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blood on their hands. In this world, there are no options.
    Before,
we were told that it takes a certain kind of soullessness to take a life. Not
every man could, because not every man was a monster. And to kill, to be
willing to end someone so completely—that was a monstrous thing. It is still.
    And
then monsters came, and they made monsters of us all.

 
    Chapter
2. The Death of the Order

 
    SOMEONE
IS WAILING, NOT FAR OFF. I swallow my smirk, and shift forward as the press of
people eases a little. This wouldn’t be a problem—even in 1, people like to
avoid crowds and trapped places. But there is drama, and that is sure to
guarantee that here, people will cluster and gossip.
    Sick
fucks.
    I
see the edge of what’s holding their attention. A scarlet red robe, dark and
wet. I lean in, and see the girl.
    “Was
she bitten?” a hushed voice asks.
    “No.
Murdered.”
    The
word ripples out, striking against the walls of the alley and echoing back. I
can see the fear in the eyes around me, in the way they draw back and eye each
other.
    The
red priestess lies in alley, her eyes staring blankly into the morning sky,
face twisted in fear, marred by a single bullet hole to the temple. One side of
her face is pristine and beautiful still, even in the repose of death.
    The
other is mangled, blown open by the Stopper—a modified .45 caliber bullet that
S&W put out a few months after the change. It goes in neat, with very
little mess or evidence. It comes out blowing a hole the size of a fist in
whatever it punches through—all her blood and bone and brain are gaping bloody
at the sky.
    “Who
would do this?” a bewildered sounding Walker demands. “She was a priestess. ”
    I
keep my face blank, but I turn and push my way out of the growing crowd. Word
is spreading, already.
    Remembering
the fury and fear in her eyes when I pressed Nurrin’s gun to the priestess’
temple, I swallow my smile and drift through the Haven.

 
    Late
that night, I slip through the streets. It’s been five days since Nurrin
disappeared, and I’m no closer to finding her. But the Haven is in an uproar
because of the dead red priestess. More Walkers are on the wall, and in the
streets.
    Part
of being able to go anywhere is refusing to believe there’s somewhere you
shouldn’t be. So even though I know there is a curfew in place—Kenny ordered it
within an hour after the priestess’ body was found—I stride through the dark
streets with my head up, and nod at the passing Walkers. If they think it odd
that a lone man is out in the streets after curfew, they don’t press me for
answers.
    I
glance down at the scribbled note Claire had sent me just after lunch. Going to
her for information was risky—especially given what I was doing with that
information—but I was angry enough and desperate enough to not give a fuck. But
I still wanted to put some distance between us before shit went completely off
the rails.
    I
had never dragged Claire through my personal hell. I didn’t plan to start now.
    The
priest lives in one of the apartment complexes. Not surprising—even the Order
has to hang their robes up and be a Haven cog at some point. I step into the
apartment building, and eye the staircase. He’s on the fifth floor, and I have
a feeling this will be messy.
    Death
is part of our world. I don’t mind that. But it doesn’t mean collateral damage
makes me happy. It happens—but I’d avoid it if I can.
    I
jog up the stairs, and push open the steel door. The airlock gives a soft hiss,
and then opens. It’s not a great complex—but each floor is a secure zone. If a
live infection broke out, the security strips in each apartment would catch it
and lock down the floor.
    It
would be a death sentence for everyone else on the floor, but it would contain
the infection, and keep the entire complex from being exposed.
    The
security sensor above the airlock blinks as it picks up my body heat, scanning
me quickly for infection. They aren’t