Chapter 20 Sedona
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sedona
I’m in a bed, but it’s not my bed. The sheets are soft, but they’re wrapped around my limbs like ropes.
Hands are on me, but they’re not one person’s hands. One moment, they’re Billy’s—rough, possessive, his grip on my hip a claim that makes my breath catch. The next, they’re Tex’s—playful, teasing, his fingers tracing patterns on my stomach that make me squirm.
Then they shift again, becoming Seth’s—hesitant, careful, his touch a question I don’t know how to answer. Their scents are a confusing muddle in the humid air: pine smoke, sweet tobacco, wild clover.
It’s too much. It’s overwhelming. I’m surrounded, a single point in a storm of Alphas, and the feeling is terrifying and intoxicating all at once.
A low hum vibrates through the mattress, a sound of pleasure and possession, and I don’t know who it’s coming from. I try to say their names, but my voice is a strangled gasp that’s swallowed by the weight of them all.
“Sedona! Sedona, wake up!”
A sharp, insistent shaking pulls me from the tangled web of the dream. I gasp, my eyes flying open to find Clara leaning over me, her face a mask of concern, her hands on my shoulders.
The room is dim, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the curtains. My body is drenched in a cold sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tight with worry. “You were making these noises… and you’re burning up.”
I blink, trying to shake the phantom sensations from my skin. My head throbs, a deep, pulsing pain behind my eyes. “I’m fine,” I lie, my voice a hoarse croak. “Just a bad dream. And a worse headache than I was expecting.”
It’s been two days since the whole thing with Seth at Daisy’s. Two days of feeling… off. The first day was just a general unease, a sense of being out of sync with the world. But yesterday, the nausea hit.
It came in waves, a sudden, rolling sickness that had me gripping the edge of the bathroom counter. Then came the crying.
Not the sad, grief-stricken sobs from before, but sudden, inexplicable jags of tears that would spring up out of nowhere while I was sorting through my father’s books or making a cup of tea.
I thought I was about to get my period, but a quick, furtive check on my phone app showed I’m not due yet. Not for another two weeks.
So this is all so weird. A collection of symptoms with no name, no reason.
Clara’s hand moves to my forehead, her cool skin a welcome relief against my feverish flesh. “You’re definitely not fine, Sedona. You’re boiling.”
“I’m okay,” I insist, pushing myself up to a sitting position. The room spins for a second, and I have to close my eyes against it. “I just need a shower. That’s all. The heat will help sweat out the fever.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods, backing away slowly. “Okay. But if you’re not feeling better in an hour, we’re taking you to the ER. Or a real doctor. Not a vet.”
I manage a weak smile. “Deal.”
I convince her I’m okay, and she finally leaves, pulling the door closed behind her. I stumble into the bathroom, my body aching in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
I turn the shower on, twisting the knob as far as it will go, needing the water to be as hot as I can stand it. Steam billows, fogging up the mirror until my reflection is nothing but a vague, shapeless blur.
I step under the spray, the water a scalding torrent against my skin. For a moment, it feels good, the heat a distraction from the fever thrumming through my veins.
But then it becomes too much. The heat on the outside is too much for the heat on the inside. I feel dizzy, lightheaded.
I quickly turn the cold water on, gasping as the icy shock hits my skin.
The shower doesn’t help. If anything, it makes it worse.
The restlessness is still there, an itch under my skin that I can’t scratch. A vibration in my bones that won’t stop.
I feel like I’m trapped in my own body, a prisoner of these strange, new feelings.
I need to move. I need to do something.
I get out, wrapping myself in a towel, my mind already made up. A run. That’s what I need. The physical exertion, the burning in my lungs, the pounding of my feet on the pavement.
That’s what I need to quiet the noise in my head.
I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of black leggings and a faded sports bra. I don’t bother with a shirt, just grab my running shoes and head downstairs.
The house is quiet, Clara probably giving me space.
I go into the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee a comforting anchor in the sea of my confusion.
The smell of the brewing coffee fills the small space, and I pour a mug, drinking it black and hot. The bitter liquid is a jolt to my system.
I finish my coffee, lace up my shoes, and head for the door. I don’t leave a note. I just need to go.
I step out into the cool morning air, the sun just beginning to crest over the hills, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. I take a deep breath, the air crisp and clean in my lungs, and I start to run.
I push myself harder, my lungs burning, my thighs aching, trying to outrun the phantom sensations of the dream, the confusing muddle of scents and touches that still cling to my skin like a second sweat.
I run past Daisy’s Diner, its windows dark and empty. I run past The Dusty Boot, its saloon doors closed against the morning light.
I run until the houses thin out and the open road stretches before me, flanked by rolling hills dotted with pine trees. The sun is higher now, its warmth similar to the fever that still simmers under my skin.
The restlessness doesn’t go away. It just changes form, transforming from a frantic, caged energy into a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.
By the time I turn back toward town, my body is a symphony of aches, but my mind is… quieter. The noise has subsided, replaced by a dull, persistent hum.
I stumble back to the house, my legs feeling like lead. The door is unlocked, and I push it open to the smell of brewing coffee and something else, something clean and antiseptic.
