Page 57 of Ruined Omega

“Betas,” Tal mutters from behind. It’s the first words he’s said all night.

“Fuck,” Baen adds. “These sick bastards are farming them.”

When the Cataclysm struck over a century before, most of the humans within the perimeter of the Zone were transformed into betas. Mindless zombies with no will or sentience. Most of those first betas died in a matter of days or even hours. The ones that didn’t walk into a river and drown were killed by Alphas or slowly withered away as they starved to death.

Since then, the government and SynerGen have made excursions into the Zone. More often than not, those missions ended badly, and the Outsiders involved were mutated. Typically they became betas too. I always wondered what became of them.

Now I have some idea.

“But why on earth would the Farlanders want to farm betas?” I whisper back to Tal and Baen. “Betas can’t do anything, right?”

Neither one of them answers me, but I see Baen’s eyes dart unconsciously toward a lopsided shed at one end of the beta enclosure. As we get closer, I notice that the shed is swarming with flies. It is dark inside, but I catch a glimpse of tools hanging on the walls. Metal axes and cleavers that are dirty and brown with rust.

No…not rust.

This time, my stomach turns over so violently I really think I’m going to vomit. A taste of sour milk surges into my mouth, and I struggle to keep my gorge down.

“Oh God,” I gasp. “You mean they eat them?”

“Quiet back there,” the Farlander who is carrying me barks.

He punches my thigh hard, and I wince in pain. Both Tal and Baen instinctively struggle against their bonds, growling and snarling like mad dogs. But the ropes and stocks holding their arms are too strong. The other Farlanders start to beat them and kick them. They fall to their knees in the mud.

Tears of rage flood into my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Stop it!” I shout. “You’re hurting them.”

But the Farlanders do not stop. My angry shouts only serve to whip them into more of a frenzy. The cowards continue beating my Alphas. Tears stream down my cheeks. I want to stop this, but I’m powerless to do anything.

Then a sudden, curdling bellow explodes through the clearing.

The Farlanders cease their assault. They grow silent. Fearful.

“Back away from the Alphas,” a deep voice booms.

The Farlanders obey, leaving Tal and Baen bloodied but unbroken on their knees in the mud. The other Farlanders around us part, leaving a wide muddy path, and a tall, brutal figure strides forward, bare feet squelching in the messy earth.

His broad shoulders are cloaked in crudely stitched scraps of fur. A necklace of animal fangs hangs around his neck. His dark hair is long and stringy on the right side of his head, while the left part of his scalp is completely bald. As he draws closer, I realize the reason—the entire left side of his head is webbed with mottled burn scars. The eye on that side is a dead, milky blue.

His thin lips split to reveal a grin comprising brown and rotten fangs.

This figure, clearly the leader of this tribe of Farlanders, stands imperiously over Tal and Baen. The two Alphas, bound and bloodied, rise to their feet courageously.

“Who are you?” Baen asks coldly. “You’re no Farlander.”

The cloaked, scarred figure merely chuckles.

“I know him,” Tal says. “He is an Alpha of the central ruins, though his name escapes me.”

“My old name matters not,” the man in the cloak says. “My new name is Abaddon. And I am no longer an Alpha of the Ruins.”

He turns toward me, and his one good eye ignites with curiosity.

“Well now, what do we have here? Set her down, please.”

The Farlander carrying me over his shoulder unceremoniously drops me on the ground. The landing knocks the air from my lungs and splatters mud all around me.

“Easy, you idiot,” Abaddon snaps.