3. KATIE
Chapter three
KATIE
E verything hurts. That is the first thing I notice as I surface into consciousness. Every inch of my body aches. Not like the burning, searing pain of the shrapnel that tore apart my left knee. Or the heat of the explosion. No, this is a clingfilm of pain covering all of my skin and sinking into my cells.
Fuck .
Even the roots of my teeth ache.
I force my eyes to open. The steady beep beep of a heart monitor kicks into gear as my pulse ratchets up.
The mountainside. We must be in a hospital. But what happened? Who found us? Where are my sisters?
I take a quick mental inventory. First I wiggle my toes—good, no paralyzation. Next I wiggle my fingers. No restraints. Not that there should be in a rural Oregon hospital, but my military training is too ingrained to be ignored.
I glance around the room. My vision is still a little fuzzy around the edges, and I blink to clear them. Hair prickles on the back of my neck. Wherever I am, I’m alone in a small room.
Alone .
The monitor beeps louder as I force myself to sit up. Gauze winds around my palms. That tracks if we fell from the earthquake. There were rocks underneath all those leaves. Not big ones, but enough to cause some minor abrasions.
That's what it had to be, right? I wonder if this is the big one—maybe I’ll turn on the tv to hear that San Francisco has been leveled.
Bile creeps up my throat at the thought and I swallow it down. There aren't any tvs in this narrow room, just a tall, slim window that lets in weak sunlight, a plush chair in one corner with a stylish lamp behind it, a woven basket piled high with fluffy-looking blankets, my bed, and a host of medical equipment.
Kind of odd equipment. I only see sleek windowpane-like screens, no bulky plastic monitors.
I scratch my chest–there are several wires attached above my breasts, like the kind you’d use for an EKG. Seems like overkill for someone who had a tumble while hiking. The rubber squares tickle uncomfortably.
I’m dressed only in a hospital gown, and I growl reflexively. I don’t know where they’ve stashed my clothes– there’s no noticeable pile of my belongings and I don't see an obvious closet. That means my pocket knife and trail kit are out of reach. And my boot knife.
Fuck.
I run a hand through my hair and notice the tape around my elbow. There’s a fucking IV embedded the crook of my right arm. Why on earth would I need an IV in my vein? There’s no way I needed that much fluid, or even pain medication. I inhale and hold my breath, letting it out slowly as I take a second inventory of my body. No cloying brain fog of intravenous pain meds, no echos of morphine.
That’s good. But it doesn’t explain the IV.
The hairs on my arms stand at attention, and I am on high alert. The light from the window is weak – it looks to be mid-morning, but I can’t gauge where the sun is from here. I need to get out of this bed and figure out where we are in relation to the SUV we rented. I need to find my clothes and get to wherever my sisters are. Divided, we can be used against one another.
Calm down, Wilder.
I hear the way SGT Sedgwick would bark at me when he noticed my catastrophe spiral. Calm down. Focus. Make a plan. Then execute.
Panic never helps. Plans do. Step one is getting to my sisters. Step two will be to gather information so we can get back to the SUV. Step three will be getting a weapon to ensure sound defense, if we need it.
We probably don’t need it. I am catastrophizing. But my gut twists painfully the same way it does when something bad is about to happen. It’s the same knife-deep pain that I felt the morning Dad died. And the same pain I felt as I got the call about mom’s diagnosis. The same pain I’d ignored the morning of the bombing.
I wipe the back of my palm across my forehead. The last thing I need is to get lost in a nightmare. My sisters need me to make sure we get home safe and sound.
It’s a risk to let the hospital staff know I am awake, but worth it if I can locate my sisters.
“Layla? Molly Beth?” My voice is hoarse in my own ears. “Maddie? Norah?”
No answering replies from my sisters.
The door opens and a woman in dark purple scrubs enters. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, her cheekbones high and angular. She frowns, then speaks into a thin bracelet on her right wrist.
“She’s awake.”
No shit, I am awake.
“Where am I?” It hurts like hell, but I force myself into a sitting position, not resting against the mountain of soft pillows behind me. Pain spikes through my left knee and up my thigh. I grit my teeth. The heart monitor beeps faster. I growl and rip the electrode patches off my chest. My tender skin stings, but I didn’t consent to this shit.
“Hey don’t do that! We need to monitor your vitals!” The woman rushes forward, but I put out a hand to stop her. She has a strange accent–almost German, or Polish. But not quite the same.
“I didn’t consent to any of this, so I want these off and this ridiculous IV out of my arm.” I glare at her. She looks shocked at the force of my command. So I use my best officer voice. “Where am I? And where are my sisters?”
The woman pauses, her brown eyes assessing. She’s middle-aged, olive skin wrinkling just a fraction around her mouth and eyes.
“You’re safe here. There aren’t any Alphas on this floor,” she says soothingly.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I say, and her eyes widen a fraction. “Where are my sisters? I’m not going to ask again.” I push myself forward, letting my bare feet press against the floor. It’s surprisingly warm—as though heated from underneath. Which is odd, since the view out the window definitely indicates we are several floors up.
“You’re too weak for this much exertion,” she cautions. “Your hormone panels–”
“Why on earth are you looking into my hormones?” Every hair on my body stands erect and alert. Is this some kind of experimental lab? What did we stumble into with that stupid geocaching? Was it a trap? I’m not naturally paranoid, but every one of my senses screams that something is off.
That weird poem must have been some kind of signal, but for what? Or whom?
I glance around my surroundings again, careful not to look away from the nurse for more than half a second each time. The room is a soft lavender, and there is a second basket of blankets folded neatly by the bed.
Lots of blankets . They look to be a mix of thin and silky, and plush synthetic fleece–not exactly useful for restraint of any kind.
