“No,” I say. I shake my head. “I need to go to Collin.”
“Nurrin,” he says, softly.
“Fuck you, O’Malley,” I scream. “I want my fucking brother.”
There’s a moment, long and tense and silent, and then the scrape of metal against metal as he slips his knife into its sheath. “This shit will need to wait, Omar. Keep that bastard alive, and find out whatever the hell you need to know before I’m allowed to kill him.” He grabs my arm, and pulls me up. “Come on, then.”
Chapter 5. The Last of Us
I DON’T REMEMBER THE HOURS. I don’t remember falling asleep with my head on Collin’s chest, or even Finn at Collin’s shoulder, always ready.
What I remember is my brother’s laugh. The feel of his hand as it wrapped around my wrist, so familiar and perfect despite the ravages to his face and voice. I remember the way his voice rasped as he told me he loved me. That he was proud of me. I remember the black tar that stuck to my clothes. I remember the sharp smell of zom repellant, splashed around the room. I remember thinking I would never smell it again, without thinking of this.
I remember the way he sounded, his breath shaking as he laughed at Finn. I remember when they both forgot me—or Finn allowed Collin too—and the whispered promises my brother extracted from his friend.
I remember the way his grip tightened on mine, his body going tight and rigid.
I will never forget the sound of Finn’s gun, so loud as it cut though my screams and severed Collin’s spinal column, killing the disease before it could change my brother.
I will never forget my brother dying.
Chapter 6. Fallout
FINN IS CROUCHING IN FRONT OF ME. I can see the specks of black, tarry infection on his shirt, and it seems absurd. I don’t know why he’s staring at me like that.
Finn has never looked at me like this. He’s glared, he’s cursed, he’s stared with amusement and disdain and mockery. But this—he has never stared at me with so much pity and grief.
"You killed him," I whisper. It's the first thing I've said since my brother died, and was put down before he could rise a second time. I shiver, suddenly freezing, and Finn stands, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over my shoulders. Then he crouches in front of me again.
"You know that's not true. I kept him from coming back. He wouldn't want to put you in danger—I wouldn't let him."
"You killed him," I repeat, and there's anger in my voice this time.
Finn rocks back on his heels, studying me for a moment. "If you need to be pissed, be pissed. I won't stop you or take that from you, Nurrin."
I crumple, and Finn catches me, holding me up as I sob. It hurts, to cry this hard. Hurts because I know Finn’s going to leave and I can't even blame him. Hurts because there is no one left anymore. My father died just after we settled in 8, and Mother died when I was thirteen. All I had left was Collin, and now that he's—
"I'm all alone," I whisper, and Finn shakes me, hard enough that my head snaps back.
He glares at me. “You aren't. You will never be alone, Nurrin. I'm here."
"I'm not your problem anymore."
"Do you think that changes because Collin is dead?" he demands, and I nod. I do. Of course I do. What the hell else would I think? "You idiot," he whispers.
"Fuck you, O'Malley," I mutter without heat. I can't summon any heat. I can't summon anything but grief and that one repeating truth.
My brother is dead, and I can't do a fucking thing about it.
"Nurrin, I need to talk to Omar," Finn says, softly. He's still speaking with that cautious edge and it annoys me, suddenly.
"I don't care," I say and shift away from him. "Go do what you have to do so we can get the fuck out of this hellhole."
Finn hesitates for another moment, and then he's rising, and moving away from me.
He stops at the door, and looks back at me. "What's the only thing that matters?" he asks, abruptly.
I blink at him.
It's what got me through the wait. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. But he’s staring at me like it does. So I say the words. "You'll keep me safe."
I can't bring myself to repeat the second half. I don't know what Finn is feeling, with my brother dead, but I can't—I shake my head and curl into myself.
"That's still true, Nurrin. I will keep you safe."
I nod and he gives me a searching stare before he ducks out. And I'm alone with my demons and dead.
Part 6.
The Brutal Reality
We live with the dead. It’s our reality. And because we live with them, we live with our own dead—they never quiet.
Claire Donall-
Reality sucks.
Anonymous-
Chapter 1. The Dead at Our Feet
I DON'T NEED TO GO TO OMAR. The Black High Priest is still sorting through the shit that comes with a hostile takeover of the Outpost, and he doesn't have the time or inclination to deal with me.
I just can't be with her right now.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. I was supposed to bring her back to Collin, and they would both be healthy and we would find a safe place—not a permanent home, because that shit doesn't exist. But somewhere where breathing was possible, where we could close our eyes without fear of death and just be for a little while.
It feels, sometimes, like I've been running my entire life, staying ahead of the infects, never having a moment to breathe and live.
I can say as often as I want that Havens are only slow death sentences, that people need to let go of their fear to learn how to live again.
But I do it too. I survive. Because for ten years, that's all I had: surviving. I had thought with Collin and Nurrin, we could do more than that—we could live.
But I was wrong, and one more death is at my feet.
I think, sometimes, that my private mountain of the dead will shift, and bury me.
Sometimes—today, with my best friend’s blood on my hands—I hope that it will. I am tired of always being the one to survive.
