The World Without a Future (The World Without End) (18 page)

The room we go to isn't a public one. It's quiet, hidden from the crowds. Here, there is no noise from the casino, no mourning incense, none of the lightly clad waitress and heavily armed guards. Here there is only a table, low hanging lights, and the mountainous black priest. He watches us with curious detachment as Finn escorts me across the room and waits for me to sit. The table is already set with plates of chicken in a creamy sauce and lumpy potatoes, a salad topped with vinegar and oil, and a crusty loaf of bread. I stare at the wine as Finn drops with negligent grace next to me.

"Eat," Omar says, waving at the food. I reach for the wine, and Finn calmly reaches out, slapping my hand down. He stares at his friend in silence. Omar makes a half smile, half grimace. He takes a healthy sip of my wine and a small bite of everything on my plate. Finn doesn't say anything, just watches him for a long time before some of the tension eases out of him and he nods at me. Omar shakes his head, a little. “A lesser man would find your suspicions offensive, my friend.”

“A lesser man wouldn’t find me at the table with him,” Finn answers. He doesn’t reach for food, but I’m starving, so I take a mutinous bite. Screw him and his suspicious ass.

“What do you want, Omar?” I ask. He’s already spoken to Finn—anything that was important, anyway. I’m under no delusions about my importance to this man.

“It’s Third Day,” he says simply.

Shit. Finn goes tense and alert next to me, and I shift in my seat, an instinct as old as I am raising its head. I want to bolt, find a hole to hide in until the danger has passed. Finn’s fingertips brush my leg, and I shiver, but stay in my seat. The two bites of chicken roll nervously in my stomach, threaten to make a reappearance. This is why he wasn’t eating.

“The sacrifice is in a few minutes. I wanted to extend an invitation to join us.”

For a heartbeat, I don’t understand him. He can’t have offered that. No one but the Order observes the sacrifice—it’s one of their most closely guarded rituals.

“We wouldn’t want to intrude,” Finn says, tensing to stand.

Omar smiles, a wolfish expression, all teeth and menace. “I insist.”

Finn slides a glance at me, a question in his eyes. I force a sick smile. Finn looks back to Omar. “Lead the way, friend.”

The casino has been emptied, and above us, there is a low, long wail of a siren. I freeze, and Finn’s arm wraps around my waist like a steel band, pulling me close and dragging me along.

“What is the story, here?” Omar says, glancing over us. “I know her name can’t really be Kelsey.”

“She isn’t important to you,” Finn says, and his voice is so dismissive tears actually sting my eyes. I stare at the floor, ignoring both of them as I stumble after the two men through the deserted casino. Omar’s gaze rests on me, a hot brand of pity.

What would he do, if he knew that Finn hadn’t brought a piece of ass into his stronghold, but a First?

Stupid question—he’d throw me into a cage until next year’s sacrifice.

We reach the back of the casino, and Omar presses a code into a small box by a vault door. A tiny blood test appears, and he waits while the needle pricks his finger. It flashes green and the door slides open. Three armed guards are waiting on the other side, guns pointed at us.

“Stand down.” Omar barks the order sounding more like a drill instructor than a priest, and the soldiers snap to obey. One hesitates, and Omar steps into his space, the gun barrel pressing against his chest. The soldier’s eyes go wide and startled. “Stand. Down,” Omar murmurs, his voice like a roll of thunder.

It makes sense, now. How a decorated war hero became the High Priest in the Stronghold. A militant order needs a militant leader.

“They are my guests,” Omar says. The soldiers glance over us curiously as Omar leads us past them, into a long narrow hallway. With each step, I can hear the beat of drums and the chanting of the Order—the sacrifice is near, and the faithful have worked themselves into a frenzy that this will be the time, the last First that needs to die to end it all.

If there is anything that makes me think humanity should have died when the zombies rose, it is the idiotic blind faith of the Order. We’re too stubborn for that though.

As we round a corner, the noise of the crowd swells to a fever pitch, a hysterical beating of drums and shrieks for salvation. I stare at the arena. Before the change, it was a place for entertainment, a place to watch men box and women in tiny outfits parade around them. It was a place of depraved amusement—and now, it’s a floor stained with the blood of my sisters and brothers.

The boxing ring has been modified a little—chain link fencing, fortified by steel bands, circles it, topped with razor wire. It’s what we use to protect our schools and children in a Haven, what tops our walls—the wire is perfect for catching and shredding anything that comes near it.

And now it will trap the sacrifice.

Omar steps into the room, and a acolyte in a scarlet robe immediately moves to stand next to him. “Trina will take you to your seats. We’ll talk again, after the sacrifice.”

Finn watches Omar as he strides into the mass of Order faithful. The robed sea parts before the black priest, his black robe licking at the people he passes.

Our seats are in the front, a small, secure box. We’re separated from the masses, a position of some importance. And one where we can’t avoid what’s happening.

“Can you watch this?” Finn asks, his voice warm in my ear. I nod, jerkily.

Omar’s voice booms out, over the drums and chanting, “Faithful! Bring forth the sacrifice!”

The chanting falters, and a shrill scream rips through the room, hitting the spectators like fuel to a fire. They surge, a physical wave of people, desperate to reach the girl being ripped from her little hidden room. The scream comes again, chasing chill bumps over my skin. I know that noise. It’s broken and shrill, furious and hungry. It’s the noise of mindless desire and death.

