The Future Without Hope (16 page)

Chapter
5.
The Only Thing That Matters

NURRIN
IS LYING ON HER SIDE OF THE BED, curled away from me. She’s been quiet and
remote since Ethan left the room. And with each moment of silence, my
irritation strings tighter. She’s spending too much fucking time in her head,
but I don’t know how to shake her out of it.

I
don’t know how to bring her back to me and the moment we shared last night.

I
should be glad for the distance. Should use it to step away.

Stepping
away is the safe thing to do. Because at the end of the day, surviving is what
matters. It’s the only thing that matters.

“I
want you to go. Take the ZTNK and get out of here.” Her voice is soft but firm,
and she’s rolled on her side, staring at the ink on my neck.

My
hands ball into fists, and I will myself to relax. Because I can’t snap at her
for being honest with me. Not when all I’ve ever asked for is honesty. “Why?”

She
sits up and shoves her hair back furiously, and frowns down at me. She looks
like Kelsey, angry and determined, and so damn earnest. And she looks nothing
like her, because there is a world of knowledge and fear and weariness in her
that Kelsey never carried. I wish I could have kept that fear from Nurrin.

"Because
this isn't your fight, Finn. It never was. I'm not your responsibility, and I
won't be the reason you die."

I
grin, lazily. "Do you think you could be?"

Nurrin
bares her teeth, a parody of a smile. "I think that if you follow a
promise made to my dead brother, you'll end up in the East, and we'll both die
there."

I
sit up abruptly, the joking gone. Because her words ring too heavy and full.
"You know that going East will be a death sentence. Then why the fuck are
you going to do it?"

She
sits quietly for a long moment, and then shrugs. "Because what the hell
else do I have, O'Malley?" So much bitterness. And no hope. Not a
goddamned bit of it. She sounds hollow and empty, and I recognize that because
it echoes in me. "I'm a girl who was born into a world of death, a girl
born to die. And everyone who has ever loved me at all is dead. What the hell
is there left for me to do, but to die?"

I
roll, and come up on my knees, looming over her and grab her shoulders. Shake
her hard enough that her head wobbles perilously. "You fucking live. You
do what he knew you could do—you survive, despite every fucking thing that says
you shouldn't. You keep going because you can, because he bought you more time
with his death and because he would hate for you to die. Collin deserves more
from you, little girl."

There
are tears brimming in her eyes, and she yanks herself out of my grip, and slaps
me. Hard enough that for a moment, I don't feel it, just hear the noise. And
then white hot fire lights up along my face, and I smile at her, furious and
savage.

"That,"
I murmur. "That anger is what you need. Hold onto it when you’re feeling
lost and sad. And don't forget that even though Collin is gone, you aren't
lost. I won't let you be lost."

Her
breath catches, and I lean in, kissing her hard and fast. Her hands are in my
hair, tugging, and she's crying. I can taste the tears on my lips, mixing with
the taste of her, and it shouldn't be a turn on; it should make me back off and
calm her down.

But
we aren't like that. We've never been like that. We've always been fury and hot
emotion and pushing too hard. So I push her, and she pushes back.

She
yanks my shirt off over my head, and her teeth latch down on the muscle of my
neck, so I hiss out a breath, and she laughs, a dark, erotic noise that makes
me hard. I shove her back, and catch her pants, pulling them down and off her
as she unbuttons her shirt with quick, fumbling fingers.

I'm
on her before she can shove it off, my mouth closing over her nipple, drawing
my teeth over it. She whimpers, her body shaking under me, and I do it again,
just to fucking feel that.

For
so long, I've told myself this wasn't possible. Because she was Collin's sister
and because I knew, even in 8, that she would change everything. That having
her in my life would devastate it. And I knew better—I knew that I couldn't
survive something like that again.

So
she was something I wanted. And something I hated for wanting. Until every time
I saw her, I pushed. Sharp, biting comments and stares that turned dismissive,
and ignoring her completely. Her jealousy over me deepened, and we hated each
other.

