Chapter 2 Rowan
My hands felt clammy, and my heart became erratic as we neared the checkpoint.
I had gone through it a million times, but I was still on edge.
Harper gossiped in the back with Lily, and Malcolm tapped his fingers on the steering wheel like little drumsticks.
I leaned over, pressing my cheek to Alex’s arm.
He looked down at me, flashing a gentle smile before ruffling my hair and throwing his arm around me.
I melted into him, accepting his comfort.
It wasn’t romantic. Alex was like a big brother, and he could always sense when my anxiety was getting the better of me.
I nuzzled into him, knowing his beta scent was just an added layer of camouflage that helped me hide in plain sight, especially if I had a rare and unfortunate run-in with an alpha.
They were easy enough to avoid, considering Arca only stationed betas at checkpoints and other public facilities.
I supposed they reserved alpha soldiers for more dangerous and important jobs, which was fine by me.
Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, and I quickly rooted around in my bag under the seat for my scent-blocking lotion. I swiped some on my wrists and neck before settling back into Alex’s warmth.
“Mmm, that smells good,” he commented.
Of course, he thought I smelled good. I smelled like a beta. My strong floral lotion was perfect for masking my actual scent. Not that I had much of a natural scent, since I had been taking suppressants for almost ten years.
Alphas were sensitive to scent. They hated strong lotions and perfumes. I detested the smell too, as it made my skin crawl, but it helped me mask my faint omega scent, so I wore it anytime I left the house.
I couldn’t stand the store-bought ones filled with chemicals and preservatives, opting to make the lotion myself. My dad showed me how, and he would often test the perfume with his alpha nose to determine how off-putting it was. The stronger the floral scent, the better.
We had a small garden behind our cabin filled with roses, quince, calendula, and peonies. I would dry the flower petals, soak them in oil for several weeks, and finally combine them with shea butter or beeswax to make lotions and bars.
My dad also showed me how to make the illegal suppressants I took daily. We made the capsules from a plant called weeping violet. Growing it was a punishable offense, which is why our cabin was located deep in the woods of No-Man's-Land.
It used to take my dad well over an hour to get to the women’s health clinic he worked at in Falcon City, so he would leave on foot before the sun rose, walking nearly two miles to reach his car before hitting the road.
Every time I thought about my dad, what he sacrificed to protect me and give me my freedom, a pang of guilt mixed with grief washed over me.
I missed him.
He could have blamed me for my mother’s death. He loved her as deeply as any man can love a woman, and her loss crippled him. I wouldn’t have blamed him for hating me. After all, she was dead because of me.
Omega births notoriously presented complications. Hemorrhage, sepsis, blood clots, stroke, and preeclampsia were just some of the many ways omega mothers died in childbirth, the latter being how my mother passed.
My dad was the doctor who delivered me. While he didn’t blame me for my mother’s death, I knew he blamed himself, thinking he could have done more despite knowing the risks associated with omega births. That’s why there were so few of us now, and why we were so highly coveted by Arca.
Being an omega meant mandatory enlistment, same with being an alpha.
We were both required by law to turn ourselves over to the Arca military at 18 years of age.
Some omegas and alphas even enrolled in early readiness programs. At 16, omegas often entered training centers to learn etiquette and submission, aiming for enlistment with a desirable pack.
Arca only paired the most valuable and well-connected units with those omegas.
The Arca database tracked every known omega and alpha from birth until death.
Medical staff pricked every baby immediately after birth to test for designation, and those few precious drops of blood determined their fate.
All the hospitals and clinics below the Border Front sent those results to Arca’s database for cataloging.
My dad once told me that before the world changed, medical history used to be private and protected by something he referred to as HIPAA.
It was Arca who lobbied for public access to personal medical files.
When the mutations happened, fear gripped people, and laws changed rapidly afterward.
It was only a few years later that the mandatory conscription laws for alphas and omegas went into effect.
The world had changed long before I was born. Some attributed the designation mutations to evolution, but even now, whispers among conspiracy theorists suggested Arca was truly to blame. Possible chemical warfare on the public, military testing gone wrong. There was a theory for every scenario.
Arca had its hand in every pie before the world changed.
They owned most household brands, held many military defense contracts, controlled almost all the corporations across the country, and managed the political agenda behind closed curtains.
Their swift seizure of power surprised no one as the world plunged into absolute chaos.
Privacy became a small price to pay for safety.
The only omegas who could hide their designations were born outside of hospitals, and they rarely survived the complicated childbirths.
My dad risked everything to conceal me. Based on my mother’s complications, he suspected I was an omega.
Acting quickly, he pricked another baby in the NICU and sent the duplicate blood for designation testing.
On paper, I was, and to everyone else appeared to be, a beta.
No one knew my secret.
As we neared the checkpoint, I fiddled with the identification card hanging from the lanyard around my neck.
It was a lightweight plastic card, but it felt as heavy as a chain, causing my anxiety to climb.
The front showed my picture: a small smile, big blue eyes, and a large black barcode underneath.
Rowan Isabel Miles, Beta, 26, Female, Un-mated.
My middle name was a parting gift from my mother. Her name had been Isabel, and it was the only connection I ever had to her. It was the only piece of her I carried with me, considering I had never even gotten to meet her.
My dad used to tell me I was the spitting image of my mother, with the same blue eyes and striking hair.
Of course, I had seen her in a few photographs, but she always looked different from one picture to the next.
I’m not sure I would even recognize her if she were to one day materialize in front of me.
