The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  And I need to remember that he’s dangerous.

  Chapter 7.

  Still Waters

  The lake is gorgeous—a pristine mirrored reflection of the wide, sun-streaked sky, shimmering with color and fluffy fat clouds. A breeze stirs the grass as we pull through the barbed wire gate, and Josiah shifts in his seat, a smile turning his lips.

  “Base camp?” I say dryly.

  He laughs and shrugs as he stands. “A sizeable base camp. You should see the Holdout.”

  The base camp is made up of six brick buildings and a gun turret. It’s bristling with weapons, and I can see four of those vaguely other soldiers prowling toward the bus. It’s a war camp, set against a lake that looks as peaceful as the world before the change.

  Finn’s bike glides between us and the soldiers, Tuck flanking us on the far side of the bus. I have a moment of panic to wonder what Josiah’s people will think about Finn, and then I shove it aside and clatter down the stairs. That’s not for me to worry about—it’s Josiah’s problem. He brought us here, and he can guarantee our safe passage.

  The alternative will be decidedly bloody.

  Finn kicks free of the bike and straightens as I step up to him. “Do we have a plan?”

  “Stay alive,” he mutters back, pulling off his helmet.

  The soldiers freeze and Josiah steps off the bus. “They’re given passage. Stand down.”

  Instantly, they relax, slipping away. One grins and breaks ranks to jog to Josiah. “Picking up strays, sir?”

  “They were at the edge of the dead zone. You know how much we dislike that.”

  “They need bunks?”

  Josiah nods, “And rations. Just for the night—we’re moving out in the morning. Send word to the Holdout.”

  The kid snaps off a salute and darts away, still grinning.

  Base commander.

  “You’re younger than me,” I blurt, and Finn goes stiff at my side. Josiah lets out a sigh that sounds vaguely annoyed.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You’re young to be a base commander,” I say simply.

  Josiah eyes me for a minute, and then points at Finn. “He’s younger than half your unit. You’re younger than all of them. And yet you both lead.”

  “I fought in the East,” Finn says simply.

  Josiah snorts. “That might mean something to a Haven rat, but I live in the East. It doesn’t mean shit to me. Now do you want me to show you where you’ll be bunking or should we compare birth dates?”

  Without waiting for either of us to respond, he wheels and stalks to one of the long buildings. I glance at Finn, who is watching Josiah thoughtfully.

  The question itches on my tongue, and Finn’s eyes slide to mind, a little bit mocking. “Question?”

  “Anyone ever told you you’re an ass?” I ask sweetly and he makes a half-there noise of amusement before we follow Josiah.

  The building looks like a barracks, a long row of neatly made beds and open crates for personal storage. “Your people can stay here,” Josiah says, waving at the long room. “Through there, we have private quarters for commanders. You’re welcome to it.” His eyes skate between us and I flush. Finn doesn’t say anything—it’s beginning to concern me how much he isn’t saying, but I don’t push.

  “Thanks,” I say simply.

  “We leave at first light. Keep your people inside tonight—this much live activity, we’re going to get biters.”

  “Can you hold the perimeter?” Finn asks, his voice almost clinical in its detachment.

  Josiah flashes a deadly smile, and takes a few steps backward. “Tell your people to stay inside. And be ready at first light.”

  Without another word he stalks away and I twist to stare at O’Malley. “What the fuck, Finn?” I hiss.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he says, and his tone is almost absent as he rolls his shoulders. He’s still wearing the hazmat suit, a thick, form fitting suit that could keep out the fucking plague.

  Zom-gear, the tight plates of malleable metal we wear in the Wide Open, was modeled after the cutting edge hazmat suits used during the first wave of infection.

  I grit my teeth and step outside, whistling to draw our unit. Not for the first time I wonder how my Firsts are doing, if Ethan is doing his job and keeping them alive.

  “We’re in here tonight.”

  Tuck hesitates in the doorway. “One of us should be patrolling. I don’t trust these people.”

