“And I appreciate your goals. I think you should keep working. Look at what the disease has done—try to predict what it will do next. But I can’t help you. I’m not trained, and I’m needed elsewhere.”
“What could possibly be more important than finding a cure?”
Finn sighs. “You can’t cure ERI-Milan. It’s too different from what was created in the lab—and it’s in all of us. How will you cure us all?”
“What would you suggest?”
“Figure out a way to live—the Havens won’t stand forever,” he says. “You have to figure out a way to live outside the walls—to survive in the Wide Open.”
“How?”
Finn blinks. “I have no idea. Surviving is a personal thing—you figure it out for yourself. I can’t help you with that.”
“You want to leave,” one of the other scientists, Dr. Browning, says. None of them look surprised. Neither do the Gray Priests behind them.
“I came here searching for my partner,” Finn says carefully. “That hasn’t changed. He is still my first priority.”
“With the changes you say are happening in the Horde, is traveling in the Wide Open safe? You can stay here, show us what we’re doing wrong.”
“You can atone for your mother’s mistake,” Browning chimes in. His eyes are hard, where his tone is full of false calm.
I can feel the change in Finn—tiny changes a stranger might not notice. A slight straightening of his back. The insolent twist to his lips. The hardening of his eyes. Whatever they thought to get from him, to achieve from this meeting—it’s gone now. Finn has closed off from them.
I smile.
“My mother’s only mistake was letting your government touch something she created with love. I have nothing to atone for. You can cut up as many rotting bodies as you want—do it till the day the Horde overruns the last Haven for all I care. I can’t help you.” He shifts his attention to the Grays, completely dismissing the Panel.
“Where did he go? The Black that was here.”
“That is, I’m afraid, classified,” A Gray priest says softly.
“Then I want access to the Stronghold. Your wireless network.”
I hiss in a breath. Those are insanely expensive. The wealth of information that so many took for granted was merely one of the many things ripped apart by the infects. Very few had the money or means to put it back into place—it was limited to the largest Haven schools and government business.
“That’s not possible.”
Finn’s hand dips into his pocket, and he pulls out a long, thin chain, smooth metal tags dangling from one end. He tosses it to the Gray, and I watch the glitter of the light on the dog tags, the narrowed eyes that widen as he reads them. Finn’s cool smile.
“Your High Priest says it is.”
The computer is ancient. A big monitor that has cracks and stains, a fat box to the side that spits ominous noises as we wait and watch.
But when the screen crackles to life and Omar appears, his shaved head gleaming from the lights of his office, the disrepair and alarming noises fade away, replaced by awe that something like this is possible.
“O’Malley. What do you need? And why are you threatening my people?” Omar scowls.
“I didn’t threaten anyone. I think your people have a bit of a complex. I need information—there was a Black priest here, three days ago. Traveling alone. I need to know where he went.”
The High Priest frowns, but leans back, and I hear the whisper of paper as he flips through whatever is on his desk. I hear a mutter that sounds vaguely like a curse, and then he’s back, his face filling up the screen, a giant even here. I shiver and shift a little behind O’Malley.
“You won’t like this. Why do you need this priest?”
“He has something I want,” Finn says, predictably cryptic.
Something flickers in Omar’s eyes, filling his face before it goes blank. “He reported in at 6 then left for his next destination. He’s going to our base outside the walls of 1.”
Part 3. The Guilt of Surviving
Guilt is useless. The dead don’t feel guilt for dying—why feel guilt for living?
-Finn O’Malley
In this world, we are all survivors. It is our one great unifier, the only thing that could defeat our differences.
- President Buchman, State of the Union Address
Chapter 33. Homecoming
I sit on top of the ZTNK, smoking. I can hear Nurrin below me, cursing as she rattles around inside the RV. She doesn’t like that we’re leaving it behind—I don’t either. It’s become something familiar, comfortable, too quickly.
One reason to leave it behind.
I can see 1 from here, the top of her walls shining in the sun. Crops circle the Haven like a giant fucking rainbow. It’s the height of stupidity and arrogance to have the fields outside the Walls—but it’s also typical of 1.
They have never believed the same rules apply to them here. And to be completely fair, they have never needed to.
When the Atlanta fell, everyone quickly realized it was only a matter of time before the infection spread out of control. Da more than most, and we were positioned to advise and help. The priority then was protecting the government. No one could imagine a world without something like a central government.
The Super Max had been Da’s idea. Walls meant to keep people in would surely keep infects out. And they did. The prison became a fortress, and people convinced themselves it was a home.
Twenty years later, staring at it, nothing of the original structure remains except for a single watchtower. Kelsey and I played in that tower, when we still believed the war could be won, before we realized just how futile it all was. Before Kelsey became the Thrasher.
I shake my head and shift, wincing as my knees pop.
“You about ready, O’Malley?”
Her voice drifts like a memory, and I can hear another girl saying that, a lifetime ago. I lean over the side of the RV and smirk down at her. She’s wearing black leathers, a tight tank top under her zom gear. Her hair is up in a messy pony tail, bits and pieces falling out onto her face. She huffs impatiently, displacing a few before they drift back down and land on her lips.
