The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  Finn’s face is empty and I clench my hands together to keep from reaching for him. “The dead decimated what you left behind. And then they killed the wildlife. And then—there was nothing to kill. So they went dormant. And as long as we keep our numbers low, we can keep them that way. The only time we don’t observe that rule is in the Holdout.”

  “Explain that to me,” Finn says sharply.

  “No.”

  Josiah’s voice is empty and brooks no argument, and I feel Finn go stiff and wary at my side. “You’ll see what we are, when we get there. But until you do—you aren’t us. We don’t know shit about you, except that you’re living and that means you fall under the cardinal precept of the Holdout.”

  “Which is?” I ask, curious.

  Josiah turns away, headed back to the base camp and where our people wait. Both our people. For the first time it occurs to me that by bringing us in, they put themselves at risk.

  “To preserve all life,” he says casually.

  “All?” Finn says, his voice a silky question. His gaze flicks back to the chained infect, still and silent now.

  “All life,” Josiah says, and for the first time, I see a manic gleam in his eyes that chills me.

  I’ve seen that look, in the eyes of cult priests as they fed a First to zombies.

  Finn’s lips press into a thin line, and he asks a question, one that makes me stop, because I never expected to hear it. Not from Finn, who refuses to be defined by his past.

  “Who are you, Josiah Flannery? Who are you really?”

  Josiah looks at him. “You mean, why the bloody hell do I wear your face?”

  Finn nods and Josiah shrugs. “Who knows? We live in a world of the walking dead, man. A few familiar strangers isn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen today.”

  There’s no real way to argue with that, and Finn falls silent as we follow him back to base camp.

  “How will you keep the infects at bay with this many living in one place?”

  “The water fucks with them. So that’ll help. And your people being behind those cement walls won’t hurt. But my people are on the lookout. If we get enough activity that we hear them, we’ll evac and head south. But we’re hoping for the best.”

  He flashes us a humorless grin and stops in front of our building. “Will you share your reasons for being in the East?”

  Finn stares back, unreadable, and I give him an apologetic smile. “Like I said. We’re part of a larger force.”

  “Which tells me nothing, since you’re not with that force,” Josiah snaps back, temper flaring. “And with a larger force, you will fuck up the balance here.”

  “That isn’t our goal,” Finn answers.

  Josiah shrugs. “This fucked up world wasn’t the plague-bringer’s goal, was it?”

  He walks away before either of us responds, not that there is a response to that. I stare after him for a moment, and then, “We don’t trust him, do we?”

  “Ah, Nurrin,” Finn says, mocking. “You can learn.”

  Chapter 9.

  The End of the World

  We drive for what seems like forever, deeper and deeper into the wild that is untamed, forgotten swamp land. Tuck takes command of the bus while Finn and I ride his little bike at point, Josiah keeping pace at our side. His people are scattered around us in small clusters, in tiny compact cars and derelict old motorcycles.

  I lean against Finn, silent under the roar of the wind and road, and watch the strange, savage beauty of this land.

  It goes on and on, unending, and I feel a hint of peace, like a soothing balm. That we could live in a world so big, so beautiful. It’s similar to the feeling I got when Finn took me to the ocean in Haven 6

  As brutal and ugly as the world is, there is still beauty. Something that stretches past the blood and death.

  The Holdout, Josiah tells us, is at the bottom of the state. There was a bridge, leading to small islands that ran off the end of the peninsula—and the Holdout settled there, surrounded on three sides by water.

  Staring at it now, I feel a pang. I’m a thousand miles and a lifetime away from the fallen Haven I called home, and this—the barbed wire fence, the gun turrets and brick walls and the sound of laughter in the air—it makes me miss home, with a suddenness that makes my eyes sting.

  Which is fucking ridiculous.

  “It’s the end of the world,” Finn murmurs.

  It’s a poetic but accurate sentiment, and it chases chills down my spine as Josiah revs the other bike and screams toward the main gate.

  There is a full platoon of soldiers there, and they aren’t the kind of Walkers we see in the West—these move with the kind of savage feral hunting glide that reminds me of a hunting cat I saw once outside the walls of 8. Confident and assessing every damn thing for the kill.

  I don’t care what precept the Holdout might espouse—their Walkers are killers. I can recognize my own.

  “Each of them need to be checked, sir,” one of the guards says as Josiah pulls his helmet off.

  “No. I vouch for their clean bills of health.”

  Finn tenses in front of me and I wonder what a blood test will reveal. “Sir, the council has ordered all outsiders left beyond the walls, until they’ve been checked.”

  Josiah frowns. “Has there been a recent influx?”

  “Yes,” the other man says simply.

  Josiah swears softly. “I vouch for these. The council has a problem, they’re welcome to take it up with me.”

  An unhappy expression settles over the other man’s face, but he nods. “They will surrender their weapons.”

  I laugh at that, and Josiah shrugs. “You can keep one blade, one gun. The rest will be returned when you leave the Holdout.”

  “You realize that asking us to be unarmed is ludicrous, right?”

  “You are more than welcome to join the army outside our gates, ma’am. But if you want our protection, you’ll abide by our rules.”