But
I've always wanted her. I've always wanted this. And as I prop myself up and
push into her, taking in the deep groan and the way her teeth bite down on her
bottom lip, her eyes dropping down to watch me push into her—I was a fucking
idiot.

Her
eyes dart to me, and I see those shadows, that fucking sadness. I can't get rid
of that. It's part of who she is. But I hate it and I hate that it's here, now.

"Fuck
me, Finn," she says, her voice teasing and throaty. "Fuck me."

So
I kiss her, a hard, bruising kiss that is as much a battle as we have ever
been, and I fuck her like I could lose her--because I know I could, and I don't
think I could survive it.

Part
9

The
End of Hope

Everything
ends. Everyone dies. That is our truth.

Finn
O’Malley-

Sometimes,
you just keep going. Not because you want to. But because that’s the only
option.

Collin
Sanders-

Chapter
1.
The Nature of Change

THERE
ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES EVERYTHING CAN CHANGE. Only so many unshakable truths
that can be shaken and shattered.

Then
you just quit believing in anything.

I
get it now—Finn saying that everyone lies. They do. Everything—the Walls, and
the Walkers, and the brother who promised to keep me safe, the government who
has our best interest at heart—every fucking thing. It’s all one big lie
circling in on the next.

There’s
one truth, and no matter what way the Order and Omar want to spin the fairy
tale, it’s not changing. It’s too integral to who we are now, to what we’ve
allowed ourselves to become.

The
infection kills.

Chapter
2.
Mourning Things Gone

THE
OUTPOST IS QUIET. So quiet it makes me shiver as I pad through the halls. The
shower is unnaturally loud. I would worry about people being disturbed by my
noise, if I could think past anything but the white noise in my head.

Too
many things have changed. Too fast for me to process. Part of me wants to go
back to the little room where I was locked away, the bed that Finn is in, and
crawl back under the blankets.

Except
that Finn was never supposed to be mine. He was never supposed to be anything
more than someone my brother implicitly trusted, and someone I hated.

Even
that truth has changed. Tears sting my eyes and I swallow hard to keep from
sobbing. I’m tired of the tears. I feel like everything has been stripped away
from me in the Outpost. Like I’m just a shell of what I was before I went to
that fucking dinner with Kenny.

I
throw up suddenly, his words repeating in my head.

Those
bastards raped me. And the worst part—the fucking worst part—is I have no idea
who. When or how often, or motherfucking
who
.
I want, irrationally, every acolyte and priest in the Outpost put into the Wide
Open, left to fend for themselves against a fucking horde.

I’ve
never wished that—never even thought about it. My worst enemy doesn’t deserve
to be left to the mercy of the zombies.

But
they do.

Hair
swings down, slapping my face as I crouch. I shut my eyes, the water mixing
with my dinner and swirling down the drain. I can’t think about that—about them
and what happened—right now. I swallow hard, and stand up. The water has turned
cold, and my teeth are chattering as I scrub the vomit from the ends of my
hair, and rinse the shampoo out.

I
dry myself off quickly and slip into a bra and clean underwear, stolen from the
Order’s uniform closet, before stepping into a pair of black leathers. They’re
loose on me, which bothers me. I shouldn’t be dropping weight. I shove that
thought aside, and pull a tank top over my head. The button-down I add after
tucking a couple knives into my waist band.

My
boots are too loud—they’ll wake Finn—so I carry them and pad out of the
bathroom with my weapons belt over my shoulder.

Ethan
is sitting in the hallway, his eyes finding mine as I step out. He fidgets a
little, and then scrambles to his feet. “We need to talk.”

I
shake my head, and motion to him. Confusion touches his eyes briefly, but he
follows me out of the First hall, and into the stairway. I plop down and tug on
my boot. “Talk, First.”

“One
of the acolytes told me you’re going to join the war. Why?”

I
shrug. So easy to lie to him. And he’s stupid enough to believe it, because why
would I lie? I shake the thought and shrug. “Because my family’s dead, and my
Haven was overrun and why the fuck not?”