Chapter 2. The Way He Works
OMAR LEAVES ME ALONE, to be with Nurrin. He ordered a pair of rooms set aside for us in the Firsts Hall, and that’s where I take her after Collin is dead.
It’s where I leave her, furious and hurting.
I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know how to calm and quiet her, so I don’t try. I leave her, and I seek out the Priest.
There is still a price to be extracted—for his help and for Nurrin. I slip my katana over one shoulder, diagonal across my back, and jog down the stairs to where Omar has set up.
The Outpost isn’t deserted. We swept in quickly, and put down a lot of initial resistance, and a small host of pet infects. The Order is a fucked up thing, that they will believe and kill for the end of the apocalypse all while using the infected for their own purposes.
I step into the small office, and Omar flicks a look at me. Holly is sitting across from him in the only chair. She’s ditched her red robes somewhere, and she looks surprisingly competent in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, tight-fitting shirt. Her hair is pushed back, and a pair of smudged glasses are on her nose as she types into a small computer.
“Where is Kenny?” I ask.
Omar glances at me, reluctantly giving me his undivided attention. “You know you can’t kill him yet.” I bare my teeth, and Omar scowls. “I need him to force the Havens to fall in line. And to give us the military. I will allow you to kill him when he’s of no more use to us.”
“You have Orwell,” I say, not that I really care. Omar can march his band of merry psychopaths off to the East and let them all die a bloody, brutal death. I don’t give a fuck anymore. I have Nurrin back, and a brother to burn, and a few bastards left to kill. After that is done, the rest of the world can rot—it’s doing a wonderful job at that, and I’ve got other shit to concern myself with.
“I need you,” Omar says, softly.
I shake my head. “I’m do
ne with suicide runs, Omar. Lost my taste for them in Ohio.”
“This isn’t the same thing,” he protests and my head whips up.
“It’s the exact same fucking thing, and you know it. You want to play on my attachment to her, just like you did then with Kelsey. Except Kelsey died, didn’t she?”
“And you said you’d never get attached again,” Omar says. “What happened?”
I shake my head. “I’m not fighting this war. Not again. It ended. No one believes we can reclaim the East.”
“But what if I could show you that we could? What if I told you that reclaiming it was the only way to defeat the infection?”
“I would still call you a lying bastard,” I say, shrugging.
Omar flashes a grin. “I need you to be patient. You still get to kill Kenny—but I need it to be after I’ve secured the military and Walkers.”
“And what about the Havens?” I ask, curious despite myself.
“What do you mean?” Omar asks. He’s already studying a map, and scribbling on a piece of paper.
“While you’re out reclaiming the East, and commandeering every able-bodied, trained solider to do it—what are you leaving behind to hold the Havens? To make sure that everyone doesn’t die while you chase this idiotic idea?”
Omar shrugs. “They learn how to survive. Or they fall.”
I stare at him, waiting for some kind of clue, some tiny tell that says he’s full of shit. But it’s been too long, and I can’t read Omar anymore.
Maybe, looking back on all the shit that’s happened, I never could. Maybe I lied to myself and Kelsey, and we were both stupid enough to believe those lies, and we deserved everything that happened.
“You would sentence them all to die, because you’re convinced you can achieve the impossible.”
Omar gives me a wolf’s smile, and I do remember that. It’s the one that says he’s got more going on than he’s telling, and he wants you to know it.
“If you want to know, then bring your First and listen to my plan. But I’m not going to give you bits and pieces, Finn. I’ll tell you everything or nothing.”
I laugh. “I don’t believe for a second that you’d tell me everything. I know you, remember. You’ll tell me what you think will get me to work with you, or what will best manipulate Nurrin.”
Omar grins, and nods. “Then you should be fine to hear my plan, right? If you know how I work, you can’t get suckered in.”
I stare at him, the man I once called friend, and hated for almost half my life. Without answering, I leave.
Chapter 3. The Things We Expect
I NEVER IMAGINED WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO FIND COLLIN, and watch him die. It wasn’t a possibility, so I didn’t allow myself to think about it.
Nurrin, I had. Because she’s reckless and has no idea of her own mortality—the girl is death walking. I’ve always known that one day I’d turn up, and Collin would tell me she’d died.
I don’t know what to do with the opposite being true. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know how to deal with the surge of relief, when I walk back into her little white room and see her sleeping.
I toe off my boots and unbuckle my weapons belt and then slip into the bed behind her.
She’s inches away, a strip of narrow mattress empty between us, and I can smell her hair, the scent of zom repellant on her clothes, and the touch of infection that lingers after so many hours at Collin’s side.
The tension eases out of me so fast, my muscles ache in the sudden absence. I swallow my groan, and twitch on the bed.
Nurrin moves, burrowing into her pillow and breathing out a single word.
And just like that, I’m hard, so fucking turned on I can’t think about the fact that two seconds ago I was tired and desperate for sleep. There is only her, and my name on her lips, and the fact that I want her.
That I’ve wanted her for longer than I will ever be willing to admit.
My dick presses against my pants, and I reach down, unzipping and cupping my cock. My breath hisses out at the contact, and I close my eyes, my head tilting back.
