I can’t feel it, and I can’t see anything but the body lying on the table in front of me.
I don’t know him—he’s a stranger, younger than me. Maybe ten. Blond hair, feather fine, falls on the table in a long sheet. Blue eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. There is very little evidence of what killed him—faint bruising around his eyes and a redness to his mouth that suggests a contact infection.
And a neat hole in the center of his forehead, a gunshot directly to the brain.
My stomach twists, unexpectedly heaving, and I swallow, hard, struggling to keep the bile in my stomach.
Finn twitches at my side, and I shift past him, moving down the line of tables.
Haven 9 is small. They don’t have many dead at any one time. Going through the morgue is quick, and as I near the back—only three tables from the last—my breath eases. They aren’t here.
I look away from the end of the room, at the body on the table. And scream.
Chapter 18. The Grief of Permanence and Promise of Hope
The thing about the apocalypse is that it made life fragile. Life always was, but for those who had lived before, death was not an everyday occurrence. It was a tragedy, something that was actively feared. It was people’s greatest fear.
And then, death became complicated, because it became less than permanent.
People survived because of hope. It wasn’t the weapons or the army, it wasn’t the walls of the Havens or the medicines pumped out by the drug companies working to fight their own creation. It was hope. That simple.
That insidious.
Hope that one day, death would be simple again. Hope that it would change. That the dead could be cured—that the world could be cured.
Everyone has a moment. That defining, life-altering moment when everything hinges on hope.
It can kill people, to see it dashed. I’ve seen it before, in the Haven, and after.
You never know how you will face the end of hope. Until you have no choice but to face it.
Chapter 19. Found and Lost
I’ve lost people. You can’t survive in this world for twenty years without having lost people. But seeing him, lying there, a tiny round hole in his forehead—it’s different. Different from when Mom died, eight years ago.
Different from watching Hellspawn fall or the parade of deaths on Day Three every year.
I scream again, but this time, there is no strength behind it, or in me. My bones go limp, and I hit the ground. I close my eyes, willing it away, the vision.
Dustin looks nothing like the boy who woke in my bed the day Hellspawn fell. His skin is ravaged and gray with infection, his green eyes filmed with it. The muscles in his face have begun to sag. The neat hole in his forehead is rimmed with black, a sure sign the infection was moving too fast.
I take all of the details in, but nothing makes sense. Nothing is sinking in.
Dustin is here. Dustin is dead. Collin—
“Collin,” I gasp and lurch forward.
Hard hands catch me, tug me up. I meet gray eyes and see the understanding there. And the demand. Tears well in my eyes, and I gasp, struggling to keep from falling apart. “Collin,” I whimper, my brother’s name a plea.
Finn ignores me and motions to Ansliey. “Take her to the Jeep,” he orders. The Warden doesn’t protest, just takes my arm gently and leads me out as Finn talks to the morgue attendant. I can almost taste the questions on the back of my tongue. Distantly, I want to go back and demand to be included.
“Who was he?” Ansliey asks, the question a gentle intrusion. I blink at the Warden, the one I never expected.
“Who is the Thrasher?”
His eyebrows go up. But he doesn’t hesitate to answer, maybe because he just watched me crumple. “Kelsey Buchman. The daughter of President Buchman—she led several key assaults in the Battle for the East.”
The world spins. My gut heaves, and everything that still made sense—which wasn’t much—disappears.
Who the fuck is he?
Chapter 20. The Impossibility of Breaking
Ansliey doesn’t push as we wait for Finn. Maybe because after his little revelation, I retreat into silence, staring at the sky until sunspots dance in my eyes and my head spins. Maybe because just when he does gather the nerve to speak, Finn emerges from the morgue. I’m aware of him, but I don’t turn to look at him. I just stare at the sun, hoping that it will burn out the image of my dead lover.
“Can you take us to the barracks? I need to drop her off, and then I want to talk to the Aldermen,” Finn says.
“Don’t bother. I’m going with you,” I say, not moving.
“No.”
That does get a reaction. “Excuse me?”
“You need to go and get a hold of yourself,” he says dismissively.
Grief gives away to rage so quickly I can’t process it. I can only lean forward, into Finn’s face, and hiss, “He was mine. My lover. You have no right to say what I need now that he’s dead. Collin? He’s mine. My brother. Do you think for a minute he’s thinking about you, lost out there? Go fuck yourself, O’Malley.”
“He is,” Finn murmurs, a smirk turning his lips. It enrages me, and I jerk back, ready to smack him. He catches my hand before it can connect, uses it to jerk me forward. “He’s thinking about me, Nurrin,” he whispers, so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips, “because he knows I will keep you alive. Remember that.”
Then he releases me, so abruptly I fall backward in my seat. I can see Ansliey watching us with wide, confused eyes, and I wonder what he thinks of this.
If he’s still under some delusion that I mean anything to Finn O’Malley.
I don’t. I am merely a promise he is fulfilling.
“To the Aldermen, then,” Finn says, soft and even. I ignore him and focus on the sky again as the Jeep rumbles to life.
