by Lizzy Bequin
“The, um…the last known location where Eva was spotted. That’s where we will…you know, start the search.”
Before he turns back around, I could swear that his eyes flick behind me briefly to look at the troopers in the back seat.
Start the search?
I can’t believe we’re actually going outside in the zone. I mean, I guess there’s no way around it if we are going to search for Eva, but the prospect fucking terrifies me.
Silence settles on the passengers, and I turn my gaze out the window at the world passing by.
As we have gotten farther away from the quarantine wall, the landscape has changed around us. First, the barren, rocky wasteland became dotted with tufts of rough, wiry plants. Then the stony terrain gradually gave way to gently sloping hills covered in patchy grass swaying in the breeze. Now we are speeding over rolling meadows edged by dark, old-growth forests.
I’ve never seen such greenery in all my life. Galadon-1, where I reside, is like any other city hive. It is a towering, claustrophobic conglomeration of thousands upon thousands of dingy skyscrapers. Crumbling rockcrete and steel corroded by poison rains. Barely any dirty sunlight makes it through the smothering blanket of smog. Sure there are some trees lining the streets in the wealthier districts of the upper tiers, but even those are sickly, anemic things.
Here in the interior of the zone, on the other hand, things look almost primordial. The land appears virginal except for the few remnants of humanity from before the cataclysm. The occasional husk of a long abandoned car. A houseless stone chimney peeking over the high weeds. An old telephone pole curling with green creeper vines and leaning precariously like a dead tree where a vulture perches and ruffles his black wings, eyeing us suspiciously as we race past.
Part of me can’t help thinking that the wilds of the quarantine zone hold a strange, almost forbidden beauty.
I immediately chastise myself for harboring any favorable thoughts about this place.
This is the zone. The quarantine zone. I know full well that its lush, idyllic appearance belies the predatory danger of its inhabitants. Hell, I’ve spent my whole life studying those freaks.
Within minutes after the cataclysm first struck, those humans unfortunate enough to be in range of the contamination started to mutate.
The vast majority of them became betas. Mindless, shambling zombies with pale, translucent skin and dull white eyes, they showed no signs of sentience at all. Within days they would die of dehydration or starvation if they didn’t aimlessly wander off a bridge first.
Much less common, at least in the days following the cataclysm, were the Alpha mutations. These only occurred in a small subset of the male population. The Alphas are horrible, hyper-masculine beasts, their bodies bulging with muscles and their minds inflamed with a terrifying lust for carnage and violence.
And mating.
Which brings us to the third, and rarest, of all the mutant forms—the omegas. This mutation only occurred among the female population. The poor women who experienced this mutation immediately fell into a state of intense reproductive receptivity known as estrus.
In short, they went into heat.
Upon mutation, the omega’s body would send out an extraordinary quantity of pheromones, signalling to any nearby Alphas that the omega was ready to be mated.
By all accounts, the omegas would lose themselves in a nearly trance-like state of raw, ecstatic lust, begging to be claimed and bred by as many males as they could take. The Alpha’s would descend upon a screaming omega in packs, using the female’s body roughly and mercilessly for their pleasure until her estrus finally abated.
As I think about that, staring out the window, a trickle of sweat runs down my spine inside my bodysuit, making me shiver once again.
“Levels?” Bishop grunts once more.
“Over five hundred,” Dr. Lucian says after a few quick taps on his data slate. “This will do. We can use the small clearing just beyond those trees up ahead.”
He tilts the data slate so that Bishop can look. The screen is displaying a satellite map of the surrounding area.
“Good,” Bishop says with a nod.
He fishtails the transport to a gut-wrenching stop at the edge of a dark forest.
“Deakon, Chappel,” Bishop calls over his shoulder to the troops in the back, “get ready to disembark.”
I look behind me and watch as the two big men slide back the lid of a steel storage container positioned between them. From inside, they start drawing out weapons and gear to arm themselves.
