The Future Without Hope (11 page)

Chapter
1.
Unshakable Truths

WE
ALL KNOW SOME THINGS WITHOUT REALLY NEEDING TO BE TOLD. Babies—babies have to
be taught. They need to learn to walk, and that things on stoves are hot. That
grass is green and the sky is blue and that we all bleed red.

There
are very few things that we all know, without question.

But
even little babies know to fear infects. It’s a universal truth.

And
the thing about those few truths—they’re comforting. Even when they’re
horrible. We cling to them, because having something that deeply fundamental
shaken up—that’s as terrifying as infection.

I
have never known a world without infection.

I
never will.

That
is my truth. My undeniable, unshakable foundation. It’s something so deeply
ingrained in who I am, I’ve never even imagined another world.

I’ve
tried. Collin told me stories, often enough that of course I pictured it. But
they were stories. They weren’t my reality, and I don’t know how to reconcile
that world with the one I’m forced to live in.

I’ve
never expected a cure. Of course, there are moments when I want it. Watching my
brother die, torn apart by the disease and on the edge of turning—that is a
moment that will haunt me. If I have ever wanted a cure, it was then.

But
there is a difference between wanting and reality.

And
I’m a First. If there is anything we are very good at, it’s being able to face
reality head-on.

Chapter
2.
The Lies We Tell

FINN’S
WHOLE BODY GOES TENSE BESIDE ME, so still it’s almost painful. I still haven’t
moved, so I can watch Omar. He’s staring at Finn with a desperation that scares
me, a wild hope in his gaze. He needs O’Malley to believe this, and I don’t
quite understand why.

“We
aren’t going in blind or vulnerable,” Omar says. “It’s not like last time.”

Finn’s
eyes close, and I see his chest rise with a deep breath, like he’s struggling
to maintain that quiet control he’s so damn good at. When they open, he glances
at me, and catches me watching him. For reasons I don’t want to examine too
closely, I flush, a hot crawl up my neck. Amusement fills his eyes, even here.
He loves to see me rattled. I arch an eyebrow and he smirks. Turns to the Black
Priest.

“We
aren’t doing this, Omar. I’m not buying your bullshit this time. You want to
find someone who believes your lies and empty promises—by all means, go for it.
I’m taking the girl and getting the fuck out of here and away from the hordes.”

“Where
will you go?” Omar challenges quietly. “There are no clean places, and your
bolt holes in the havens—your little ways of staying safe—will fall as they do.
You’ll be just as vulnerable as the rest of us, O’Malley.”

Finn
gives him a cold look. “Where I go and what I do to protect myself and my
people—that doesn’t fucking affect you. I want Kenny and I want every priest
who touched her. I’ll be out of your way as soon as I’ve killed them.”

He
nods at me, and I step out of the office a few feet in front of him.

Omar
lets us go, which is surprising. Finn and I walk silently though the compound,
but I can feel the tension in him growing with each step. When we finally reach
our room, and the door closes behind us, I expect him to explode. Instead, he
drops on the bed, his shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the floor.

He
looks lost. Finn O’Malley, who has never looked anything other than completely
competent and arrogantly assured that he knew best.

“O’Malley?”
I ask, cautiously.

“What
do you want to do?” he asks, and my stomach drops.

I
take a step back, and his gaze jerks up to collide with mine. I don’t
understand the question. Not from him. Finn doesn’t ask for opinions. He tells
you where to go and when, what to do, and expects unquestioning obedience. And
because that logic has kept me alive, I go along with it, for the most part.
But—“What the fuck is going on?” I blurt.

He
nods, his lips twisting in a grimace. “Yeah. That’s kinda what I expected you
to say.”

“Why
the hell do you care what I think, now?”

He
blinks. “Because I have to care.” I jerk, and he frowns. “Look, Collin wanted
me to protect you. I’m going to do that. Before, he could tell me what was the
best option for that—but he’s gone now.”

I
stare at him, and I’m not sure I actually believe the words coming from him.
Because even for Finn O’Malley, it’s a special breed of
what the fuck.

