Immune

PROLOGUE

DAKOTA

Heart pounding, body coated in perspiration born from fear, I chase after my brother as he hurries down the hallway with strides much bigger than mine. “Maine, please. Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t turn to face me, just simply continues on his mission to gather his things before leaving me with a woman who checked out long before the world fell to ruins and a scary chunk of humanity was wiped out in a single night.

A woman who once smelled like honey and home, before grief turned her scent into something sour, frantic, and wrong.

Before losing Dad turned her into something NOVAC was slowly hollowing from the inside out.

“Maine, I’m begging you. Please, don’t do this.

We can figure something else out, okay?” I plead, reaching my hand for his sleeve, tugging on the tattered ends with the hope that he’ll finally slow down and look at me, see the terror in my eyes and the tears threatening to fall.

Maybe he’d reconsider this stupid, asinine mission of his if he saw how much it was breaking my heart.

“Kota, I can’t stay. We have only enough food left to get us through the week, Mom took the last of her meds this morning, and you need that Omega shit you have to have every month,” he tries to argue, snatching a flashlight from the table and checking the batteries before stuffing it into the ratty backpack that has seen better days.

It used to be his college bag, back when the world didn’t collapse and everything went to shit.

Back when Omegas weren’t hunted for medicine, miracles, or meat.

Back when my designation didn’t feel like the death sentence it has become.

I’m already shaking my head, refusals braced and ready on the tip of my tongue.

“I don’t need those things. I can get by without them.

Mom, well, she’ll be fine. You know the episodes aren’t that bad anymore.

And I’m sure the two of us can scour the houses throughout the block and the block over again for food.

We might have missed some on the last run. ”

Maine stops then, sighing so deeply that I know there’s no changing his mind. He has his heart set on this stupid, asinine mission of his, and there won’t be a thing I can say that will get him to stay, no matter how hard I try.

“Dakota, you know there’s no food left for three whole blocks.

We’ve ransacked every house on this strip of road.

Mom has only been doing as well as she has because we’ve had the meds, even if we’ve had to stretch them out.

Without them, it’s going to get bad again, and you know it.

We can’t let it get bad. Not again. You know what happened last time,” he counters in quick succession, finally turning to face me.

His voice drops on the last word, as if lowering it will stop the memories from haunting me.

Like the memories weren’t painted onto the walls around us.

Like we still didn’t know what Mom’s Alpha-grief did to her when the meds wore off.

I don’t like the look on his face, the tense strain around his eyes and the tightness of his mouth.

I know he’s remembering the last time Mom suffered an episode, because I can see it just as clearly.

The dead pounding on the front of the house trying to get in.

The fear we felt. How that night seemed to last a week.

Mom screaming Dad’s name until her throat grew raw, her nails splitting from clawing at the door, the way she was convinced she could still scent him somewhere beyond the safe place we were forced to run to after the virus broke out.

I think that’s the cruelest part of EMD.

It didn’t let the bond die cleanly. It left an echo behind in the mind and forced the body to chase it.

Maine sighs deeply as soon as he sees the tears in my eyes, and I know this is hurting him as much as it is me.

My heart feels like it’s sinking to the pits of my stomach, my chest tight, and there’s a panic bubbling within me that feels like it’s on the brink of consuming me.

I already know my scent is leaking, the blockers not doing enough to hide my designation now that I’m on the last dregs of pills we had, so I’m certain Maine can smell the stress, fear, and panic that’s bleeding from me.

Sweetness injected with a tart bitterness of an Omega’s terror.

It fills the air wherever I walk, too obvious.

Too easy for the wrong person to follow.

Stepping closer, Maine brushes my shoulder-length hair from my face, the strands a matching pale ash-blonde to his, and he softens his voice as he says, “As for the Omega shit, you do need them. You can go without some things, but there are too many sick fucks about now, Kota. You’re not safe without the blockers.

You’re not safe even with them, but at least the blockers will give you a fighting chance.

We need them, you need them, that’s not debatable. ”

“But with you gone, I’ll be left to take care of Mom. I’ll be on my own. Is it really safer to leave us here without you?” I try, feeling guilty for pulling the only card I know will have him stay but using it anyway.

The expression that flashes over Maine’s face forces guilt into my stomach, and he closes his eyes for a long moment before they open with renewed determination.

“I have to go, Kota. We need food and meds. The only way we’re getting them is if I head out to look for them.

So long as you keep the doors bolted and blocked, and keep the curtains drawn, you’ll be fine.

No one will ever know you’re here. You’re safer here than with me, and we can’t take Mom with us. Please don’t make this harder, sis.”

I swallow hard, emotion choking me, my head shaking in denial. “I can’t. I can’t do this without you, Maine. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“Fuck,” he blurts, right before he yanks me into a bone-crushing hug that I’m all too quick to reciprocate.

His cheek rests against my head, and with a waver in his voice that tells me, more than words, that he’s struggling with this decision as much as I am, he says, “You’re the strongest person I know, Ko.

I’ll only be gone for a couple of days, long enough to find what we need, alright? I’ll be back before you know it.”

I bite back a whimper, hugging him tighter, my fists gripping the back of his shirt like my life depends on it.

I feel Maine brush my hair like he always used to when we were kids, shushing me gently as he rocks us back and forth.

He smells like freshly mowed grass, sweat, fear, and brother.

He smells safe in a world where safe doesn’t exist anymore, even if his subtle Beta scent is overshadowed by his own fear.

We stay that way for a long moment until Mom calls from her bedroom, “Kota? Kota, I need water.”

