Chapter 21 Seth
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Seth
The sun is a relentless, white-hot hammer in the sky, beating down on the practice arena. Dust hangs in the air, a fine, golden haze that catches the light and makes it hard to see, turning the world into a dreamlike blur.
Tex is on Bandit, the chestnut horse, a flash of muscle and fire beneath him. They’re a perfect match, horse and rider, moving with a fluid, intuitive grace that’s mesmerizing to watch.
He’s practicing for the rodeo, weeks away still, but you’d never know it from the intensity in his eyes. Every movement is precise, every turn a calculated risk.
Jasper is perched on the top rail of the fence, his camera held up to his face, the click and whir of the shutter a constant, reassuring sound. He’s always documenting, our quiet, observant shadow.
I lean against the fence post, my arms crossed, just watching. The weird, angry energy that’s been vibrating between Tex and Billy for the past few days seems to have dissipated.
It’s not gone, not completely, but it’s settled. They’re on the same page again, or at least reading from the same book. It’s a good thing.
I like order.
I need order.
The chaos of the past week, with the sick cattle and Sedona’s sudden, looming departure, has frayed my nerves to the breaking point.
Billy’s here too, leaning against the opposite fence, his silhouette dark and brooding against the bright sky. He’s quiet, but he’s always quiet.
His presence is a grounding force, a silent acknowledgment that we’re in this together. It almost feels like we might actually be a pack again.
That’s when I hear it. A low rumble, distant at first, then growing louder, a sound that doesn’t belong.
It’s the sound of engines, multiple engines, all coming at once.
I shield my eyes, squinting down the long dirt road that leads to the ranch. A cloud of dust is rising, kicking up behind a convoy of vehicles.
“What the hell is that?” Tex asks, pulling Bandit up short, the horse dancing nervously beneath him.
As they get closer, the shapes resolve themselves. At the front is a familiar black and white, the unmistakable cruiser of the Prairie Pine Sheriff’s Department.
Right behind it is an ambulance, its lights off, but its presence a stark white beacon of alarm. Following them are several large, dark SUVs, the kind government agencies use, their windows tinted, their purpose unknown and ominous.
Jasper lowers his camera, his face pale. “What’s going on, Seth?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, my mind already racing, trying to calculate the possibilities, to find a logical explanation where none seems to exist. “Tex, get off your horse.”
He swings down, his boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. Billy is already walking toward the main drive, his long strides eating up the ground.
We follow, meeting him halfway as the convoy pulls to a stop in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes.
The doors open. Sheriff Ben Riley steps out of his cruiser, his face grim, and beside him is his deputy, Jamie Martinez.
They’re both wearing pale blue surgical masks, a detail that sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated fear through my veins.
“Hello, boys,” Ben says, his voice muffled by the mask, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a tense seriousness.
Jasper takes an involuntary step back, his eyes wide with panic. “I… I should probably go.”
“Don’t you move,” Billy says, a low, commanding growl that pins the kid in place.
“What the hell is going on, Ben?” I ask, my voice tight. “Is this about the cattle?”
Before he can answer, the back doors of the ambulance swing open. And my heart stops.
Sedona steps out, followed closely by Clara. They both look pale and exhausted, their faces etched with a worry that mirrors my own.
Trailing behind them is Nurse Maggie Torres, her expression a mixture of professional concern and personal anxiety.
And then, the other doors open. The ones on the big black SUVs. And people get out. People dressed in full white hazmat suits, the plastic crinkling as they move, their faces obscured by reflective faceplates.
They look like aliens, like creatures from another world, and their presence on our ranch, in our dusty, sun-baked world, is so surreal, so utterly wrong, that for a second, my brain just refuses to process it.
“What the fuck…” Tex breathes beside me, his voice a mixture of awe and terror.
The hazmat team moves with a strange kind of grace, setting up orange cones and unfolding what looks like a portable decontamination shower. One of them approaches, a woman, her face a distorted reflection in the plastic.
Deputy Jamie Martinez steps forward, his eyes wide and a little wild behind his mask. He points a trembling finger at Billy.
“Is that… is that a symptom?” he asks, his voice high and reedy.
He’s pointing to the bruise on Billy’s shoulder, the one he got from his fall, a dark purple mark peeking out from the strap of his tank top.
“A symptom?” Billy asks, his voice laced with confusion and a rising anger. “It’s a bruise, you idiot. I fell off my horse.”
“Jamie,” Ben says, his voice sharp with warning. “That’s enough. Let the authorities speak. You’re scaring people.”
The woman in the hazmat suit stops a few feet from us. Behind her, a man in an identical suit approaches, carrying a metal case.
They look imposing, professional, and utterly terrifying.
“My name is Dr. Aris Thorne,” the man says, his voice distorted by a speaker in his suit. He’s elderly, his voice thin and reedy, but it carries an undeniable authority. “This is my colleague, Dr. Lena Petrova. We’re with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.”
The CDC. The words land like a death sentence.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my own voice sounding distant to my ears. “Where’s Dr. Morales?”
“Dr. Morales and his entire team have been quarantined in the Austin offices,” Dr. Petrova explains, her voice calm and clinical. “They were the first point of contact with the samples. We’re here to take over.”
Dr. Thorne steps forward. “Gentlemen, I’m not going to sugarcoat this.
You, your brothers, your young hand here, and Dr. Archer and her friend have all been exposed to a parasite.
