The World Without End [Box Set]

by Nazarea Andrews

  He shrugs. “They’ll get over it. I’ll kill Omar and give them something to really be pissed about.”

  Josiah laughs, a startled noise, and I glance at him. He believes Finn—well, of course he does. They’re brothers. And he just watched Finn feed a president to the horde.

  Chapter 5.

  The Blessed Order

  “We can’t just stay here forever!”

  It’s the same argument they've been repeating for two weeks. I rub my head. After two weeks of listening to the Holdout's council argue with the Black Priest and Red Priestess, I'm ready to cross the fucking rope bridge myself, just to get a few minutes of peace.

  “We aren't proposing that,” Boyd interjects.

  “You'd just have us hide until the infected wander away, distracted.” Omar demands, his words dripping sarcasm.

  “I’d have you remember that the horde followed you to our city. We wouldn’t be hiding if not for you. I'd remind you that the Holdout has stood since Atlanta fell. We’ve never fallen to the infected and we won’t now. You’ll do as you’re fucking told, because you don't have any fucking options,” Boyd says.

  Marie makes a low noise in her throat and the politician leans back.

  After two weeks of siege, everyone’s tempers are riding a sharp edge. I’m only here because Finn doesn't trust Omar to tell us the truth about these meetings. Both he and Josiah were called to the bridge to assess the status of the dead, and I’m here, babysitting the Order.

  “We appreciate your hospitality in allowing us to shelter with you,” I say carefully. “But what the Priest is trying to say is that while we wait here, the West is unprotected and falling.”

  “We can't help your people if we die trying to reach them,” Marie points out.

  “But there are ways to clear the dead. We all know that. Josiah admitted it. So why aren't we employing them? Why are the boats docked, and the soldiers waiting with their wives and children, instead of reclaiming the Holdout?”

  “Are you questioning our strategy, ma'am?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “I don't give a fuck about your strategy,” I say honestly. “But he does. And you won't contain him much longer. Omar has a loyal army at his back, and you are trapped here with it.”

  I flick a meaningful look at Sylvia and her lips purse in silent consideration. Boyd makes a dismissive noise, and I shrug.

  Turn away and leave, flanked by Park. He's quiet, not pushing me—something he hasn't done since that afternoon on the bridge.

  “Thank you,” I say, abruptly. He glances at me, eyebrows raised, and I offer him a weak smile. “It was mercy. One I couldn't have offered, even if I wanted to. And I did. He deserved better than that. No one deserved that.”

  “Kenny did.”

  I laugh, and it twists in my throat, turning into a sob. “Kenny was a fucking monster.”

  He's quiet for a long moment, and then: “Ethan cared about you, Nurrin. What he did—that was his choice. Because he knew the Firsts needed you. Finn needed you. You're the linchpin, and he knew that.” I go still, staring at him, and he smiles, sad. “Why do the important ones never realize it? He lives for you. And he keeps the peace between your people and ours. He is the reason Sylvia will help the West. And if you had died on that bridge, he would have too. Finn won't exist long or well in this world without you.”

  I stare at him and then I laugh, a sharp, startled noise. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

  He grins. “Maybe. But I’m with Josiah. I speak with some experience.”

  As I trail him back to my tent, I have to wonder if he’s right.

  We meet Finn and Josiah coming back, and I see him before he sees me. I watch the way he moves, a tense prowl. I see the way it changes when he sees me, loosens and becomes almost a lope as his face relaxes.

  What is the only thing that matters?

  I let out the breath that’s stuck in my throat, and shove all those thoughts and feelings down.

  I have never been more aware of the virus in my blood than in this moment.

  Chapter 6.

  The Plague-Bringer's Bargain

  Sylvia Cragen could look immaculate in any situation. She's sitting on a log in front of a fire pit, her graying hair twisted into a knot on her head. I bite my lip and glance at the women following me. “Just. Let me lead. Trust me.”

  Black eyes narrow, but they both nod, and I take a deep breath.

  Gray eyes watch me as I approach the fire pit and sit down across from her.

  A guard is standing behind her, and wears a double helix on his left shoulder. I learned quickly that only a handful wore that mark, and they belonged, mind and soul, to the scientist and Josiah. Every soldier did, but they were true believers. They swallowed her precept and drank the fucking Kool-Aid. They would die for her.

  I am okay with that. Right now, I need the true believers.

  "What can I do for you, Nurrin?"

  “You have a problem,” I say, sitting down.

  She's quiet, watching me, and I motion at the Red Priestess. “You've met Lori.”

  “Ma'am,” Lori says and I’m startled—surprised that the Priestess can manage to sound so subservient.

  “And this is Holly. A Black Priestess.”

  “You belong to Omar,” Sylvia says. “All the black robes belong to Omar. And I'm not particularly fond of the man. So why are you bringing me two robed priestesses?”

  “Because of the first precept,” I say, and Sylvia stills, a watchful stillness I recognize.

  Finn does the same damn thing. That must be where he learned it, when he was just a baby.

  “Omar doesn't care about the West. He'll sacrifice every Haven in the West if it means he can reclaim the East.”

  “He knows our help is dependent on him returning to the West,” she says evenly.