We drive in cautious silence. Something about Finn’s insistence on seeing the Aldermen bothers me—I want to confront him about it, but I can’t.
Not with Ansliey listening and Finn’s lips a thin angry line.
Not with the knowledge of who Kelsey is.
When we stop, I don’t bother looking around. I can’t see past the sunspots. Even if I could, all I would see is Dustin. No need to look around for that. I drop out of the truck and tug my shirt into place. I can feel them watching me, and it makes my chin come up.
I refuse to let Finn fucking O’Malley see me break.
I stride to the steps of the Haven government building, taking the moment to shove the pain down, down deep where I can’t feel it for now.
Later. On the road. When Finn isn’t staring. When Collin is safe. Then I can shatter into the grief clawing at me. But for now—now I let it simmer and embrace the anger just beyond it.
Because anger is easier. So much easier than grief will ever be.
Chapter 21. Heedless Warnings
The Aldermen are gathered around a large round table, arguing over a report that looks like it’s seen better days. When I enter through the open door, they don’t even notice. I hesitate there, a lifetime of respect for the people who run a Haven keeping me from interrupting.
Finn apparently has no such reservations. He slides past me, directly to the table. Refusing to be left behind, I move to flank him as Ansliey circles the table to stand near a curly haired woman. Her eyes narrow as they assess us. In any other circumstance, the lingering glance at Finn would bother me, but then her gaze darts to me. I don't know what she sees, but she pales.
"What can we do for you?" she asks. Whatever she's feeling, her voice is steady and strong.
Bonus points for her.
"We're just passing through, Alderman. But we wanted to warn you—the Havens are being attacked."
"We heard a little." She makes a face. "Or maybe it would be better to say we haven't heard. From several Havens. I take it you have some theories or information?"
"ERI-Milan has mutated. It's the only explanation. Without a scie
ntist or lab, we can't really say much more than that, but the disease has changed, and because it has, the zombies have. The hordes are bigger, and they're working together—we haven't seen numbers like this since the change."
"But we're safe behind the Walls."
"No. I don't think we are. That's the problem—we've gotten comfortable behind the Walls, and now things are changing and we aren't. You need to be willing to change, or this Haven will fall, just like 8 and 18."
"We haven't heard 18 fell," the curly haired woman says sharply. "Who the hell are you?"
"Cora, this is Finn O'Malley. Walker in Haven 8 and a veteran of the East."
Her eyes narrow, and she snorts dismissively. "How old are you, O'Malley? What on earth do you think you know about something you can barely remember happening?"
Disgust sours my stomach. "He didn't have to come here. He didn't have to give you any warning—we're leaving, and he could have gone and let the whole damn Haven take its chances with the Horde. But we took the time, and we're here. And you'll dismiss it just because you think he's too young?" My voice is thick with disbelief and a little mocking—maybe because I'm not trying to keep it from seeping through. "That's not just shortsighted, it's stupid and reckless."
I turn to Finn. "You've given them the stupid warning. It's time to go."
Finn doesn't say anything as I turn on my heel and stalk out. Maybe he has something left to say to the idiots who run this Haven, but I'm done.
I'm leaving. Collin is out there, with a priest of all fucking things. And I'll do whatever it takes to get him back.
Chapter 22. Impossibly Surreal
The room feels suffocating small. Even more so than it did last night, when all we had was a tiny bed to share—Finn ended up sprawling on the end, while I curled in the dirty corner, half sitting.
Now it feels half that size, and every move he makes, every brush of fabric over his skin, rubs at exposed nerves.
Maybe it's because my grief is welling up so big it will make even this tiny room smaller. Can a feeling eclipse space, shrink it to something that is insignificant and negligible?
Because right now, it feels like it can.
"The Aldermen were startled by how rude you are," he says. I swallow hard and jerk at the lacing of my corset top. Is that really what he wants to talk about?
"Because if I had been a polite little windup doll, you would have been the same? You were about five seconds from shooting one of them."
Oh look at that. I can sound normal, even when grief is choking me.
"I have the right to be a bastard—I've lived long enough and killed enough that no one can say a damn thing."
"Is that what it is? Killing gives us rights?"
He goes still and silent, and I shake my head, jerking the corset off abruptly. The lacings sting against my skin, and then it’s gone and I can breathe. “I think death should earn me something. Watching my best friend dead on a morgue table—“
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Something about his voice warns me to stop, that this is dangerous. But dangerous seems like a brilliant idea right now. I twist to face him. “I’m falling apart. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes,” he snaps.
I stalk to him and shove at his chest, furious. “Then go. Leave me the fuck alone, O’Malley. Go find someone who knows who the hell you are and gives a shit—I don’t need you.”
“You’re better than this,” he snarls, shoving back.
“He was my lover, you bastard,” I scream.
His face spasms, and he shoves me into the wall. “He was a boy. A distraction. You deserve so much more than a paltry Haven boy.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I hiss.
Finn’s eyes flick down, and I realize, abruptly, that I’m in nothing but the skin tight pants and strapless bra.
“I know that you need someone as strong as you. Someone who won’t be under some fucking delusion that you need protection.”
