The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  I can’t protect her from Omar and the Order if she’s close to me. And I can’t let go of her.

  “Sir?”

  I mutter a curse and come to a halt. The hospital is a bombed out black hulk. The base didn’t escape the purge when Atlanta fell to the dead—it didn’t get hit as hard as Atlanta, and the bombs weren’t dirty, but it still wiped the base almost to nothing, and what was left was stripped as the army fled their post.

  “Third floor,” I say simply and Estep whistles. He isn’t as agile as Tuck, but he does a good job and three of the units fall in behind him as they jog toward the abandoned hospital. Mercy, our best shooter, lifts her crossbow and sights, and then the bolt is flying and it slams into the side of the wall, punching through. She yanks on the rope dangling free, and my breath catches, waiting for it to pull free.

  It holds, and she flashes a grin over her shoulder. Patrick grabs the end of the rope, anchoring it, and Mercy swings her bow over a shoulder, scrambling up the knotted length to swing into the third floor window. On the ground, Lewis and Patrick wait while Mariah climbs up after Mercy.

  The girls vanish into the hospital as Patrick and Lewis follow them up the rope and I let out a breath.

  This is the part I don’t like: the sitting and waiting for my people to come back. It’s the worst part of leading, and the part Kelsey was awful at—and it’s why she got killed. I don’t like it, but I did learn.

  It takes ten minutes before Patrick reappears, and my shoulders drop a little, tension slipping from me as he whistles. Harper and Adam sprint forward, catching the hazmat suits they toss down.

  It takes less time than I expect, and it still feels like an eternity. I’m not stupid enough to think there are no infects here—we’ve just been lucky enough that we haven’t found any yet.

  Our luck holds, and we retreat to the bus with hazmat suits after we search the FEMA camp—there’s nothing useful there—in research or supplies—and I grit my teeth as we jog back to the bus.

  This wasn’t a waste, even if it feels like it. We have the suits that mean we can get into Atlanta.

  I hear the shots first, at the same time as the rest of my unit, and then we hear the screams. Patrick and Lewis break into a run, and I whistle shrilly.

  They’re mine, and well fucking trained, so they come to an abrupt halt, wheeling to face me for their orders even as I see murder in their eyes.

  That’s our people, our fucking unit out there, and I’m stopping them from helping.

  “Be smart about it,” I snarl. “Mercy and Harper, take the high ground with extra ammo. I’ll lead the rest of you into the woods, but we aren’t trying to kill everything. We’re creating a distraction and getting them out of the fucking line of fire.”

  “We’re wasting time. We know this shit,” Patrick snaps and I give him a bland stare. His mouth clicks shut, and I nod.

  “Move,” I snap.

  The unit scatters, and I feel a flare of pride as they scramble to obey my orders, naturally pair into fighting units, and pull their weapons, checking them as we sprint across the road, in the direction of the screams.

  It’s worse than I expect.

  Greer and the unit are surrounded, in a tank while a horde clambers at the side. There is nowhere for them to go. And the fucking tank tread is broken—they’re stranded there.

  “Fuck,” I hiss. The pack isn’t quite a horde—but there are at least three dozen and I’m not stupid enough to think that’s all that’s out here.

  “Sir,” Patrick says, his voice urgent.

  We don’t have a lot of choices, and I sigh, swallowing my irritation as I lift my gun and fire the first shot.

  It cuts over the screams even as it drops the first infect, and I know we just announced to the entire base that dinner has arrived.

  Three shots drop two infects, and turns the horde’s attention. “Move,” I shout and the unit scrambles to follow my orders. “Keep up the noise.”

  It’s a race—and infects are fast fuckers.

  From the bridge comes a steady cover fire, and I hear the infects screaming their anger as they drop. As we hit the woods, I glance back and see Greer and his unit jumping clear of the bus, weighted down with weapons and bags. He meets my eye and nods once, and they silently fall back to the bus.