“Hey,
Finn?” I say, softly. He looks at me, his gray eyes wary. I give him a sharp
edged smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

I
make it two steps outside the room before he grabs me, an arm around my waist
pulling me back against his body.

I
remember the feel of him, braced above me on the floor of our hotel room, his
fingers stroking me. His knee rocking against me in that tiny barracks room,
splintering my world apart. And even though that isn’t what this embrace is
about, I’m hot and turned on, instantly, the fight draining out of me so fast
I’m dizzy and limp in his arms when he pushes me against the wall. After the separation,
I’m desperate, drinking in the feel of his finger tight on my arms, and the
heat that’s coming off him, even the feel of his breath in my hair.
 

I’m
achy and needy, and so turned on I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep
from running them over his shoulders, and pulling him into me.

“What
the fuck are you doing?” Finn snaps, and I smirk. Because this, this I can do.
This is the essence of who and what we are. All anger and sharp words and
questions without answers. Hot flares of arousal tempered by long stretches of
silence.

“I’m
leaving. I’m not your problem, O’Malley. My brother is dead, and that’s the
only reason I was with you—because he and I were a package deal.”

He
stares at me for a long moment, his eyes trained on mine. I lick my lips
nervously, and they dart down, following the path along my lips without any
shame, darkening just a little.

He
steps away abruptly and I shiver, his body heat suddenly gone.

“Is
that what you want?” he asks, and his voice is low and even.

Once
upon a time, I thought that detachment from him meant he didn’t care. I don’t
think that anymore. Now, I’m pretty sure it’s because he doesn’t trust himself.

Finn
is volatile, a hot mess of emotions one crisis away from blowing up. And he
doesn’t trust that. So he locks it away under an iron-clad control and gives
the world a cold, calm exterior.

I
swallow and shrug. “I don’t know. I do know I don’t want you to take care of me
because you feel like you owe it to me.”

My
gaze goes to the ink I can see, peeking above the neckline of his shirt. “You
carry enough dead, O’Malley. Don’t take on mine as well.”

“It
was about you,” he says, softly. I go still, staring at him. “The fight that
first day I met Collin. It was about you.”

The
world bottoms out, because it’s not what I expect to hear him say. I have no
place in their friendship. I’ve never understood it, always resented it, and—

“It’s
always been about you, Nurrin,” he says, so quietly I could pretend I didn’t
hear it.

Except
not even I could imagine something that insane coming from Finn O’Malley.

Chapter
3.
The Impossible Reality

I
RUN, because there is no other option. Finn hands out doses of reality
carefully—as carefully as the CDC regulates neural inhibitors and
anti-infection serums.

This
is too much honesty. So I bolt from our little room, and he doesn’t chase me
this time.

Omar
put us on the same floor as the Firsts, and as I race down the hall, I eye the
doors.

I’ve
never spent much time with other Firsts. We’re a hunted breed, and tend to
avoid drawing attention. Gathering in groups always seemed like the height of
stupidity.

And,
in 8, there weren’t any. I was the lone First in the Haven.

So
part of me is curious about the people behind these doors, the people who are
so similar to me.

I
wonder why they are still locked in, and how long that will last.

The
little room at the end of the hall is empty, a few white couches and a
bookshelf with a stack of books spilling off the cluttered shelves.

A
low beep fills the room, followed by a male voice. “Is anyone there?”

I
stare at the tiny blinking intercom for a long moment, waiting for
someone—anyone—to appear and answer the summons.

The
beep comes again. “Look, I can hear you. And we’re hungry. Well. Maybe the
others aren’t, but I’m hungry. And I need to piss. Can you get whoever the hell
has clearance for that, and take care of this?”

Anger
and curiosity bubble in my chest, and I grit my teeth. I jab the button and a
loud squawk fills the room. There’s a soft curse from the intercom and I clear
my throat. “There’s been a change of management here at the Outpost. But if you
give me just a little while, I’m going to get this shit sorted out. Can you do
that?”

The
beep, and then, irritably. “Don’t have a lot of options, do I? Let’s move this
shit along. I’m not happy about being here, but if I am, I’d at least like to
be able to piss.”