  I glance back at Finn but he’s vanished into the private room. Bastard.

  “Leave it. I don’t think they mean us harm. And if they do, one scout isn’t going to make much difference in this camp.”

  He nods, unhappily.

  Finn is stripping when I slip in behind him, and I feel a band of tightness I didn’t realize was there loosen as he reveals smooth, unbitten skin. I let out the breath that’s caught in my throat, and ask, “What happened?”

  “Ran into a horde. We got clear of them.”

  He tosses the hazmat suit to the ground without looking at me, and I stiffen. He’s being dismissive and curt. And after the long night waiting and wondering where the hell he was, after the day sitting under the eyes of a man who isn’t him—my temper flares to life and I reach out, yanking hard on his arm.

  He jerks away, his eyes furious when they find mine. “Be careful, little girl,” he murmurs the warning, and I sneer.

  “Throwing that in my face doesn’t work so well now. Not now that you’ve fucked me.”

  “You keep thinking that,” he smirks, and turns back to shedding his gear.

  I grab a glove he’s just discarded and chuck it at his head. “Fucking talk to me, O’Malley.”

  Disgust flares in his gaze, something I haven’t seen in long enough that seeing it now makes my stomach drop.

  I didn’t think I’d ever see that kind of disgust in Finn again.

  “Why the fuck does it matter? Nothing was there—it was a fucking graveyard. Omar wasted our time. The fucking savages are wasting our time. And you’re wasting mine now.”

  “Because I want you to treat me like a fucking equal?”

  “Why do you presume that I don’t?” he asks, very softly, and I inhale sharply. His eyes aren’t angry now—they are tired. Sad. “I can’t do this right now, Nurrin,” he says. And when he shoves his leather pants down, and kicks free of them, I don’t push. I’ve done enough of that for tonight. I stand silent and still as he turns the shower to scalding and steps under the spray.

  For a long time, I stand there, watching as he lets the water wash away the remains of Atlanta.

  There’s a knife on the ledge of the shower, balanced there for easy access. But his back is to me and his shoulders are stooped in, quietly exhausted. I swallow hard, and move before I can talk myself out of it. Strip quickly and quietly and step into the shower behind him.

  So often, when I look at Finn, I see a creature of myth. The plague-bringer’s son. The man who fought at Kelsey’s side, the war veteran. The walker who made my brother smile every once in a while.

  The man who brought the Order to heel and dragged me out of hell, who refuses to let me wallow in my grief or depression.

  The one who keeps me alive.

  Those are the things that are easy to see. Those are the things he wants the world—or me—to see.

  But the tired, lonely man who has lost everything to the horde? The one whose skin is black with the names of the dead, who refuses questions but gives nothing but honesty—that man is hidden behind sharp words and disinterest and blank stares.

  His eyes open as I slip under one arm, and press against his wet skin. I can see the tired desire flare there, and I feel a slow stir that inevitably answers him. I ignore it and let my arms snake around him.

  Finn is stiff and startled against me, his arms hanging at his sides as I lean against him and the water pours over both of us, washing my hair down into my eyes.

  It feels wrong, being t
his soft toward a man so damn predatory. But it’s Finn, and that soothes my worry as I rest there and whisper against his skin. “I was worried about you.”

  He makes a low scoffing noise in his throat and my grip on him tightens a little.

  For a long moment, we’re silent, the sound of the water against us the only noise. Then, his voice, a little bit raspy: “Didn’t realize you cared, little girl.”

  I swallow my laugh at his words, the same thing he spat at me in 8 when we were running for our lives.

  The first time he did whatever it would take to keep me alive.

  I tilt my head back and meet his eyes. No masks. No sharp retort. Nothing but us, skin and water and honesty. “Yes, you did.”

  Heat flares in his eyes for a moment, and then his lips come down on mine, and it’s everything—savage and hungry, and desperate, furious—a fucking typhoon, sweeping in and destroying everything I was before he retreats.

  I’m shaking when he lifts his head, and I can feel the sting in my eyes. I’m grateful, absurdly, for the water beating down on us, hiding my tears.

