The Future Without Hope (6 page)

Chapter
4.
Old Allies

CLAIRE
IS WAITING FOR ME ON HER PORCH, blowing on a cup of tea and staring into the
dark. I notice her long before she notices me, and I swallow my irritation. She
has spent too many years in 1 to remember that it’s dangerous to stand like
that—backlit, smelling like a fucking buffet.

“Even
1 has the occasional breach, Claire,” I say, stepping out of the darkness. She
flicks a look at me, and I see the knife in her hand, the tension in her body.
I dip my head, a smile tugging my lips.

Of
course she didn’t forget. Claire didn’t survive this long by making stupid
decisions. “What happened?” I ask, climbing the stairs to stand next to her.

“If
I help you, will you stop killing?” she asks.

I
go blank, and let my gaze drift away. “I’m not controlling this, Claire. The
killing will end when Ren is back where she belongs.”

“What
if she did leave?” Claire asks, softly.

I
give her a dark glare, and she nods. “I agree. That girl wouldn’t have left you
unless she had a dead body to prove her brother’s death.”

She
wouldn’t have left then. I wouldn’t have let her.

“Come
inside, Finn. Let me help you, if I can.”

I
give her a long look, but she’s not explaining shit and I’m desperate enough
that I’ll take whatever scraps I can find. And if it doesn’t fall the way I want,
I can walk back out. There is nothing stopping me from that.

A
brief thought crosses my mind, that she could have Kenny’s men in there—but if
I can’t trust Claire, there is no one left that I can trust, and that is too
depressing to consider, so I follow her into the little house.

Orwell
is in the living room, along with two older men I don’t know, and a girl young
enough that she didn’t see the change, or life before the Walls.

I
go still in the doorway, and Claire pokes me with one bony finger, pushing me
to one side as she enters behind me. “You can walk into the damn room,
O’Malley..”

I
flick a look at her—I trust Claire. But these other people—I don’t know them,
and I don’t have any reason to trust them.

“They
can help you,” she says, softly. “Listen to them.”

I
look at her, and then I step into the little room and take the single
free-standing chair. Claire pats my arm as she moves past me, settling next to
the dark-haired girl with wide, brown eyes. She sees me watching her, and her
gaze drops, almost scared.

My
lips twist. Little Haven mouse. She’d never survive outside the Walls. I let my
gaze travel the other three, focusing on the two I don’t know. “Who are you?” I
ask, tugging my katana around so it isn’t stabbing into me. Claire makes a
snort, and I flick a look at her. I’m past civility.

“Luke
Holts. I served as Andrew’s chief of staff during the turn,” one of them says.
I narrow my eyes. I remember him and Kelsey’s father and mine huddled around
maps, blacked out by the infected. Holts had been influential in getting the
Havens in working order. He saved lives, by hiding us behind walls. But he kept
the supply trains running in and out of the East for years—even after the
initial evac orders ran, and civilians were safe.

He
saved lives then, too.

I
swing my gaze to the other man, a wiry man with gray hair, teeth too white and
unnatural in his smooth face. He smiles, wide and smooth. A fucking politician.
“Sonny Kamen.”

“You
ran against Kenny in the election,” I say, cutting him off.

“I
did. And I fought in the East, in Detroit and then Chicago.” I sit up a little
straighter, my interest piqued. I don’t know everyone who fought in the
East—there were far too many to keep track of everyone, but I know those
battles and I know we barely survived them.

“Why
did you lose the election?” I ask, softly.

“Because
he didn’t have my support,” the girl says, her voice softly musical. I shift to
stare at her. She’s leaning forward, her dark hair spilling around her
shoulders, and I reassess quickly—she might look like a baby of the apocalypse,
but this girl has more going on than I first saw.

“Who
are you?” I ask, quietly.

A
tiny smile turns her lips. “Holly. I’m the acolyte that Omar planted here to
keep him aware of what happens in the Haven. I’m the one who controls our Order
here—because with just a few words, I inform his opinion.”

