With no safe place to turn, I keep running. The soles of my feet burn, sliced open by only the gods know what. If there’s any pain, I don’t feel it. The adrenaline coursing through me dulls everything.
I must find a car or help, whichever comes first. That means getting out of this neighborhood. I keep listening for shouts or the rev of an engine behind me. I may have run track in high school, but there’s no way I can outrun a car.
In fact, I should get off the street. Jumping fences and cutting through backyards might give me some kind of cover. I’m not compatible with them, so the chance they can sniff me out is low.
Veering right, I push through the tall grass between two houses and slip into their backyards. I get lucky. The first yard has a broken fence, and I’m able to slide sideways through it into a backyard with even taller grass.
I don’t know if Pueblo has venomous snakes, but if it does, I hope none of them are hiding in this grass.
Even mostly out of sight, I don’t get the chance to breathe. I hurry to the next fence. I may be short, but that’s never stopped me from climbing anything that gets in my way.
I have to keep moving forward. Get as far as I can. Any minute now, they’ll figure out I’m not there, and I need to make sure they have no way to find me or track which direction I went. I keep changing course so it won’t be easy for them to follow. As long as I’m not moving backward, that’s all that matters.
As I jump into another backyard, a growl rumbles behind me, and I whirl around to find a fat Rottweiler on a chain. My instinct is to freeze. It lunges, and I stumble back. It can’t reach me, though, as drool spindles from its mouth.
A porch light flips on. “Who’s out there? I’ll shoot and ask questions later!” Someone shouts from inside the house.
Part of me is tempted to risk it, to get help, but people who keep dogs chained outside aren’t exactly the kind I trust.
I turn and hop the next fence, landing on a sidewalk in a neighborhood that, thankfully, hasn’t been abandoned all the way down the block. I have no idea how far I am from the house I started at, but it’s at least a few streets over. Several cars are parked along the side street and in the driveways.
My heart hammers as I scan them. Luckily, most of them look to be a few decades old. I have no idea how to hot-wire newer cars, but the older ones that still use keys are something I can work with.
I spot an old Ford Taurus, probably early 2000s. Its paint is peeling, and there’s no guarantee it works, but I have to try. As long as it can get me to another town where I can trust someone, I’ll figure it out from there. I’ll ditch the car at some point. No one will even know I stole it.
After everything I did to escape the life my father put me in, I’m right back to being ten years old, him teaching me how to hot-wire cars. At least he gave me one useful skill, something that might save my ass now and help me move faster than I ever could on foot.
Placing my palms against the glass of the driver’s window, I glance around. No one’s outside. I’m lucky there aren’t any drug deals happening here right now. I doubt anyone in this area would report a stolen car, but if the cops do show up, maybe they’ll help me instead. Maybe they’ll keep me safe.
The glass slides down just enough for me to slip my arm through and unlock the door. The fact that it’s locked gives me hope. Maybe there’s a reason they wanted to protect it. Maybe it still runs.
Sliding into the car, I reach under the dashboard and tug at the wires. This would be so much easier if I had tools, but I can’tbe picky. I use my teeth to strip the wires. They spark when they touch, and the engine clunks as it tries to turn over.
I close my eyes.
Please start. Please. Universe, I know this isn’t right, but I don’t know any other way to get out. I’ll leave the car somewhere it can be found. Hopefully, the owner can get it back.
The car revs to life. I quietly shut the door, slide fully into the seat, and adjust it forward so I can reach the pedals. It’s a stick. I haven’t driven one of these in a while, but at least my father gave me a few practical life skills.
I waste no time pulling away from the curb and speeding off like a bat out of hell. I have no idea where I am, but hopefully I’m close to an Omega Safe Haven. They’ll keep me safe, and they have programs to help relocate Omegas in trouble.
Once I leave the sketchy area behind, miles of farmland stretch ahead. Signs say I’m headed for La Junta and Willowside. I’ve heard of them in passing. I know Pueblo is about an hour from La Junta. The gas light has been on for far too long. I just need to make it to Willowside. I don’t know what resources they have, but someone there should be able to help me.
I can at least call work and let them know what’s going on. Maybe one of my coworkers can come pick me up. The signs say Willowside is four miles away now. Hopefully, this clunker can survive on fumes, or at least get close enough that I can walk the rest of the way.
Adrenaline still pumps through me, but not like before. Now, the aches and pains settle into my bones. My neck burns likeI’ve been branded. In a way, I have. Alphas I didn’t want have claimed me, and my body wants so badly to reject them.
Some couples settle for each other because finding scent-matched Alphas and Omegas is nearly impossible. Often, they don’t claim each other. Sometimes Omegas take medication to help heal the marks. I don’t want these healed. If they close, they’ll just serve as a permanent reminder of what I’ve endured.
I grip the wheel tighter. If I don’t take the meds, the wounds will remain open, constantly risking infection. My only other option is to find scent-matched Alphas, and I’d have better luck diving into a haystack to find a needle.
There’s a reason so many Omegas end up at the Safe Haven. There are too many Alphas in this world, and finding the right ones is an impossible task for most. That includes me.
The sunset is nearly gone. I keep glancing in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Sergio’s men closing in. Not that they’d know what car I stole, or even that I took one at all.
In the distance, houses begin to appear. It has to be Willowside. It doesn’t look like a barn or silo like everything else I passed. As if sensing that I only need it for a few more minutes, the car begins to slow, even though my foot is still on the pedal.
A loud ding blares. The gas indicator flashes on the dashboard, and then the engine sputters to a stop. I close my eyes and sigh. My heart pounds. I don’t want to get out of the car. I feel safer here, but if it can’t take me any farther, then it’s useless. I have no choice but to keep going. I just hope Sergio’s men are far enough behind me that they won’t catch up before I reach town.
