The Future Without Hope by Nazarea Andrews Page A

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,