The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (10 page)

Places like this are the stuff of nightmares for people like me.

I've never been to one. Colin has done well all my life keeping me from safe the Order. Yet with Finn I’ve been close to them three times in only a few weeks. What on earth makes me continue to trust him?

They are divided into sects, even within their own religion. The Black Priests control their military arms. The Red control sacrifices and conversion. I know nothing about the Gray. Except that they know Finn.

“Do you know what this is about?” I ask.

Finn’s lips thin. "No."

I want to tease him, if only to ease that worry line between his eyes. But now is hardly the time. Instead, I reach for his hand, squeezing it briefly. His eyebrows shoot up, and I smirk before I release him and we follow the Order in silence.

The room we follow the Grays into is brightly lit. Glass vials are neatly stacked, microscopes and lab equipment wiped down to a pristine shine. A few more gray-robed priests are in a corner, talking over a small sterile dish of something thick and black. Four men in white coats are clustered around the remains of an infect, a bloody gash down her face.

It’s very clear, very quickly. The Gray Priests are scientists. Which is just fucking wonderful. Because fanaticism isn’t nearly enough—nope. It needs to be paired with just enough knowledge to make you truly deadly.

“Finn O’Malley. I’ll admit I didn’t expect to see you here. We’ve never made a secret of the fact that we aren’t fans of yours.”

“I’m not sure I should care,” he says, stepping away from me and closer to the lab equipment. There’s a tablet with a display lit up, and I’m surprised that no one attempts to remove it. Finn glances it over. Shakes his head. “This premise is flawed.”

The Grays still conversing over the specimen stop talking and come to where their brothers stand. The white-coat scientists bristle. “Explain yourself.”

Finn tosses the tablet back down, and it clatters. “You are looking for a cure to ERI-Milan, strain 73. But that strain has already mutated. You’re working from a corpse—it’s not relevant anymore.”

“How the hell would you know?” the scientist snaps.

“Because he’s Finn O’Malley,” one of the Grays interjects smoothly. “I believe, Dr. Levine, even you are aware of whose son he is.”

“Just because he’s Sylvia Cragen’s son doesn’t mean he knows anything about the way her disease works.”

“No,” Finn says softly. “Time and experience taught me how it worked. And it was not a disease. It was a cure.”

The words are spinning around me, and some of the puzzle pieces of who he is fall into place.

Sylvia Cragen. Holy Jesus. This can’t be real—it can’t. I twist and stumble a few steps away, hitting my hip on a lab table. I can feel the Grays and the scientists watching me, but mostly I can feel Finn very carefully
not
watching, and the weight of the information that is now out in the open.

I’ve had a lot of theories about who Finn is and why he’s important. Wild ones—a prince of Wales stuck here after the apocalypse began. And ones that made no sense—the illegitimate son of the president, protecting his sister.

But not this. I could never imagine this.

“Why are you here, O’Malley?” Levine asks.

“My partner came through here. With one of your Priests. I’d like to find them.”

One of the Grays frowns. “A Black priest came through two days ago. But he was alone and only stayed for a few hours.”

Finn’s face tightens. “Is that normal? For a Black to travel alone and that quickly? Aren’t they usually sent out in squadrons?”

The Grays shift and exchange looks. I laugh. “Yes. But they don’t want to admit it. And certainly not to you.”

Finn’s gaze flashes to me, furious and warning, but I ignore him. “Finish this up, O’Malley. I’ve had about as much hospitality as I can take from this Haven.”

I turn away. Behind me the Grays are muttering amongst themselves, and I know I did exactly what he didn’t want—I drew attention, and the very worst kind at that.

I don’t particularly care, even if I should.

“What do you know about Synthrix mutations?”

Finn hesitates. Of course he does. How many times has he told the Havens, and how many have ignored him? We’ve seen the changes in the Horde. The change is impossible to ignore—the infects are developing a pack mentality. They’ve always moved in groups, but they were drawn by hunger. They weren’t driven by each other.

But now? Now, it seems like they are. I think back to the Horde in the Clean house, the way they moved together, almost aware of each other.

