometimes. He gave me a paper he had written once, on infect behavior.”

  Good girl. She’s paying attention and I flash Finn a smirk. “Let Lissa watch them before we put the horde down. And then we’ll listen to her speculations.

  His gaze lands, briefly, on the plain little scientist from 17, and then comes back to me, and I see what he won’t say.

  He can’t keep her safe.

  I tilt my chin, a silent challenge, and nod at Lissa. “Go back. We’re moving in two minutes.”

  She obediently falls back into formation and I give him a tight smile. “You don’t have to, O’Malley. She’s mine. I’ll keep her safe.”

  Finn watches me for a moment, and then nods. “We go in fast and hard. Don’t give them time to start moving. Got it?”

  I nod, and he pins me with a hard look. “Stay close, Nurrin. This isn’t the day you die.”

  My stomach twists at his words, and I swallow hard. Force a smile, fake and teasing, “Still care that much?”

  He laughs, a tiny sound, and then whistles, and his unit flows forward, streaming onto the bridge.

  I hate that his people are so disciplined. I glance at Ethan and give a short nod, and the Firsts move, flanking us as we cross the bridge.

  And despite the fact that we’re about to fight a horde, and I can feel the eyes of the Black Priest, and every inch of me screams that taking the East is suicide—being back at Finn’s side like this feels undeniably right.

  “What’s different about them?” I ask softly.

  Finn glances at me and his lips tighten.

  And then a low whistle catches his attention, and he shifts into a jog. I match him, and around us, the Firsts move in almost silence.

  It’s eerie, and as the rising sun floods the sky with shimmering red, burning away the river fog,
I feel tears prick my eyes.

  Stupid, ridiculous tears.

  Even here, there is still beauty in the world. Savage, untamed beauty that the dead rising couldn’t kill.

  Chapter 4.

  The Changing Dead

  I see them, and I mutter a low curse. Finn nods and whistles sharply. The soldiers slow and still around us, and I press against the jagged hole in a wall that separated our world from the one we destroyed when Emilie rose.

  “What are they doing?” I ask, watching them, fascinated and revolted.

  “Nothing,” Finn says, shoving a hand through his hair. “They aren’t doing anything. Infects never do nothing.”

  He sounds almost annoyed, like this horde’s uncharacteristic behavior is a personal affront, and I hide a smirk. Only Finn would be annoyed by infects’ behavior.

  The horde is clustered close, silent and still. One shifts and the others move to accommodate it.

  They aren’t moving, not with the startling speed that I’m used to in the dead. They don’t fight each other—barely seem aware of each other. And they are quiet, so quiet that I almost think they’re already dead.

  True dead.

  “Why?” I breathe, and Finn shrugs.

  “Why will come later. For now—best course is to take as many from here as we can.”

  I frown. “That means guns. We can’t use guns without knowing what’s around us that we’re drawing the attention of. They react to noise, right?”

  Finn glances at one of his soldiers, and she flushes, her eyes dropping. His gray eyes flick back to mine, and he nods. “Yeah.”

  “So how do we keep it quiet?”

  Finn gives me a dark look and I shrug. “Fine,” he snaps. “Tuck, Lake, Fisher. Take point with two of the Firsts.”

  “Ethan and Emily,” I say immediately.

  He nods. “We’re doing this quick and clean, and fucking quiet—you got me? Knives and bats, but keep the guns away unless you have no options. Stay in pairs, and keep an eye on each other’s backs. Got it?”