“Why?”
I ask and something sparks in her eyes. Respect. I’m asking the right
questions.

“Because
he kept me alive. When my parents were dead and no one gave a damn, Omar took
me and made sure I was safe. When he joined the Order after Columbus, he rose
quickly through the ranks. And then he asked me to be an acolyte. He had a
dozen of us, and he scattered us around the country, so he could keep a finger
on the pulse of the people, even when he was locked in the Stronghold.”

Conniving
old bastard. “He knows what’s happening here?” I ask, and she nods. Licks her
lips, and fear darts into her gaze for a moment.

“He’s
coming here,” she says.

I
nod, shoving down the familiar anger. Kenny will be pissed, having us both in
his Haven again.

The
president would just have to learn how to deal with the little disappointments
in life.

“So
why are we here?” I ask.

“If
you want the Order to help you—even through the back channels that Omar can
offer, you have to stop killing,” the girl says. I lift an eyebrow, and her
expression goes fierce. “I won’t control them if you continue to slaughter us.
The killing of the Order stops. Now.”

“Do
you have her?” I ask, and she sits back.

“We
don’t know. There are theories, but we can’t know—not for sure. Not yet.”

I
look at Sonny. He’s the one who interjected, and I want to reach across the
room and shake him. “Then what the fuck am I doing here?” I snarl.

“Listening
for once,” Claire snaps and the girl gives a soft snicker that makes me want to
pull my gun.

I
force myself to sit back, and Orwell speaks up. “Every few months—Stiles has a
personal truck delivery. It’s not cleared through the Walkers. It almost cost
him the presidency, because I couldn’t justify the danger of exposing the Haven
to god knows what to make him happy. I was overridden by the Order. But it
happens. I think he smuggled her out of the haven in one of those delivery
trucks.”

My
heart drops. Because if she isn’t in 1, she could be anywhere. Chasing Collin,
even knowing the clues he would leave, was hard enough. I had no hope of
finding Nurrin—she had no idea what to leave to help me. And even though I knew
it was a strong possibility, hearing it spelled out so certainly—it guts me.

“Where
would he take her?”

Holly
tilts her head. “Omar is reaching out. We aren’t as blind as you think—and
being taken away from 1 isn’t a death sentence.”

“She’s
with the Order,” I snarl. For Nurrin, that is a death sentence. Claire makes a
noise in the back of her throat, and I shift, realize I’m clutching my gun. Her
gun. When the fuck did I draw?

Holly
studies me, and I meet her piercing stare coldly. “You look at the Order and
see the killing. The sacrifice and vice clubs.” She says.

I
hesitate. Something in her voice slows me. Amusement and a hint of pity. “If
all we were was a cult that thrived on the chaos, we wouldn’t have grown every
year since the change. We have. We went from one insane man feeding babies to
the horde to an Order that touches every haven in the nation and controls the
presidency. We are about so much more than a few vices and killing.” I think
she means it to be comforting. But it’s not. It’s terrifying. Holly stands.
“Will you stop killing?” she asks, and I hesitate.

“Yes,”
I say, “but when you find who has her—I will kill whoever hurt her.”

She
stares for a long moment, and then nods. “Gentlemen.”

We
all watch silently as she exits the room, and then Holts releases a breath. I
glance at him, and he offers up a tired smile. “She’s useful—probably more than
I want to think about. But the girl is creepy as fuck.”

Sonny
laughs next to him, and I assess them. “If Holly can find Nurrin, why are you
here?”

“There’s
a horde on the move,” Orwell says heavily. “Our far scouts have see it moving
this way.”

“How
far out are they scouting?” I ask, shifting.

“Twenty
miles. The horde isn’t closing on 1, not yet. But it won’t take much for them
to shift direction, and if they do…” He doesn’t finish the statement. He
doesn’t need to. A horde will devastate 1. Even if the Walkers and the standing
army did their job—something I’m not convinced they could do—I’ve seen the
horde and what they do. They can’t be stopped.