A highly unusual, aggressive parasite that we know very little about.
It appears to be mutating, and we have no data on its long-term effects or its full transmission capabilities. ”
Tex looks from the doctors to Sedona, his face a mask of disbelief. “Exposed? What does that mean?”
“It means,” Dr. Thorne says, his voice grave, “that for the foreseeable future, all of you need to be quarantined together. Here. On this ranch.”
The world tilts on its axis. Quarantined. Here. Together.
Ben Riley steps forward, his hands held up in a placating gesture. “Now, listen. This ranch is the biggest property for miles. It’s the best place to set up a command post. The CDC and the state vet services will establish a base of operations at the edge of your land, completely isolated.
“All we need from you is to provide room and board for Dr. Archer and her friend while we figure out what the hell is happening. Half the town is in panic mode. We’re having to call in reinforcements just to manage the phone calls.
But until this is contained, your family, Jasper, and Dr. Archer and Ms. Finch will all be under investigation and observation. ”
I look at my brothers. At Tex’s pale, shocked face. At Billy’s stony, furious silence.
I look at Sedona, who is standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, looking so small and fragile. I look at the hazmat suits, at the cones, at the decontamination shower.
This is my worst nightmare. A complete and total loss of control.
Holy shit.
Dr. Thorne’s voice is a monotonous drone, a clinical buzz that does little to soothe the frantic humming under my skin.
He’s explaining the decontamination procedure, his words a string of technical jargon—antimicrobial agents, UV exposure, sample collection protocols—that should be my primary focus.
I’m the numbers guy, the one who needs to understand the process, the variables. But my eyes keep drifting to Sedona.
She’s standing a few feet away, Clara’s arm wrapped securely around her waist, a gesture of fierce, protective love. The sun is beating down on all of us, but she seems to be feeling it more than anyone.
A sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead, clinging to the stray curls that have escaped her braid. Her face is pale, almost gray, and there’s a slight tremor in her hands that she’s trying to hide by clenching them into fists.
She’s not just listening; she’s enduring. Every word from the CDC doctors seems to land on her like a physical blow.
“The cattle will be moved to the far north pasture,” Dr. Petrova is saying, her voice just as detached as her colleague’s. “It’s the most isolated section of your property. We’ll establish a perimeter there. No one in, no out, without full hazmat protocols.”
The sheriff steps forward, his hands held up in a gesture of weary placation. He looks exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than I’ve ever seen them.
“Okay, folks, let’s all just take a breath. The main issue right now is lodging. Dr. Archer and Ms. Finch need a place to stay, a comfortable place, while we get this base camp set up.”
Before I can even process the logistics, Tex is already speaking.
“We can prepare the bunkhouse for them,” he says, clear and confident. “It’s clean, it’s private, and it’s got its own bathroom. They’ll be comfortable there.”
It’s a practical solution, a concrete offer in a sea of uncertainty, and I feel a surge of gratitude for my brother’s simple, direct way of handling things.
“Everyone, calm the fuck down,” Billy growls, cutting through the sterile medical talk. He takes a step forward, his broad shoulders a defiant wall against the encroaching chaos. “I want you to explain everything. Slowly. What the hell is actually going on? Start to finish. No more bullshit.”
Dr. Thorne seems unfazed by Billy’s outburst. He simply adjusts his faceplate and begins to speak again, his tone patient and condescending.
“As I was saying, the parasite—”
And that’s when it happens.
One moment, Sedona is standing there, trying to hold herself together. The next, her knees buckle.
Her eyes roll back in her head, showing the whites, and she goes limp, a dead weight that Clara barely manages to catch.
“Sedona!” Clara screams, the piercing sound tearing through the tense air.
Everything after that is a blur of motion and instinct. The three of us—Tex, Billy, and I—run as one.
We ignore the shouts from the CDC agents, the warnings to stay back. This is our pack. This is our Omega.
She’s on the ground, Clara trying to shield her, and Billy is there first, dropping to his knees beside her.
“Sedona,” he says with a panic I’ve never heard before. He grabs her shoulders, shaking her gently, then a little harder. “Sedona, wake up. Wake up.”
“Billy, don’t,” Nurse Maggie says, pushing through the small crowd we’ve formed.
She’s all professional efficiency, her bag already open.
She shoves Billy aside gently but firmly, her fingers finding the pulse point on Sedona’s neck.
“Her pulse is thready. We need to get her into the ambulance. Now.”
Without a word of hesitation, Billy scoops her up into his arms. She’s so small against his broad chest, her head lolling back, her red hair a stark, vibrant splash against the black of his T-shirt.
He holds her like she’s something precious, something breakable, and his face is a mask of fury and fear.
I turn, my mind reeling, trying to process the sheer, overwhelming chaos of it all, and I see another scene unfolding. Deputy Jamie Martinez is running.
He’s not running toward anything; he’s running away, his long legs eating up the ground as he flees toward the barn.
“Jamie, get back here!” Ben Riley yells, his voice booming with authority. He takes off after his deputy, his own mask askew, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. “Fucking stop!”
I stand there, frozen in the middle of it all. The CDC agents are trying to establish order, their crackling radios a constant staticky chatter.
Tex is standing over Sedona and Billy, his hands clenched into fists, helpless. Maggie is directing Billy toward the ambulance. Ben is chasing his rogue deputy.
And I’m just standing here, watching my world fall apart, piece by terrifying piece, under the relentless, indifferent sun.