“Dustin was strong,” I whisper.
Finn laughs, his hands on my hips tightening, almost bruising. “Dustin wasn’t what you need.”
“How do you know?”
A mocking smile. “You walked away. When you find that one thing you can’t live without—that person—losing them will destroy you. It won’t be something you walk away from. Dustin was a distraction—a plaything. Nothing more.”
I slap him, hard. And I don’t know if it’s because he has the gall to say that to me, or if it’s because I hate him for being right. A smile ticks up the corner of his lips, and then he’s kissing me.
And I don’t push him away. I gasp under his lips, and he growls, a low noise that hits me, low, his fingers digging into my hip as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. It twists with mine then retreats, and I whimper. He catches the noise, sucks lightly on my lip and my tongue, and I can’t—I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe and I don’t even care.
His lips rip away from mine, and I whimper, terrified he’ll step away. But he doesn’t. His big hands come up and jerk my bra cups down.
I have a half second to think—bad idea—and then his fingers are on me, plucking at my nipples, and I groan, arching into him. His lips skim down my neck, nibbling, and I go limp against the wall, braced by the knee between my legs, and his body holding me up, his hands pinning me there.
He pinches my nipple, and I shudder, almost coming off the damn wall. Wet heat wraps around it. I swallow a scream. Every nerve comes alive as Finn traces my nipple then sucks gently.
He thrusts his knees against me, and I move, rubbing against him as he works me over. With every brush of his teeth, every pull of his mouth on my nipple, twist of his fingers, and thrust of his leg, everything in me coils tighter, until I can barely see, all I can do is feel. His hand leaves my nipple, and I almost scream, teetering on the edge. His hand catches mine, jerks it between us, to cup his erection. I gasp as he rocks into my touch. I open my eyes and look at him.
I expect him to be closed off, his eyes vacant or closed. Anything but what I see.
Finn is staring at me, his gaze hot and demanding, taking in every twitch of pleasure as his fingers caress me and his body rocks against mine. I can see the hunger in his eyes, and then he twists, and his knee hits me again, just right. I can’t see anything as the orgasm hits me, hard. I shudder, pleasure sweeping over me in endless waves, and the world spins—it actually motherfucking spins.
When I can breath—when the tremors ease and I can move without twitching in remembered pleasure—I open my eyes to find myself on the bed. Finn has his back to me, his shoulders hunched as if expecting me to start screaming.
What just happened hits me, and I take a breath.
“Get dressed. We’ll leave in the morning,” he says.
I open my mouth, to ask where, to ask anything. And then I close it again, because there isn’t anything to say.
I crawl off the bed and grab a t-shirt off the top of my bag. Finn is very careful to keep his back to me as I strip out of my bra and pants, redressing quickly in the new t-shirt.
My panties are wet. It’s all I can think about as I curl in my corner of the bed. Finn flicks the light out, and the room is plunged into darkness and a new level of tension.
As I lie in the darkness and listen to Finn’s steady breathing, I can smell the scent of sex. On me, and him, and the air. I flush and twist to get comfortable.
What will this strange partnership be like now? What the hell came over him, that he would do that? Is it that he’s bored and I’m the only girl readily available? Finn hates me—I’m something he was saddled with, a burden he’s carrying because of a loyalty to my brother. So what was this?
I don’t have answers. As usual, with Finn, I only have a lot of unanswered questions.
And the unavoidable knowledge that no one—not Dustin—ever made me feel like that before.
Chapter 23. The Familiar Road
“I could
come.”
The words shift through the small room, and Finn pauses in the middle of shouldering his sword. Looks at Ansliey with curious and unsurprised eyes. “You are a Warden, sir. Leaving isn’t really an option, especially since we have no idea when we’ll be back this way.”
Disappointment shadows the Warden’s face, and I think I understand.
“They need you,” I say softly. Finn stiffens. “The Haven is in danger—if you aren’t here, it will fall. You’re a war vet—you can help prevent that.”
“Or I can go down with a dying Haven,” he says, his voice bitter.
“You are their best chance for survival. Would you take that from the entire Haven?”
He snorts. “The Haven is run by politicians with little time for a war vet who is more crazy than he is cautious. They won’t listen to me—and I’ll let the Haven fall before I give the infects a chance at me.”
Finn hesitates, and I look at him. He’s ignored me all morning, ignored the tension that spikes whenever we brush against each other in the small room.
“Have a plan. You won’t be able to save them all, but you might save a few and you’ll have a better chance at getting out alive if you have a plan. Don’t count on the gates—those will lock down as soon as the Horde gets close. Have another way out. Don’t go to the Hatch—those will be death traps.”
“Is that how you got out? When Hellspawn fell?”
Finn’s lips thin, but he nods reluctantly. “Yeah. It is.”
Ansliey frowns, clearly unhappy, but he nods.
And that quickly, we’re done. We’re ready to leave. Except...
“Dustin,” I say softly. Both men turn to look at me, and I see the tension in Finn’s face tighten, just a little. He doesn’t like me asking about Dustin. Not even this little bit.
The World Without End (Book 2): The Horde Without End Page 6