The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (17 page)

"Because the Horde isn't my problem. Finding a cure—that has to be our goal."

"A cure isn't feasible. You heard O'Malley—the virus is too volatile and unstable. There's no way you can get ahead of it long enough to create a cure."

"Finn doesn't know what he's talking about."

I laugh. "Even you know that's not true, Kendall. If anyone is qualified to talk about ERI, it's him."

"Because his mother created the plague? Do you think that's actually something we should value him for? The entire family is cursed. From his uncle Keifer right down to Finn O'Malley."

It's dirty—and Finn will probably kill me for it—but it's finnformation, and that is too rare to pass up.

"Tell me what you mean," I demand.

"What will you give me? Why should I?"

"Because it's the right thing to do, Kendall. Not because you'll get anything."

A smile twitches the corners of his lips, and I sigh. "Dinner. Tonight."

He nods. "Keifer was arrested twenty years earlier—when Sylvia was in her freshman year of college. They’d know for years he was a violent person. According to the files, he was prone to depression and fits of rage. When Sylvia left home, he snapped. Mass shooting at a mall in Scotland. Ten injured, three killed. He was arrested right after. And Sylvia, brilliant mind that she was, immediately went to work on a drug that could suppress the violence. Except, that's not all it did. You know what happened—she created ERI, and our government got their hands on it. That was through Griffin O’Malley. He was friends with my dad. The drug was perfect for the military, wasn't it? It was great—until it wasn't."

That's usually the way it works.

It all started with him. The brother of the scientist, the uncle. It really was the story of a family, love that was just too little, too late.

No wonder he was so distant from the rest of the world—everyone who had ever been close to him had done something completely unforgiveable.

"Just because his family did horrible things, doesn't mean he's wrong," I say. "And those horrible things weren’t done with this in mind."

"Do you think that matters?" Kendall demands furiously. "They unleashed a fucking apocalypse, but because that wasn't the intention, it's okay? Do you have any idea how wrong you are?"

"Do you? Sylvia created something for a brother she loved, who did something horrible. She took that violence from him. If ERI had been left there, would we be living in this world? Or would it have died, and died again, with Keifer Cragen? But it didn't because Griffin was friends with a general in the Untied States, a war hero who heard about this amazing drug, and thought about how it could benefit his own soldiers. That wasn't something Sylvia pushed on us. Taking it to Stanlos—that wasn't something Sylvia came up with."

Rage colors his cheeks, and I murmur the last bit. "Sylvia didn't order those bombs dropped on Atlanta."

Because that's the simple truth of it. Finn's family can be blamed for a lot. But the Buchman family played their own part in the end of the world, and not all of their choices were good ones.

"It's very easy to judge someone when you aren't in their shoes, and you don't have to make the choices they do."

I tilt my head to the side, studying him. "Yes. It is."

Kendall flushes and looks away. "What does he think is so fucking important?"

"The Horde is growing. They aren't traveling in packs of ten anymore. They're moving in herds of hundreds. And ten—a few Walker's can put down ten infects without much effort. But when a Horde four or five thousand strong hits a Haven’s walls? They can't fight that—and that's when it's a small horde. If they continue to move like that—in a horde that just grows with each death—the Havens will fall. Every single one of them will fall. Even this one."

He shakes his head. "We haven't had a breech in over three years. 1 is unassailable."

I stare at him, and I wonder if he has any idea how incredibly arrogant and naive he sounds.

"We thought that the dead rising was impossible. But they did. If you sit behind these walls, content to believe that they will always protect you, they will fall. And you will die. And even if you don't, you'll be the leader of a country of the dead—because you're doing nothing to protect your people. Seven havens have already fallen."

"It's not unusual to lose a Haven occasionally."

"It wasn't unusual, when the Havens were first being built. But now? Losing seven? That's unheard of, and you know it. Don't bury your head in the sand on this one. If you do, they'll remember your name, just like they remember Keifer and Sylvia and Emilie."

That's harsh—maybe it's too harsh—but it's out. I turn away, stalking to the door.

"I'll send my man to escort you to the white house at eight." I freeze and twist to stare at him. There's a thin smile on his lips, and he shrugs. "A minor disagreement doesn't mean I don't want to see you, Nurrin."