We’ve been fighting a war for twenty years, a war we’re slowly losing. But something about it has changed—something about
them
. And now the Order is offering to listen to Finn. How the hell do I expect him to resist? I glance back at him, find him staring at me. Expression completely inscrutable. Mine isn’t. Mine says so much. How angry I am, how betrayed. How much I don’t want to be here. That he is breaking his promise by staying when we should find Collin. I let him see it all, and see his face tighten. A little.

Then I turn away and walk out of the lab.

I lose track of time as I sit outside the lab. Medics come and go, leveling curious looks at me, but my mind is spinning and I ignore them, content to ride the emotions and confusion. Occasionally, I hear loud voices from the lab, but they aren’t clear enough for me to make sense of them.

It doesn’t matter. None of it does. The only thing that really matters right now is how I’m going to deal with this new knowledge.

Sylvia Cragen. What the ever-loving fuck?

Emilie Milan was the child who began the apocalypse, the little girl who was so terrifying as a child that her parents medicated her for a lifetime, calling it a success when she went on to live a happy life.

But there was a child before her. If Emilie was the beginning of the story, he was the prologue.

Everyone has heard whispers about the violent brother who spurred Sylvia to find a way to live. I wonder vaguely if I will be given the truth now. Knowing what I do about Finn, I doubt it.

Finn closes the door of our room with careful precision. I pace the room, noting the clean bed and the soft carpet under my feet. It’s an immaculate room, one that is reserved for visiting dignitaries.

It’s more than a little surprising that they care that much about Finn. Or maybe it’s a healthy fear.

“Is she still alive?” I ask abruptly.

Finn releases the breath he’s been holding and drops his bag onto the bed. “We don’t have to do this, Nurrin.”

“I think we do, O’Malley. Or is it Cragen?” I shoot back. “What the hell have you told me that is true? Is
any
of it true?”

His eyes flash, furious. “I have never fucking lied to you, Nurrin. Be careful with those accusations.”

“I want the fucking truth. No dissembling, no dodging. Tell me the truth for once.”

Finn stares at me for a long moment. I wait, half holding my breath. Will he?

“Don’t think you’ve earned something from me just because I got you off,” he says, looking away.

I stare at him, not entirely sure I believe I heard him right. Then I laugh, a shrill noise. “Fuck you, O’Malley. I didn’t earn anything for kissing you, except a hot shower to get the dirt off.” His gaze darts to mine and goes icy. “I deserve to know this because I’ve fought with you. I’ve listened to you. I’ve trusted you to keep me alive, you arrogant asshole. The very least you could do is mention that your fucking mother is the creator of this goddamn plague!”

There is a long moment of silence, and then I snort. So fucking typical.

“She didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says, his voice very tired. “All she wanted was—” He cuts off, shaking his head. I want to push for more, but he moves away from me, shuffling through his bag onto the bed before he heads for the door. “We won’t be here long. I’m meeting with the Grays tonight to finish our discussion. I want you to stay here.”

“Finn,” I say, my voice low.

He looks back at me when he reaches the door. “What did I promise? Do you remember?”

I’ll keep you alive. I’ll keep Collin alive.

I nod, unhappily, and Finn studies me, looking for god knows what. Then he turns and leaves me alone. With only my thoughts and questions for company.

I’m half asleep when he comes back. I blink sleepily into the pillow, but I don’t move to look at him.

His gait is awkward—not the smooth strides of a predator, but stumbling and half falling. He lands on the bed, and I can smell the shine on him, even from here. My nose wrinkles in distaste, and I burrow deeper into my pillow. Finn is still and silent for so long I think he’s passed out, and then he shifts to strip noisily out of his weapons belt and shirt. I heart the rasp of his zipper, and then he falls into bed with me. I lie there silently, and am drifting to sleep when he says, softly, “She was trying to fix him. That’s all she wanted. That’s all any of us wanted.”

What was it like, I wonder, to grow up with Sylvia Cragen for a mother and Keifer as your uncle?

His arm comes around me, drawing me into him. I force myself to stay limp and relaxed. He thinks I’m sleeping—he has to. He would never speak to me like this, so unguarded. It feels like a lie to let him. But I’m not going to stop him. He tucks me into his side, a warm hand heavy on my hip.