  “And he doesn’t care. You only have to look at him to know that, Sylvia.”

  She pauses, and studies me. “What would you have me do, Nurrin?”

  “Follow your precept. Let these ladies help you do that.”

  “You want to remove the Black Priest,” she says plainly, and I wince. Her gaze swings to Holly. “Why?”

  “Because he isn't what I thought. He would kill millions for an obsession. There is nothing worth that.”

  Vaguely, I wonder how much that has cost her.

  “Omar won’t just kill the Havens. He’ll kill the Holdout. And that won't be through neglect; that will be an outright act of war. You can stop that,” Lori says, softly.

  “And I will replace him with another mad robe. Is that what you’re proposing? What Finn wants?”

  “Finn isn’t going back to the West,” I say, softly.

  Sylvia goes very still, her eyes wide and searching. I meet them, without flinching. The virus is screaming, running through my blood and I know what this means. I lick my lips.

  “The Order, the Havens, the whole fucking thing. That’s for you to figure out. Or don't. Kill them and walk away. Stay here and slowly die. It’s your choice. But Finn has lived his entire life trying to save others. And I won’t let him die that way. He’ll live and die in the way he chooses.”

  “You'll take my son from me,” Sylvia whispers. I stare at her, and she makes a low noise. A laugh. “You will need help, then. And after he is safe, we will take control of your Order, ladies.”

  Chapter 7.

  The Way We Choose

  The boat is big. Bigger than I expected.

  “Do you think this is a good idea?” Josiah asks, stepping up next to me. I shrug. It might not be. It might be the worst idea I’ve ever had. But I do know that our path is set. Park steps on behind us, and drops a bag of weapons and rattling supplies.

  It had been Sylvia's idea—the thing she insisted on. If one son left, they would both go.

  Finn is not the only one who deserves better than this constant cycle of protecting and loss and killing.

  And, because I was at the mer
cy of an old woman who terrified me, because agreeing was the only way she would also help the West—because I owe Park for his mercy killing on the bridge—I agreed.

  I liked Parker and Josiah.

  What surprised me was that they agreed. Even knowing it meant deserting their Holdout, they agreed.

  “Ready?” Finn says, stepping up behind me. I take a deep breath and Josiah flashes that lazy smile that looks so odd on Finn’s face. Nods once and Ahab throws off the mooring. The boat drifts away from the dock and Park brings the engine to life, steering us toward deeper water.

  “Nurrin, weapons,” Finn says.

  Because on a routine scouting mission, checking the Holdout for remaining infected, we would need weapons. And that's what he thinks this is.

  “Finn,” I say, and he goes still.

  Damn him and his ability to read my tone. He's always been too fucking good at being able to read me.

  “What’s the only thing that matters?” I ask. His eyes go stormy and he reaches for me. I step back. “What?”

  “You. Keeping you safe,” he answers impatiently. “What are we doing?”

  “Keeping you safe,” I whisper.

  “No,” he snarls. “Nurrin, turn this fucking boat around. You need the medicine the Order has. Do it. Josiah!”

  He's frantic, pushing past me, and I'm shocked because I've never seen him like this. Not even when Collin died and he found Sylvia was alive.

  “Finn,” I call, grabbing him. Pulling him around to face me. The boat is moving faster now, into open water.

  Parker is listening to me, then.

  “This is what I want. A new place. New start. None of the bullshit of the Havens and your past, none of it. Just us.”

  “Nurrin, you will die,” he says, fierce and broken and I want, so badly, to tell him about the stabilizer. The medicine that Sylvia made, her serum with a twist to keep the virus from growing. It’s too early to share that—and I can’t face his disappointment if it doesn’t work.

  It has to work.

  “We have the Order’s supply of medicine. And this is the only way to be free of them. Of Omar. I don’t want to live like that—I want this. I want--.” I shake my head, stumbling over the words.

  He shudders as I slip my arms around him and press against him. “What do you want?” he demands, his voice a rough rasp as the boat picks up speed.

  I smile up at him. There is so much that isn’t certain—every fucking thing. So much we’re leaving behind, and no idea of where we will go.

  There is only this. Him. Me. Living—and dying—the way we choose.

  “You,” I admit, finally, the truth I’ve been ignoring for so long, even when it is painfully obvious. “I want you.”

  He kisses me, and somewhere behind us, Siah whistles and laughs, and it’s everything. The world might fall apart, and we might die tomorrow, and wherever we go, we’ll find the infected. That is our world. It has been my entire life.

  But with his lips on mine, and our lives wrapped around each other, I don’t even give a fuck. Because for now, this is the only thing that matters.

  Author Note:

  Dear reader. Thank you. Thank you so much for following me and Finn and Nurrin on this crazy ride through a zombie infested world. It has been a pleasure to tell their story. And it ends here. On a boat, with their futures before them, to choose their next adventure.

  I would love to go back to this world in the future. But Nurrin and Finn’s story is over. It has been an honor to share it with you.

  Thank you, to everyone who has loved them and supported me as I shared it with you. I’ve loved every minute.

  N~

  THE SCION LEGACY

  I was just a college student, trying to stay ahead of my student loans. I knew the rules, and I followed them.