  Being naked, unarmed, and vulnerable for this man is as far as I’m willing to bend for today—crying in front of him is a step I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready for.

  “Ren,” he whispers, and I shudder. He’s looking at me, and I’ve never seen this look on his face before. It’s almost helpless. I reach up, touching his cheek, where a thin white scar has faded almost completely away, and he flinches, a minute retreat.

  “I don’t need your history, or explanations. I don’t need to know about Atlanta or Kelsey, or where you’ll go when I’m sleeping and you can’t.” His eyes go wide, and I smile, slightly. “What’s the only thing that matters?” I whisper and his mouth drops down again, covering my response as he lifts me. He’s everywhere, his hands hot brands against me, the water coursing between us as he pushes inside me, his tongue licking into my mouth. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. Every inch of skin, every nerve, everything I am is wrapped up in Finn O’Malley, until there is no me, no him, just us, moving together, apart, a wave of flesh and feeling. His lips are moving against my ear, against my neck, and I feel his lips, so fucking gentle on my scar, and I scream into his shoulder, biting down as I shatter. Finn groans, thrusting against me, and I shudder as he comes, spilling inside me.

  We’re both quiet when he pulls out, and I steal the soap wordlessly.

  Dry and clean for the first time in I-can’t-remember-how-long, I slip back into the private room. He’s silent as he enters behind me, pulling me onto the bed and covering me with his body.

  I lift a silent eyebrow. “What now?” His eyes are laughing when he leans down and kisses me, slow and thorough, until I’m panting and rolling my hips against him.

  “Always,” he murmurs against my lips, “with the fucking questions.”

  I laugh and his eyes are warm and amused when he slips inside me and fucks me until my toes curl.

  Chapter 8.

  A Tour of Sorts

  There is a part of me that would like to never leave this little room. Even now that Finn lies quiet, sleeping next to me, I don't want to stir. Don't want to do anything to break the fragile peace that's here, in this cocoon of blankets and skin. His arm is tossed over my waist, holding me in place where I'm lying.

  I'm not stupid enough to think I'm going anywhere without his knowledge.

  There's a soft tap on the door, and Finn's grip tightens briefly, and he reaches for the knife.

  That's when we both realize that the weapons aren't in reach, and I see shock in his eyes for a brief moment before he scrambles out of bed and grabs a gun. “What?” he demands.

  Tuck's voice is muffled and distorted by the thick wood. “Josiah asked if you'd like a tour.”

  Finn looks at me, his eyebrows arched in question, and I know what the right answer is—we need to know who we're dealing with, and neither of us will in here. But I don't want to do that.

  He smirks. “Of course. Tell the commander we'll join him in a moment.”

  I rise wordlessly and dress in tight jeans and a fitted shirt, before pulling my tangled dry hair into a bun on my head. Finn eyes me as I strap on my weapons belt. “You're going out there like that?”

  “Problem?” I ask.

  He stares and then shrugs and grins. “You look recently fucked. Which, no. Not a big problem with that.”

  Without waiting for me to respond to that little tidbit, he opens the door and steps out.

  The unit watches us, and I flush as I realize they know exactly what happened.

  Until I see the anger in Mariah's eyes, and irritation flares. I step to Finn's side and he gives me a sidelong look before he addresses the waiting soldiers. “Stay here, and stay alert. We'll be back shortly. I don't trust these people, and we know next to nothing about them. Until they've shown that we can trust them, and they mean us no harm, we stay armed and alert.”

  There is a murmur of assent, and Finn glances at me. “Ready?”

  I nod.

  Josiah is leaning against the building when we step out, and I feel his gaze track over us, quick and assessing, before he lifts an eyebrow.

  “You want to show us something?” Finn asks, ignoring the implied question.

  “You said the infects are changing. I thought you might appreciate a perspective of our biters. They aren't the same kind you have out west.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Josiah gives a slow smirk, and pushes off the wall. “Come see.”

