The Horde Without End (The World Without End) (2 page)

“Where are we going? They could be anywhere.”

I deliberately keep my gaze ahead. “I know where he was heading.”

On her side of the truck, Nurrin is a trembling ball of outrage. I don’t need to look at her to know she’s glaring, or that hope has sparked in her eyes, however briefly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Collin carved a message in the table. He’s headed to Haven 9.”

“Why there?” she demands, her voice going shrill.

“Because it’s close. I’d guess that Dustin’s infection spread and he had no choice—there’s no sign that there was a breach, but he’d get out of here, if it meant saving Dustin’s life or buying him a little more time while they wait for our return.”

“Why wouldn’t he just say that? Why make it so fucking difficult?”

I slide a glance at her. She’s staring out the window, fury etched on her face.

She won’t like this.

“Because his sister is a First. And because I’m his partner—
we
both have enemies, and he can be used as leverage against either of us.”

“He was alone there, Finn,” she says. I hear her hesitation, though, and flash her a quick smile—she isn’t asking about why I would have enemies. Not now, anyway.

“Doesn’t matter—Collin is smart. He found a way to tell me what I needed to know.”

“Then why did you say that, about him being dead? If you know where he was going?”

I stare out the windshield, at the dust that is sweeping the canyon edge. It’s hot and dry and carries the hint of smoke and decay.

Everything smells of decay, these days.

“Because it’s a long way from here to Haven 9. And there are a lot of obstacles between us and him. Because the Wide Open is full of the dead, and we both know they’re changing—and Collin was traveling with a live infection—even if he could get to 9, they could have thrown him and Dustin into Q.”

She flinches, and I try to get a grip on my temper. Being angry with her won’t do anything, and I can’t afford to fight with her—right now, nothing matters but finding Collin.

“You didn’t tell me what you were planning, when we left 18.”

My grip tightens a little on the steering wheel, and she sighs. “Are you going to keep me in the dark this time, too? Because if you feel the burning need to fuck and murder an Alderman, I’d like a little warning this time.”

I snort, banking my anger. She’s furious, and cool indifference is the only way to handle Nurrin’s anger.

“She wasn’t supposed to die,” I say. Not that this time will actually make it through her thick skull. I’m tired of repeating the same shit to her.

“What was she supposed to do? Jump to safety? You were dragging her into a horde, with no recourse to get home.”

I bristle. “Haven 18 will fall. If it hasn’t already, it will within the month. I was getting her out of a sinking ship. Is that so fucking wrong?”

“You killed her.”

I nod. “But I gave her a clean death—she was dead as soon as she drew a knife on me.”

She shudders. “She was dead as soon as you decided to fuck her.”

Ah. That is the crux of it. The real issue she has with me killing Lissel.

“Sex doesn’t mean anything, Nurrin. It’s a biological need, and she met it. Doesn’t mean I give a fuck about her or it.”

“She loved you,” she protests, shrilly.

I laugh at that. Because it’s the classic mistake, and I’m not surprised that she’s making it. Disappointed, but not surprised. “She didn’t love me, Nurrin. She didn’t fucking know me.”

She looks at me, and I can feel the sympathy and pity coming off her in waves. It infuriates me, but I keep my grip on the steering wheel light as I twist to avoid a stack of freshly killed infects.

I wonder who bothered to stack them.

“No one knows you, O’Malley. You won’t let anyone get to know you. Why is that?”

“Why do you still think I’ll answer your questions?” I shoot back, and she flushes, leaning back in her seat. “I don’t give a fuck if people know me, Nurrin. Frankly, it makes staying alive easier when I don’t have to worry about idiots who think they
know
me trying to save me.” My tone is mocking, calculated to get a reaction.

She laughs, and I flick a quick look at her. “You told the Alderman Melinda that they should live—that hiding from the disease was only choosing a slow death. But you hide from the whole world. What are you choosing, by doing that?”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, she props her feet on the dash—something she knows I despise—and leans back, closing her eyes.

When the dead came back and the world went to hell, there was a lot left behind. Big cities didn’t fare well—Houston burned for two months during the first wave of infection, and Atlanta didn’t just burn, it smoldered, the ash of radiation and infection a true testament to the magnitude of the change.

