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Authors: Nazarea Andrews
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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.
Chapter
6. Ghosts of the Past
THE
FIRST TIME I SAW OMAR, I was twelve. Five years after ERI-Milan broke in
Atlanta, we were still adjusting to life behind Haven walls and the fact that
there was no end in sight.
Then,
we still believed in a cure. We were still fucking idiots.
Omar
was larger than life. At eighteen, he was already fighting in the East. And in
a battleground that spanned hundreds of miles and millions of lives, he rose to
the top. He led the first foray into Atlanta after the bombing. He rescued as
many survivors as he killed infects.
We
had heard his legend before he ever arrived in 1. Kelsey was already slipping
her handlers, disappearing with me to spar and train. Every time, it set the
entire haven in a panic, but every time, I helped her.
Few
things would make her smile—but that did.
When
Omar first walked into our lives, Kelsey decided that he would be the soldier
who would push us from training in secret to the frontlines.
He
did. With his help, and her determination, we went from a couple of kids to an
elite force.
And
then we killed her.
Chapter
7. The Assistance of the Order
OMAR
AND I ARE ENOUGH TO CAUSE A STIR IN ANY PLACE—but in Haven 1, where we both
have a past and connections, we draw more attention than I’m comfortable with.
“Do
you have ways out?” he asks, abruptly. I glance at him, and let a slow smile
turn my lips. He makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “Your bolt-holes will
bring down a haven one day.”
“They’re
falling just fine without my help,” I say coolly.
He
grunts, and we walk another stretch in silence. He’s steering the direction of
the walk and the conversation, and I’m letting him. But when we finally reach
the jogging track, where Walkers do PT and citizens can work out excess energy,
I finally shift my full attention on him. “Where is she, Omar?”
“How
much do you know of the Order?”
I
think about the Grays in 6, and Holly here, moving the pieces to control a
president. I think of Lori in 18.
“Not
as much as I should,” I say, grudgingly. “Enough to know you don’t belong with
a group of bloodthirsty fanatics.”
Omar’s
expression sours, just a little. “They are a means to an end.”
“What
end is that?” I ask, quietly.
Omar
pauses, studying me for a long moment. “I spent almost ten years watching
people die, fighting for the East, and then some bastard decided we couldn’t
win, and everyone who died did it for no reason. There’s no fucking sense in
that.”
I
stare at him, not sure I believe what I’m hearing. “We can’t win that battle.
You know that—we fought it. We know what the numbers were like. The population
was too dense.”
That
was the real problem in the East. For every one we evac’ed, another didn’t make
it out. Too many died too fast, in too small a space. There was no way to put
them all down, because every solider who died came back. We didn’t have the
manpower or the weaponry to take it back. There was a theory that they didn’t
migrate west as we ceded the battle because the dead were territorial—they died
and stayed where they died.
It
was a stupid fucking theory. They
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.
Chapter
6. Ghosts of the Past
THE
FIRST TIME I SAW OMAR, I was twelve. Five years after ERI-Milan broke in
Atlanta, we were still adjusting to life behind Haven walls and the fact that
there was no end in sight.
Then,
we still believed in a cure. We were still fucking idiots.
Omar
was larger than life. At eighteen, he was already fighting in the East. And in
a battleground that spanned hundreds of miles and millions of lives, he rose to
the top. He led the first foray into Atlanta after the bombing. He rescued as
many survivors as he killed infects.
We
had heard his legend before he ever arrived in 1. Kelsey was already slipping
her handlers, disappearing with me to spar and train. Every time, it set the
entire haven in a panic, but every time, I helped her.
Few
things would make her smile—but that did.
When
Omar first walked into our lives, Kelsey decided that he would be the soldier
who would push us from training in secret to the frontlines.
He
did. With his help, and her determination, we went from a couple of kids to an
elite force.
And
then we killed her.
Chapter
7. The Assistance of the Order
OMAR
AND I ARE ENOUGH TO CAUSE A STIR IN ANY PLACE—but in Haven 1, where we both
have a past and connections, we draw more attention than I’m comfortable with.
“Do
you have ways out?” he asks, abruptly. I glance at him, and let a slow smile
turn my lips. He makes a disgusted noise in his throat. “Your bolt-holes will
bring down a haven one day.”
“They’re
falling just fine without my help,” I say coolly.
He
grunts, and we walk another stretch in silence. He’s steering the direction of
the walk and the conversation, and I’m letting him. But when we finally reach
the jogging track, where Walkers do PT and citizens can work out excess energy,
I finally shift my full attention on him. “Where is she, Omar?”
“How
much do you know of the Order?”
I
think about the Grays in 6, and Holly here, moving the pieces to control a
president. I think of Lori in 18.
“Not
as much as I should,” I say, grudgingly. “Enough to know you don’t belong with
a group of bloodthirsty fanatics.”
Omar’s
expression sours, just a little. “They are a means to an end.”
“What
end is that?” I ask, quietly.
Omar
pauses, studying me for a long moment. “I spent almost ten years watching
people die, fighting for the East, and then some bastard decided we couldn’t
win, and everyone who died did it for no reason. There’s no fucking sense in
that.”
I
stare at him, not sure I believe what I’m hearing. “We can’t win that battle.
You know that—we fought it. We know what the numbers were like. The population
was too dense.”
That
was the real problem in the East. For every one we evac’ed, another didn’t make
it out. Too many died too fast, in too small a space. There was no way to put
them all down, because every solider who died came back. We didn’t have the
manpower or the weaponry to take it back. There was a theory that they didn’t
migrate west as we ceded the battle because the dead were territorial—they died
and stayed where they died.
It
was a stupid fucking theory. They
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