The World Without A Future Part 11

"Tomorrow, we'll wait for Lori to contact us. It's Third Day-lying low is our best bet, if we have to stay in the Haven."

She shudders, rubbing her arms. I want to do that for her, want to soothe away her fears. It's a bad idea, so I turn away and sit on the edge of my bed. "Just trust me," I say, quietly. "I won't put you in danger if I can help it. It'll just make my life more difficult. Get some sleep. I'll get what information that I can tomorrow-I want you inside, the door locked, until it's over."

She's pale and nods.

Even without a First, the Order will kill tomorrow. I just need to make sure it's not Ren.

Chapter 8.

Third Day I can hear her, the soft snoring she would never admit to making, through the thin walls. I lie on my bed, the silk sheets warm with my body heat against my skin.

It's the seventh of March. The day the world stopped. It began, twenty years ago, in blood. It ended in death and smoke, fire and ash.

I wish, sometimes, I could go back. Back to that corner where I stood with Kelsey, her fine blonde hair tickling my neck.

I shake my head, hard, dislodging the memory, and swing from my bed. Pad naked across the room and reach for my pants.

When I'm dressed, I slip from my bedroom. Hesitate briefly outside Nurrin's room. She snores quietly, and I grin. Not the calculated smirk that infuriates her, or the lazily manipulative one that seduces women to my bed-just a real smile. She wouldn't recognize me with this expression.

I whistle softly and go to the kitchen to make us breakfast. Not much-the house still gets rations because I demand it to maintain a home in the Haven and the aldermen want my presence-even my absent presence-here for the added protection.

Idiots. I can't offer them anything-Haven 8 falling showed that more eloquently than anything.

I peer out the window, checking the deserted streets. A small silver package is sitting on the walk up to my house. It's clearly placed for me to notice. I glance down the hall, to where her door is still closed.

G.o.d, I want the day over. Already, I'm anxious and impatient.

I put the coffee down and grab my knife. Holding it flipped with the blade flat against my lower arm, I slip out of the house and s.n.a.t.c.h up the package.

A member of the Order is standing in the middle of the road, masked face staring at me from the depths of its hood. I bare my teeth at it and retreat back into the house.

"f.u.c.king creepy f.u.c.kers," I mutter, glaring at the closed door. I make a cup of black coffee and open the package.

Inside, there are two small vials of Kelaxon and a letter. I curse. This does nothing-it might slow the infection, if Collin has picked one up, but it's too late to do anything for Dustin.

Nurrin is going to be furious.

O'Malley, A good faith gift. We will give you the antibiotics in exchange for information about the fall of Haven 8. And a retrieval of a package in Haven 21. Bring both to me in two days, and we'll make the exchange. This is the last time your name will carry any weight within our order, O'Malley. Make sure it's worth using.

HP-.

I'm sitting there, holding the note in my hand and staring into nothing, when she finally stumbles, half awake, from her room. She mumbles something incoherent in my direction as she staggers to the coffee pot and pours herself a large cup. I wait for her to reach for the sugar, but she just leans against the counter and takes a large sip, black, her eyes closing in a blissful smile.

I look away, scowling into the note, and she s.h.i.+fts a little. "What's that?"

"The Order made their offer," I say. I drop the note on the counter and stand. "Be ready to leave in an hour. The sooner we're out of the Haven, the better."

I stalk to the front door-I need to pay Jesse a visit, get a vehicle. He should have something old school enough to get me through the wreckage and into the city.

"Lock the doors. Barricade yourself in the safe room-I'll get you out when I get back."

Her eyes are wide, all traces of sleep gone, replaced by anger. I don't have time for this. "Finn, you can't leave me!" she snaps.

"I can't take you this time. You know what those f.u.c.king lunatics are like on Third Day. I can't protect you-the best safety I can offer is that hole. Get your a.s.s in it."

I slam the door behind me, punctuating my words, and lock it with my set of keys. She won't be able to leave, and if she locks herself into the zombie-proof safe room, she should be safe until I return.

Without letting myself consider that she won't be, I jog down the steps and break into a run.