  I jerk, looking at the guard with wide eyes. “The army?”

  “Let me guess,” Josiah says, his voice dry. “A larger force.”

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind. Make your choice, Finn,” he says, and grudgingly, Finn strips off all but the semi-automatic rifle and his sword. I swallow my laugh. Josiah did say one blade.

  “I need to see that army,” Finn says as Josiah leads us into the Holdout.

  “Soon. For now, you need to get settled, and the council will want to see you.”

  “What is that?”

  “Our board of leadership,” he says. A few people are calling greetings, but no one approaches as Josiah leads us down a street that looks different from anything I’ve seen.

  It’s idyllic. Spacious.

  Not the kind of space that we have in a Haven, where everything is carefully plotted out and planned, and the space is dedicated to gardens and farm land or training. There are no sharp corners and stone walls that have been painted and bleached and smoothed to hide the fact that it is a converted prison, and one of our own choosing.

  This—it’s different. It reminds me of the world my brother described.

  A world not bound by razor wire and walls and death.

  “Finn,” I whisper, and he nods, his hand squeezing mine once as we follow Josiah into the Holdout.

  Chapter 10.

  Townhall

  We’re given two hours in the temporary quarters Josiah shoves us into—just long enough for the unit to settle in, clean up, and get nervous—before they come back. Josiah is accompanied by a thin, nervous-looking man a few years older than me, and I watch him curiously. Despite the nerves, there is a familiar air between the two that makes me think they are close. The way they move in response to each other, silent glances that communicate effortlessly. A relaxation in Josiah when the other man is near.

  It reminds me, vaguely, of the way Finn and Collin were, silently able to read each other’s cues.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, and he f
licks me a look before sliding back and letting Josiah lead the conversation.

  Interesting.

  “The council called a townhall. Lots of things changing, and you seem to be the center of it.”

  “Not really. You want Omar; he’s the real spearhead of this venture,” I offer and Finn makes a low noise in his throat. More info than he wanted me to share, apparently.

  Josiah’s gaze flicks between us, and he gives me a lazy smile.

  It is so fucking weird, seeing Finn’s face that relaxed and open.

  “Either way, Omar is not who has been vouched for. You are. You’ll speak with our council, and the Holdout will make a decision about what to do with you.”

  “Why do you need to do anything with us?”

  “You said your biters are changing,” the thin one says, and I look at him.

  “My partner, Parker Lee,” Josiah says by way of introduction.

  “If your biters are changing, you will need to speak to the council. They’ve spent most of the past twenty years studying the disease and its effects. Every change is important.”

  I almost ask why, and what they’ve learned—how they can help us—but Josiah slows, jogging up three steps to a wide pair of doors. He offers a quick grin at us, and says, “Ready?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he pulls the doors open, and we step inside.

  It’s packed, a thousand bodies crammed into the small space. Most sit on the wood floor. A few older people occupy rickety chairs. They are all pointed at a circle of six stools in the center of the room, and as we enter, a cheer rings through the room. They’re chanting, almost screaming his name, and I realize suddenly that Josiah, while not lying, wasn’t completely honest.

  “He’s part of the council,” I murmur.

  Parker is on the other side of me, and his gaze tracks Josiah as the crowd pulls him to the center of the room. We follow slower, an almost forgotten afterthought.

  “Of course he is. The council is the leaders in our most important fields. Bishop Flannery for religion. Marie Peterson is our chief of education. Captain Ahab runs our boats,” he offers a small smile. “And no, that is not his real name.”

  “Josiah is the base commander,” Finn murmurs, and Parker nods.

  A dark-haired man with a wide smile stands and calls for order as Josiah slips onto one of the two unoccupied stools. “Welcome home, son.”

  Parker makes a low noise in his throat and I look at him curiously. He shakes his head and I look back to the council.

  “You brought home a unit of fifteen strangers. They come from the West and you found them on the edge of the dead zone. Care to explain that?”

  “Who is he?” Finn asks, watching intently.

  “William Boyd,” Parker almost spits, and Finn flinches, his eyes wide as they dart to the other man. Parker doesn’t notice, watching the circle of the council. I do, and I don’t understand why that name is so disturbing to him.

  I shift closer to him. “What?”

  Finn doesn’t respond, just shakes his head and stares.

  “They were well-armed, and well-trained. The Holdout can always use trained soldiers, and the precept doesn’t exclude people from the West.”

  “The precept says preserve life,” Marie says. “It does not say interfere. Were they in a life-or-death situation?”

  “No,” Josiah says, his voice clipped.

  “Then your interference was premature and unnecessary. We are not equipped to sustain the unit you found, Josiah, much less the army we have at our gate.”

  He raises an eyebrow and a murmur sweeps the crowd as he straightens. “You are not putting the army on me, are you, Bill? That army came from the panhandle—even your plants in my army will support that because it’s the fucking truth. If they’re here, it’s not because of something I did.”

  “Then explain it,” Marie snaps, and Josiah makes a dismissive noise in his throat.

  “My job is not to explain every person who appears at our gates,” he says evenly. “It is to ensure that those people do not intend to harm to the citizens of the Holdout, and to secure the camp if they do.”