Clara is on the sofa, a laptop perched on her knees, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal on the coffee table beside her. She’s wearing a pair of my old sweatpants and a faded T-shirt from a veterinary conference I attended years ago, her hair pulled up in a messy bun.
She looks so comfortable, so at home, and a pang of something sharp and painful hits me.
“Hey,” she says, looking up from her screen. “You look like you just wrestled a bear and lost. Feel better?”
“A little,” I lie, collapsing onto the armchair opposite her. “Tired now.”
“Good,” she says, turning her attention back to her laptop. “I’m just trying to finalize some lesson plans for the substitute who’s covering for me. I swear, trying to explain long division to a nine-year-old via a pre-recorded video is a special kind of hell.”
I nod, my eyes drifting shut. The sound of her typing is a soothing, domestic sound. I’m almost asleep when she speaks again.
“Your phone has been buzzing like crazy all morning. It’s on the kitchen counter.”
My eyes snap open. I push myself out of the chair and walk into the kitchen, my heart starting that frantic thumping again. I pick up my phone.
The screen is lit with a series of missed calls, all from the same number: Dr. Alistair Finch.
A cold dread washes over me. He wouldn’t be calling this much, this early, unless it was bad. My hands tremble as I scroll through the notifications and hit the redial button.
He picks up on the first ring. “Sedona,” he says, his voice crisp, all business. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I went for a run,” I say, my voice a weak excuse. “What’s wrong? Is it the samples?”
“It’s the samples,” he confirms, and there’s an odd, excited edge to his voice, the kind a scientist gets when faced with a fascinating new problem.
“They confirm a parasitic outbreak, but it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.
The morphology is Eimeria-like, but the protein markers are completely atypical.
It’s mutating, Sedona. Rapidly. This isn’t something we can handle from a distance.
It needs hands-on care, a team of specialists who can work with a live culture. ”
My blood runs cold. “A team?”
“Yes. We’ve already notified the state veterinary authorities and the CDC. They’re taking this very seriously. The problem is, we have almost no information on its lifecycle, its transmission vectors, or its long-term effects on livestock, let alone on humans who came into close contact.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Humans?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. A weighted, deliberate pause. “Yes. That’s actually why I was calling so persistently. I need you to be honest with me, Sedona. Have you been experiencing any… weird symptoms?”
Oh shit.
The fever. The nausea. The crying jags. The headache that felt like my skull was splitting open. The dream. The overwhelming, confusing dream with all three of them.
It all clicks into place in a single, horrifying instant. It’s not stress. It’s not grief. It’s the parasite.
“Sedona?” Alistair’s voice is sharp, concerned.
“I… I’ve had some symptoms,” I manage, my voice a choked whisper. “A fever. Nausea.”
“What about your friend? You mentioned that she helped you collect the samples?”
“Um… she’s fine. She hasn’t been having any symptoms so far.”
“Okay,” he says, his tone shifting immediately to that of a doctor reassuring a patient.
“Okay. Don’t panic. We need more data. More samples.
Not just from the cattle. We need samples from everyone involved.
You, your friend, and anyone else who was in direct contact with those cattle.
The authorities will be sending a team out to collect them, to make sure it’s all done correctly. ”
I can barely process what he’s saying.
“And Sedona,” he continues, his voice grave. “Because the transmission vector is still unknown but suspected to be oral-fecal… everyone who came in contact with the cows needs to be quarantined. Immediately. It’s just a precaution, but a necessary one. We can’t risk this spreading.”
The phone feels like a lead weight in my hand. I thank him, my voice robotic, and hang up.
I stand there in the kitchen, the scent of coffee and oatmeal suddenly nauseating. I turn around and walk back into the living room.
Clara is still on the sofa, happily munching on a carrot she must have gotten from the fridge. She looks so normal, so blissfully unaware.
I have to tell her. I have to deliver the bad news.
“Clara,” I say, my voice flat.
She looks up, her smile fading when she sees my face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I sit down on the edge of the coffee table, my hands clasped in my lap.
“That was Alistair. The test results are back. It’s a parasite. A weird, mutating one they’ve never seen before.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, setting her carrot down. “So they can make a cure, right?”
“They don’t know how,” I say, the words tasting like ash. “They need more samples. Not just from the cattle. From us. Everyone who was at the ranch the other night.”
Her brow furrows in confusion. “Us? Why?”
“Because we came into contact with the parasite, so we have to be quarantined. They aren’t sure how, but I suspect the dinner we shared with the guys might have been contaminated too. Do you have any symptoms?”
“No… wait. Fuck! What are you saying?”
“We’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll just be quarantined for a few days as they monitor the situation. But I’m right here with you. I’ll take care of you.”
Clara just stares at me, her mouth slightly agape, the carrot forgotten on the table. “Quarantined?” she whispers. “Like… locked in our house, quarantined?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Until they figure it out.”
She processes this for a moment, her expression shifting from confusion to disbelief, then to a kind of dazed horror. Finally, she lets out a short, hysterical laugh.
“Are you kidding me?” she says, her voice cracking. “Why couldn’t we have just gotten food poisoning like normal people?”