  An infect is suddenly on me, scrambling and snapping at my face, eerily silent, and I shove an army knife up. Its teeth slide sickeningly against my arm braces. I slam my knife into the top of its skull and it goes limp, falling to the ground with a sick noise.

  My people have slowed, and the infects are catching up--and we can't afford hand to hand conflict. Not against a pack this size. “Keep fucking moving,” I snarl, and shove Estep a step as I break into a sprint

  A new whine fills my ears, breaking over the screaming infects, and the gunfire.

  A motorcycle—a sleek, black crotch rocket—a sound I would know anywhere.

  Omar fucking loves that bike, but what—

  The rider whips out a gun and fires, and I flinch.

  I fucking flinch as the bullet tears through the air, whistling past my ear, and I hear the wet gurgle of an infect a second before it hits the ground.

  Another bike circles the first, and picks off the dead, draws their attention as we keep falling back. The bus is waiting on the overpass, Mercy and Harper in the top cage, providing extra cover. We break from the forest and the bikes slide to a stop, and open fire while we sprint for the bus.

  I’m the last to hit the steps and it jerks into motion before the door closes. The bikers gun their engines and roaring away from the dead.

  “Who is that?” Estep asks, breathing heavily.

  I watch them and I'm not sure if I want to be more annoyed or relieved. Instead I ignore the question, and glance back at my unit, panting and tired.

  “Check your weapons, stock up on ammo and check each other for exposure. Clean up and stay alert—Columbus is probably deserted, but we're in an urban area, and you know the drill.”

  They nod, and Mercy shouts down from the top cage, “Tell me that little fuck fest got us some new ammo.”

  Greer nods, a gleeful smile spreading across his face, “Got you a fucking rocket launcher, baby girl.”

  She whistles her appreciation and I let them fuck around. It's good to blow off steam when they just faced dying. And because when they're focused on each other, I can watch the little bike keeping pace alongside the van and wonder what the fuck it's doing here.

  Chapter 3.

  Between Here and There

  We stop almost a hundred miles outside of Atlanta. It’s still the safe zone, although a good wind could change that, and it’s far enough out that I don't think we’ll have any problems with a horde overnight, although there is no real way to guarantee that—not this close to the hot zone.

  The entire bus is wired and nervous, the good-natured ribbing long silent.

  No one, not even my unit, wants to attempt to retake Atlanta. Some things, common sense says is a bad idea, and this has always been one of them.

  Not that Omar was ever one for common sense, or reason. Fucking mad priest.

  “We’re all in here tonight. I want four in the top cage, and two on watch down here. Work that shit out—and Greer, Estep—get out the maps. We need to look at the best routes to reach the CDC.”

  The unit nods, and I slap the door, annoyed it’s still closed. Mariah makes a low noise in her throat, almost a growl, and it strings a smile along my lips as I step out of bus.

  The bikes cut off as I step out of the bus, and I watch as the first rider swings off.

  Even with the helmet, I know. I’ve spent too many years watching her—even before I had her naked and under me, I knew every curve and plane of her body, what it looked like wrapped in armor and leather and barely-there sleep shorts.

  Her hair tumbles free as she pulls her helmet off and despite the black blood that covers her from the dead, she is fucking gorgeous.

 
And she’s here. “Why the fuck are you here?” I snarl.

  She grins, arching an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you too, honey,” she says sarcastically.

  Tuck tugs off his helmet and gives Nurrin a narrow-eyed glare. “You bitch. You told me this was his plan.”

  I shove down the urge to shoot him for insulting her—she’s mine to insult. Not his. Not anyone else’s.

  She scoffs. “You believed that shit because you wanted to. If Finn had really told me to slip the Priest and follow him, wouldn’t he have told you?”

  Tuck flushes and I snap my fingers, jerking her attention to me. “You lied to Tuck. You disobeyed the Priest’s orders. Where the fuck are your Firsts?”

  A shadow of regret slips over her expression, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. “Ethan can handle the unit until I return.”