But small town America didn’t fare so badly. Whole towns were untouched by the first wave of infection, escaped it altogether—until the refugees and the government swarmed in and shoved everyone behind Haven walls.

Sometimes, when I’m drunk and feeling nostalgic, I wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t. If they had let nature and humanity live out together—if we could have stopped the disease if we all fought it, instead of just the ragtag army they sent to fight the Battle of the East.

Not that it matters. The government made their evac orders, and the American people, convinced the world was ending and their government had their best interests at heart, obeyed.

The rest has been a slow march toward extinction.

I slow as we ease into the ghost town, and Nurrin blinks, stretching in her seat as she comes awake.

“Where are we?”

“No idea. Some town between the canyon and 9. We need to stop for the night.”

She leans forward, scanning the streets. “I don’t see anything out there.”

“No, I haven’t seen an infect in a few hours,” I say quietly. It’s still a while before sunset, but the city is the perfect place to hole up for the night, and I don’t want to chance being stuck on the road without a bolt-hole.

And there is the slim possibility that we can scavenge a little.

“That one,” she says, and I glance at the house she’s pointing to. She’s right, as much as it pains me to admit. It’s on a wide swath of overgrown grass. A swing has collapsed into the rotten porch. It’s decrepit and untouched—which makes it perfect. And a small forest of apple trees wave from behind it—fresh fruit wouldn’t be the worst thing to stock up on.

Without saying anything, I turn the truck into the drive. Gravel pops under our tires, a few sticks snapping in the silence. I park a safe distance away—close enough to get to and from the truck safely, and far enough that we can make a quick escape if something is inside—and we sit there, eyeing it.

“How many rodents do you think are crawling around in there?” she asks finally.

“More than you’ll appreciate.”

She snorts. “I appreciate rat stew as much as any Haven girl, O’Malley.”

My lips twitch, and I reach behind us to grab my crossbow. She checks the magazine on her 9mm and then slams it back in, chambering a round.

“Ready?” I ask softly. She flashes me a quick grin, and I shove the door open. Nurrin prowls out of her side of the truck, her gaze darting around nervously.

She’s adjusted, too well, to being in the Wide Open.

It’s a little unsettling how easily we gain the house. There is no sign of life—or the undead—as we move across the overgrown lawn and she reaches down, easing the door open carefully.

I step in quickly, scanning the room with my bow up. Nurrin steps in behind me, sniffing the air experimentally.

It’s dry—musty and old, but there is no hint of rancid
badness
that clings to the infects.

“Did we actually find a Clean city?” she asks, her voice a little awed.

I shoot her a look. “Those are myths, Nurrin. Get your head on straight.”

She flips me the bird, and I relax a little—she’s not a hundred percent, and I can see the sadness in her eyes when I’m not needling her. But if I can still get a rise out of her, she’s not too far gone, and that is something to hold onto.

We clear the house, finding nothing living or dead. Just an empty house, still carrying the weight of the people who abandoned it.

“I’m going to scavenge, while we still have some daylight.”

She nods. “I’ll get a safe room together.”

It’s what I would have told her to do—that she immediately moves to do so is a little disconcerting. I watch her for a moment, searching for something, and she rolls her eyes. Without a word, I stalk from the house.

The city is Clean. And I haven’t seen one of those since we swept out of the East, retreating to the land the living had claimed.

There are always rumors of them. Even now, twenty years after the world fell apart, people still talk about Clean places—mountain tops and islands are popular—pockets of infection-less land. I used to think there were Clean islands. For half of that first year, I clung to the idea. But the fact is, they don’t exist. ERI-Milan ripped through the entire world and nowhere—not even the poorest villages in the most remote countries—was able to escape the ravages of it. Not after it mutated outside of Atlanta.

But for the moment, the infects have abandoned the little town, and I prowl it unencumbered.

There isn’t much to find—twenty years of decay and scavengers have left it at it’s bare essentials, but I do find a few packs of water pures in an abandoned car and an old can of zom repellant. I grab both and hit a nearby RV.

