The World Without a Future (The World Without End) (9 page)

I’m driving.

Not because he wanted me to, but because we both know we’re short on time. Collin is trapped in that cave with a live infection, and we lost precious time on that damn boat. The sun sets, and we’re still hours from Haven 18, so he hands me the keys and I slide into the seat that still holds Finn’s body heat and scent. He pauses outside the car, and I wrinkle my nose at the sound of him peeing.

A moment later, he slams the door. “A pack of infects headed this way.”

Without a word, I hit the gas, and we’re back on the road. I glance at him as he shifts a few times in his seat, drumming his fingers nervously. “Problem, O’Malley?”

His lips twitch, and for a heartbeat I can feel them again. Then he shrugs. “I like control, Nurrin. Giving that up is hard.”

I focus on the road. “Is that why you don’t answer questions? Because you have to control what people know about you?”

“What makes you think I don’t? It could be just you I refuse to answer.”

I laugh. “You don’t care enough to single me out. Besides, the girls in the Hive talk, you know. Everyone knows you don’t answer questions.”

“Then why do you persist in asking them?”

“Glutton for punishment?”

There is a faint amusement in his voice when he slouches in his seat and says, “Just drive, Nurrin. Quit asking questions you know I won’t answer.”

He closes his eyes, relaxed and ceding control enough to doze as I steer us through the star-studded night. I see zombies in the distance, loping along, pulled by the sound of our car. Once, we pass a convoy—five beat up RV’s barreling through the night, lights blazing, three snipers on the roofs. I pull off the road when I see them coming, and one of the snipers waves at me, looking bored and tired as they race the night.

I wonder how many people were packed into the RV’s.

Traveling between Havens is dangerous and expensive—I’d guess four or five families were crammed into each RV , splitting the exorbitant price as best they could.

“Get going, Nurrin,” Finn says beside me. “And keep an eye out—that convoy will have a trail of dead.”

He’s right.

We hit the horde ten minute after passing the convoy, a small pack, but more than we can push through in the Porsche.

I idle on the road, staring at Finn as he stares at the approaching zombies, and I wonder what he’s thinking.

“Give me you guns. Your bow, too.”

I grab them from below my legs, and he slides himself up to perch on the window of the car.

“Keep it steady, Nurrin. I’ll clear a path, but you have to get us through it.”

His voice drifts through the window of the car. "Take it easy, but get some speed, Ren. Get us through this."

He's trusting me. And he just called me Ren. I grit my teeth and ease my foot on the accelerator. From the corner of my eye, I can see the wind pulling at his shirt as we gain speed. The first gunshot makes me flinch, and the car serves a little. He slams a hand on the roof. "Keep it straight, Nurrin!" he snarls.

I tune him out as we drive into the horde. They’re moaning, racing at us from the darkness, and in two heartbeats, we're enveloped. There are enough to block off the road, but Finn does what he promised—the road stays clear. His shots have slowed, and I'm not sure if it's because he's low on ammo or because he's aiming, but either way, we need to get clear.

I call, "Hold on."

"Ren!" he shouts, and I grab one of his legs as I drive the pedal down. The Porsche roars under my touch, fishtailing a little before it shoots into the gap he's created. I feel him slip, and I almost slow down, but there are too many infects. Closing in from every direction. He fires twice, and the path opens, a brief window.

I take it, darting through. We burst from the horde into the empty night. Finn slides into the car, steadily cursing as he reaches into his bag.

He comes up with a hand grenade.

"Where the hell did that come from?" I demand, my voice shrill.

"What did I tell you about questions, Nurrin? Get this piece of shit moving." He pulls the pin, leans out the window, and lobs it into the midst of the zombies who have turned to chase us.

Finn is leaning back, his eyes closed, when the blast lights up the night sky and shakes the car. I glance into the rear view mirror, at the remains of the horde.

"Why didn't you do that to begin with?" I ask, glancing at him. He looks bloody, but it's fetid and old—blood splatter from the zoms he put down.

"We couldn't drive through an explosion," Finn says, without opening his eyes. "Stop staring. I didn't get bitten."

I flush, my gaze going back to the road. He laughs a little, says something softly under his breath. "What?" I snap.

"We won't be in Haven 18 long, but you can probably take care of that itch there."

"Oh, shut up, Finn. You have no idea."

He moves quickly, his lips brushing against my ear, sucking lightly on my earlobe before tracing the curve with his tongue. I shiver and he laughs. "I know if
I
can get that response, you are pretty desperate to get laid. I'd offer, but—"

"Fuck. You," I spit and he laughs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you might say," he says, closing his eyes. Fuming, hating that desire is coiling in my belly, I ignore him and drive through the dying night.

Haven 18 is nestled in the curve of the Rockies and sprawls before us like a glittering gem as I come around the crest of the mountain. Finn stirs, rubbing his eyes. "Pull off at the next outlook. I’ll drive us in."

I glance at him, but don't say anything as we begin our descent, twisting through the pre-dawn light.

At the outlook, he glances over my clothes with a critical eye, and I flush. I don't look pretty. I look, more than anything, like I've spent the past several days in the Wide Open, killing zombies.

We don't get stopped until we're a mile from the wall, where a group of soldiers stand in the road like a miniature army.

He pulls up to them and lowers his window.

"Name and haven?" the general barks.

"Finn O'Malley and Nurrin Sanders, of Haven 8."

The man frowns, and I'm not sure if it’s because of Finn's distinct accent or my name. "Last word from 8 was there was a breach," he says

"It fell," Finn says flatly, and the soldiers behind him suck in a sharp breath. "I have clearance to enter this haven, so if you'd let me pass..." he trails off.