“Come on, Finn,” she says impatiently.
I smirk and step off the side of the RV, crouching to absorb the blow to my knees when I hit the hard-packed ground. Nurrin’s eyes are resolutely unimpressed. “Are you done?”
“Everything packed?”
She gives me a dirty look, and I arch an eyebrow. “Let’s go, then.”
There is no way to return to 1 without it causing waves. No way to slip in unnoticed. 1 is too fortified, and I am too well known. It’s worked to my advantage in the past, but I’m not sure what kind of reception I’ll get now.
Most people who knew me well enough to hate me are dead, so that’s helpful.
Nurrin is a quiet twitching presence next to me as we pull up, and I slide a glance at her. “What is the only thing that matters?”
Her eyes are frowning, but she says the words. I nod and tap the gas enough to get the attention of the Walkers. Useless, since I’ve already got it.
I roll the window down as two Walkers approach.
“Name and Haven.”
A deep breath. Everything will change if I do this. I slide a glance at her.
“Finn O’Malley, returning to Haven 1.”
Chapter 34. Returning Hero
It’s madness, predictably. The requisite blood tests, efficient blood sticks. The now-familiar moment of panic before Nurrin’s settles as clean. The search for weapons, too solicitous.
And then we’re being rushed through the Haven streets, and I can hear the Walkers muttering around us, my name and Kelsey’s.
I had hoped, after years away, the stories would have died.
I knew better, but hope is the one thing that will always fuck you up. My lips twist a little. The Captain is speaking into his walkie, and I lean forward, a
way from the wide-eyed Nurrin. “I don’t want to be announced.”
“Sorry, sir,” he says apologetically. “Orders.”
I bite down on the question. Who the fuck is giving orders regarding me? Everyone is dead. My father, the war generals, Kelsey’s elite team. Even the president who held this country together when the end of the world fractured it. They’re all dead, and I’m left here, wondering every day what the fuck I’m doing.
It would be easier to stop. To take my weapon and chances in the Wide Open.
I would have—I meant to. Nurrin leans forward, her chin almost on my shoulder. I shift away from her, irrationally annoyed.
Where would I be, what would have happened if I hadn’t stumbled into her in 8, spitting mad and cursing at a Walker who was dragging her away from the Wall?
Probably dead, and wouldn’t that be nice.
“It’s so big,” she whispers. Her eyes are saucers on her face, reflecting the wonder of this Haven.
I remember cities, before. Sprawling things with massive shopping centers, wide roadways, trucks that sold food, and restaurants you could drive up to and have food handed out. There was very little structure, no curfew, no rules. There were parks with equipment just for children to crawl on and areas just for the dogs to run.
It was nothing like the average Haven.
The only place that comes close to the freedom that cities achieved is here, with wide spaces for parks, large trading halls, a cafeteria that serves food to everyone, not just Walkers. Even this—even here—does not approach what a city was. But to a girl from 8, who has never seen anything beyond her own walls, it’s a whole different world.
I feel a surge of pride that she will see this with me, that I will protect and guide her through this. And a bolt of fear that I will lose her to this.
Not mine.
I have to continue to remind myself of that—that as much as I want her, as much as I will protect her, she isn’t mine.
Nurrin values trust. And she has reluctantly given me hers. But there is so much I haven’t told her—things I refuse to tell her.
The truck comes to a gentle halt, and I look around. My stomach drops. “Why are we here?” I demand, furious.
“Orders,” the Captain says nervously. I swallow my snarl of outrage and turn to Nurrin.
“Stay in the car.”
Her eyebrows go up, silent disbelief.
“If you have ever trusted me—do it now. Stay in the car, Nurrin. Please.”
I see indecision flicker in her eyes, and then she nods and sits back. It’s not a lot, and I know how quickly it can change—how quickly she will change her mind and bolt after me. Which means I need to move.
I’m out of the truck and striding up to the small white house without waiting for the Walker escort, without needing any direction. I know this place, possibly better than some of the raw recruits they’ve brought up since I left.
It’s the same. A lot of things here have changed—a lot of things will continue to change in 1—but one thing won’t. One thing will always be the same. And that is this little white house.
A man, a few years younger than me, comes out and gives me a wide smile. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought they were lying. Or dragging up a ghost who had an uncanny resemblance.”
“That’s a helluva lot of escorts for a ghost, Kenny,” I say, letting my accent thicken. Something flares in his eyes, there and gone before I can assess it.
He moves quickly, fast enough that instinct has me reaching for my knife before I can stop the motion, but before I reach the empty sheath, he’s there, his arms coming around me in a gruff hug. “It’s good to have you home.”
This isn’t home. It hasn’t been home for over ten years. I don’t bother arguing with him though.
“What brings you back?”
“I’m looking for someone—my partner from Walking in 8. He was traveling with a Black Priest, and I have it on good authority that they headed this way.”
Kenny smirks. “You’ve never been a fan of the Order, Finn.”
“Still not. Omar is the Black High Priest. He owes me a favor.”
