The Future Without Hope (13 page)

Chapter
7.
Silent Truth

WE
DON’T TALK ON THE WAY BACK TO OUR ROOM. I can feel the anger coiled tight in
him, growing with each step, but he doesn’t speak.

Finn
O’Malley is furious but he won’t let it out in public.

I
glance at the closed doors on the Firsts hall, as Finn opens the door to our
room. Holly will be here, soon, to open them, and let the Firsts out. And then
what? What kind of life will they live? I want to think they’ll find a way to
be happy and to be safe—but I know my world. Too well.

And
I think that I haven’t bought them a future. I’ve bought them a death sentence
that might come sooner than they expected. I shove that thought aside as I step
into our room and Finn enters behind me.

But
at least it will be their choice, when and how they die.

And
maybe that is all any of us can ask for. The right to die in the manner of our
choosing.

“Nurrin,”
Finn snaps, slamming our door, and it pulls me from my musing. I startle
forward a step and my gaze collides with his.

Maybe—maybe
it’s not about dying in the way we choose. Maybe it’s about living the life we
want.

“What
are you doing?” he asks, his voice tight.

I
shrug. “You asked me what I wanted. This is my next move, Finn. I’m going to
help Omar.”

“You
don’t believe that the cure is real.”

“It
doesn’t matter, does it? There are no choices here—we don’t live in a world
that offers much in the way of opportunity. I stay in the West and get
swallowed up in a Haven that will fall—and if it doesn’t, what then? I live a
small, meaningless life. Maybe I marry a Walker and that’s how I remember the
life I had. Or I can help the Black Priest, and I can live the way I want.
Free. Meaningful. Not scared.”

“You
won’t live,” he snarls.

I
shrug. “It’s not your problem.”

His
eyes widen. “Do you really believe that?”

Everything
in my life is shaken. My brother is dead, and the Order is offering a cure that
puts the East in reach, when we have always known it’s lost. Nothing makes
sense.

But
Finn—Finn has never liked me. Finn tolerates me for my brother’s sake. He
protected me to keep me alive for Collin.

“I
don’t know what to believe,” I say, honestly. “I don’t know why you’re still
here. You hate Omar. Collin is dead, and I’m not your problem.”

He
stares at me, and I shift. The whole conversation has ceased to make sense—and
the air has shifted, turned dangerous in ways I don’t understand.

Finn
carefully removes his weapons belt, and lays it aside. “Nurrin. What’s the only
thing that matters?”

“You’ll
keep me alive.”

I
don’t finish the promise, because it doesn’t matter—not anymore. Finn tried but
there are some promises that even he can’t keep.

His
eyes darken, and he nods. “That hasn’t changed.”

I
open my mouth, but he’s kissing me. His hands are in my hair, and I even though
I know there’s a wall behind me, I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything but the
rough press of his lips, and the stubble he hasn’t had time to shave, the glide
of his hot tongue against the seam of my lips, before his teeth catch and bite
down, just enough to wring a gasp from me. Then his tongue is in my mouth and
there’s nothing else. Not a fucking thing matters or exists beyond this—him and
me, and where we touch. I make a noise, and he eats it up, his hands shifting
from my hair to my ass, flexing on my hips and pulling me tight to him. It’s
not enough, and I make a petulant noise against his lips, lost in the kiss.

He
knows.

He's
always known exactly what I mean, what I need. Even when I don’t know.

His
grip shifts, cups my ass and lifts me, and my legs wrap around him, so that I’m
rubbing against him, his hard to my soft, and there are three layers of
clothing between us that infuriate me.

His
mouth leaves mine, and I’m seeing stars, spots spinning in my vision as I gasp.
Air. Oxygen is a good thing. His lips skim down my throat, finding the curve
where my shoulder meets my neck. He places a kiss there, so soft I almost think
I imagine it. And then his tongue, darting out and tasting the skin, followed
by a soft hum of appreciation.

When
his teeth close over the tender skin and bite down, pleasure flashes through
me, mixing with the stab of pain, a white hot flare that has me shrieking and
arching into him. Finn holds the skin between his teeth, drawing on it, and
each tug of his mouth is a glancing blow that hits between my legs.