I almost point out that this isn't a minor disagreement. But I don't—I nod once then go to Finn. "Let's get the hell outta here," I mutter to him. I feel his surprise, the way he starts to turn, to look at Kendall. "No. Just. Let's go."

"What happened?" he asks softly. A Priest is eyeing us, and Finn gives the man a tight smile, steering me toward the exit.

"Always with the fucking questions, O'Malley," I parrot back at him, mocking.

It startles a laugh out of him, and I smirk. It helps, hearing him laugh.

Finn’s house is something of a shock. Because it’s not a house. It’s a turret, on the southeastern corner of the Wall. I stare at it, squinting against the sun still bright in the sky. “I don’t get it,” I say finally.

“What is there to get?” he asks, annoyed.

“Why on earth would you want to live on the Wall?”

He sighs. “This is one of the few remaining structures of the original Haven walls. Do you get that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” I snap. “I can see that it’s old as fuck. What I don’t understand is why you got so pissy that Kendall moved your shit out.”

He gives me a dirty look—which, honestly, is a step up from his blank one—and steps into the tiny house. I heave a sigh and follow him.

It’s…cozy. Or cramped. Cramped is actually more accurate. The room is maybe ten by twelve, enough room to fit a bed and a table. The windows have been bricked over, with only thin slits to shoot from. There is no view of the sun, not on either side.

There is nothing that says Finn, nothing that tells me why this place matters to him more than any other. He walks the length of the room—a few steps—and then twists, peering out the slit window.

“Why is it special?” I ask. I expect him to ignore me. Because that’s what O’Malley does. I ask questions; he ignores them. It’s not exactly a working relationship, but it’s ours, and we make it work. Most of the time.

“We grew up here,” he says, startling me. “I spent the first seven years of my life exploring Scotland. The whole world was mine. Kelsey had nine years of it. And then everything changed, and this haven became our entire world. Back then, it wasn’t what it is now. It was a hovel. We were attacked all the fucking time. This was our place—it wasn’t attacked a lot. So we spent our time here, and the Walkers kind of adopted us. We grew up in the middle of a war our parents started, and we were forgotten the best of times.”

I move, and he jerks, blinking at me. There are so many questions I want to ask, but I don’t want to do anything that will make him quit talking. So I stay silent. He stares for a long minute before he shrugs.

“When she died, she gave me this place. Andrew formally gave it to her when she took her post in the army. And when I came back, he offered it to me. But I left, and I guess Kendall doesn’t much care about what his family wanted, now that they’re dead.”

“He has a lot of anger, doesn’t he?”

Finn snorts a laugh. “He’s survived this long. It’s kind of inevitable that he does. I have my own share of anger.”

“But you channel it well.” I step up to the window slit, peering out. There are a few infects darting along the road. One snaps at her pack mate then screams, jerking around and throwing herself at the Wall.

“I fight, Nurrin. And I kill.”

I shrug. I don’t want to argue with him about why that works. “When are you talking to Omar?”

“This evening. Kendall didn’t have any information?”

“No. But maybe he will tonight.”

Finn goes very still, and I freeze. Shit. I didn’t mean to let that slip out, not like that.

“Why would he have anything for you tonight, Ren?” he asks, his voice silky.

“Don’t get pissy,” I huff. “It was an exchange. Information, and I’ll have dinner with him.”

He doesn’t move, but I can feel him pulling away from me, his icy walls going up. I sigh. “Just what the hell kind of information do you think is so valuable that you’ll spend time with him,” Finn demands. “Did you forget the conversation we had about him being dangerous?”

“I didn’t forget anything, O’Malley,”I snap, furious suddenly. “I did what I had to.”

“What. Information?”

Oh, he will
hate
this.

I bite my lip, and Finn growls, jerking me around to face him.

“You,” I yell. “It was information about you. Because I can’t get it from you—and I’m tired of being the only fucking person in this god-forsaken country who doesn’t know who the hell you are.”

“Goddammit, Nurrin!”

“What?” I scream, shaking him off and slapping his chest. “What the hell does it matter? Why do you hide who you are?”