  I thought I knew how the world worked—humans lived their petty little lives in the safety of the sun. We fucked and fought and—when the sun sank—we scurried behind our walls and lived in fear. That is when the monsters came out to play.

  And even in the safety of the sun, we knew who ruled us.

  The Houses. And their Scions.

  Everyone knows the great Houses and their Scions—they are feared and loved and hated and envied. They are the gods who walk the shadows and rule all of our lives. They are salvation and death.

  And somehow, I am one of them.

  Join the Legacy...

  Fall 2015

  About the Author:

  Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.

  You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Booktropolous.

  Read More from Nazarea:

  The World Without a Future | The Horde Without End

  Edge of the Falls | Chasing the Wind (2015)

  This Love | Beautiful Broken | Sweet Ruin

  Girl Lost | Forever Found

  Gentle Chains | Violent Freedom (Fall 2015)

  Illicit Desire (writing as Taylor Michaels)

  Bonus Material

  Dinner in the Haven

  The Road Less Traveled

  The Girl Who Fought the East

  The First Kiss—Finn’s POV

  Reclaiming the West

  A Sneak Peek at The Blood Scion

  Dinner in the Haven

  The Haven is quiet, almost deserted. I’ve wandered through enough deserted cities in the East that the empty streets are both disturbing and familiar.

  The Walls are quiet, though. Only the comforting rattle of weapons from Walkers and the low hum of conversation and laughter.

  None of them want to be there. Not today.

  I shove open the door to the Hive, and I’m almost immediately confronted with a girl, her hair hanging long and in her eyes. She looks vaguely familiar—she’s been flirting, in a shy and awkward sort of way, for months.

  Shy and awkward isn’t my thing. I nod at her and slip past, away from her hopeful eyes and pouty lips.

  I can’t indulge in hope. It’s too damn risky and stupid—but I won’t kill it in a girl who is nothing more than a child.

  Nurrin’s voice is loud, carrying all the way down the hall when I step out of the stairwell. She’s shrill and furious, and I grin, shifting the bag I’m carrying. I knew she’d be pissed, no matter what Collin promised.

  “Don’t you think you could talk to me before you did this shit, Collin?” she demands, and whatever response he has is lost in the walls.

  I wipe the amusement from my face and rap on their door before I push it open.

  Nurrin and Collin are facing off over the table. His eyes flick to me, and he grins a little, just enough to draw a low growl from Nurrin before she turns away.

  The apartment is hot and smells like food, the warm, garlic heavy scent of comfort and home.

  And Nurrin is wearing a pair of jeans that curve around her ass like a dream, her hair sticking to her shoulders in the steam of the room. Collin shifts, and I drag my gaze away from the kissable length of her neck, and give him a cocky smirk.

  “Behave,” he mutters.

  “I brought a turkey,” I say, ignoring him and holding up the frozen bird.

  Nurrin goes still at the cutting board, and twists to stare at me. Her eyes are wide and disbelieving, until they land on the turkey dangling from my hand.

  It’s ugly as fuck, all raw skin and dangly bits, and I’m pretty sure it’ll taste like shit when we’re done cooking it, but for just a heartbeat, her eyes go bright with childlike excitement, and she gives a tiny bounce on the tip of her toes, and—

  She has never looked at me with this kind of excitement.

  I make a noise, and her gaze snaps to mine. A flush crawls up her neck and she clears her throat, her eyes dimming and going cool.

  “What the hell am I supposed to
do with that?”

  “Ren,” Collin sighs.

  I toss it on the table and brush past her, letting myself brush against her ass. She leaps away from me with a tiny hiss, and I hide my smirk in the fridge, grabbing a beer.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never cooked this shit. But Collin said you thought it’d be nice, and since he’s being good enough to feed me, I thought I’d bring one by.”

  Her gaze darts to mine, and she licks her lips. She is, annoyingly, adorable.

  I didn’t fucking want adorable.

  But I want her.

  “So why a turkey?”

  “It’s what they did, right? Before the change—this was what they did for Thanksgiving.”

  I eye her. I should be pissed that she’s clinging to the ideas of a world before the change. We’re so past that it’s almost funny, except it’s not—it’s just depressing as fuck.

  “I know it’s not the same,” she says with a tiny shrug. “But. I dunno. I wanted to try, for Collin.”

  Fuck. I let out a tiny sigh, and nod. Because Collin is what we’ve always agreed on. “It’s a good thought, Nurrin.”

  I turn to find him and she barks out a laugh. “Where the hell are you going?”

  She’s standing over the slowly thawing turkey sitting on her table, and I grin. “This is all you, Nurrin. I brought shit.”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with it?” she demands.

  I shrug. “Figure shit out,” I say.

  Her curses follow me out of the tiny kitchen as I go find Collin and I swallow my laughter. One day, I’m going to make that girl scream and it won’t be because I pissed her off.

  The Road Less Travelled

  Leaving is the only option. It took less than three days for that to become expressly clear to Collin Sanders—three days of staring at the canyon walls, eating shitty MREs and listening to Dustin’s breathing slowly change into that wicked rasp.