Elliott #3
b. Make an anonymous call myself to the Omega Registration, Collection, and Redistribution Office (ORCRO) and tell them there is an unregistered omega hanging around.
2. Once picked up, do whatever it takes to survive until I can get the information sent to someone. Who?
I frowned down at the page. It wasn’t the greatest plan.
Sighing, I made a note to ask Trey for more herbal oils. Over the winter, he’d decided he was going to grow herbs in boxes and make fragrant oils with some of them for my soaps, and they had sold well, so I was going to get more.
Putting the notebook away, I noticed my calendar and took it out.
It had been two weeks since my last heat.
We’d all had ours at around the same time because we’d lived with each other so long, our cycles just kind of synchronized.
Generally, omega heats came a few times a year unless something triggered it, like an alpha in rut.
Being in heat was like being sick with extreme horniness.
When one came on, we had to be locked in the house so we wouldn’t find the first alpha we could and beg him to mount us.
Embarrassing. Degrading. It was why the government wanted to lock us up.
But kill us? Maybe we just weren’t worth being kept alive.
The SOS believed the government was lying to the public about housing the registered omegas until they were of age and then finding them suitable alphas.
They believed that what they really did was kill the omegas.
The SOS had been created on that belief.
And I had to admit I couldn’t think of any other reason why registered omegas disappeared after the government took them.
But I didn’t think they’d kill an omega x.
Not right off the bat, anyway. Not the way the kidnappers had talked about my father.
They’d been hopeful that I was an omega x, too, but they didn’t know how to tell.
Shoving my calendar back into the drawer, I got up from the bed and wandered into the main room to look out the big window. Between the mountains and the ranch, fields of vibrant wildflowers rustled in the breeze.
It wasn’t dark yet, so I decided to go out and look at them more closely. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere by myself, but it wasn’t far—a few yards to the nearest field.
After slipping on my shoes, I went out the back door. It was a little chilly now that the sun was going down, but I enjoyed taking deep breaths of the brisk fresh air as I walked.
Taking out my phone, I looked up some of the flowers growing in the closest field. I learned that the sunny yellow blooms that looked like daisies were called Arrowleaf Balsamroot. Personally, I thought Sunny Daisies would be a much better name.
My favorites due to their scarlet and orange blooms were called Indian Paintbrush, or Prairie Fire.
The purple cone-shaped flowers were Blue Lupine.
I wasn’t sure why they were called that when they were so clearly purple.
It reminded me of the trees in front of the building we used to live in that were called red buds even though their blossoms were violet.
When I looked up the cool-looking magenta flowers that had petals that turned backwards, I learned they were called Shooting Stars. Once I knew that, I could see the resemblance.
Crouching in the tall grass, I gently touched the drooping heads of some Bluebells, a flower I already knew because I’d once painted them from a photo on the internet.
I decided I might as well pick a bouquet.
Carefully picking at the bottom of the stem, I began gathering various flowers, taking a few of those I’d noticed so far before moving on to Prairie Smoke, which looked like feathers to me, and skipping Hood’s phlox and Alpine Forget-Me-Nots, as they grew too low to the ground and wouldn’t stand well in a vase.
When I was finished, I started back to the house.
The sun dipped low in the sky, its rays peering out from between the pines lining the boundaries of the property.
Cattle—mostly the Angus/Hereford crosses called Black Baldies—lowed at me as I passed the fenceline, raising their large black-and-white heads to look at me with their soft brown eyes.
I liked the cows. One time a cow chased Ren out of the field after he climbed over the fence to get the frisbee Riku had thrown.
Riku had barely been able to haul his brother over the fence before the heifer caught up with him.
I wasn’t convinced it would have actually hurt him, but Ren had sworn he’d never get near a cow again.
“Elliott!” someone called to me.
I looked in that direction and saw Jet standing near the house, watching me.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, walking toward me but stopping about six feet away.
“I just wanted to pick some flowers for the table. I didn’t want to call you back just for that.”
“It’s our job,” Jet said, turning to walk beside me but keeping the space between us.
“I know, but—“ I stopped in my tracks.
“What’s the matter?” Jet asked.
“I totally forgot about my chores!” Changing direction, I hurried toward the goat enclosure, Jet following me.
When I got there, I handed him my bouquet and quickly entered the pen.
First, I checked the goats’ shed to make sure their bedding was dry, then put out some food pellets and hung up a fresh hay ball from the tree branch that hung over their pen.
As they gathered round it, I pulled a stool close and sat down to inspect each goat, as I should have done right after dinner instead of going home first. I also needed to stop at the work shed where I made the soap to take inventory so I could make more in the next couple of days.
Eric would be going to the market on Saturday, and I wanted to have the soap made and packaged before then.
I paused to take out my phone and text Trey about the oil before I forgot that, too.
“How are you, Mathilda?” I asked one of the pregnant goats.
“You aren’t going to give birth tonight, are you?
” She didn’t seem to be acting oddly, and when I felt her tail, it didn’t feel any different than usual.
Turning on the flashlight on my phone, I shone it on her vulva.
Feeling pretty sure she wouldn’t go into labor tonight, I looked over the other expectant nannies.
They seemed okay too. None of the goats had any injuries that I could tell, so I waited around until they’d eaten and then hurried them into their shed for the night.
I locked the enclosure and headed for the work shed, very aware that I was keeping Jet out late. He should be home relaxing, but instead he was out after dark watching me. The guys were probably back home by now. It would be forever before I’d get to use the shower.
When I opened the door of the small building, I turned on the lantern on the table and picked up the clipboard and a pencil before turning to the shelves where the soap I’d carefully folded in wax paper was stacked.
I counted the bars twice before writing the number down.
Then I counted the unwrapped bars that were still curing.
My head had started to ache. The work shed was small and too warm. Taking off the light jacket I wore, I threw it on the table before continuing to count the small vials of herbs. Three of the lavender. Only one rose. Half a bottle of eucalyptus.
On the next shelf, I counted bottles of castor oil, coconut oil, lye, and shea butter, marking them on the sheet.
Wiping the sweat from my face with my wrist, I crouched to see how much wax paper and labels I had stored on the bottom shelf.
In the quiet room, I could hear my breathing coming in small pants.
Damn, was I really getting sick? I sat down, enjoying the feel of the cold floor through my pants, and closed my eyes for a minute.