People thought, before the change, that zombies moaned. They don’t. A moan is the noise someone makes when they are dying, when they are broken. Zombies scream—because only a scream can convey the rage they feel, and the endless hunger.

I clench my eyes closed, and distantly, I’m aware of Finn prying my hand off the chair, wrapping my fingers around his own, a calloused anchor holding me in the here and now, reminding me he’s given me a promise.

The girl comes into view, and I struggle not to flinch. Her hair is long and blonde, braided neatly. Her green eyes are wide and unseeing—she’s drugged out of her mind. It’s a small blessing. Her handler shoves her into the cage, and she blinks against the blinding lights, a hand coming up to shield her eyes. Her dress is simple, a white flowing garment that covers her from throat to toe. She’s perfect—a pure, untouched First.

“As we were saved the third day by a First, may we be saved again. And may the blood of the Firsts appease the Unclean—may it earn their grace and our salvation.”

“Grace and salvation,”
the faithful chant back, almost orgasmic in their fervor.

Omar closes his eyes, and Finn’s grip on my hand tightens. Her eyes, blank and unseeing, meet mine, a tiny half smile on her lips.

And the chute opens, a pack of five zombies tumbling down from the ceiling to land in the ring. One lands wrong, and the snap of its leg reverberates through the sudden silence of the crowd. I bite down hard on my lip, desperate to keep my scream inside as the zombies survey the room. One, a big male with a bloody chest wound and blood-clotted eyes, sniffs and throws his head back, screaming.

It breaks through the drug haze, and behind the zombies, the girl whimpers. A female whips around, her teeth bared as she hisses and sees the girl. It takes less than two seconds for the other four to locate her, and less than three for the girl to realize she’s fucked.

She screams as the first zombie lunges, rolling away. Black gore and blood from the zom smears on her dress, and she stumbles as the infect catches a better hold, jerking her closer. I’m surprised when she lashes out, kicking the zombie squarely in the face. He stumbles, a screeching whine building in his throat. The girl uses the second of time she’s bought to jump on the fence. Below her the zombies are battering it as she climbs, shaking the links and jumping for her scrambling feet. Two have turned away and are snapping at the fence, fingers stretched to reach the crowd on the other side. There’s a murmur of discontent from the crowd. I have a heartbeat of thinking she’ll get away, that she’ll find her way to safety.

Then she hits the razor wire, and the scent of blood hits the zombies. The girl screams as the zombies converge under her, shaking the fence and lunging upward at her, driven mad by the scent of blood and flesh. She shrieks as two infects slam into the fence, making it buck and almost throwing her off. She clutches at the razor wire, and I can see it digging into her fingers, slicing through them. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she screams, an agonized noise, as the sheer bladed metal bites deep, deeper. A finger falls into the pack of zombies, and Finn mutters a curse next to me. I’m barely aware. Her eyes have opened again, her pretty face contorted by pain and fury. Her eyes lock on mine again, and I flinch, almost look away.

And then she falls and the only thing I can see is a spray of blood. The wet sound of her scream, and ripping flesh, the sound of broken teeth eating. I can’t—I look away, bury my head in Finn’s shoulder and try to hear anything but this—anything but the screams of approval now coming from the Order and the sound of zombies tearing apart a girl whose only sin was being born the day the world went to hell.

I keep it together until Finn shuts and locks our door. Then I drop to my knees on the too-soft carpet, a wail building in my throat. It’s been building and demanding release for hours—since the First was killed, her screams silenced by hungry infects. Through the slaughter that followed, when snipers put the zombies down as priests swayed behind the distracted creatures. After, while Finn spoke to the black priest and I stood there like a pretty doll. I kept it together through all of it, because falling apart in front of the Order wasn’t an option.

But here, with no one but Finn to witness it? I hit my knees with bruising force, my dress digging into my skin. He crouches next to me, extending a pillow silently. I snatch it from him and scream, my voice muffled by the lumpy pillow. I can feel Finn moving around the room, but I’m lost in my own thoughts, private agony, and the disgusting feeling that’s ripping through me. My stomach twists, and I gag. The pillow is ripped away and a small trash can appears before me a second before I lose it, heaving into the little bucket. My sides ache, muscles clenching as I gag.

Finally, I slump on the ground. A wet rag lands in front of me, and I look up, faintly amused that Finn is taking this much care of me. He’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. A sliver of skin glows alabaster in the dim light of the room.

I swallow hard as he stares at me, and for the first time all night, I remember the little strip club we started in tonight, and his lips on me. The untamed hunger in his eyes when he stared at me. There’s nothing to buffer me from that now, and that is almost as disturbing as the sacrifice was.

“I can see you thinking,” he says, and I shrug. There’s nothing to really say to that. “What did you learn in the library?” he asks.

Ah. This. Damage control—how much did I learn and what kind of spin can he put on it? “It doesn’t matter,” I say, standing. “Unzip me.”

Something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Stands behind me and slowly drags the invisible side zipper down. Heat from his fingers brushes against my skin, but he doesn’t linger or go anywhere inappropriate. And when the zipper is completely down, my dress open and revealing me from the curve of my hip to the swell of my breast to the top of my armpit, he steps away.

I retreat to the bathroom and change into Collin’s old workout shirt and a ratty pair of shorts. Finn is staring out at the silent, dark city when I emerge, backlit by nothing but blackness this time. I feel, vaguely, a sense of deja vu.