It's a stupid move, but I'm too keyed up to care. The deserted streets work in my favor-Third Day is usually quiet until around three in the afternoon. I see a few cult members in their robes, but Lori must have pa.s.sed word around-none of them approach me.

I hammer on Jesse's door for almost five minutes before he throws it open, cursing. I ignore his anger, shoving into the house. "I need a car. A Hummer or Jeep, if you have them. Fully stocked."

"When?" he asks, and I glance at him.

"Now."

He makes an amused noise in his throat. I frown, watching his expression slip from amused to oh s.h.i.+t. "Dammit, O'Malley, you can't keep pulling this s.h.i.+t."

"Actually," I drawl, letting my accent thicken, "I can."

He scowls, and I nod at the back of the house. "Do you have anything?"

"Not a f.u.c.king Hummer," he snarls. I want to punch him-the thought of his hands on Ren makes me violent, and his p.i.s.sy att.i.tude is just lighting the fuse on my temper.

"What do you have?" I demand, my voice low and controlled. Jesse's eyes narrow, and he strides toward the back of the house.

"An armored truck. Ford started production in Haven 46 last year. It's gonna cost a s.h.i.+t ton, though."

"Speed?"

"No gov. You can tap her out at 120-she's got a good sized tank, so you can easily travel between Havens. Where are you headed?"

I ignore the question and eye the truck. It's not my style-I prefer something a little sleeker or more obviously aggressive. But there's a gun turret mounted in the bed of the truck, which could be h.e.l.la fun in a fight. I nod. "Make it happen."

"Dude-price."

I make an annoyed noise. "You know better. The money will be wired tonight. Keep the Porsche, too."

Annoyance flickers across his face, but I ignore it and head for the front door. "Get it to my place in thirty minutes. Fully stocked, Jesse."

"I didn't touch Ren."

I jerk around-and curse myself for reacting. Jesse's watching me, his eyes somewhere between amused and afraid. "I thought about it. I almost did-she's a hot little piece. But I wouldn't touch her."

I smile, coldly. "Thirty minutes," I repeat. And leave.

Chapter 9.

A Changed World Before ERI-Milan swept through the world, people lived in houses with porches, screen doors, and window that opened.

After the virus. .h.i.t, things changed. Life went on-humans are too d.a.m.n stubborn to quit completely-but it was different. America, Canada, Mexico-they were isolated from the European countries. Africa took longer to fall to the infection. All the third world countries fared better in those first few months than their more influential neighbors. They weren't dependent on ERI, so it didn't mutate in the population. But eventually, the tide of the dead hit them, and they didn't have a chance against the horde. Africa fell to the dead within six months, South America two months later. India and China were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, until the Chinese army rallied.

By then, we were alone, getting the barest of updates from the rest of the world. Fighting our own war against infection and trying to adapt-to survive.

It was an architect who created the bolt holes-a student at the University of Chicago, who hid in a bas.e.m.e.nt vault in his apartment building until the dead finally took everything breathing and moved on. He was insane, a mess of crazy, when the National Guard found him a few days after the Fall of Chicago, but he had plans on him. A brick and metal safe, perfect for surviving.

He killed himself, two nights after the Guard bundled him onto a boat in the middle of Lake Michigan. Ate a bullet and scared the ever-loving s.h.i.+t out of the other refugees.

His plans lived on-now, every private residence is equipped with a Hale Hall. Over the years, they've been adapted and become big business in the northwest-not surprising since they originated there.

I approach mine, staring. It's top of the line-double steel walls, lined with zom repellent, coded to a body signature to open, followed by a retinal scan. It was the best money could buy, a neat little hole to waste away in. I press my thumb on the pad, and it warms, flas.h.i.+ng green. The grip locks on me, and I feel the p.r.i.c.k of a dart against my eye as the retinal scan activates-the dart is pressurized-if the scan picks up traces of the virus, it'll fire through my eye, lodge in my brain, and explode. Messy, but effective.

Even knowing I'm clean, I hold my breath as the light flashes an alarming orange then hits bright, blinding green. The grip on my head relaxes, and I lean back as the explosive dart retracts. There's a soft his of pressurized air, and the door swings outward. Ren is sitting cross-legged on the bench, her knee bouncing nervously. I force my smile down, away, and nod at the bag she's dragged in the Hale Hall. "What's that?"