I see the rage, clearly this time. Kenny has gotten good at hiding his emotions, but he can’t hide that.
“What the hell are you doing associating with him, Finn? He killed her!”
“The dead aren’t my burden, Kenny. Not anymore. My duty is to the living, and I’ll use whatever I have at my disposal to see the living returned to me.”
“Tilting at windmills again, friend?” he says, too softly.
I step back and study him. Kenny had never been a big feature in my life. Kelsey dominated my world—two years older and so perfect it was maddening. Kenny was her annoying brother, an afterthought, if we thought at all.
But that was before the war.
“I thought this house went to the current head of state.”
Kenny shoves his hands in his pockets, gives me a cryptic smile. “It does.”
The door to the car opens. I’ve taken too long. But this new information is too much, too much to dismiss or process. I stare at him, unbelieving.
And see the naked shock, the wild hope. He takes a step, almost staggering as she slips her hand into mine.
“Kelsey?” he whispers, his voice shaking.
Nurrin makes an impatient noise and looks at me. "We're wasting time."
I'm still staring at Kenny. I see hope fade, replaced by devastation and the realization that, as much as she looks like Kelsey—and with her hair up and her leathers wrapped around her like skin, she does—it’s not her, just a lovely stand-in. She is a ghost, haunting this home.
Hunger flickers in his eyes, and then it's gone, locked away as he licks his lips and forces a smooth smile. "We haven't met."
And if there was any way to avoid this meeting, I would—I think I would rather face a horde than do this. But Kenny is looking at me, his eyes demanding, and Nurrin is twitching impatiently.
"Nurrin, Kendall Buchman."
She smiles, a pretty dimple appearing in one cheek, and I'm reminded of how innocent she still is, despite her time with me and the sharp edges I seem to hone.
"Buchman, huh? Any relation to the late president?"
"He was my father," Kenny says smoothly. He's still holding her hand, even though the handshake is over. I can't help staring at it, and Nurrin flushes, pulling her hand free.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, a soft acknowledgment of everyone Kenny has lost.
When your father is the president, your loss is a public tragedy, but it's no more than the private ones we have all faced since the world ended.
Nurrin refocuses on me. "Does he have any information on Collin?"
I grit my teeth. "I was in the process of finding that out, when you decided to join us. What happened to the damn car?"
Her expression goes sticky sweet. "Got hot."
I don't imagine the snort of laughter from Buchman, but I do manage, barely, to ignore it.
"I'll send word to the Order's Priestess. If your Black Priest is here, we'll find him. In the meantime, my Walkers will see you settled at the hotel."
Nurrin blinks. "You have a hotel?"
Kenny grins, the same charming smile his father used to win reelection. Except it looks different on him—menacing in a way Andrew never was. Or maybe it's because the smile is aimed at Nurrin, and I can feel the way she sways toward him. "We need somewhere for Aldermen to stay when they come into town. I've already called and had two rooms prepared for you."
Nurrin tenses next to me then grins happily.
Mother fucking happily.
I know she hates me. I know we're only together because she has no options, not if she wants to find Collin. But that she is so happy to be away from me—I shake the thought, refuse to dwell on it, and say, smoothly, "No need. I still have my house here."
Something crosses his face, and I go very still. Rage flickers in my veins. He didn't—.
"That place
was mine. Deeded to me for my service under the Thrasher and in the war."
"Her name," Kenny growls furiously, “was Kelsey.” The easy-going smile is gone, and the man who stands here is capable of running our nation, even fractured as it is. It is the first time in my life I’ve felt a smidge of respect for him.
Except his anger sparks my own. “I know her name, Kenny. I spent years with her—don’t forget that.”
“As if my father would have let me,” he spits.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask, letting a little contempt slip into my voice. It might be the equivalent of poking a bear, but his self-righteous bullshit is grating on nerves—already raw from being somewhere I don’t want to be.
“Do we have to do this?” Nurrin cuts in sharply. “You can glare at each other later—I want a shower and a clean bed. Who can make that happen?” She looks at me expectantly.
“What happened to my house?” I grit out the question.
“Stay at the Embassy tonight. I’ll see about your house, and you can move back in tomorrow.”
I don’t like it. But I know she’s tired, and I don’t want to fuck with Kenny today—I want to use the rest of the day to reach out to the friends I still have in 1. So I nod. Success gleams briefly in his eyes. “Excellent. Let’s go.”
He draws alongside Nurrin, and I stalk behind them, silently seething. At first she is startled, but that gives way quickly to amusement as Kenny rattles off places in 1 that she should visit and asks innocuous questions about where we’ve been, what we’ve been doing, who we are looking for.
It annoys the ever-loving fuck out of me. Not because she tells him anything—she’s a First, a survivor, and too fucking smart for that shit—but because I can tell the attention is alluring. And I don’t want her fucking allured.
I throw myself into the front seat, kicking the Captain out as Kenny helps Nurrin into the backseat, and remind myself that I have no right to be jealous. She isn’t mine.
She never will be.
If I could just fucking remember that, life would be much easier for all of us.
The World Without End (Book 2): The Horde Without End Page 9