  The camp is almost deserted. There are two soldiers loitering in view, but other than that, it’s almost eerily quiet. Josiah notices me looking around. “Looking for something, Nurrin?”

  At my side, Finn bristles. “My name is Ren,” I say shortly. “And yes. You don’t hold this base with three soldiers. So where are they?”

  He glances at me, and nods at the path we’re walking down. “Things don’t work the same way here as they do in the West.”

  “Because that’s an answer,” I retort and Josiah glances at Finn.

  “Is she always this difficult?” he asks.

  Finn shakes his head, and offers a smirk. “Usually she’s worse.”

  I shrug. I can't really argue with that assessment.

  The path he leads us down is headed into woods, and for the first time, my steps slow. Josiah doesn't even look at me. “It's a little late now to start worrying, Nurrin. If I wanted you dead, I could accomplish that easily enough and without putting my men at risk.”

  “How do we put them at risk?” I ask, curious despite myself. And because this is what I do. It's taken a long time for me to figure out, but I am slowly coming to realize how this works.

  Finn doesn't ask questions. He doesn't answer them. Because for whatever reason, he doesn't trust the answers. But I can. Not because I trust Josiah—but because I'm just the curious little First, too stupid to live, and too lucky to die. Because every question I ask feeds information to us, even if the answer is a lie.

  “Our biters are different from yours. It's something we've known almost from the beginning, although the changes have become more pronounced over the past five years.”

  He rounds a corner, and I swallow my scream as an infect careens out of the trees, impossibly fast on its broken legs. Its fingers are open and reaching, and then it's drawn to a brutal stop, a few feet short of us.

  There is a chain around its neck, holding it in place, and I turn furious eyes on Josiah.

  I've seen infects used as a defense before, but always, it was an empty threat—an infect rendered almost harmless by its broken, toothless jaws.

  These are so far from harmless it's terrifying. “What the fuck?” I spit.

  “I did tell you not to wander. There is no telling what's in these woods.”

  His tone is blatantly unapologetic, and I stare at him, furiously.

  “Why are they quiet?”

  The question comes from Finn, and I glance at
him. The infect is silent. There is no hissing, screaming counterpart to its rabid fury.

  “That's a side effect of the dormant state. Yours aren't dormant, so they call. That’s what the screams are—a call to the others in the pack, and outliers.”

  “When did this start?” I ask, softly.

  “When the food source dried up. Really, we noticed the difference about five years ago. More and more of our scouting parties reported that they were seeing new behavior.”

  “What else?”

  Josiah glances at me, and then his gaze flicks to Finn. “Walk that way, about a hundred, two hundred yards. Ren, stay here.”

  I watch nervously as Finn paces away, and only barely hear his low curse when he reaches a tree about a hundred and fifty yards away. There’s a low clink of metal, the sound of something pulling at a chain that covers the noise he makes as he tramps back to our side, and he stares at Josiah, revulsion mixed with wonder in his eyes. “Explain,” he snaps.

  “They're dormant,” he repeats. “They've got no food. So the virus shuts down, until the Synthrix is keeping them alive, but in a suspended state. Not actually threatening, unless they have stimuli.” He pauses. “You know how Synthrix works, right? The way it muted emotion?”

  Finn's face is tight, and he mutters, “I am very aware of the way the drug worked. But nothing in Synthrix explains this.”

  “It does, though. The virus mutated outside Atlanta because the horde hit the army, and it was too much stimuli. That’s what changed it, and what continues to change it today. Right? At least, for you out west.”

  I nod. “What does that mean, though?”

  “When the Army evac’d and forgot the East, it left a hole. You thought you left just the dead, but the government knew that wasn’t it. There were a few missions, trying to clear cities, right? A few in Virginia. Maine, although the Canadians offered them more help than their government. The one in Ohio that went really wrong. You knew when you left that you were leaving survivors. And for a while, that kept the biters busy. But their odds have always been in the favor of the dead. There are so many more of them than there will ever be of us.”