It’s
not the truth. And I’m not telling him about the deal I made. But it’s enough.

“I
want to come with you.”

That
makes me pause, my foot halfway in my boot. “You don’t know me,” I say slowly.
“You don’t know anything about me or why I’m doing this. Why the hell would you
want to come with me?”

“Because
it’s my choice. I want to live and die in the manner of my choosing.”

I
make an aggravated noise—it would be less annoying if they weren’t my words
being tossed back in my face.

“When
I said that, I meant for you to actually live.”

“This
is,” he says, soft and even. “Isn’t it? If it wasn’t, why would you be joining
the fight?”

My
gaze drops, and I swallow hard. “Fine, kid. Whatever the fuck you feel the need
to do.”

I
push up off the step and start climbing, ignoring him completely. For a moment,
there is only silence. Then a muttered curse, and him jogging up the stairs
behind me.

It
would have been too easy for him to go away after talking to me. Nothing is
easy these days—why should this be? I swallow my irritation, and climb until we
reach the labs. Ethan is quiet, watching, and I slide him a glance. For a
moment, I consider telling him not to speak—that he can stay if he will only
observe. Then I remember how much it annoyed the shit out of me when Finn did
that, so I ignore the urge, and step into the pristine lab.

There
is one Gray robed priest at a work station, and his eyes go wide when he sees
me. He looks behind me, and some of the tension leaks out of him when Ethan
steps in behind me. Not Finn.

I
suppress my smirk. Finn tends to have that effect on people—smart people,
anyway.

“What
can I do for you, ma’am?”

“I
want to see my brother,” I say, my voice short and even. The priest’s eyes
widen, and at my side, Ethan makes a choked noise. I ignore it.

“The
cremation is just finishing. It’ll be a few minutes longer.”

I
stare at him for a long moment, while the priest twitches nervously, and then I
nod. "I'll wait."

His
eyes widen impossibly, and I swallow my smirk as I prop myself against the
counter and cross one boot over the other. Ethan stares from me to the priest
and back again, and I can almost feel the questions boiling up, begging to be
asked.

How
the fuck did Finn put up with my nonsense, all this time? I swallow that
thought—I can't afford to think about anything but my brother—and stare at
nothing as the priest mutters under his breath, and then scurries from the
room.

The
door he pushes open releases a wave of hot air, and the scent of fire and ash,
and I have to clench my hands into fists on the lip of the table, to keep
myself from bolting.

My
stomach twists, and I swallow hard. There is nothing left to come up, but it
doesn't mean my stomach won't try to revolt.

"What
happened to your brother?" Ethan asks, quietly.

I
fix him with a flat stare. "I don't know you. And an accident of birth
doesn't mean you have some kind of weird bond with me. So maybe we can ease up
on the life history."

A
slow flush crawls up his skinny neck, and I watch, fascinated. “You’re kind of
a bitch, you know that?”

I
shrug.

The
door opens and Omar steps into the room, trailed by Finn. Staring at Finn, for
a moment, it’s hard to breathe. I force myself to do so anyway. His eyes crawl
over me and then land on Ethan, scrawny and pale and nervous, fidgeting at my
side. When Finn looks back to me, his eyes are hot, and angry, and demanding. I
let my eyebrows climb, just a little. Acknowledging his question and dismissing
it. Amusement flares in his eyes for a moment, before it flattens, and I let my
attention drift back to Omar, some of the tension easing in my shoulders.

“Are
they finished?” Omar asks, and I shake my head.

“He
said he needed a few minutes more.”

“What
will you do with the ashes?”

I
study my fingers for a moment, and Omar shifts, silently.

“What
I do with my dead, Priest, is between me and my dead. You haven’t earned the
right to ask me that.”

Omar’s
face goes stormy and I give him a cool smile. Because I don’t give a fuck.

“Ma’am.”

I
turn. The Gray priest is back, standing nervously with a small, black cylinder.