I
swallow the initial urge to snap at him and hurry down the hall.

Finn
will be furious I’m wandering around the Outpost alone. He’ll probably kick my
ass for it. But those are my people, hidden behind those doors and being
forgotten.

Why
is it that the small people, the ones who just want their normal everyday
lives—those are the ones who are forgotten first? Fight your wars, and save the
fucking world—that’s the big picture. Go take back the East, and wave your
false hope cure around like some kind of fucked up white flag.

In
the meantime, we live, just like we always do. Because the little people don’t
have a choice. We don’t have the opportunity to chase greatness and
world-changing events. We just want to live.

Chapter
4.
Things That Don’t Change

OMAR
AND FINN DIDN’T COME TO THE OUTPOST ALONE. Naturally. There are about a dozen
Black Priests wandering the halls, containing what’s left of the Outpost
personnel. A few give me assessing looks as I stride through the halls, but
most ignore me. I may not wear robes, but I’m not dressed in all white
sacrifice apparel either—I’m not quite their equal, but I’m not something they
can kick around.

I
find Holly first. I don’t know who or what she is in the grand scheme of
things, but she seems close to Omar, which gives her some authority.

“The
Firsts need to be released.”

She’s
inventorying the med supply closet, and she frowns at me, distracted. “I’m
sorry?”

I
grit my teeth. “The Firsts. They’re still being held in their rooms.”

That
gets her attention, and she stares at me, a little confused. “Of course they
are. What’s the problem?”

“Why?”
I demand, my voice rising in fury.

She
huffs. “Because the Order still holds to our beliefs, Nurrin. I know you don’t
like it—we don’t expect you to. But we can’t release twenty Firsts to make you
happy. Especially since you and your partner aren’t doing anything to help us.”

I
stare at her, stunned. “You still plan to kill them,” I say, my lips numb. She
finally puts down the damn computer, and give me her full attention.

“Nothing
has changed, Nurrin. The Order is still committed to eradicating the infection,
and Father Sawyer’s teachings are clear what we must do to achieve that end.”

“Sawyer
was a fucking lunatic. And you know that this won’t achieve shit—it’ll be
twenty more dead at the hands of the infection, and they’ll die a horrific
death, but nothing—not a fucking thing—will be accomplished.”

Holly
shrugs. “It is their duty.”

“And
mine,” I say, my voice silky and menacing.

Holly’s
eyes narrow, and she seems like she’ll deny it, but then she nods. “Yes. And
yours. You’re being spared, because keeping your protector happy is more
important to the Order than killing you.”

She
turns back to her inventory when I don’t respond. “Don’t worry about the
Firsts, Nurrin. They aren’t yours to worry about. I’ll get one of the acolytes
up to take care of them soon.”

Then
she goes quiet, and I’m dismissed. That easily.

I’ve
always been protected. By my parents, when the Order was rising, and I was at
my most vulnerable, a little baby in the middle of the end of the world.

And
later, by my brother, who left everything in his life undone, so that he could
protect me. By Dustin in 8, and Finn, after.

I’ve
never been a First on my own, trying to stay ahead of the Order and alive. It’s
one of my worst nightmares—and I am closer to it now than I ever have been. But
even now, with my brother dead and my parents long since gone—even now I am
protected, by Finn.

Which
is why I go back to him. He’s sitting in the same place I left him, still
staring at nothing. That’s vaguely disturbing, but I don’t comment on it as I
strip off my weapons, and let them clatter down. I tuck a throwing star under
my pillow as I crawl past him onto the bed, and curl there.

I
don’t speak to him.

And
he doesn’t speak to me. Eventually, my heartbeat—when did it get so fucking
fast and unsteady—slows, and my breathing gets even. And later, as I linger on
the edge of sleep and wakefulness, Finn shifts, lying down behind me. I feel
the phantom touch of his hand as it hovers above my skin. Then he hisses a
breath and drops it.

We
lie like that for a long time, a thin, invisible line separating us, before I
eventually give in to sleep.