We were just strangers who shared the same name, and while I mourned the loss of a mother, my father made up for her absence in every way he could.
I stared anxiously out the window as we neared the checkpoint. Dust swirled around the car, but I could just make out Billy standing at the barricade, waiting to scan our IDs. His familiar face calmed my nerves considerably as I passed my ID to Malcolm in the front seat.
Outside, Billy tapped his knuckle on the window, and Malcolm slowly rolled it down using the hand crank. This old van was such a shit box. Nothing was automatic, not even the locks. The heat from outside collided with the car’s AC, fogging the windows and even Lily’s glasses.
“Hey Billy, how’s it going?” Malcolm coughed mid-sentence as the dust from outside entered through the open window, invading his lungs.
“Heyyy, Malcolm! Alex, Lily, Harper, Rowan,” he nodded to each of us as he listed our names, lingering on me longer than the rest.
I didn’t see it behind me, but I could almost feel the frown that undoubtedly crossed Harper’s face when he did this.
Her infatuation with Billy was unhealthy.
He was all she talked about: his hair, his uniform, all the cute beta babies they were going to make.
She absolutely hated it when his glances lingered on me, when he found an opportunity to touch my arm while scanning my ID card, and especially when he asked what I was doing after our gig.
I did my best to brush off his advances while remaining cordial.
I certainly did not return his affections, which I had assured Harper of time and time again.
However, I found it helpful to be friendly with the man, because Billy was stationed at the checkpoint we crossed every weekend to reach Falcon City.
Billy didn’t ask us many questions, as he knew who we were from patronizing Rosie’s Bar.
For the past three years, our band, Cherry Voltage, had frequently played live music there on Friday and Saturday nights.
Billy was a fan of our music, and we sometimes hung around the bar with his friends and him after a gig.
“I didn’t know you guys were playing tonight! My buddy and I were just talking about heading to Rosie’s when our shifts were over,” he said, eyes lighting up as he glanced back at me.
He continued the casual conversation while scanning each of our IDs and returning them to Malcolm through the driver’s window.
I watched him from the backseat, trying to understand what Harper found so attractive about the man.
He had plain, shaggy brown hair, simple features, a straight nose, thin lips, and deep-set brown eyes.
They were kind eyes, but they did nothing to capture my attention.
Betas never did.
Despite my suppressants eliminating my sex drive, I was biologically hard-wired to be attracted to alphas.
However, I avoided them like the plague, considering all of them were Arca Military and would happily report an omega deserter.
The only ones who weren’t actively enlisted were old and retired, like my dad had been, or mobster criminals dodging enlistment.
Maybe I was doomed to perpetual loneliness.
A sudden screeching noise sounded from the scanner, a loud alarm that sent panic racing through me. The noise snapped me out of my thoughts, and I quickly tried to gather information. Whose ID had set it off?
Shit! It was mine.
Billy had tried to scan my ID. How could this be happening? My ID was real, unlike those pathetic forged ones that were only good from a distance. I got it legally at the DMV, for Christ’s sake!
I was going to be sick.
He fumbled with the scanner, and when it made more strange noises, he banged it against his hand a few times.
“It does this sometimes; hang on a second,” Billy said as he continued smashing it against his palm.
Why the heck did it have to malfunction while scanning my ID?
My palms felt hot, and I tried to keep my composure, but I was sure my pale skin was several shades redder than before, revealing my anxiety. Billy glanced up, saw my obvious discomfort, and attempted to calm my nerves.
“Relax, Rowan, it’s fine. It’s just this stupid machine. It malfunctions about once a day. I just need to get my supervisor to fix it. Be right back.”
Alex, sensing my distress, squeezed my shoulder and mouthed, “You OK?” tilting his head with concern. Inside the car, all eyes were on me. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears, as every part of my body became warm and tingly.
I mouthed back, “I’m fine,” and cast my eyes down to my hands, which nervously played with a frayed string hanging from my shirt.
I watched Billy walk away from the car, still messing with the machine, expecting him to stop at the blonde soldier standing nearby. I thought surely that stoic-looking man was his supervisor, but Billy kept walking right past him.
Wait, who was his supervisor? Where was he going?
I followed his path with my eyes, ducking my head around the front seat to see where he was heading and that’s when my heart stopped completely.
Shit!
A few feet past the barricade, off to the side of the road, was another soldier.
He was sitting on an extra concrete barrier, thick thighs spread apart, one elbow resting on his right leg, and his head cradled in his hand.
Unconcerned with our vehicle, he seemed nearly asleep, or possibly daydreaming.
The sound of Billy approaching roused him as his arms stretched upward in a flurry of motion.
He yawned, twisting his torso and limbs.
It was only then I noticed how massive he was.
His thick arms corded with veins and muscle, barely hidden beneath a thin sandy-colored military tee.
He moved like a lazy lion, unhurried and relaxed, yet every motion hinted at coiled strength and quiet power.
His body was predatory, and there was no way he was a beta.
“Please don’t come over here. Please, please, please, just don’t come over here,” I silently begged whatever or whoever might be listening.
Billy exchanged a few words with him, handed over the machine, and then passed him my ID. He looked at the machine first, banging it on his hand as well.
Why do men think banging things fixes them?
Next, he looked at my ID. His head’s downward tilt obscured his face, preventing me from seeing his expression, but I watched his thumb trace my picture in small circles. Then his head snapped up in the van’s direction, and I caught a sharp, toothy grin on his face.
He jumped off his resting place, and his long muscular legs moved straight toward me.
I was so screwed.