However, this is not the kind of equipment I was expecting at all. There is a pair of massive restraints that are basically high tech handcuffs that look like they were designed for a gorilla. There is a massive shock collar and electro-wire netting. And to top it all off, the troopers pull two matching sniper rifles from the case and bandoliers of liquid filled darts.
Are those…tranquilizer guns?
I face forward again, and my heart is suddenly pumping double-time with a combination of fury and terror.
“What’s going on? This is supposed to be a rescue mission!” I shout. “You can’t seriously be considering trying to capture an Alpha!”
In the driver’s seat, Bishop is checking the magazine and chamber of his sidearm. He ignores my outburst, and barks an order to his men in the back seat.
“Deakon. Chappel. Helmets on.” He turns toward Dr. Lucian beside him. “You too, Doc.”
“Wait!” I shout again, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. “I’m not going out there until you tell me what’s going on! This is completely insane if you think—“
Dr. Lucian, helmet in hand, flashes me another grin, but this time there’s a hint of malice behind it.
“You have to understand,” he says cooly. “These Alphas are a valuable commodity, Lily. Just think of what we can learn if we are able to capture one and bring it back with us.”
My mouth feels dry. My throat tightens, making it difficult to squeeze the words out. When I finally speak, the words leave my mouth as barely a whisper.
“This isn’t really a rescue mission, is it?”
There are a series of clicks and hisses as the security troopers fasten their helmets into their protective suits. Sara is wide-eyed and trembling in her seat. Dr. Lucian gives me a phony apologetic look.
“I’m sorry for the duplicity,” he says. “But it was the only way to get you to come along, I’m afraid.”
“Get your helmet on, Doctor,” Bishop says, his voice distorted by the breathing apparatus covering his face. “We’re heading out.”
“No!” I cry, not even trying to conceal my panic anymore. “Sara and I don’t have our masks. And I’m not going out there until—“
“Enough!” Bishop barks. “Deakon. Chappel. Subdue the females.”
“Subdue? What the hell are you—“
Before I can get the words out, a heavy gloved hand falls on my shoulder, clamping me in place. There is a hot sting of a needle at the side of my neck. Almost immediately my muscles go slack and my bones seem to turn to jelly.
In my peripheral vision, I see Sara’s body slump in her seat. They got her too, the bastards.
I try to protest, but it’s in vain. My jaw hangs slack and I feel a trickle of drool on my chin.
“Helmet,” I manage to slur.
My vision darkens. I hear Dr. Lucian’s voice. It sounds like a distant echo.
“Don’t worry about your helmet, Lily,” he chuckles. “You won’t be needing it.”
Then I lose myself to the enveloping darkness.
CHAPTER 3: LILY
My consciousness returns in waves.
The first thing I’m aware of is the ringing of steel on steel. Something being hammered. Behind that, farther away, are other sounds that I’m not able to place at first. Strange, almost musical sounds that I’ve only ever heard in audio recordings.
Birds. We’re outside.
My eyes fly open with a jolt of p
anic as my drugged brain finally starts to grasp the significance of that fact.
My bare back is scraping against something hard and rough, which I realize is the bark of a tree. My arms are raised over my head, and something is biting into the flesh of my wrists.
I roll my head back to look upward, and there in the dots of light poking through the leaves overhead, I see that I am shackled to a heavy iron chain. One of the troopers—I cannot tell which because his face is obscured by his helmet and breathing mask—is hammering a metal spike through the center of one of the links into the thick tree trunk, securing the chain in place.
Cool wind ghosts across my bare skin. Still weakened by the effects of the drug, my head lolls. I look down at my body and see that my protective suit has been removed, leaving me naked except for my underwear.
I glance to my left to find Sara. She has been stripped down to her underwear too, and her body is already hanging limply from a chain nailed to the tree. Her eyes are rolling beneath her closed lids. She’s just beginning to wake up too.
We are both exposed. We have no protection against the contamination of the zone.
