Page 4 of Marked Omega

To this day, nobody knows what happened there.

There has been, of course, a great deal of speculation about the source of the omega contamination. Some people suggest it was the result of a biological attack, but the fact that the contamination levels have not abated for over ninety years seems to rule that out.

Other more outlandish theories propose an off-world source.

Sara and I both squeal in unison as we are bounced violently in our seats. The vehicle just hit a particularly nasty ditch, making it rock precariously.

The men seem totally unfazed by it all. Sara and I exchange a knowing glance, both feeling embarrassed for our little frightened outburst.

“Don’t worry, girls,” Dr. Lucian says, flashing one of his trademark smiles. “We’re almost there.”

I don’t appreciate him calling us girls, and I’m tempted to remind him that I’m twenty-one, but I decide it’s best to keep my mouth shut.

“Almost where?” Sara asks.

Dr. Lucian’s face darkens, and the smile drops from his lips. He hesitates briefly before he responds.

“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.