Finn
lifts his head, and kisses me again, slower this time, his tongue flicking
across my teeth, twisting with mine, licking into my mouth. He is all silk hair
between my fingers and stubble against my lips, sharp teeth and warm lips and,
god
I want
more
.

I
want him naked. Lower. I want his head between my thighs as his tongue works
me, just like that. I groan, and arch into him and I don’t give a fuck how
needy it sounds.

“What
do you want, Nurrin?” he demands, biting down on my earlobe.

And
even though I know—I want this—I can’t form the words. Can’t bring myself to be
that honest with him.

He
pulls back, and his eyes are blazing. He steps away, until I’m standing on
shaking legs, and there is a foot of space between us. He pulls his shirt over
his head, and I swallow hard. I’ve seen him naked before, but this is
different.

No
pretensions. No drunk fumbling or pills, no Order to fool—no president to make
me forget. In this moment, all of that is stripped away, and there is only him.
And me.

And
this.

“What
do you
want?”
he demands, his voice
hoarse and harsh.

And
because even that has me aching and desperate for his touch, I close my eyes,
and whisper, “This.”

He
makes a dissatisfied noise, and my eyes fly open, but it’s enough—he’s crowding
me again, his hands on my waist, gripping me as he pulls me close, dipping down
and forcing my head up for a kiss that makes every thought vanish and my
fingers curl, in his hair. Then he pulls away, and drops kisses, so soft I
wonder if I’m imagining them, along my jaw. “What do you want, Nurrin?”

“This,”
I answer, breathless, and he shoves a knee between my thighs, and I groan at
the friction, grinding against it as my sex clenches, tiny ripples. The
barest-of-there orgasms. I whimper, riding his knee and then it’s gone, and
he’s petting down my leg, soft, teasing fingers that drive me mad.

“What
do you want?”

“Finn,”
I almost sob, but he doesn’t move closer. Just hovers over me, his chest
brushing mine when I breathe, his lips brushing mine as he repeats that
infuriating question.

His
fingers slip into my pants, working down, until his palm is flat against me,
and his fingers curve, slipping through the wet heat.

Slipping,
but not stroking. Teasing.

“Nurrin,”
he almost purrs, “what do you want?”

I
snarl. “I want you to quit screwing around and fuck me.”

Triumphant
flares in his eyes, and his fingers plunge into me, the heel of his hand
scraping against my clit. The orgasm slams into me, so strong I can’t scream,
can’t breathe—can’t do anything but stand here, staring into nothing as Finn’s
fingers fuck into me, pushing the climax up as it ebbs. When my muscles tighten
again, and I’m scrambling against the door and him, desperate to hold onto
something that resembles sanity, he unbuttons my pants with his free hand, and
jerks them down.

He
lifts me up with his free hand, his fingers rubbing in my pussy, and I can’t
breathe. I can’t do anything but feel. The bed hits my back, and I arch up, a
shameless offering.
 
Finn grabs me by the
ass, one hand wet and sliding, and lifts me.

There’s
no more warning than that.

And
then there is his mouth, and I do scream. His lips cover my clit and he sucks,
hard enough that I feel my world splinter, and then he’s gone, and his tongue
is gliding over me, and he makes a noise I will hear every day—I will die,
remembering that noise of satisfied pleasure as he tastes me. My hands are in
his hair, and I moan, pulling him to where I want.

“Fuck
me, O’Malley,” I groan, and he laughs, before he does. His tongue fucks me just
like I imagined.

And
I did. I’ve never been honest, because no one wants to want someone as
dangerous and deadly as Finn O’Malley. A man who refuses to offer the basic courtesy
of answering a question.

But
what the fuck does it matter? I answer questions, and I lie. Everyone does.
It’s the world we live in—maybe it was even before the infects. Finn doesn’t
give a fuck about that. He cares about surviving and there is no place for lies
in survival. There is only living.

And
this—his hands on me, and his mouth fucking me, so slow and easy I want to
sob—this is living. Fuck the zombies and the war and the Order, and every other
thing that says life is fearing what might hurt you.

Finn
could. I think that’s part of why I’ve run so hard from this. Because I knew,
the day he came home with Collin, that he was different. That he was dangerous
in a way none of the haven boys—boys like Dustin—could be. He could break me.

And
it would be worth it.