A woman’s voice is screaming. It takes me a second before I realize it’s me.
“Shut that bitch up,” a distorted voice growls.
The man standing over me has finished his hammering. His broad, gloved hand backhands me across the jaw. Dull, white pain flashes behind my eyes.
“Careful,” a different voice calls. “We don’t want them unconscious you fool. They are supposed to be live bait, after all. The more screaming the better.”
I decide to keep quiet. I don’t want another blow like that one. Instead, I look around, taking stock of the situation.
We are in a large, mostly circular clearing like a shallow, grassy bowl rimmed with dense, dark forest. In the very center of the clearing is the single, massive tree that Sara and I are chained to.
Under other circumstances, I might find this place beautiful.
Beside me, Sara stirs as she finally begins to wake up. She blinks her eyes, her expression confused and dreamy. Then realization spreads across her features as she rattles the chains over her head and looks at the four dark-clad masked men standing in front of us.
Now it’s her turn to scream.
“Sara,” I hiss, “be quiet. Screaming will only attract Alphas.”
Her tear-filled eyes grow even wider at the mention of that awful word. But she stops screaming, for the time being at least.
“Oh it doesn’t matter too much,” one of the men says, stepping forward.
His voice is modulated by his visored helmet, emerging from the breathing grate with a curious sibilance. Still, I can guess from his slightly shorter stature that he is Dr. Lucian.
“As you well know,” he continues, “Alphas have a strong sense of smell. And soon, with a little luck, at least one of you will be deep in estrus.”
Estrus. Heat. And what did he say before about bait?
“Why are you doing this?” I demand. My cheeks are striped with tears, but I manage somehow to keep my voice level and firm.
The sound of Dr. Lucian’s chuckle filtering through his mask makes my skin crawl.
“Alphas are such elusive creatures,” he says strolling toward me nonchalantly. “After almost a hundred years, the quarantine zone should be crawling with them. The betas have all but died out, but the Alphas and omegas have continued to mate. Yet they manage to stay hidden somehow. We have penetrated as deep as our contamination resistant vehicles will allow, yet we’ve never managed to bring in a live Alpha. Oh we’ve had our share of run-ins, to be sure. But we’ve never managed to capture one.”
“Hurry up, Doctor,” one of the big men growls. It must be Bishop. “Time’s wasting, and I don’t want to get caught out here with my dick in my hand.”
“Patience, Commander. We need to make sure that the mutations have taken effect.”
As if on cue, a strange gurgling sound issues from Sara’s lips, followed by an inhuman groan. When I turn my eyes toward her, my stomach churns, and for the second time today, I find myself on the verge of vomiting.
Sara’s skin has grown pale and sickly, shot with dark, diseased-looking veins. Her eyes have turned dull and murky, and a string of spit dangles from her chin.
“Sara!” I cry out, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
She has already become a mindless beta.
Dr. Lucian clucks his tongue behind his mask.
“Well, that’s…disappointing,” he mutters. “I was certain that Sara displayed all of the proper traits for the omega mutation. Oh well, even I make mistakes sometimes. What a waste.”
Tears blur my vision as I turn away. To bring an innocent woman out here into the zone and mutate her into a beta zombie like that is beyond evil. It’s a fate worse than death. And all that bastard Dr. Lucian has to say is that it’s “disappointing.”
I steel my nerves, expecting to descend into the same mindless state. I can’t imagine what it must be like, but I guess I’m about to find out.
However, nothing happens. Nothing at all.
Dr. Lucian laughs.
“Good, good!”
I blink back my tears and glare at him with fury in my eyes.
“What are you so happy about, you sick fuck?”
I cringe as he steps closer and his gloved fingers brush my hair back.
“You have been exposed to the contamination of the zone,” he rasps through his breathing mask, “but you have not become a beta. That only leaves one other possibility.
Oh God. He’s right. I’m an omega.
I shake my head in disbelief.
