The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (18 page)

I nod, taking the paper. “But—“

She sighs. “A priest came into the Haven three nights ago. He wasn’t in robes, so most don’t know he’s associated with the Order. He met with a few of the Reds and spent two nights in the brothel. And he had a meeting with a few government officials.”

“How do you know this?” I ask, my mouth dry.

She smiles coolly. “It’s my business to know things, sweet girl. Just like I know that you matter to Finn for some reason, or he would have not gone to such lengths to hide you. How many in the Haven know you are a First?”

I freeze, and Claire smiles. “That’s what I thought.”

“What do you need that information for?” I ask weakly.

“I don’t,” she says. “I wanted to satisfy my own curiosity.”

I stare at her, and she smiles gently. “Sweet girl. Finn is a Scots. He’s my kinsman, because we share that. If he wants you protected, no one will learn anything about you from me. And the more I know, the more I can misdirect.”

“Why does Finn not trust people?” I ask. Logic and our most recent argument tells me to shut my mouth, but I’ve never been very good at listening to logic.

Claire frowns a little. “You are a First—you’ve never known a world different from this one. And I’m—well, I was grown. I didn’t have the magic of childhood wrapped around me, buffering me from the world. Finn did. And then, in one day, his mother was dead and the world was falling apart, and nothing was ever the same. He wasn’t born to the world, but he was shoved into it as a child. Back then, a lot of promises were made—good intentioned things, but shit that could never be kept. Finn heard a lot of those and watched those promises be broken. He stopped trusting because the world doesn’t give him much reason to.”

“Does he ever lie?”

“O’Malley? On rare occasions. If it will help him keep his word. But if he’s ever given you a promise, he will walk through hell to keep it.”

I look away, thinking.

“What was it?” she asks quietly.

What is the only thing that matters?
“He’ll keep me alive. And find my brother.”

She makes a soft noise, slightly surprised, and I give her a sick smile. It’s all I’ve got at the moment. “I have to go,” I say.

She watches me for a moment, and then, “Go see the Commander of the Wall. He might not be able to tell you much, but tell him I sent you and what I said. He owes me a few favors.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Claire waves me away then walks me to the door. “Go on then. And try to stay alive. O’Malley has lost more than most in this world, and I’d hate to see him lose you.”

There’s a final question, burning on my tongue. “What happened, to Kelsey?”

Surprise flares across her face, and then her lips clamp shut and she shakes her head. “Sorry, sweet girl. There are some things even I won’t trade in. When Finn is ready, he’ll tell you his secrets.”

No, he won’t. Not after what I did today.

Commander Orwell likes his lunch in a neat little tray, a sandwich on wheat bread, with an apple and a paring knife, and a small block of cheese.

I stare at it and think about that. A commander—the authority on military matters in the capitol—with such a simple lunch. It’s not far from what we would eat in the orchards, back in Hellspawn. He catches me staring and gives me a small smile. “I’ve spent too many years in the field to be comfortable with the excess here. I don’t judge our citizens for enjoying it—they should. We’ve fought hard to carve a life out of the apocalypse. But I don’t forget the way my soldiers lived—the way I did.”

“How did you become so powerful, here, of all places?”

He flushes. “I’m good at my job. I might not play the same game as everyone else, but I am good at keeping the Haven safe and the Walkers in top shape. When there are zombies at our door, that counts for a lot more than game playing. It’s probably the only time skill is more important than game playing.”

He cuts his sandwich in half and pushes half of it toward me. “I hate eating alone,” he says.

I pick it up.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” Orwell says, a not so gentle nudge.

“You know why we’re here. We’re looking for my brother.”

“And I told O’Malley that if I came on any information, I would pass it along," he says mildly.

"Claire Donal sent me. She said you were looking for the wrong thing." His eyebrows go up, and he sits back, using the paring knife to skin the apple. I can smell the sweet fruit, and it reminds me of home. I shake the nostalgia and explain what Claire told me. A frown forms between Orwell's eyes.

"The only individual we had come to the Haven was a week ago," he says. "He was alone—you're looking for a pair."