His
teeth scrape over my clit, and I scream, everything in me tightening viciously
as I come. An orgasm that steals thought and breath and sight—everything but
the pleasure, so sharp it almost hurts, and him, his tongue still working, pushing
me. I make a noise that later I will hate myself for, a broken pleading noise
as I pull him by the hair, and he laughs at me, two fingers thrusting into me.
I’m wet, but tight from the orgasm, and his rough fingers rub against the
sensitive walls of my pussy and just like that, I want him. Want more.

My
hands twist in his hair, and I pull, yanking him away and up.

I’m
not so stupid that I think I could force Finn to do anything. But he grins when
I pull, crawling up my body, and I feel his erection, brushing against me
though the rough material of his pants.

“Why
the fuck are you dressed?” I demand.

He
kisses me once, a fierce collision of teeth and lips and tongues, and I can
taste myself on his lips, and it drives me fucking crazy.

He
stands up abruptly, his hands at his belt, working his belt free. I get one
glimpse of him as he shoves off his pants, and then he’s on me, the weight of
him so perfect it stings tears to my eyes. He stares at me, and I don’t know
what he sees, but it stills him, for a long moment. I whimper, and something in
his gaze warms, a little.

He
pushes into me, thrusting deep in one hard push. At the same time, his head
drops down, and he kisses me, swallowing my low shriek as he fills me.

I’ve
been with other men. Dustin, and others in the haven before him. Silly
distractions.

They
aren’t this.

His
hips roll, a steady pull and push that has me moaning into his kiss as he
pushes deeper, until his thick cock is fully inside me. For a moment, I can’t
breathe, my eyes squeezing shut, and panic, irrational panic, swamps me, and
then he breathes out, and my name is on his lips.

I
stare up at him as he props himself above me, and I can feel the tension
gathering in me, as he fucks me with long, strong strokes. Until I’m panting
and arching to meet him and sweat is slipping over my skin, our bodies moving
feverishly against each other.

“Finn,”
I gasp, as he changes the angle of his thrust and hits a spot that makes me
shudder. “Yes. Again,” I demand, digging my nails into his arms.

He
grunts, and fucks me faster. His head back, eyes closed, hands tight on my
hips. So gorgeous, so—

I
scream, my grip on him tightening, and I come, harder than before, harder than
I can ever remember, everything narrowing down to this—to pleasure, and him,
and here.

Finn’s
eyes open, and he stares at me, and his expression is raw and unguarded, open
and heartbreaking as he comes, a silent wave of pleasure shaking his big body
over mine. And even through the daze of my own orgasm, I know.

Things
are different. I don’t know what the hell just happened here, between us. I
don’t know why he let it.

I
just know that it’s going to change everything.

Even
more than Omar announcing a cure. Because that’s for the rest of the world. One
more step in a twenty year apocalypse.

But
this—fucking Finn O’Malley, and the things I saw in his eyes—this is my own
personal apocalypse.

And
I can’t bring myself to regret a single minute of it.

Part
8.

A
Private Devastation

Everyone
has a story. Everyone alive is a survivor, and has face unimaginable
devastation. We survive despite it

President
Andrew Buchman-

Surviving
isn’t living. Hiding isn’t living. I want to live.

Kelsey
Buchman-

Chapter
1.
What We Need

WE
ALL NEED SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR.

This
is the truth. The one truth that I find remains true no matter what happens.

A
lot of shit has changed since Day One. So much more than hasn’t. The world we
live in now—it’s a shadow of the world we had. We burned that world to the
ground with dirty bombs in a southern city. Promises were made and broken, and
nothing stayed the same. Nothing.

But
there is still one truth. One thing that was true before, and remains true
today, despite the razor wire and the zombies, and the general shit that is our
life.

We
all need something to live for. It doesn’t matter what it is. Family. A cure
that will never be reality. A Haven you serve. A girl you love. An Order, mad
as it may be.

We
all need that.

I
had it, once upon a lifetime ago. I had my reason, and I watched her die.

And
I never wanted to give a fuck about anyone, after her. Being alone was easier.
Lonely as fuck—but so much easier.

But
we all need that one thing.

And
lying naked in bed next to Nurrin, sweat still cooling on our bodies. I know
it’s all been a fucking lie.

I’ve
been lying to myself.

I
found something to live for again, years ago.

And
now that I have her, I’m terrified I’ll fuck it up again, and lose her.