Maine huffs a sad laugh, squeezing me tightly once more, before finally pulling away.

He cups my face and says, “I’ll be careful, I promise.

I’m coming back, alright? I wouldn’t leave you alone in this world, Kota.

You’re my priority. Two days, three days max, is how long I’ll be gone.

I’ll try and find some new nail polish for you.

Maybe roses, if I get lucky. I know you like your roses. ”

He tries for a smile, and his teasing would have worked if my chest wasn’t tightening so much that I’m struggling to breathe without breaking.

As it was, my eyebrows pinch and I whisper, “I don’t need nail polish and roses.

I just need you. I need you here, where it’s safe, where they can’t get you. ”

“I’ll be fine, Ko. Just fine,” he swears, pressing another kiss to my temple before pulling away. “Make sure the doors stay locked and barricaded, yeah?”

Ignoring the emotion rolling through me, knowing with stone-cold certainty now that he won’t change his mind, I nod while I blink back tears.

“Don’t use the candles too much, keep the noise down, and ration the food between you and Mom,” he instructs, and all I can do is continue to nod rapidly, knocking loose a tear that cries freedom when it falls. “I’ll be back, Kota. I swear. I won’t ever leave you behind.”

With one hard kiss to my temple and one last squeeze from my brother, Maine hurries away from me, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder and snatching his jacket from the coat rack near the door.

At the door, he pauses, then he pulls his faded hat from his head and shoves it onto mine, tugging the brim down low until my pale hair disappears under it.

“Keep it covered,” he says, voice rough. “Hair hidden. Scent dead. Doors locked. You hear me?”

My hands fly up to the brim. “Maine—”

“Two days,” he says, as if saying it harder will make it true. “Three max.”

Then he kisses my temple one last time and turns toward the door.

The sliding metal of the locks being freed and the scrape of the wood that barricades the door sound like the cocking of a bullet in a gun’s chamber.

The look Maine sends me over his shoulder like the unlatching of the safety.

And the freshly shot bullet embeds itself into my chest when the door shuts after him, leaving only Mom and me in the townhouse that suddenly feels empty without my big brother.

Without the only person left in this world who knows how to keep my scent under wraps, my heats quiet, and my designation from becoming the thing that gets us both killed.

He’s the only one left who can keep me safe.

A shuddering breath escapes me, another tear falling, but I can’t wallow long, because Mom calls for me again. “Dakota, my mouth is dry. Can I get some water?”

Peering up at the ceiling as I force my lungs to take a steady breath, my tears to stop, and my heart to quit breaking, I shake my head and put on my brave face and big girl panties.

Rolling my shoulders back, I head to the kitchen at the back of the house and pour a glass of water for Mom from one of the water containers we filled when news broke of the disaster we now live in.

A disaster that sent the world into chaos, where death litters the streets now, and monsters that were once human lurk around every corner.

A disaster born from a cure that was meant to save Omegas, instead turning them into corpses, ghosts, bartering tools, or secrets.

A disaster that forced us from our lavish home in the suburbs to a townhouse in a derelict street that hasn’t seen a living person in three months, that stole Dad from me, and is now slowly stealing Mom from me, too.

And my brother has just gone out there to find us more food and medication.

Stomach rolling, I trail through the house, up the stairs to Mom’s room, and enter without knocking.

She’s right where we left her after her last episode, curled on her side in the bed that used to hold warmth and memories.

Plenty of times, Maine and I ended up cuddled in here while the frail woman on the bed would tell us tales of faraway places, her voice soothing us to sleep.

Now she’s simply a former shell of herself, worsening day by day due to the disorder that sent her on a rampage only an hour ago.

Echo Mutation Disorder. EMD. Three little letters for something that is anything but little.

From where I stand, I can see the mess left behind in the bathroom, broken shards of glass littered over the floor after Mom smashed it.

It took everything in Maine and me to calm her enough that she wasn’t making so much noise, drawing attention to the house.

Noise brought the dead. Scent brought the living. And I don’t even know which one of the two scares me the most anymore.

“Here, Mom,” I say quietly, offering her the glass.

As expected, she doesn’t take it, so I place it on her bedside table and take a seat in the armchair beside the bed.

Ignoring the spaced-out expression, I tell her, “Maine left to find food, so we’ll have to go easy on what’s left until he comes back. ”

Mom simply nods, unseeing eyes staring over my shoulder.

“It’ll be dark in a couple of hours,” I note, not that it makes a difference.

The windows have been blocked and boarded for the past three months, keeping the daylight out and the darkness in.

It’s the safest way to live these days. When Mom makes no effort to reply, I sigh and stand.

“Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning. ”

What I didn’t know at the time was things would only get worse.

I could never have anticipated waking in the morning to find Mom’s dead body hanging from the shower rail in the bathroom she’d ruined.

Certainly wouldn’t have guessed finding her white, cloudy eyes watching me closely as I stepped into the room, her jaws snapping at me like she wanted to take a bite out of my flesh, straining against the rope wound tightly around her throat.

Or that the bond sickness had finally dragged her beyond grief, madness, and humanity, leaving behind something hungry wearing my mother’s face.

But even worse, I didn’t once expect to never see my brother again, especially after promising not to leave me alone in a world where humanity dwindled and died away and the dead rose to take out the rest of us.

He promised he’d be back in two days, three days max, promised I wouldn’t be alone. Six years later, I’m still waiting on him to fulfill that promise, surviving life more alone than I’ve ever been.

An Omega with no pack, no family, no blockers, and no one left to stop the world from finding out what I am.