"I don't know what he did with my brother, but the Priest was here." I fidget then ask a question that's been bothering me. "Why would the Order send in a Priest undercover?"

"They wouldn't—not for any of the other sects. But the Black doesn't have a foothold here. They won't, as long as I'm Commander. I won't let them."

"Why?"

"The Order is unpredictable and dangerous. They don't have the interest of the nation at heart. They have their own. I don't want that here. I can't do anything about the other sects—but as long as I control our military, I'll keep them at bay."

"So what would be so important that the order would smuggle one of their priests in?"

"The change in the Horde?" he suggests. I blink, and he smiles, amused. "You are not the only one to watch the patterns. We're aware of the changes."

"Then why aren't you doing anything?"

"Like what?" he says. "We can't evacuate all of the Havens. We've done that before—there is nowhere else to go."

"But if you stay," I say, "the haven will fall."

He stares at me, and I see the knowledge and acceptance in his eyes.

"Accepting it is accepting a death sentence," I whisper. "It will mean extinction, for all of us."

"Not everyone. There are a few—people like O'Malley." He cocks his head. "And you. Survivors. We'll go on, as long as we have people like you. O'Malley won't die because of an infect. He's too much of a survivor."

"A handful of people can't sustain humanity," I say.

He laughs, a little bit bitter. "We've been an endangered species since Emilie died, Nurrin. We've just been ignoring our own mortality. Build a wall high enough, build it thick enough, and people will begin to believe it's impregnable. But believing it doesn't make it true."

"Does Kendall know this?"

"Of course. He's the president."

"Then why doesn't he do something to stop it?"

"Because knowing and believing are two very different things."

The turret is full of boxes. Apparently, Claire was handing out chocolate again, because there’s a note from her.

Thought a delivery would be easiest. Stay alive.

C~

I’m vaguely tempted to delve into the boxes, but decide against it. I’ve pushed Finn’s patience far enough—and I still have that stupid dinner with Kendall tonight. Maybe I can leave early.

There is a tap on the door, and I peek out. A Walker, wearing Kendall’s symbol. Carrying a thin box.

“The president sent this for you, ma’am.”

I take the box and give him a blank look. The Walker steps to one side of the door, assuming a loose military stance.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m to take you to President Stiles, when you’re ready.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, but I close it again before I can say anything. He’s following orders—nothing more or less than that. Instead, I close the door quietly and move to sit on the bed. Boxes dig into my knees. I want to sleep—for just a while, I want to forget everything, the fight with Finn, and Orwell’s words, the zombies—everything. Sometimes, I just want Collin, and our dirty apartment in Hellspawn, and the knowledge that as long as he was there, I wasn’t alone.

I twist on the bed, staring out the window slit. The pack from earlier is dead now. A lone figure is standing out there, and I know he’s human—he is too still to be anything else. I release my breath and stand.

Finn and Kendall have something in common. Both of them enjoy dressing me in ridiculous outfits.

The dress is pretty—a form fitting black sheath with a low v-neck and geometric designs cut out of the back, wrapping around my sides. The skirt is tight and short, with a sheer red overlay that is short in the front and hangs almost to my feet in the back. And heels. The man sent me fucking heels. Black boots with corset lacing up the back, that wrap to just past my knees, with a spiking heel that gives me an extra four inches of height. I touch up my makeup and leave my hair down. And run into a problem. There is nowhere for my gun. My knives are tucked into my boots, and a garrote wire is wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet. But the dress has no room for hiding.

Biting my lip, I put the gun on the bed and open the door. The Walker’s eyes go wide when he sees me, and he swallows. “I’m ready to go,” I say softly.

I feel like I’m on display, following the solider. In a way, I am. The other Walkers see, and I can hear the murmurs. They know where I’m going. Soon the entire Haven will.

I see Finn when we reach the base of the Wall, just before veering off toward the government district. His eyes trace over me, going dark, but when he meets my gaze, he’s blank. Perfectly blank and quietly furious.

How could you?