“Why can’t you trust me?” he mumbles.

I don’t answer, and he says nothing else. But it is a very long time before I fall asleep.

I wake up sprawled across Finn, his breath in my hair, my hand in his shirt. For a moment, I don’t move, not quite able to process the warm, hard body under mine, and then common sense kicks me in the ass and I start to scramble away.

His arms tighten, snagging me back against him. “Where are you going?”

“My side of the bed,” I say dryly. He doesn’t release me, and I put up a little fight. Amusement flares in his eyes, and his arms tighten, just enough to let me know he could keep me there. And then he lets go and I scramble across the bed to my corner. I stare at him as he stretches lazily and rolls off the bed.

A tiny treacherous part of me wants to drag him back in.

Finn throws a knowing smirk over his shoulder, and I flush, looking away.

“How long will we be here?” I ask, falling backward onto my pillow. It smells faintly of alcohol and Finn, and I want to mind more than I do.

“I want to leave today. It’ll depend on what happens with the Panel.”

“We have to find Collin,” I remind him.

Impatience flares on his face. “I haven’t forgotten. But warning the Havens was his idea—and we will never have a better audience than this one.”

“You have a debt to pay, O'Malley—or you think you do. I get that. But the only thing I need is to find my brother. I'm leaving to do that—tomorrow morning. With or without you.”

“Don’t threaten me, Nurrin. I don’t like it.”

I smirk. “And wouldn’t that be awful—for you to deal with something you don’t like.”

Laughter and annoyance are fighting in his eyes, but he shakes his head and turns away. “Come on. Get dressed. I want to show you something.”

I hesitate, staring at him as he pulls a pair of pants on and buckles them. Clean, faded blue jeans that fit his ass just right. A tight black t-shirt. And his weapons belt.

I swallow hard, looking away and scrambling for my leathers. “Where do you keep finding clean clothes?” I ask. “The end of the fucking world, and you’ll go out looking like you just did your damn laundry.”

Finn laughs, a silent noise that crinkles his eyes up just a little. “Always with the questions, Ren.”

I have lived my entire life behind walls. I’ve lived that way, happily, convinced it was safe, the only way to live. I have embraced it, because I’ve known no other way. Even with the walls, the sky arched overhead, and I knew how big the world was. I was happy there, in my tiny corner of it, with my brother and Dustin.

I was an idiot.

Seeing the ocean for the first time is exhilarating and terrifying, bringing tears to my eyes. Finn stands a few feet away, watching silently. I take a few stumbling steps toward the water then fall into it.

The ocean is like a living thing, a seething monster that stretches forever, curving to meet the horizon, thrashing with white-capped waves. It is alive and gorgeous and so much more than I could ever anticipate. It’s a whole world, one wild and untouched by infection.

I taste salt on my lips, and I’m not sure if it’s from the water breaking on my knees and splashing my face, or from the tears I wasn’t aware I was crying.

“Why did we let them win?” I whisper the question. I don’t need to speak louder than a whisper—Finn is too aware of me and my moods to miss it.

“Because we were terrified. Because living a small life was better, to some minds, than no life.”

I twist to look at him. “Do you believe that?” I hold his gaze for a moment before I am looking back at the water, the wild ocean.

He moves, crouching near me. The water laps at his boots, a soft plea.

“I was born in Scotland. The highlands were my playground when I was a boy. My cousin and I would roam the hills behind Mum’s lab. It was a whole world—hills and cliffs and more green than you could possibly imagine. We lived inland, but every year, Da would get leave, and we’d go down to the shore. I loved the ocean then.”

“Why did you come here?” I ask, hardly daring to believe he’s being this open.

“Mum knew there would be side effects from Synthrix. Da had friends in the government, so we came to talk. We had bad timing.” His lips twist in a grim smile. “Mum was at the CDC when Atlanta was overrun.”

I jerk, staring at him. He won’t look at me, and I can see the exhaustion and pain in his eyes, things he usually keeps hidden.

“No, Nurrin. A small life is not better. A small life, in the walls of a cage, isn’t a life—it’s a slow death.”