I’m ready to fucking come, and I’ve barely touched myself. She snuggles into her pillow and then shifts, curling close to me. This is a bad fucking idea, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. I get a good solid grip and for a moment, with the smell of her in my nose, and the soft sound of her breathing, it doesn’t take much. I can feel her, her hot little mouth on me, and her hands rolling my balls.
I stroke, hard, and I know she could wake up and I want her to. I want this shit out on the table. I want her to fucking admit how much she wants me. I want to rip away that shitty white shirt, yank down her pants and lick her pussy until she screams my name. Until she’s sobbing and so wet and begging for me to fuck her.
I want one fucking honest thing between us.
She shifts against me, and sighs softly. My balls tighten, and I hiss a curse, coming hard and hot across my shirt, the pleasure white hot, blinding for an endless moment.
Then it fades, and I lie there panting, a cooling mess on my belly.
When I can breathe normal, I tuck my dick away and nudge Nurrin aside so I can sit up and pull my shirt over my head. I toss it aside and lay back down.
“O’Malley?” she asks, her voice warm against my skin. Shit.
“Go to sleep, Nurrin,” I say.
“What was that?” she asks.
I roll so I’m looking at her. And I fucking lie, because as much as I want her, I can’t put myself out there like that. Not again.
Not after—.
“Biological needs, Nurrin. Nothing more. Nothing less. Now go to sleep.”
I roll onto my stomach and wait for her to settle next to me. For a long moment she doesn’t. She just stares down at me, her gaze as hot as a brand. Then, quietly, “What if I have needs?”
I glance up at her, not sure I’m hearing her right. A slow blush is crawling over her cheeks.
Yeah. I heard that shit right.
“Feel free to take care of it, little girl. I’ll be more than happy to be your audience.”
Her lips tighten, and anger fills her eyes. Rejection is never a pretty thing, even when it’s from someone you don’t really want.
“Fuck you, O’Malley,” she snaps, and falls back on her side of the bed with a little huff.
I want to tell her I want her. I want to kiss away the angry stich between her brows, and stroke down her back until she purrs.
But I don’t. Instead, I let her simmer in silence, until she finally gives in to sleep, and I lie, a silent sentinel next to her.
Chapter 4. Explanations
SOMETHING HITS ME, and I jerk upright, scrambling for a knife. Nurrin is standing a few feet away, my weapons on the desk next to her. I find the wet rag she threw and toss it to the floor.
She’s changed out of the ridiculous clothing of the order, and into something that fits her a bit more—black jeans that hug her ass and sit a little low on her hips, and a close-fitting top. I can see bruises on her arms, snaking up under her shirt. They make my hands clench in anger, and I’m reminded I haven’t killed the bastards responsible for this.
“What did you do to find me?” she asks, softly. She’s looking at the ground, her wet hair hanging down to hide her face, but I know that question cost her.
“The same thing you did to survive, Nurrin,” I say. Her head jerks up, startled, and I force a smile. “What I had to. And there is no judgment in that.”
She bites her lip, and nods sharply. Straightens away from the table. “Can we trust Omar?”
“Of course not,” I say, immediately. I roll to the edge of the bed, and her gaze skates over my naked chest for a moment, before she flushes and looks away again.
“Why do you hate him so much?”
I drop my bag on the bed and pause, staring at her. “What did Kenny tell you?”
She shrugs, looking uneasy. I know why. The last thing we had done, before she was kidnapped, was fight
over her underhanded ways of getting information. To call her on it now—
“Look, I get it. I get why you went to Kenny.”
Her gaze jerks up, startled. “You aren’t mad?”
“Of course I’m mad,” I snap. “But I get it. I’d have done the same in your position. It was shitty and underhanded, and I can’t blame you.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re being too nice.”
I laugh, and pull a shirt on. Her eyes skate low over my abs as I tug the shirt down, and I smirk when her gaze comes back up.
“See something you like?”
“Biological needs, O’Malley,” she says coolly. Smartass.
“So?” I nudge, refocusing her.
“He didn’t tell me anything. He drugged me and babbled about your mother. Claire wouldn’t tell me anything that matters—not about Kelsey or Omar. And I’m tired of being only one on this fucking train that doesn’t know what the fuck happened.”
I stare at her for a long moment. I’ve risked my life for her, and watched her grow up from a spunky, spoiled brat to a hard edged, determined woman who survived the shit the Order had to dish out. And losing her drove me to a violence even Kelsey’s death didn’t achieve. There’s something to be said for that.
“Kelsey was my best friend,” I say, softly. The words catch in my throat. I swallow hard, not sure I can get all of this out, but knowing I don’t have a lot of options. She deserves this. “Omar was our squad leader, but she was the one we all followed. It wasn’t just that she was the president’s daughter—it’s that she threw herself into every fight like there was no way to lose.” I pause. “Until she did. Omar led us into a mission that we knew was suicide, but he promised we’d all come home whole.” There’s more. She can look at me, and my volatile past with Omar, and she’s smart enough to put shit together.
She knows damn well that there’s more to it.
But I can’t go deeper than that, not right now.
The Future Without Hope (The World Without End Book 3) Page 8