I want to say I’m sorry. That I fucked up. I do trust him.

But I don’t. I look away and follow my escort to another man. I leave Finn behind.

Kendall is in his office, which is where I am delivered. The Walker is dismissed without a second glance, and I’m alone with him. Kendall smiles at me. “That dress looks amazing on you.”

“Thank you. I don’t dress up often—there wasn’t a lot of need for it in Hellspawn.”

“A beautiful girl should always wear beautiful clothes.”

I cock my head at him. “Not very practical for fighting, though.”

“Which is why you have people to do that for you.”

I blink. It’s not me. Letting someone else take care of the infects, to not fight—that is anathema. Even in Hellspawn, my workouts were heavy on defensive maneuvers.

“Enough of that. Give me just a moment and I’ll be ready.”

I nod and take a step away. A few pictures are hanging on his wall, and I step closer to one. He’s standing with a blonde-haired girl, his arm wrapped around her waist. They stand in a room that looks vaguely familiar.

“Ready?”

I nod, pulled from my thoughts to face Kendall. His gaze flicks past me to the picture, and then back to me. He smiles and says, “Come on, then.”

There is a car waiting to drive us, and I arch an eyebrow at it. Kendall catches the expression and gives me a smile. “Privilege of the job.”

He helps me into my seat, and I smile at him. “How did you get the job, anyway?”

“Well, it’s something of a family tradition. My father wasn’t the first to be president—there was Grandfather Stiles, about ten years before him. We’ve always been heavily involved in politics and the military. When it was time to elect someone, there weren’t many volunteers. I was asked, and I thought I could do some good. So I said yes.”

“And have you? Done good?”

Kendall gives me a bashful smile. “Some think so.”

It’s a non-answer. My lips curve into a smile, matching his, but I feel off. The argument with Finn is too present in my mind, his warnings and insistance that Kendall is dangerous.

“Why do you hate Finn so much?” I ask.

He’s good. Nearly as good as Finn. And if I were used to anyone else, I probably wouldn’t catch the small tells—the tightening of his lips, the anger flaring in his eyes. There and gone so quickly.

“How did you come to be with him?” he counters.

I shrug. “Finn was around when Hellspawn fell. We wouldn’t have made it out without him.”

“But why did you stay with him?” Kendall presses.

I stare. “Because he survives. Because the people around him survive.”

“But he killed an Alderman.”

The car comes to a gentle stop. I barely realize it—the statement is too shocking, too unexpected. Why is it unexpected? Kendall is the president of the Untied States, and even in the fractured state that we are, he knows things that happen. Things that I don’t necessarily expect him to know.

Kendall helps me out of the car and holds my hand lightly as we enter the brightly lit restaurant. A few Walkers are scattered around the room. I glance around.

It’s a restaurant. We had one, in Hellspawn, but it was for the wealthy—not for an orphan and her Walker brother. I’ve never been to a restaurant, unless you count the kink club in Vegas. Which I don’t.

Vegas. The sacrifice.

I stumble, missing a step, and Kendall’s grip on my hand tightens, steadying me. I want to shake him off. The pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place, and my stomach is heaving. I want to bolt.

Finn said he was dangerous, and I dismissed it. Because even though I know he’s right—even though I know to trust him—I thought it was jealousy.

I’m a fucking idiot.

“Are you ok?” Kendall asks softly.

I nod, too sharp and jerky. “Of course. Sorry—these heels. I’m used to flat shoes.”

“Not much farther, darling,” he says, smiling and wrapping an arm around my waist. He tugs me into him and guides me to a small table. Two glasses of wine are already waiting for us. Kendall waits until I’m sitting then circles to sit across from me. I sneak a glance around—a few other couples are here, but the restaurant is mostly deserted.

What the hell is he doing? What game is he playing?

“I had the chef prepare a steak. I hope you don’t mind,” he says, looking vaguely apologetic. I wave it away and sip my wine. “Nurrin. I know you came here for your brother. And I want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to find him—to help you find him. But if we can’t—what will you do? Have you considered that?”