“Because it’s
not who I am,”
he yells back. I go quiet, shrinking away from his sudden outburst. Stare at him as he struggles to rein in his temper. “That’s where I came from, and shit that happened that I can’t control. It’s not me, Nurrin. It never was. I thought you knew that by now.”

There’s something in his eyes that bothers me—disgust. Disappointment. “Finn,” I say, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t.” He walks over to the door. “I asked for one thing from you. Trust. And you couldn’t fucking do that—you couldn’t just wait for me, you had to know, on your terms, in your time.”

“Trust goes two ways, Finn,” I say, my voice shaking.

He stares at me. “I trusted you with my life, Nurrin. I trusted you to protect me when we were in the Wide Open, and to keep your mouth shut in the Stronghold, and to not shoot me when you thought I had a live virus in 18. I trusted you in that Clean house, to keep quiet and not give us away. Don’t tell me I haven’t trusted you.”

I’m quiet, speechless. Because I can’t—
no
. That wasn’t trust. That was necessity. That was circumstance. He shakes his head. “I’ll see you after you meet with Kenny. I hope it was worth the information you bought.”

And even though logic tells me he’s just going searching for information, it feels much more final when he walks away this time.

I’ve cleaned the room—I can’t bring myself to call it a house—top to bottom and swept the floor five times. I’m going stir crazy, and it’s only been a few hours since Finn abandoned me. There’s a tap on the door, and I jerk, almost lunging off the bed to yank it open.

A street urchin is standing there. He’s chewing on a slice of apple, a damp rag in his hand implying there are more. My stomach rumbles, reminding me loudly that I haven’t eaten today. The boy eyes me curiously, and then, “Ms. Claire wants to see the O’Malley.”

“Finn isn’t here,” I say automatically.

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Come on then.”

I hesitate, and he gives me a fierce scowl. “I don’t get my chocolate if I don’t bring someone back. So get moving.”

I glance back halfheartedly, but there’s no reason to stay. Not really. Finn isn’t here, and I’m learning nothing. So I grab my gun and knives then follow the boy as I tuck the weapons into my holster.

He gives me a few curious looks as we walk, and the second time my stomach rumbles, a faintly disapproving look. Grudgingly, he extends an apple slice and gives a snort of disgust when I try to turn him down. Feeling strangely guilty, I take the fruit and munch on it as he leads me into a small neighborhood.

The house we finally approach is small, a dull green, with a neatly tended plot of grass. The street boy darts up the stairs, and I follow a little slower as he banks inside, bellowing out that he brought someone back. I hear the warm, high tones of a woman, and then he comes darting past me down the hall, clutching a bar of dark chocolate, a wide smile on his face.

“Come on in,” she calls. I take a few tentative steps into a small kitchen.

Small my ass. It’s a kitchen, and it’s almost twice the size of Finn’s entire
house.

“So, you’re the lovely bit he brought home. Haven’t been able to find out much about you, except you caught the President’s eye.”

She’s a thin, older woman with bright eyes and a wealth of lines around her smiling mouth.

She looks like someone’s grandmother, a shrewdly assessing one.

“He’s done every fucking thing he can to protect you. So why don’t you tell me why?”

A grandmother with no tact and a potty mouth.

“Who are you, exactly?”

She smiles, a toothy grin. “Claire Donal, of Glasgow. I got stuck here when the virus broke and planes were grounded. O’Malley the senior found as many of us as he could and tried to give us a home.”

“Did it work?”

She shrugs. “This isn’t about me, girl.”

“Why did you want him?”

Her eyes brighten. “He was looking for a few things. And I found them.”

My heart jerks. “
Where?”

Her eyes widen. “What is so important about this?”

No. She isn’t playing games, not now, not when my brother is so close. “Did you find him?” I demand, lurching forward a step.

Her gaze goes soft and apologetic. “No, sweet girl. I didn’t. I may have some leads—and Finn will want to check them out. But there are no promises.”

She pulls a notebook off her table. It’s a ratty, overstuffed thing, with notes and pieces of paper sticking out of the top and sides. She handles it with practiced familiarity, without the caution I would use, and flips toward the back. Plucks a slip of paper from the pages and hands it to me. “Finn left the house full of his belongings. This is where he’ll find it—Kendall didn’t have it thrown out. I don’t think he had the guts.”