“But…why don’t I feel any different?” I ask.
“Come now, Lily. We’re scientists, aren’t we? We can’t rely on feelings. We need empirical evidence, hm? Hard data.”
It’s only now that I notice the device that Dr. Lucian is carrying in his left hand. It must be some kind of scanner because he aims it at my body, first near my exposed armpits, then down my torso, finally stopping at my crotch.
“What the hell is that?” I snarl.
I’m starting to get pissed. In a weird way, being chained up and helpless is taking away some of my fear. It’s like my instincts have recognized that I have no hope for escape, so now all I can think about is how much I would like to gouge this fucker’s eyeballs out.
“Excellent,” he mutters to himself, ignoring my question.
Behind him, the troopers are getting antsy, anxiously scanning the tree line. Deakon and Chappel are both shouldering their tranquilizer rifles. Bishop is resting his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol.
“How’s it look, Doctor?”
“It worked,” Dr. Lucian says happily. “She’s an omega all right. Her body is already descending into estrus. Good Lord, her pheromonal emissions are almost off the charts. She’s the ripest one we’ve had yet.”
Bishop nods. He gestures for Deakon and Chappel to take up sniper positions in the deep shadows of the treeline.
So that’s what this is all about then. He tricked me into coming out here so that he could expose me to the contamination and mutate me into an omega in heat. All so he could lure in an Alpha to capture it.
Dr. Lucian turns to go.
“Why me?” I struggle against my chains as I feel my strength returning. “Why not just use one of those men to mutate yourself an Alpha and save yourself a little trouble?”
The doctor pauses. He turns on his heel and draws near. His breathing is heavy through his mask.
“Despite all of the research we’ve compiled over the past century, we can never be certain how an individual’s mutation will play out.” He nods toward Sara, where she is now slouching in her beta stupor. “And as you well know, it is only the strongest, most athletic men who are likely to display an Alpha mutation. Such men are a valuable commodity. The government needs those men for security roles and to fight foreign wars. We can’t risk wasting good men like tha
t only to get beta mutations.”
I ball my shackled hands into fists. If it weren’t for these chains, I would bring my fists down on this creep’s skull.
“But nobody’s going to care too much if a few young women go missing?” I spit. “I guess we’re not a valuable commodity.”
Dr. Lucian tenderly strokes my cheek with his gloved fingers, making my skin crawl and my stomach turn.
“Don’t fret, my dear. Here in the zone, an omega is very valuable indeed, as you will soon discover.”
On a sudden impulse I lash out, trying to bite his hand. If I can just puncture the material of his glove, he will be exposed too. Forced to mutate. At least I might avenge Sara that way. And Eva too.
But Dr. Lucian is too quick for me. He draws his hand away, and my teeth clack together, biting nothing but air.
“Amazing,” he mutters to himself. “The bitch has already gone feral.”
“Come on, Doc,” Bishop growls. “Time to go.”
The commander has come up behind Dr. Lucian to look me up and down. Deakon and Chappel have both disappeared into the surrounding woods.
“We should remove her underwear,” Dr. Lucian says in a creepy voice. “To expedite the diffusion of her pheromones through the surrounding a—“
He is cut off by a low, moaning howl in the distance. The sound sends a tingle up my spine, and my skin prickles with goosebumps. What’s even weirder is the clenching sensation at my core. Slickness pools inside my panties, and I feel a rush of shame for having this kind of reaction at such an inopportune time.
This can’t be happening.
“No time,” Bishop said. “And no need from the sound of it. Deakon and Chappel are both in position and the bait is set. You and I will monitor the situation from the safety of the vehicle.”
I watch as the two men leave, moving at a quick trot up the sides of the grassy incline before disappearing into the shadows of the trees.
And now I’m left all alone with Sara, the poor woman slumped and drooling in her chains.
That’s when I notice something strange. All those birds I heard before? They’ve gone quiet. The entire valley is silent except for the faint clink of our chains.
