Easy peasy, right?
The wind picks up, and dirt particles sting as they whip past.
I march forward, determined to get this done. The faster I get off the road, the less likely I'll be spotted.
I make it a few feet into the scrub when I hear the rumble of an engine in the distance. I glance over my shoulder, and the sight of twin headlights bouncing up and down on the uneven dirt road fills me with a sense of dread.
"Hide, you cockwomble,” I say to myself. I search for cover, but the sparse trees offer no such sanctuary.
I sprint over the uneven ground, not daring to look behind me. “Frack, frack, frackity, frack.”
My boots skid on the loose gravel, and I lose my balance.
The ground rushes up to meet me. There's no Alpha to catch me anymore.
My chin hits the ground with a jarring impact. Pain blooms, and red spots of blood drip onto the shale rocks below.
I peer up the slight incline, my eyesight swimming, but keep my throbbing head low as the truck comes closer. I hold still, hoping I blend into the scenery. With any luck, it'll just pass and trundle on its way.
Like some cruel joke, the brakes squeal as it comes to a halt.
Why would I think I’m that lucky?
The vehicle sits idle by the side of the road, its headlights casting a bright beam of light onto the dirt track. The smell of burning fuel reaches me on the breeze.
It's then that I notice the scattering of beer cans and cigarette butts on the surrounding ground. This is a hangout spot.
I want to groan and smack my palm into my forehead.
Fracking brilliant, Halley.
If this were a training exercise, Knox would be giving me the filthiest, most exasperated look.‘Omega Sparks, get your ass into gear!’
The engine cuts off. I hold my breath as doors slam, and two Betas step out of the cab followed by the click of a lighter, and two red points which flare to life in the dim light.
"One o’ these days, ya missus is gonna have ya balls for smokin' on the sly," the smaller shadow chuckles.
"Nah, she knows I duck off sometimes to have a drag. S'long as I ain’t doin' it in front of the rugrats, she don't mind." The second one replies, drawling his words like molasses.
We must be further north than I expected, in mountain country where the folk speak slower.
"You a braver man than me. Me mamma's in a right strop these days. She put ‘er foot down 'bout me goin' to the rally," he pauses, exhaling smoke into the night. "Says she don't want me goin' against no Alphas."
"There's strength in numbers, fella."
I purse my lips in confusion.
"Even if it's ten Betas to one Alpha, they'll still slaughter us like pigs."
Betas versus Alphas?
"Gotta do somethin’ though, don't we?"
"I s'pose," the younger Beta intones. He doesn't sound convinced, but his convictions aren't strong and it's only a matter of time.
“Alphas been ruling this country for generations. Makin' all the decisions. Spendin’ all our taxes on war instead of feedin’ the rest of us. They promise rations for families of the idiots who enlist, but have 'ya seen any ration drops lately, boy? Bunch o' liars.”
As simple as the explanation is, he’s not wrong. In my home village, hunger was a fact of life. The year our summer crops failed was the first time I discovered what real hunger felt like. In contrast, I never missed a meal living in Barkrood Base.