  I grab her arm and haul her away from the watching bus. Nurrin tosses her helmet to Tuck. She huffs under her breath. “I can walk without you pulling on me.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snap, so furious I can barely see straight.

  Panic. That’s the icy thing sliding along my veins, pure fucking panic. I can’t remember the last time I felt this out of control and afraid.

  I’m afraid, and I hate that. I hate that she can do this to me.

  I drag her under an overpass and push her up against one of the concrete columns.

  “What are you doing here?” I snarl, and she smirks.

  She fucking smirks.

  “Don’t,” I snap. “Do you think because I fucked you, I want you here?”

  Her eyes narrow and the smirk dims a little, but she shoves into my space and I give a little ground. “I think you want me here because only one thing fucking matters.”

  It’s like a blow. I haven’t been able to reconcile the choice to leave her with the promise I’m fighting every day to keep, and now, after months of ignoring it and refusing to believe me, she’s choosing to throw it in my face.

  “Nurrin,” I start.

  “You never asked me what matters to me,” she says, quietly. Her eyes are watching me, bright and furious, and I go still.

  I know what matters to her—Dustin, her idiotic Haven boy. Collin, the only family she has left. Staying ahead of the virus in her veins.

  But with two of those things gone—“What matters, little girl?”

  “You,” she says simply.

  The world bottoms out, and I stare at her. The world could end, and it wouldn’t matter because she---

  “Ren,” I murmur, and her eyes widen an instant before I kiss her.

  Brave, stupid, beautiful girl. Fucking idiotic.

  “Stop insulting me and kiss me,” she says against my lips and I realize I’m speaking, the words slipping from me.

  “You die in Atlanta,” I murmur, before dipping back down and licking at her frantically pounding pulse point. “And I will kick your motherfucking ass.”

  She makes a low noise of assent, and my hands skate up, hitting her zom-gear. Leather corset over steel plates, and a white tank peeking out from under it.

  I need her in less clothing, now.

  “Nurrin,” I growl and she laughs, her hands going to the corset lacing and loosening it easily. She sighs as I shove the material and metal armor to the side and her breasts spill out to fill my hands. I pinch her nipples and she whimpers, a low needy noise that has my blood boiling and my cock hard.

  “Not the time for this,” I mutter and lift her up. She laughs, a noise that twists into a moan when I latch onto her hard nipple, drawing it deep in my mouth before raking over her skin with my teeth. Her hands are in my hair, demanding and painful, and I need to feel her around me.

  “You never think it’s the time for this,” she says before kissing me, and her tone tells me just how much the four months of distance have stung.

  I need to fuck her, need to know that she’s real, that what’s been silent and unsaid between us is real. Need to reassure her of that.

  “Ren,” I whisper and she touches my face, her eyes impossibly soft, and it guts me.

  No one has looked at me like that in over twenty years, since my mother died in this godforsaken place. Not even Kelsey had.

  I lower her slowly and reach for the buttons on her pants, fumbling in my haste, and she laughs, a low, throaty noise.

  Keens when I slip two fingers through the wet heat between her legs, and her head falls back. Eyes close as she thrusts against my hand, her clit grinding against the heel of my palm as she fucks herself on my fingers, and I can feel the tiny ripples of her pussy as she comes.

  “What matters?” I murmur, my fingers buried in her, and she reaches out, works her hand into my pants to find my cock, hard and hot against her soft skin, and gives it a quick pump.

  “Finn,” she whimpers and I slide my hand free, loving the way she groans her frustration when my fingers are gone. I bring them up between us and her eyes blaze as I suck them clean.

  I want her against my lips, her hips rocking against me as I fuck her, but not here. Not now. So I’ll settle for this.

  She drags my head down and kisses me, her tongue sweeping into my mouth, and I groan as she bites down lightly on my lip. She doesn’t seem to care that she can taste herself on my lips—if anything, it seems to turn her on.

  I shove my pants down, and shove into her, swallowing her scream as my cock slides deep.