"Clothes. Food-all the weapons I could find. Make sure I didn't forget something you want, and we're ready to leave."

A surge of pride and approval hits me, and I turn away, striding through the house and scanning it. There's nothing here-nothing that I give a d.a.m.n about. It's just a place to rest and hide, a place where my past hasn't died completely.

I shouldn't have a past-not anymore. Everyone lost that when the zombies rose. I don't know why mine is the only one who seems convinced it's a zombie and won't just f.u.c.king die.

I crouch by a chair in the living room, prying the floorboard up and scooping out the cash and credentials I have hidden. I toss one travel pa.s.s to her. It's not her picture or her name, but the resemblance is close enough.

"Memorize that," I order, shoving everything in a bag and standing, kicking the floorboard back into place.

She's watching me, but doesn't say anything. I hear a roar on the road, and I grab her bag, tossing it over my shoulder as I lead her outside.

Her eyes are sparkling as she stares in fascination at the ma.s.sive black truck, the thick bulky doors, studded with spikes. Razor wire wraps around the grill and tailgate-I could drive this through a horde and part them like b.u.t.ter.

Her voice is breathless and squeaky, hitting me straight in the groin, when she says, "Oh, Finn." I glance at her, and she grins at me. "Can I drive it?"

Chapter 10.

War and Peace She drives. When she asked like that, I could hardly deny her. And I could use the opportunity to go over the supplies she packed. The truck is fully outfitted with a field med kit and food, weapons and extra rounds of ammo for the machine gun.

"Is that really a gun on the truck?" she asks. Her voice, even an hour into our drive, vibrates with excitement. Good-I want her happy, not thinking about Third Day.

"Yup. Apparently, this is Ford's new model."

She whistles, petting it, and I feel an irrational jealousy for the steering wheel. "Must have cost a fortune."

Ren grins at me archly, and I laugh. "Quit fis.h.i.+ng, Nurrin. I'm not answering s.h.i.+t."

She huffs a breath and stares broodily out the window.

"Why do you care so much?" I ask, keeping my voice deliberately neutral.

Ren snorts. "You're Collin's best friend, and I know nothing about you. You can afford neural inhibitors, and a top of the line tank, but you're a Walker and an orphan. You were somewhere you shouldn't have been when h.e.l.lsp.a.w.n fell, but you saved my life. You hate me, but you kiss me."

Her words are so soft on the last one, I almost don't hear her. Almost.

"There's very little you need to know about me," I say, staring out at the pa.s.sing mountains. The trees blur, flas.h.i.+ng red occasionally as we speed pa.s.s infects. "My past doesn't matter. Money doesn't matter. The only thing that you need to know is that Collin trusts me and I won't put you in danger."

Her gaze darts to me, and I see questions brewing, the denial on the tip of her tongue. I turn to the back of the truck and slip through the little door that accesses the bed-and the machine gun.

I spend more time mentally retreating from her than I am comfortable with, but I'm not going to think about that right now. She hits the gas a little harder, and I slip on the steel bed, catching the gun and holding on as we race through the mountains and the desert, headed for the remains of Sin City.

Chapter 11.

The End of Days We hit Vegas at dusk, and I can hear the screams from the rubble outskirts. I slow to an idle and look at Nurrin. She's pale, her blonde hair sticking to her sweaty neck. "What's your name?" I ask sharply, and her gaze snaps to me.

"Kelsey Cain," she says. She rattles off a dead girl's birth date and statistics, and I nod approvingly. "You're Sean Jackson. Born in Buffalo, but moved west with the evac orders during the first wave. Mother and Father were killed when New York fell. Sister is alive and living in Haven 3."

I nod. "Good girl. Remember-nowhere without me. Not even a Hale Hall, do you understand? I have no presence in Vegas, and we're going without my name as backup, so we've got each other and nothing else. I'm going to get what we came for and get the f.u.c.k out."

She nods-Vegas is a h.e.l.lhole at the best of times, and Third Day is a far cry from the best of times.