“Evacuate,”
I say, looking at Holts. “You’ve done it before—get the people out of this
place.”

He
looks old. That’s what bothers me. Andrew Buchman had a young administration.
They ran on the youth vote—a family man with a young daughter and a beautiful
wife and a finger on the pulse of the people—especially the ones under thirty.

Holts
was thirty-eight when ERI-Milan broke, spreading like wildfire. Thirty-eight
and fervent with the belief that they could do something, could save the world.

And
in his way, he did.

But
I don’t see that fanatic belief in his eyes now. I see resignation and death.

“We
have nowhere to go, O’Malley. The Havens are ours—but you know the infection
holds the Wide Open. We can’t reclaim it.”

“If
you stay behind these Walls, you’ll die here,” I say.

“You
know the infection. Teach us how to fight it.”

I
laugh, a sharp noise. Fury and disbelief and hopelessness fill me. “I don’t
know shit, Holts. I never did. I was
seven
when ERI mutated in Emilie. Seven fucking years old. I knew we were visiting
friends and I knew my mum died. That’s all I fucking knew.”

“But
you’ve survived,” Orwell says, desperation leaking into his voice.

“Because
I don’t fucking rely on Walls to keep me safe,” I snap, jerking out of my seat.
I can’t stay here—I need to find her and even if I tell them—they won’t listen.

No
one ever fucking listens. Not when Mother told them not to use ERI, and not
when I told them
 
the Havens would fall.
Not when I said the virus was changing. Not when I told Buchman that trying to
take back Columbus would cost too many lives.

I
blink, shaking the memories. Fucking memories.

“I
survive because I’m not hiding behind walls, hoping the dead don’t notice me.
You can’t.” I stop, staring at them watching me. They don’t understand.

“Take
them out of the Havens,” I say dully. “Put them in a place where they aren’t
defined by their limits and fear.”

“Who?”
Claire asks, her voice shaky with fear. I look at her. I’m so tired. I want
Nurrin and Collin, and a quiet place to rest.

Even
knowing it can’t last, I want it.

“Everyone,”
I say. “Take everyone out of the Havens.”

Chapter
5.
Reluctant Trust

THE
LESSON THAT I LEARNED, in my years of fighting in the East and watching the
world fall to pieces, is that everyone wants something. And really, for most of
us, it’s basic. We want to live. We don’t even need to tack happy on. We just
want to live our lives. Some of us need to buy the lie to do that.

And
that’s my problem. Because I hate lies. I hate them when there isn’t a reason
for them, and I really fucking hate them when they’re well-intentioned.

The
Haven is a lie. It’s a promise of safety that can’t really be delivered.
Walkers can patrol the Walls, and the far scouts can clear out any wandering
infects. But in the face of a horde? They can’t do a damn thing, and the walls
meant to protect and keep the civilians safe become the tool that keeps them
from escape.

It’s
a pretty lie.

But
in the end, a lie is a lie, and it doesn’t matter how pretty it is—it’ll still
kill you.

The
day drags slow. Sonny and Holts leave shortly after I tell them to evac the
Havens, and Orwell stays only long enough to murmur a few words to Claire
before he gives me a searching stare and vanishes.

Waiting
makes me anxious—I can
feel
her
slipping away. Claire eventually banishes me from the downstairs, and I lock
myself into the dusty bedroom on the second floor, lying on the bed.

I
don’t lie to myself. And the truth—the ugly truth that I’ve been avoiding is
this is my fault. All of it.

Nurrin
is with the order, Collin god knows where, because I wouldn’t make the hard
choices. I should have killed Dustin before it became a threat.

And
I never should have left her alone in 1. I knew it was dangerous—knew Kenny
would use whatever he could to hurt me. She was a First, in a town run by the
Order, and I fucking left her.

I
close my eyes and let my head fall back on the dusty pillow. She had been
furious and gorgeous, demanding answers as she stood in my little room.

