The World Without a Future (The World Without End) (12 page)

“I didn’t think you had the keys,” she answers, tossing them to me.

“It’s dangerous for you to be unprotected right now,” I say, looking away.

She’s quiet, for so long I finally look back at her. She’s staring at me, emotions spreading across her face too quickly for me to follow. Finally she smirks. “Didn’t think you cared.”

My own words, echoing back at me. A smile twitches my lips. “Collin would be pissed if anything happened to you, Nurrin."

She looks away. “Did you get the meds?”

I shrug out of my leather jacket, and she inhales sharply. I’m still covered in blood from the skirmish outside the Wall. “What happened?” she demands shrilly, taking a short step toward me. I pin her with a sharp look, and she stops.

I ignore her, pulling the bloody shirt of. It sticks to my chest. I grimace. “I’m going to shower,” I announce, turning toward my bedroom.

“Finn O’Malley, you have to answer me,” she snaps. “You have to talk to me!”

The bathroom feels crowded with her in it. I hook my thumbs in the top of my jeans, ready to shove them down. “You might want to leave,” I murmur, turning to stare at her.

Her cheeks are flushed, but she sets her feet, crossing her arms. I grin, slow and amused. I unbutton and push my jeans down.

Her breath catches, her gaze skirting down before snapping up to my eyes. “I’m not leaving without answers, Finn.”

I step into her space, so close I can feel the heat of her skin, the brush of her corset-clad breasts. “See something you like, little girl?”

“Nothing terribly impressive,” she shoots back, and I laugh at that. Her breathing is fast, her eyes a little sleepy. She’s primed for sex and a fight, and I want to give her both.

I lean into her, inhaling her scent and licking at her pounding pulse point. She shivers, swaying toward me. “You sure, Nurrin? It’s gotta be more fun than taking care of yourself.”

“Who says I did,” she murmurs, and I jerk upright. “Jesse is quite talented. At many things.”

I want to throttle him. Or her. Instead, I twist and turn on the shower. The water is scalding hot, and it stings my skin as I step into the spray, ignoring her completely.

Knowing she was with other men in Haven 8 I could handle—there was distance, and I slept around. Tried to get her out of my system. But here, it’s somehow different. I want to strangle Jesse, push her against a wall and kiss her until she can’t remember anyone’s name but mine.

“You can’t ignore me and expect me to wait for you to do whatever it is you’re doing,” she shouts over the spray. I fist my erection and turn to her, blatantly displaying myself. Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip.

“I can, actually. You’ll listen or I’ll lock you in until I’m ready to go back to the Hole.”

She bares her teeth in a parody of a smile and turns away.

Fuck.
“Nurrin!” I snarl, and jump out of the shower. She’s almost to the door, moving fast, when I tackle her. She hits the ground with a yelp. I roll, pulling her under my wet, still-bloody body.

“Get off me, you bastard,” she shouts, and I clamp down hard on her wrists as she reaches to slap me. I force her hand down and glare at her.

“Are you fucking insane? Or just
trying
to get yourself killed? The Order is out there, hunting Firsts. You
idiot.”

“I don’t care,” she says, and I groan, letting my weight drop on her. She gasps, squeezing her eyes closed. “Dustin needs me. The longer you fuck around, the longer Collin is with that danger.”

My stomach twists, and I pull away. “It’s too dangerous to go out while the Turn is being remembered.”

“That didn’t stop you this morning. And it’s too dangerous for Collin to wait.”

She’s right. She’s right, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. I prop myself up and stare at her. “You have to listen.”

Hope sparks in her eyes, and she nods, a quick bob of her head. “Just like the Wide Open, Finn.”

I roll off her, and she stays there for a minute, staring up at me. I don’t look at her, just turn and stalk back to my abandoned shower.

She strides alongside me on the quiet street. Mourning incense fills the air and my head, the streets taking on an eerie quality in the dimness. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. If she’s nervous being on the streets during Second Night, she’s doing a damn good job at hiding it.

She’s dressed in a scarlet bandage dress with a black ribbon shoulder strap. Paired with her black stilettos, she looks sexy and dangerous and five years older than she is.

She doesn’t look like a First.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

I roll my eyes, catch her elbow, and pull her along a little faster. She mutters darkly under her breath.

The building looks deserted, but according to Jesse, this is the best place to find what I need. The black market meds are going to be where every other vice in the Haven is found. Everything is controlled by one group.

I knock quickly and lean down to murmur into Nurrin’s ear. “Quiet, little girl. Understand? Follow my lead.”

She twitches and nods, just as the door swings open. I eye the bouncer, the steady thrum of music pounding behind him. “We’re closed.”

I pull out a bag full of narcotics and creds. His eyes widen, and I smirk. “Finn O’Malley, with a guest. Let me in.”

The guard steps aside, and we go into the long, wide hallway that separates the main club from the door. “Stay to the middle,” I say, dragging her close behind me.