It’s the newest looking vehicle—a Ford ZTNK2300. The tires are flat-proof. Blood is caked to the side of the RV, and I wonder how long ago they—whoever they were—were killed. I bring the bow up again, my finger twitching on the trigger as I reach for the door.

The bang of it slamming against the outside is ridiculously loud, but nothing comes out screaming, so I duck into the vehicle.

It’s fully stocked. Food and cases of water, a stack of batteries and powdered zom repellant, ammo and several guns. Even the mattress and pillow look sound.

Like whoever had been here stepped out for a breath of air, and never come back.

I think of the blood stain and shake my head—they probably did.

I should feel worse about pillaging from the dead—but in our world, it’s necessary. You do what it takes to survive, and fuck the sensibilities of the dead, or stupid shit like decorum. Decorum won’t kill a zom—but the rounds of ammo sitting in this RV will. I glance at the front of the ZTNK and see the keys there.

Fuck. I’m going to have to let her drive my fucking truck.

I see Nurrin, her blonde hair a pale shadow in the window, as I pull up. I can imagine what she’s thinking—who the hell goes out to scavenge and comes back with an RV?

Part of me says to let it go—I don’t need the damn thing.

Except that I don’t know that. My influence is fading—it has been since I left Haven 1. There are people who hate me, more than I care to think about. And I have no idea what it will take to get Collin out of whatever mess he’s found himself in.

I grit my teeth. She won’t be happy about it—it’ll slow us down and make us more conspicuous on the road, neither of which is ideal.

I grab my crossbow and climb out of the ZTNK, locking it behind me. We might be in an impossibly Clean town, but the Wide Open always holds a few surprises—and I didn’t want this one wandering away in the middle of the night.

Nurrin is standing with her arms crossed over her chest when I walk up the creaking stairs. I glance past her into the room she’s cleared. It’s been cleaned, and she’s set up for the night, laying out two sleep sacks, a couple of MREs, and bottled water. The room reeks of zom repellant, and the floors almost gleam. There is a small pile of curious rubbish, and I flick a glance at it. “I cleared the house,” she says. “Where the hell did you find a ZTNK?”

“On the main street. I didn’t see anything, and it’d been abandoned.”

“And what happens when the people who were trawling in it come back and realize it’s gone?”

“They’ll manage.” I shrug. I reach down and grab an MRE. Beef Strogenoff. Disgusting shit.

“Finn, I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” she says softly.

I stare at her, a long stare. “Do you really think they’ll be coming back?”

She flinches. “Yes. I have to believe they’ll be back.”

We’re not talking about random strangers in the ZTNK anymore. But then, I don’t think we ever were.

“I picked apples,” she says, an abrupt change of topic. I glance at them—they’re small and look hard, but it’s fresh—looking ahead at a few days of MREs, anything fresh is nice.

“We should have stayed at the damn Casino,” I mutter.

“Their food is definitely a step above ours,” she agrees. I glance at her as she turns to set the apples down. Her ass has dust on it, smeared from her hands, probably, and there’s a smudge on her arm—sometime between getting here and me coming back from scavenging, she’s come out of her zom gear.

“What’s in the RV?”

“It’s fully stocked—looks like they were making a long trip. Ammo, food, clothes, survival gear—everything you’d need for an extended stint outside.”

“Any clue where they came from?”

“Didn’t look. But it’ll be good for trading if we run into any trouble.”

She glances back at me. “Won’t your name be enough to get us through?”

Irritation sparks through me, and I take a deep breath, catching my temper before it breaks completely.

I grab the MRE she tosses to me and give her a blank look. “You’re fishing again, Nurrin.”

“No,” she says. Her voice wobbles briefly. “I’m not fishing—I’m not playing games. I’m through with games, Finn. I need to find my brother.”

“What do you think we’re doing?” I ask sharply.

“You said once that the only thing that mattered was that you’d keep me safe and Collin safe.”

I nod—I remember telling her that.

“You were right. That’s all that matters. I don’t give a fuck who you were, or what you did—I just care about getting to Collin before it’s too late.”