Maybe
I’m the one who fucked up. If I had been able to trust her a little more, maybe
this wouldn’t have happened—she wouldn’t have needed to go to Kenny for information.
She would still be here.

I
roll to the side, the thought making me sick.

Whoever
has her—whatever is happening. I could have prevented it, if I had just fucking
trusted her.

“Finn.”
Claire’s voice is soft and jerks me from my thoughts. I drop my arm from where
it’s resting over my eyes and reach for my gun. “Finn, you need to come
downstairs.”

“Give
me just a second,” I grit out and I hear her pad away, the distinct limp in her
step heavier than usual.

I
can’t think about all the shit that’s not right. I can’t think about anything
except getting her back, and finding Collin. I sit up, methodically strapping
on my weapons, and head downstairs.

Omar
is standing in the small kitchen, listening to one of Claire’s Haven urchins
chatter about a zombie pack that wandered too close to the Wall. His head is
down, and he’s focused on the child like he holds the secret to the end of
ERI-Milan.

I
step in quietly, and Claire pauses in the midst of pouring a cup of tea. Her
eyes dart to me, nervous and afraid, and I force a thin smile as I let my gaze
wander of the Black High Priest.

He
isn’t wearing robes. He’s dressed for combat, in dark brown cargo pants with
tear-away pockets, and steel-reinforced fabric. His shirt matches, covering him
to his wrists, slightly bulky over the body plates.

He
looks like he did when we fought side by side for Kelsey.

Rage
hits, hot and sweet and endlessly familiar, and I take a deep breath, trying to
push through it. I’m not here because of a dead girl I couldn’t protect.

I’m
here for the one I
can
.

Holly
steps up to my side, and eyes me sidelong. “You know he’s taking a risk by
coming here, don’t you? The Black Priest rules from the Stronghold. It’s been
that way since Sawyer first created it. He controls our militant arm from
there—and Omar has enough enemies that leaving the Stronghold could backfire.
We can’t help you if he’s deposed.”

I
give her an icy stare. “You don’t know your priest as well as you think if you
believe he’ll lose his position because he took a few days away from the
casino. If I know anything about Omar, I know he wouldn’t willing risk his position
for anyone—especially not me. And he wouldn’t leave without safeguards.”

“O’Malley,
don’t give the girl all my secrets,” Omar rumbles, without looking away from
the child. Claire makes a small noise of displeasure, and steps forward,
drawing the boy away and pressing a small bar of chocolate into his hand. She
pushes him from the room, and the boy goes without complaint.

I
stare at the Black Priest. Once upon a lifetime ago, he was my friend, the
partner who kept me alive, the quiet rumble in our convoy that made shit make
sense and settled Kelsey when she was furious and impetuous.

Which
was more than it wasn’t.

And
then he became something else, something so wrapped in tragedy and my own
failure that I couldn’t separate my rage for it from my anger at him.

I
still can’t. And everything in me—every fucking thing—screams that this is a
bad idea, that trusting him will end with blood and death.

Omar
straightens, giving me a searching stare. “Is she worth risking your life?”

I
don’t answer, just lean back against the door and cross my arms over my chest.
Omar mutters a curse. Rubs a hand over his head. “You’ll need me to help you.
She’s not going to be easy to retrieve.”

“How
not easy?” I ask.

“Enough
that I’m not convinced this a good idea,” Omar says, cryptically. “Walk with
me.”

I
hesitate, and his gaze turns hot and heavy. My lips tighten just a little and I
push off the door, and move to Claire. Drop down to give her a quick kiss.
“I’ll be back later.”

“Be
careful. I don’t trust him,” she says, loud enough that Omar hears. I hide my
grin in her hair, and hug her before I step back and nod at Omar. Holly takes a
step after us and Omar turns, pinning her with a glare. Her lips compress, and
I see what I saw the first time I looked at her—an apocalypse baby with no idea
of the world.

Omar
pushes open the door, and I follow him outside.