The general sneers at him. "Whose clearance is that, boy?"

I can feel the tension that wraps around him, and I almost feel sorry for the older man. Being on the receiving end of Finn's glare when it goes dangerous and still is not something I'd wish on anybody.

Although, I am grateful it's turned on someone other than me.

He pulls something out of the door of the car, extending it without word, and the general glances at it half-heartedly. Then he looks back, his eyes wide and afraid.

"Do you have more questions?" Finn asks, coldly.

"No, sir. Apologies."

"Call ahead to the gate. I'm tired and want to get to my damn house."

I look at him sharply, but he's back in the
ignore Ren
mode. I peer at whatever he gave the general, but it's tucked away too quickly for me to see anything other than a flash of red. The guards clear the road, and we drive on toward the haven.

"Why did they let us pass?"

Finn glances at me. "When we get to the Haven, we're going straight to my house. I have a contact here. He'll come look at your arm. How are you feeling?"

"I thought you said there were no side effects."

He shrugs. "I've been known to lie before, Nurrin."

I swallow the curse, knowing it'll only amuse him. Instead I shake my head and settle back against the seat. "I feel fine,
sir.
"

He grins and looks over at me. "That sounds particularly nice, coming from you."

This time I do curse, and his laughter is still ringing in my ears when we pull up to the gates. They glide open, and we drive through, the reek of zom repellent mixing with the scent of humanity, mountain air, and fruit ready to be harvested.

A medic is standing with the walkers, her little hands clasped over her kit. "I need to test both of you," she says, with a quick apologetic look at me. I shrug. It's standard procedure, and if the inhibitors worked, it shouldn't be an issue.

If they didn't, I'd rather be put down here.

Finn tenses, but doesn't object. Whatever got us this far won't get us out of a blood test.

She swabs his arm first, drawing a quick sample and injecting a specialized dye. The blood doesn't shift color, and I feel myself relax—he’s clean.

Immediately, I hate that I care.

She runs the same test on me, and I look away as the dye sinks in, waiting for it to latch into the virus swimming in my blood. Finn is staring at the vial, his expression tight. I can't read the expression in his eyes, but it makes my nerves sing. Then he relaxes, and I look at the vial the medic is holding.

Dark red.

Finn clenches my hand before I can say anything, and he talks to the Walkers briefly before we're waved through.

He drives without hesitation, and I wonder when he was here last.

The house is on a quiet street, clean and unassuming and well maintained.

"Come on," he orders, killing the engine and grabbing our bags. I shelve my questions and scramble out of the car to follow him inside.

It's strange, to be exposed on the street and not be concerned about infects. Being in the Wide Open left a mark, faster than I thought it would.

The house is dark and barren. A few pieces of furniture in the great room and a single picture on the wall of the hallway.

It's the space that really startles me.

Havens have a limit of space. Most residents are crammed into vast apartment complexes, tiny lofts shared by whole families. But this—this is a two bedroom
house
with a surplus of space, and he doesn't even live here.

It might be time, I realize, to reassess what I know about the mysterious man who befriended my brother.

"Lee will be here soon." Finn says, tossing our bags onto the couch. "You can take a shower, if you want."

I stare at him, and for a long moment, he stares back. Questions are racing through my head, and he's watching me. Daring me to ask them. I take a deep breath. "Sounds great."

Amusement tilts his lips, a little, before he turns to lead me into the bathroom. As I pass him, he inhales, his emotions flashing across his face before he shuts them down and leaves me.

When I emerge from my shower, my hair smells clean for the first time in days. My clothes are a bit dusty, but I don't mind too much, and I pad barefoot down the hall, finger combing my hair.

Finn is standing in the kitchen with a young man.

He's heavier than Finn, thick in a way that screams weight lifter. His hair is girlishly long, a burnished red, and pale blue eyes skim over me in interest.

"You brought a girl to your home?" he asks, surprise evident in his tone.

"No questions," Finn intervenes, his gaze darting to me and daring me to say something. I shrug and sit down. "You’re the doctor, I presume."

Lee nods—it's a safe question. "He said your arm and shoulder had exposure."

I extend my arm, and Lee comes around to examine it. His head bends over me, his long hair tickling my skin, and I idly wonder if it's as soft as it looks.

I glance up when Finn moves. He's still standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

His eyes are stormy as he watches us, and I must make a noise, something that draws his gaze from Lee's hands on my stitches to meet my own.

For a moment, his gaze is hot, furious, so full of emotions it makes my mouth go dry. I lick my lips, and his gaze drops to my mouth. Hunger flares in his eyes, unmistakable.

"What caused this?"

The question jars me; I flush and look away as Finn's face goes blank.

"We had an incident—she was clawed by an infect."

"How recently?"

"Thirty two hours."

Lee frowns. "It's remarkably clear. Most cases, I'd recommend Q."

"I don't have time for that," I blurt before I can stop myself. Lee raises his eyebrows.

"You aren't testing for infection, and the wound is clean. Keep long sleeves on to avoid questions, but you'll do."

Finn straightens, coming to stand by the couch, and I feel like I've taken my first deep breath in days.

They talk for a few minutes, but I'm lost in my thoughts and relief.

The door closes, and Finn reenters the room. He glides past me. I wonder if I should say something.

"It was the neural inhibitors."

My words stop him, and he stands in the hallway, his back to me.

"If you had them, why didn't you give them to Dustin?"

He laughs. The bastard actually laughs at me. "Nurrin, neural inhibitors are regulated. Getting them is ridiculously expensive."

I glance around the house. "You have unoccupied
houses
and can call a doctor to them in the middle of the night with no advance warning. Clearly, money is not an issue."