So
fucking much, reduced to this. I clear my throat, and blink back the tears that
are blinding me. The room is utterly silent, and I’m too aware of them watching
me.

My
hands shake, and I hate that. I clench them into fists, before I touch that
fucking cylinder, and then he’s next to me, taking the black container and
murmuring something that makes no fucking sense past the roar in my ears. All I
can feel is his hand on the small of my back, propelling me forward, and the
tiny charm against my neck.

I
never wore memoriam pendants. Not for my parents, or any of the friends we lost
over the years. I wanted one for Mom, when she died, but there needs to be a
body to burn, and ashes to harvest.

We
didn’t have that. We didn’t have anything, except the gun she left behind that
I still carry.

Dustin
was the first time I was given memoriam jewelry.

Finn
steers me until we’re topside, and he hesitates, glancing at me. “Is this what
you want?”

“Where
else would I scatter them?” I ask, my voice flat. “There’s nowhere safe that he
loved.”

“Nurrin,”
he says, and I finally look at him.

“You
don’t wear memoriam.” I shift, my head tilting in question.

It’s
something I’ve always noticed, and never thought to comment on. But Finn has
lost so much in the years since the infection spread. His parents, friends,
people he fought with and respected. The girl he loves.

That
thought twists in my gut, and I shove it aside. I don’t want to look at the
reason why too closely.

“I
carry them,” he says, and I know what he’s referring to. The tattoos that
scrawl across his back, and up his neck. Thick tribal bands that, if you look
closely enough, spell out names. Places.

He
has always carried his dead, scrawled like so many scars on his skin.

I
step outside, and there is nothing. No infects, no wind—nothing but empty space
and my entire life, spinning out empty in front of me.

“I’m
afraid I’ll forget them. I don’t remember, what Daddy looked like. He died when
I was so young. Ten years from now, will I look back and wonder what my brother
looked like? The stupid shit—how he teased me in the mornings before I had
coffee, and the way he snored. His irritating habit of feeding every wayward
widow and pretty orphan who smiled at him. I’ll forget that and he’ll be gone.
And there’s going to be no one who will remember him.”

“I
will. And I’ll remind you when you forget.”

I
stare at him, and then laugh, because I can’t help it. Because I know he’s
telling me the truth, but this is Finn.

“Keeping
the memory of my brother alive isn’t important, Finn. Survival is. Right?
Survival is the only thing that matters.”

Finn’s
eyes darken, but he turns away, and I don’t see whatever is lurking there. For
a moment, the wind rises, teasing my hair, and brushing across my skin, and
Finn’s hand tightens on the lid of the cylinder. My chest squeezes, and I know
that I’m not ready. Not for this. Not to see the last bit of my brother vanish
into the fucking wasteland our world has become.

Graveyards
never made sense to me. I know they were common—normal—before. But a place
where they put all the dead seemed like a really stupid idea, in our world.

But
now, knowing that he’ll be gone, his ashes scattered to the wind, leaves me
gasping and panicky. I can’t. I make a small noise, and Finn’s eyes dart to me.
He lowers the cylinder, and steps up to me.

“I’ll
keep his memory alive, Nurrin.”

It’s
a promise, and I know him. I know he doesn’t make those lightly. And this
one—it has nothing to do with survival.

“Why?”
I whisper.

“Because
you matter,” he says simply. “And if this is important to you, then we’ll find
a way to keep him alive.”

“You
stay with me, you’ll die.” I say. I don’t want to be the one responsible for
that. Even though a selfish part of me wants him at my side.

Finn
stares at me, and a smile tips up his lips. He tucks the cylinder with Collin’s
ashes into a pocket and his hand comes up, curving along the path of my jaw.
“Some things are more important than survival, little girl.”

Then
he turns away, ducking back into the Outpost. For a long moment, I stare at
nothing, trying to work through that statement. Eventually, he calls me, my
name a sharp command, and I shake my paralysis and go to his side.

Nothing
makes sense. Not a fucking thing.

Not
in a world where my brother is dead, and Finn O’Malley tells me he loves me.