  “You cannot assure us that they do not mean harm,” Boyd protests, and the Bishop stirs. His eyes are bright and not terribly inviting when he fixes his gaze on the politician.

  “Perhaps we should hear why the commander brought them here, before you decide that he erred. As it stands, Josiah fulfilled the precept and has not harmed the Holdout. He has done no wrong.”

  There’s a ragged cheer, and Parker makes a low noise of amusement. “Bishop just threw you under the bus. Get up there,” he says.

  I give Finn a panicked look, but we’re being pulled toward the circle now, and all five have their gazes fixed on us, curious as we approach. There’s a trail of low conversation as we step into the circle.

  I understand Haven politics, and even the twisted political systems in 1 and the Order. But this—it’s like they govern by committee and with the immediate approval of their people. And right now, that approval seems rather thin.

  “Why are you here?” Boyd demands without hesitation.

  “Because your boy brought us here,” I throw back. Behind me, someone makes a choked noise. Something that sounds, suspiciously, like a laugh.

  “Why are you in the East?” Marie clarifies.

  “A mad priest thought it would be a good idea to investigate what had happened in the past decade. We did try to tell him it was a bad idea and that we had enough problems at home. But”—I shrug—“you try reasoning with fanatics.”

  “The army is led by a Priest?” The Bishop’s voice is sharp and almost victorious. “I believe that puts them firmly in my purview. Mine and Josiah’s.”

  “Not until we know what the motivation is,” Boyd counters.

  “The infected in the West are changing,” Finn says, the first he’s spoken since we were thrust in this circle, and Boyd goes very still. Finn looks up, and I feel the wave of surprise go through the clustered people as they take in the eerie similarities.

  “They’re moving in larger groups. Hordes that can overrun our Havens. And they’re moving with intelligence—this isn’t a bunch of thoughtless infected. They’re thinking and working together.”

  “How many have you lost?” Josiah asks, and Finn looks at him.

  “How many people or Havens?” A low noise of surprise ripples out of the crowd. “We’re dying. The Priest is here because he’s insane. I’m here because we’re dying, and we need to know how to stop them. How do we stop the infected? We need your scientist.”

  The council stiffens, and behind him, Captain Ahab says, softly, “And how do you know we have one?”

  Finn gives him a flat, unfriendly stare, and a clear voice comes from the edge of the room. “They’re mine.” The crowd rises, parting to let the woman approach the circle. She looks past both of us to give Boyd a strained smile. “You can relinquish your claim. So can Siah. They are here within my purview and the Holdout will support them until I say otherwise.”

  Boyd nods, reluctantly, and I stare as she turns to face us.

  Finn is shaking at my side, almost swaying, and I touch his shoulder. He flinches away, violently.

  “Hello, Finn,” she says, her voice very soft and full.

  “Mother.”

  Part 5 The End of Truth

  *

  The world is drowning in a sea of blood, an ocean of death.

  Finn O’Malley~

  **

  We’re orphans. Even with what we have left—we are all of us, orphans of the world that died.

  Kelsey Buchman~

  Chapter 1.

  All Things End

  The curious thing about humanity is that we can adapt to any. Fucking. Thing.

  The world can adapt to terrorists burning and killing. Can get used to the idea of nuclear weapons being every day. Accept the idea of a pill that can wash away emotion. We can even accept a plague of dead.

  We
can adapt to anything. We might flail around like fucking lunatics for a while, screaming that the world is ending and the end is coming and all the other bullshit, but at the end of the day—or week or month—we all accept it as the new normal, and we fit it into the pretty little picture we have of the world, locking it away with the rest of the ugly bullshit that we try so fucking hard to ignore. And we get on with life, because the alternative isn't worth thinking about.

  Because there isn't an option.

  We can, as a people, accept almost anything.

  But for every person, there is that one thing that is unacceptable.

  It's why so many kept their dead in those first few years. Because there were whole waves of people who couldn't accept that the people they loved were dead, and trying to eat them for dinner.

  A lot of those idiots died.

  But for me, it's never been accepting the dead, or the fact that every person I loved is dead. It's always easy to accept that. There is no alternative. There is only the dead.

  We all have the thing we can't accept.

  The end of the fucking rope.

  Mine is my mother. The woman I have mourned and hated and loved, for twenty fucking years, standing across from me in a circle of light and rickety stools, with a thousand pairs of eyes watching as she greets me. Like the past twenty years never occurred.

  Chapter 2.

  Coping Mechanisms

  The crowd is still parted, a narrow path open, and I bolt. I can hear Ren shouting my name, Josiah’s confusion and the general bedlam—everything but her voice denying it. Denying that she is another ghost of my dead.

  And I can't fucking handle that.

  The Holdout streets are almost empty as I race through them, and I know it won't actually fix anything. That leaving Nurrin behind with that fucking council is not fair or safe. And, in a distant sort of way, it bothers me.

  But I can see her eyes.

  Fuck. I'd forgotten. Mother was still gorgeous. Weathered, and tired and old—so fucking old—but those eyes I remembered instantly. Sweet and a little amused, a little biting as she stared at me after all the years.