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CHAPTER ONE
Della
Della hated parties. No, that wasn’t quite right. She abhorred parties. Not the idea of them (a gathering to celebrate or socialize was banal enough), but the memories they evoked. Memories of a different world and a different life: sophisticated crowds glittering with power, prestige, strategy, and, most important of all, ambition. A reminder that once upon a very different time, basking in the endlessness of “what if,” stood a woman she barely remembered but whose skin she inhabited.
Her own skin, which felt less like a vital organ and more like a living shroud relegated to contain the remains of Adeline Cabrese, whose star rose right before the world fell.
Della, as she was now known, blinked back to the present. She grounded herself in the sharp pops of the bonfire, the sting of wood smoke in her eyes, and the loud guffaws of large men. Known as Alphas in this upside-down reality, they replaced the glitterati to claim all the power in this new world. Nursing a cup of what passed for liquor, Della bided her time at the impromptu party, thrown together to welcome half of the Pack back home from their three-month trading trip.
The Alphas clustered in jovial groups of varying degrees of intoxication. Some new faces mixed with the familiar, as the group had picked up several new “brothers,” as they referred to each other, like members of some weird dystopian frat. Della hadn’t caught the names of the new ones and, frankly, didn’t care. Like every Alpha who’d trickled into the Pack, they would inevitably cross her path with some uncouth comment or obnoxious behavior. In short, she’d learn their names when they pissed her off.
In her early forties at the start of the apocalypse, Della had lived through the century following the collapse. Millions died while massive radiation and environmental disruption fundamentally altered those who remained. Beyond creating the new Alpha and Omega dynamics, the resultant mutations also disrupted normal aging in some who survived. Della included.
So, now, when she looked into the cracked mirror in her humble cabin, she didn’t see a withered centenarian crone. She saw the face of a distinguished, older woman. A woman who’d lived through it all and abandoned all of her grandiose goals for one overarching imperative: survival.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Della’d ticked that checkbox. She’d survived. And that’s exactly how she felt. She’d survived for so fucking long, she couldn’t even remember what it was like to actually… just… live?
Around the bonfire, someone plucked a guitar to the forlorn strains of an old folksong about a woman named Jolene, while the few Alpha and Omega parents in the settlement began herding children to their beds. Yawns dotted the faces of kids and their parents alike, and Della fought one of her own. With the Alphas’ return, the day had become unexpectedly busy unloading the horses, sorting the supplies to their various storage areas, and situating the new Alphas in the community. The caravan bore goods and supplies and sweets for the children, but the only thing Della coveted from the haul was the story of how the one new Omega who’d arrived with them, a pretty woman named Kess, had bonded with Hunter, the leader of this Pack, the Alpha of Alphas they called him, and Della’s oldest (and only) living friend.
If anyone had asked, Della would’ve disbelieved it was even possible for Hunter to mate and bond with an Omega in the way these younger, newer Alphas did. Like her, he’d lived through the cascading geopolitical, environmental, and social crises of TheEnd and on into the next age, now called the AfterEnd. Also, like her, his aging had slowed to a snail’s pace.
She’d come to the party wanting to hear the story from him directly before bending his ear about a pressing concern that had arisen while he’d been gone, along with her proposed solution. Yet all evening, he’d stood glued to Kess’s side, laughing and enjoying himself like never before in their twenty-year friendship. Unable, in good taste, to interrupt a party with an agenda item, Della set it aside till tomorrow.
Exhaustion asserted its sluggish weight on her eyelids, and another yawn snuck out of her mouth. Before the Alphas appeared and precipitated a flurry of activity, Della had already been awake since before dawn for her daily five-mile run. Now, well past sundown, she’d accumulated enough fatigue to ease her always-rocky passage into slumber. At least, she hoped so.
With a toss of the high-proof-low-enjoyment alcohol down her throat—one advantage of losing her sense of smell was not being able to taste the disgusting brew—it was time to head home. She winced until her eyes watered, letting the harsh burn steer her away from memories of expensive aged whiskey, bespoke cocktails, and a working nose to appreciate them.
Leaving the cup in a wash bin, she turned her feet toward her cabin and her cozy, snug bed.
“Hey, Del,” Hunter’s voice reached out as she attempted to skirt unnoticed past the gathered group of Alphas surrounding Hunter and his mate. “Come here for a sec. We’re talking about your favorite thing, infrastructure.”
Della halted. A dozen Alpha eyes pivoted to her, some more alcohol-glassy than others, and her ears tingled with excitement. Infrastructure had been precisely what she wanted to speak with Hunter about. Perhaps now was a good time to make her pitch after all.
“Thinking about building a bathhouse.” Hunter’s craggy face lit with a wholly atypical expression of excitement. “With a water heater and a big ole bathtub. What do you think?”
The wind dribbled from her sails, but she quickly regrouped. Tilting her head, she considered it. A bathhouse with indoor plumbing and hot water wasn’t the worst idea. They had nothing so sophisticated in Morris Hill, nor any way she knew to construct it. Even if they could scavenge the necessary piping, heat required energy capture. But the idea would be popular with the Alphas because it benefited everyone, whereas her proposal only benefited a few.
Della took a stab at imagining Hunter’s vision. “You want to use the solar panels?”
“Possibly.”
“Don’t have enough,” she said simply. They’d been down this road before and had never been able to make much use of the salvaged panels.
His eyes sparkled. “Have a tip on finding more.”
The Alphas voiced excitement at Hunter’s announcement, rushing to talk over one another about where he’d heard about more and how soon they could organize to investigate. Della bit the inside of her cheek to keep her immediate opposition in check. A bathhouse would be nice, sure, but it was a luxury when the settlement had more important, basic needs to be met.
First and foremost, the new, unmated Omegas needed a bunkhouse of their own. The two unmated Omegas who had recently joined the settlement were too new and timid to advocate for themselves. The other female residents of Morris Hill were allmatedOmegas, most of them preoccupied with their growing broods and swelling bellies and no space to think about larger village issues. That left Della to raise the issue and lead the charge.
But after long years in the AfterEnd trying to organize rebuilding efforts, Della had learned her lesson: Alphas couldn’t be led anywhere. Not by a woman, andespeciallynot by a relic woman from a former era who didn’t fit in their tidy boxes of Alpha, Omega, or Beta.
No, Alphas had to beinfluencedto do the right thing. And right now? She had no patience or tolerance to do any influencing in a mixed group of half-drunk man-beasts.
She made eye contact with Hunter. “It’s a nice idea,” she said diplomatically. “We should revisit it when you’ve got the panels in hand. If you’ll excuse me…” Not waiting for a response, Della spun on her heel and continued down the path to her cabin.
A rude response? Possibly.
Probably.
