The World Without a Future (The World Without End) (5 page)

I follow my nose to the coffee on the counter, pouring a cup and pulling myself onto the solid rock ledge before sipping it. Thick, hot, black as night—just the way I love it. “So, what were you talking about?”

Finn and Collin exchange one of those wordless glances that bugs the shit out of me, and I look away.

And scream.

The boys bolt into action, guns immediately leveled at the cave entry, Collin planted in front of me, scanning for an infect. I slide down, pushing past him, and stumble-run to the entrance of the cave. Finn catches me as I lean over the lip—and I’m glad. The site makes me nauseated. He pulls me away, but not before I see the gorge yawing below us, the sides of the canyon stained with blood and infection, the broken bits of infects who have fallen over the cliff.

“What was that?” he hisses, shaking me.

“
Finn,”
Collin snaps, and Finn releases me abruptly. I sag against the wall, struggling not to throw up.

“She doesn’t know, man. She has no idea what the hell is going on—you need to lighten up,” Collin says, his voice tight and angry. I’ve never heard him this angry with Finn before, and it cheers me up a little. Until he turns on me. “And you need to get your shit together, Ren. That stunt yesterday? Forget what Finn’ll do to you, you try that again, I’ll kick your ass myself. Screams like that in the Wide Open will get us killed.”

“There was infect out there,” I protest, and he rolls his eyes.

“We’re here for a reason, Ren. They can’t
get us here.
”

Suddenly, the previous day, the stress of everything slams into me. Collin yelling at me never fails to make me emotional. I turn away, compressing my lips and blinking furiously. I won’t let him see me cry. Him or Finn fucking O’Malley. I hunch my shoulders when he reaches for me, pulling out of his reach. Silence fills the cave, making it seem smaller than it truly is, and I want to bolt—want to run the three mile track in Hellspawn, anything that will let me work out some of this emotion.

Even punching Finn a few times would help, but I think he hits back.

That settles the last of my emotions, and I finally turn around and face Collin. I continue to ignore Finn—it’s probably the best option available to me.

“Dustin’s got an infection,” I say.

They wake him up.

Despite my protest that it’s probably just dirt in the gash on his arm, Finn shakes him awake. Dustin blinks blearily, a sleepy smile on his lips. Finn says, his voice flatly unemotional, “You have a live infection. Strip down for examination and possible quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” I demand, amused. “Where are you going to stick him? He was with Collin in that car for almost twelve hours. If he’s going into Q, Collin would too.”

I don’t say that I slept next Dustin, or that putting them into Q would leave Finn and me alone together and we’d end up killing each other, and wouldn’t the infects just love that. I think he gets it, though, because his lips do that twitchy thing again that makes me think he’s going to smile, but he doesn’t.

Heaven forbid Finn O’Malley show a human emotion other than anger.

“I wasn’t bit,” Dustin groans, putting a hand up to block the sun streaming into his eyes. I take an involuntary step forward, and Collin catches me. He’s not taking any chances, not until they’ve satisfied their suspicions.

Dustin looks at me, and I bite my lip. “Just do it, Dustin. Please?”

He pushes himself upright, and I see the large bruise on his temple from where Finn hit him last night. Finn approaches him and takes a quick blood sample to run against markers of ERI-Milan infection.

It was an experiment the army played with at first—that eventually spilled into the private sector. Sanelos Pharmaceuticals created an emotion inhibitor to keep soldiers even keeled on the battlefield and during deployment. But Sanelos saw a civilian market. Kids were too emotional, too high strung. Prone to random acts of violence and suicide. The emotional response inhibitor was the magic pill—pop one and settle your ass down. Soccer moms around the country swore by it; the government used it to calm the violent and criminally insane; the military gave it to the soldiers with a touch of PTSD—it was the wonder drug that gave people back their lives, albeit without much in the way of emotion.

Because it wasn’t just violence—the ERI pill killed all emotion. And kill wasn’t the right word—it muted them, diverted the chemical reaction to keep the subject calm. It was the perfect solution, until it wasn’t.

The first case of ERI mutation was in Emilie Milan, a little fourteen-year-old ballet dancer. She’d been on ERI for ten years—one of the first poster children for the drug—when she was killed in a car accident on the way to a ballet recital. When she woke up, high on adrenaline, and attacked the morgue attendant, it was the first sign ERI wasn’t the savior everyone thought it was.

That was the day I was born. Something about the long use of ERI mutated in Emilie, and it spread when she bit the morgue worker. ERI-Milan spread like wildfire, the infection working through the dead and bringing them back with a violent hunger.

Within days, thousands were dead—and coming back. Hoards of infects were racing through towns and cities. And on Third Day, as it collided with the military—one of the largest users of ERI—it changed the response in the soldiers. There was something about the pack of people that changed the virus, mutating it. If ERI-Milan was the beginning, the horde colliding with the army outside of Atlanta—that was the end.

“He’s not bitten,” Finn announces, and I twitch, jerked from my thoughts. “Get dressed, Dustin.”

“I told you that,” I can’t help but snipe, and Collin gives me a quiet, quelling stare. I shrug. I wait, my back turned as Dustin struggles to redress. Finally, I hear the soft rasp of his jeans, and I turn back to him, going to sit next to him on the couch. His arm comes around me, and I snuggle into his side, ignoring the surprise in Collin’s eyes. “So he’s not infected with ERI-Milan. He still has a blood infection.”