  Wet heat, silky smooth, so fucking perfect I almost come. Not yet. Not until she does. I slip a hand between us and stroke her clit as I fuck her hard and fast, and she makes a noise I’ll remember forever, a halting little cry, that catches in her throat, over and over as I thrust into her and her hips writhe in tight little circles.

  “What matters, Ren?” I snarl and her eyes fly open. “I’ll keep you safe,” I answer for her, holding her gaze, and she shudders, her hips bucking against mine as her pussy contracts. Her orgasm slams into her so unexpectedly it pulls mine out and I drop my head into her shoulder, biting down on her skin to muffle the roar that I want to make as I come, harder than I can ever remember.

  Her grip tightens on me, and for a long moment, we stay like that, twisted around each other as the sweat cools on our bodies and her heartbeat slows.

  I’m so fucked. I know it and I can’t even bring myself to care.

  “You know you shouldn’t be here,” I murmur, licking the impression of my teeth against her skin.

  “Because Omar said or because you did?” she asks, and her voice is more lazy than tart. Curious and not defensive.

  “Because the last place I want you is the hot zone. You know we’re going on a suicide mission, and you could have walked away. Little idiot.”

  She laughs, and I twitch, deep inside her. She whimpers but forces herself to the topic at hand. “You don’t get to decide what’s too dangerous for me, O’Malley. I do.”

  I pull back to look at her and I see the determination in her gaze.

  “And what does that mean?” I ask, shifting a tiny bit. She gives me an annoyed stare as her hips move, a gentle wave into mine. “It means I decide. How I live, what danger I accept, what I do to survive. When I die.”

  The last makes me go still and my face goes blank, shutting away all of the anger that fights to rise. I pull out of her and she makes a sigh, either from the loss or from the sudden distance yawning between us.

  “Finn,” she says.

  “Don't, Nurrin. I've spent months keeping you safe and alive. And now you want to pull this shit. That’s fine. But don’t expect me to like it, or to be happy when you march into a fucking death trap.”

  Her eyes go wide, and her mouth opens, a confused noise spilling out. Her shirt is still open, and her thighs glisten from our sex, her hair a falling-down mess from my fingers digging into it.

  How the fuck did we go from sex to this so damn fast? Only Nurrin can push me that fast. It's annoying as all fuck and I think she knows it.

  “I thought you would be happy, that I'm c
hoosing—”

  “To die. You want me to be happy about that?” I shout, too furious to care that we're not alone, that infects could be nearby. “Are you insane?”

  “Fuck you, O'Malley,” she snaps, stung. She turns away, jerking her leather pants up over her ass, and I get a quick glimpse of the raw skin where I pushed her into the concrete post, before it’s hidden, and she's fastening her corset, hiding behind her armor and her clothes.

  I don't try to stop her—don't argue at all. She's an idiot.

  As she steps away from the post, and turns toward the bus and my unit, I catch her arm and wait until her gaze comes to me, reluctantly. “I told you a long time ago, I wouldn't thank you for risking your life.”

  “That was another girl, in another life. Don't fucking coddle me,” she snaps and yanks away from me, stalking back to the bus and banging on the door furiously.

  Chapter 4.

  The Best Laid Plans

  It's very hard to avoid someone in a bus that is only forty five feet and filled with fourteen people. I know because Nurrin does her damndest to avoid me, with very little success.

  I ignore her as she sits across from the tiny table I'm at. The map of Atlanta is sprawled in front of me.

  The problem with Atlanta is there is no way to know where we're going, or what we'll face when we get into the city. We have sixteen hazmat suits, and enough weapons to wage a small war, but the city was home to over four million when Emilie died, and almost all of them died in the riots and the bombs that fell.

  Four million infects stand between us and the CDC and whatever might be found there.

  It's a suicide mission, something Omar set on us to keep me busy and away from HQ. It's fucking stupid and utterly impossible.

  I fought a lot of battles in the war, a lot of long odds. That I'm still alive, twenty years into the march of death, is a miracle in and of itself, especially after Kelsey. There are still a lot of people who want me dead because of what happened in Columbus.