“Why?” she asks, and an infect explodes into the room from the left. Nurrin chokes a scream down, a half-heard noise that’s buried when she bites down on my shoulder. I grunt and keep walking—her hands clenched in the silk of my dress shirt.

The infect is harmless—as harmless as they ever are. His lower jaw has been shattered, teeth removed in a gaping maw. His fingers are broken off stubs, but the bone protrudes—enough to pick up a contact infection.

“Why?” she asks, again, her voice shaking and scared.

“They don’t want anyone stumbling onto this,” I answer. The zombie hisses at us, broken fingers stretched. She shudders, and I keep going down the hall.

Another bouncer is waiting, this one visibly armed. He levels a gun at us, and I feel fury building in me. I understand the precautions, but at some point, they just become offensive. I’m well past my limit for irritating shit.

I draw my own gun, cock it, and point at his forehead. “My bribe already paid our passage. Unless you want this place brought to the aldermen’s attention, you’ll put that down and let me fucking pass.”

He smirks. “I heard O’Malley had graced the Haven again. Didn’t expect to see you in the Underground.”

“That’s because you don’t know a damn thing about me,” I say coldly. The bouncer’s eyes flick to Nurrin, and she shifts, a little bit away from me. I want to drag her back, but it’d cause questions I don’t want to deal with.

He smiles and moves aside.

And we step into the Underground.

A dance floor has been set up in one half of the club—flashing lights and cheap beer is flowing, half-dressed girls dance on tables. A few couples are making out; one girl has her hand down her partner’s pants, toying with his erection.

Nurrin watches curiously, but I turn her away. Between the dance floor and the stalls selling goods, is a bar. A few working girls linger there, watching me, and this time, Nurrin draws closer, almost jealously.

I lead her past the bar and the illegal black market, deeper into the heart of the Underground. Here there’s a sexual playground, where any fetish and appetite can be satisfied. The music is replaced by low moans, the sound of chains rattling, and cries of pleasure—the scent of sex hangs on the air. Her eyes are wide when she looks at me, and I shake my head. A sub being whipped by a leather-clad domme watches with lazy, pleasure-hazed eyes as I lead Nurrin past the kink club.

There’s another door, but this one is unmanned. I push it open, leading her into the fight pit.

Two men—a Walker and a Haven worker—are fighting. From the mess of their faces, they’ve been at it a while, but the crowd is still screaming, hysterical, driven by an urge for blood.

Nurrin watches for a few seconds as the Walker pummels the other man mercilessly. The worker drops to the ground after a particularly vicious blow, and the crowd boos as he shakes his head, trying to clear it. She shivers as the Walker stalks over and kicks him, her face unexpectedly pale. “Nurrin,” I say, and her gaze snaps to me, revolted and pleading. “Eyes on me.”

She nods, gritting her teeth, and I lead her through the crowd, punching a man when he throws a careless elbow that gets too close to Nurrin. We get caught in the melee of bettors exchanging money when the fight ends, and then we’re near the wall. I find the only door and knock once.

A tiny Asian girl is sitting on the desk, a black man standing beside it. I eye them, and my fingers twitch, anxious for my gun. She shouldn’t be here.

Finally, the little Asian looks up at me, a bored expression on her pale face. “What can the Blessed Order of the First do for you, Finn O’Malley?”

Everyone remembers the day the dead rose. Even those who had been small children can pinpoint where they were when the army hit the zombie horde outside of Atlanta. The world stopped, eyes trained on a five mile stretch between Atlanta and Newnan, watching while the entire fucking thing came crashing down around us.

I was with my parents—my father and his best friend sat side by side, watching on a tiny monitor as the horde from Atlanta slammed into the troops from Fort Benning and everything-—every fucking thing we’d ever known or would know—stopped.

The Blessed Order says it began on Day One. When Emilie Milan sat up and ate the morgue attendant. But I was there. I was watching. I listened to the frantic calls, the screams of the soldiers as the virus in their blood reacted to the horde. The screams changing to moans when they were infected and joined the horde they were sent to destroy.

I heard it all.

I’ve heard a thousand stories since that day. A girl who lost her virginity while the zombies stormed Atlanta. A trucker who shot his children rather than let them face this world, and then carried that weight for another six years. A woman who baked an apple pie and sobbed as she listened to a newscast—her son had been in the ranks that changed.

People had been in class, in church, in basement bomb shelters.

Collin had been in a hospital, sitting next to his parents and newborn sister.

My story isn’t that different—I was with my family. I sat with the people who cared about me as the horde swarmed Atlanta and spread.

I played with my best friend under a desk when the dirty bombs hit Atlanta, obliterating the fifth largest city in the United States.

We were playing hide and seek when millions died from the nerve gas that did nothing against the zombies.

I was hiding in a corner while the world crashed down and the battle for the East Coast began.

I stare at the High Priestess of the Order, her black hair stick straight. A startling swatch of white hair hangs over one eye. I can feel the press of Nurrin at my back, her bristling energy and anger, but she’s quiet. And the priestess doesn’t know who she is—I’ve always been very careful to make sure they don’t know who or
what
she is.