Finn walks out of the back tunnel carrying a syringe. His eyes find me, and his expression tightens then goes savagely blank. The vial of blood is gone, but he carries a test strip. I snatch it from him as he injects Dustin, checking it quickly. None of the markers are there—absolutely no sign of ERI-Milan. A sigh of relief slips from me, and Dustin squeezes me closer.

“This will help—but I can’t promise it’ll fix everything,” Finn says.

“Then why don’t we take him to Haven 7? It’s not far. They’ll have a doctor for Dustin, and it’s safe there.”

Collin and Finn exchange a glance, and I feel my brother nod. Finn’s gaze swings to me. “Why do you presume that Haven 7 will be safe?”

“Havens are built to be safe.”

“Hellspawn wasn’t, yesterday.”

The quietly spoken words hit me like a hammer, and I inhale sharply. Dustin glares. “Dude. Chill. She’s going on the same assumption we’ve had most of our lives.”

“She needs to change her assumptions,” Finn says ruthlessly. “The Havens are falling, Nurrin. Hellspawn was just the latest in a list of nine to fall this year.”

I’m glad I’m sitting—I’d fall if I weren’t. As it is, I feel like the cave is spinning, and bile churns in my gut. Finn is watching me, and Dustin is cursing at my side. Collin looks so sad and tired. Why is Finn still watching me—like my reaction matters right now? I close my eyes and force out the question, “Nine—how many dead?”

“There were a handful of survivors from three of the Havens. Twenty total.”

I jerk away from Dustin, stumbling to the back of the cave. It’s not solitude, but it’s as close as I can get. I fall to my knees, the numbers spinning through my head.

After the initial wave, when the infection spread like wildfire, the governments swept in, putting people behind fences. With only a fraction of the population still left alive—less than one percent of the population survived the first six months—they divided us into segments and set up Havens. For nine to fall in six months—the sheer number of lives lost makes me sick, and I gag, throwing up.

A hand is on my back, and I push against Collin, tears burning in my eyes. “How long has this been going on?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. “About a year. The first few reports, we thought were flukes. Aggressive infects.”

“And now?”

He shrugs. “Finn explains it better. Come back out.” I stare at him, and he gives an aggravated sigh. “He’s not as awful as you want to think. And he got us out of Hellspawn before it fell.”

“What’s his end game?” I ask, quietly. If it were anyone but Finn, I’d say Collin was—the devotion he shows my brother has actually made me consider the possibility that Finn bats for the same team I do. But he’s never made a secret of his open bedroom door and the women who parade in and out of it.

Collin looks away. “You’d have to ask Finn that.”

He stands, and I follow him out of the tunnel, back into the main cave.

Dustin is exhausted, so I help him into the bed that Collin slept in last night. “How do you feel?” I ask, hovering anxiously over him.

“Tired,” he slurs. He forces his eyes to focus, and a vague smile turns his lips. “Biters, Ren, you’re so gorgeous.”

I flush, and he laughs, tugging at me. I kiss him, briefly, before I shove him down, and he laughs, sleepily, before he settles and closes his eyes. I roll mine and stomp back to the kitchen table, snatching up my snub nose revolver. Finn is unfolding a map, and I lean over it. It’s the United States, pre-Infection. But dotted across the continent are Havens, and I shiver, my fingers brushing the bright yellow stickers that are faded and curling with age. I press one down, rubbing my thumb over the eight scrawled on the little dot. Finn nudges me a little, and I step away, to Collin’s side. Finn ignores my retreat, leaning over the map and drawing a brilliant red x over Haven 8.

I let my gaze sweep over the map, finding the other eight Havens that have fallen. They form a line, starting just south of us, and marching north. Hellspawn is the farthest they’ve gotten. My gaze shoots up, collides with Finn’s. His lips are compressed, and what I see in his dark eyes makes my stomach bottom out.

“They’re cutting the west off,” I say.

He nods, and the confirmation makes it worse somehow. I fall into a seat and stare at the map, hoping that it will change. It doesn’t.

“We have to tell the north,” I murmur, absently.

“No.”

My head snaps up, and I stare at Finn. He’s shaking his head, implacable, and a hysterical laugh burns in the back of my throat. “Why the hell not?” I demand.

“They don’t want to hear it, Ren,” Collin says, and I twist to look at him. “They won’t accept it. And if we show up at Haven 12, telling them we’re survivors from Haven 8, they’ll throw us in Q. We don’t have time for that.”

“Excuse me, but we’re sitting in a cave in the middle of the desert. How different is this from sitting in Q?”

“We decide when we leave,” Finn answers. I snort.

“
You
decide, you mean.”

He nods, and I rub my eyes, too exhausted to even be angry. “So what do you want to do?”

“I have contacts, in the west. I want to use them—we can still evacuate the west and move the Havens south. Let the biters have it.”

“They’ll follow us,” I protest.

“When in the past twenty years hasn’t that been true?”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I want to go to Haven 18. I can talk to some folks I know there—if we
can
evacuate the west, our best bet is to start there.”

“Then let’s go,” I say, standing. “The sooner we get Dustin some medical help, the better.”

Finn is silent, and Collin shifts, looking at him. “It’s as safe as it’s going to get, O’Malley.”

“I’m going alone.”