My clothes are missing, but there is a sumptuous white robe on a hook, and a pair of matching slippers. Everything smells faintly of chamomile and honey–and the faint astringent scent of sterilization. There are footsteps outside, and my muscles tighten, ready to spring.
“Katie?” Maddie pushes her way into my room, her hair an angry red crown glowing in the hall lights. “What is going on? This woman is talking some shit about blood work, and Alphas, and calling our ‘packs.’ What the fuck is going on?”
I frown and force myself up. My left knee buckles, but I grip the side of the bed. I can’t let the nurse know how bad it is. The pain is as ever present as a bass beat, pumping at the edges of my consciousness, trying to claw its way to the foreground of my attention.
“I want all my sisters together, right now,” I snap at the woman in scrubs in my most authoritative commander voice. I keep my back ramrod straight, no matter the pain that is shooting up through my knee and thigh now to my hip. Forget the pain; it reminds me that I’m still alive. Still here. Wherever here is.
“I promise they are all safe. It’s just better to keep you separated, to have that many Omegas in one room would mean a lot of concentrated pheromones and that could trigger some of the younger Alphas downstairs. This isn’t a fully secure floor, like they have at the Omega Conservatory.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. It’s clearly some kind of code, but not one that I studied in training. I wasn’t in Army Intelligence, but worked with them enough in my field as a logistics officer. Could this be some kind of homegrown cult? If so, we need to find a fast way out before things escalate.
But, if the floor isn’t fully secured, then there’s a possibility for escape.
Not that we need that. This might all be some kind of misunderstanding. I could just be overreacting.
But my gut knots over on itself. Something is definitely wrong .
“I don’t care about your ‘alphas’ and your ‘omegas.’ I don’t care about pheromones or triggering a bunch of teenage boys. I want my sisters here right now,” I say with strained calm.
Maddie strides past the nurse and stands beside me, and just having her near strengthens me. She brings with her the intense scent of roses and wet earth. Sweet and bitter, like Maddie herself. Strange, I didn’t think she wore perfume.
I hear another voice from outside the room, calling for me. It sounds like Norah.
“I told you, I need to see my sisters now. They'll be quite worried.” Norah pushes past another nurse in purple scrubs. This woman is much younger with a round face and pale skin—probably not much older than Maddie and Molly Beth. Norah slides her glasses back up her nose before nearly sprinting toward me.
“Katie, I’ve been watching them for the last hour and they’ve been taking a lot of our blood. They’re running it through machines. They’re doing something with it.”
Anger erupts through me. This is dangerous; who knows what they’ve already injected us with? Or what kind of plans a secret lab could have for a group of missing women? Fear tries to push to the surface, but my military training tamps it down. Anger and a radiating need to protect my sisters at all costs overwhelms me.
I heave myself off the bed and march toward the women, letting the hospital gown billow around me. Oddly, my backside is completely covered. This is more like a large nightgown with snaps at each of the sides. It even has small frills along the elbow-length sleeves.
“Listen, I’m not sure what kind of facility this is, but we did not consent to any of your tests or treatments. I demand my sisters be brought here. I demand our belongings. We will be released at once .”
The smaller woman squeaks, darting into the hall.
Murmurs ripple outside my room. Fine, let them talk. The time for subtly is past. We need to get out of here now. But trying to trek in what is essentially a granny nightgown isn’t going to work. We need our clothes and shoes – and I fucking need my knife. Damn it, I wish I had my pistol. We don’t even have our cell phones. Where the hell are our phones?
“Please, I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve had a long day and some injuries. Your bodies are adjusting to a new climate and situation. But the most important thing is to calm down . Your perfumes are coming in strong, which puts all of you at risk.”
Perfume? This woman has lost her mind; we smell like unwashed feet and medical astringent. Norah sits on my bed, biting her lower lip. Well she at least smells clean, like mint and something earthy.
“I need my phone. I need to contact our family before they call in a missing persons report. They expected us back last night.” I try to speak calmly, letting the sharp edge fade into something more reasonable.
“Ah, your phones—yes, that’s what those were. Pack telephones, of course.” She shrugs. "They smashed on impact.”
“Impact with what?” Maddie snarls. Her voice drops deep, almost like a big dog’s angry growl.
The woman in scrubs blinks, surprise clear. “Your fall. You fell from the Hal-Sequath Ridge. That’s where you were found.”
“First, we were nowhere near the Hal-whatever ridge.” I take a step forward. I can dominate a space and use my presence as a kind of threat. Especially with a mouthy new recruit who thinks that because he's taller than me he can give lip.
So I get close to the woman in scrubs, looking down at her with the hottest anger I can summon. I’m not as tall as Maddie, but I am a solid two inches taller than the nurse.
“Second, we didn’t fall anywhere. And even if we did–which I know we didn’t–my cell phone was in a military-grade impact case. These are just excuses for confiscating our property, and I am not not impressed. Where are our things? Where are my other two sisters?”
The nurse takes a shuffling step back, leaning away from my glare. Good. She talks into her wristlet again. It must be some kind of ultra-slim smart watch. I need one of those.
“Amalah? Yeah, I think you were right. Definitely Travelers.”
Well, obviously. They have my wallet; they’d know that we don’t live in Oregon. I just moved back to Georgia from my last post in California but hadn’t changed my license yet. Someone on the other end of the wristlet answers but it’s too muffled for me to make out.
“Tell them? Before we consult with Inspector Murphy or Professor Bellrose?”
More muffled speaking.
The nurse nods, then looks at us with a pinched expression. “Okay, Misses Wilders,” she says as she sweeps her gaze over Norah, Maddie, and me. “You’ll probably want to sit down.”