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Numbers one through to fifty were the omegas.
They lined up at the starting point, five neat rows of ten. Ray found himself somewhere in the middle of the third row, but he could easily see over the heads of the omegas in front of him. To his left, a twitchy, ratty boy omega. To his right, a slender and pale girl.
Ray liked girl omegas. Girl omegas were always clean, always smelt nice. Boy omegas were too needy, too drippy, too smelly. But girl omegas were nice, and tidy, and clean.
Girl omegas had soft skin. Ray had soft skin, but it was chubby-soft. Ray’s soft skin wasn’t a nice thing.
The girl omega next to Ray smelt clean and nice. She smelt faintly of hay, and sugar beet, and she was wearing a zingy green turtleneck and white tennis shoes. Ray glanced at her, and again. The next time he glanced, she was looking at him. Around her slender neck, she wore a slim collar. 8 was stamped in the middle of it.
Ray fidgeted with his own 47. When he had gone to the admin post, to have his ID card swiped and receive his collar, the soldier manning the station had swiped it off a hook reading XL. Ray had flushed pink with embarrassment, even though it had only been his mom there to see it. His mom and the soldier, and surely the soldier didn’t care. And his mom already knew. So there had been no reason for Ray to blush. But he had.
“Are you nervous?” Ray mumbled to the girl omega.
She twitched, delicately. Like a paper tissue fluttering. “Nervous? Why?” She didn’t laugh exactly, but Ray’s brain imagined a derisive snort. “We’re only the bait. We’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”
Ray nodded. “Sure,” he said, though he didn’t quite agree. There was no reason to annoy a pretty, nice smelling girl.
Maybe I’m queer for this girl omega, thought Ray. His stomach twisted. Oh God, what a moment to realise I’m queer.
But then the twitchy, ratty boy on the left twitched. In a ratty way, of course. And Ray felt nothing but absent disgust. The worry passed.
“I’m nervous,” said a low, mellow voice on Ray’s far right, on the other side of the girl. “I’m nervous, of course I am. It’s a big moment.”
The girl blinked. Ray blinked. “Yeah, man, I get that. I’m Ray, by the way. Ray Garraty.” He stuck out a wrist, and it was gently bumped by a warm, thick arm. Smooth, deep brown skin and a sweet, sugary scent. “Art Baker,” said the voice, and Ray turned to look.
A tall, willowy omega stood looking at him. Even taller than Ray, which was rare for an omega. But skinny, of course. They smiled at each other warmly, and the boy’s smile was sweet, and deep, and creased his face in a lovely way. He’s gotta be one of the first to go, thought Ray. He’s a catch.
In reality, the girl, Number 8, was right. There was no reason to be nervous. The Hunt was only really dangerous for alphas, and only rarely did omegas get caught up in it. There had been one Hunt, perhaps four or five years back, when two alphas had really gotten into it. They had been growling, snapping, clawing, when the omega they were fighting over had tried to enter the fray. It had ended with the omega’s throat torn out, and the two alphas banned from the Hunt.
Don’t be a hero, Ray, his mom had said on the short drive up from Pownal. If the alphas are fighting, you stay right out of it.
Yes, Mom, Ray had dutifully replied. As if any alphas would be fighting over him at all.
Ray and Art chatted over the girl omega’s head for a few minutes. Ray had just found out that Art was from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and had signed up for the hundred-dollar stipend for his grandmother, when the rumbling of machinery announced the Major’s arrival.
A large, khaki Jeep swung in a large circle and screeched to a halt, side-on to the gathered rows of omegas. Cameras that Ray had barely noticed before swarmed to get the best view of the Major’s speech.
The Major, an alpha with an enormous bushy moustache, took a deep breath.
“Gathered before me,” he began, “is America’s future. Fifty of our glorious country’s young omegas, ready to begin the next step in serving their nation. About to do the best thing an omega can do for America.” The Major paused, and his head moved slowly from left to right. Behind the shades, it was impossible to tell where he was looking. Next to Ray, Number 8 flicked her eyes to the ground.
“Yes, the best thing an omega can do: breed.”
Ray could only imagine that somewhere, far from here, where the start of the Hunt and the Major’s speech are being televised live, people were hooting and cheering, and clapping each other on the back, saying Hell yeah!
In the here and now, the crowd of omegas were silent. Someone in the back row coughed.
The Major continued. “The alpha contingent left from the border at oh-nine-hundred-hours this morning. They’re making strong progress in this direction. Set to arrive at or just after fifteen-hundred hours.”
Just say three p.m, you hack, thought Ray.
“We ain’t gonna tell you when they’re near,” said the Major with relish. “You’ll have to smell ‘em.”
A wave of nervous titters swept the rows. The idea of smelling an alpha, a horny alpha, was deliciously taboo.
“Now, boys,” the Major bellowed. “And ladies. The Rules.”
The Rules are the Rules. They’ve been the same for the past twenty Hunts.
The alphas set off in the morning. Six hours of walking to tire them out and get them nice and desperate. At around three p.m, the omegas are turned loose. Just enough time before nightfall to establish a nest. And wait for an alpha.
It’s what happens after that which makes Ray nervous. Wait for an alpha to find you. Let them claim you. Breed you. Mate you.
After five days, any alphas who haven’t found a mate get their ticket. The rest head to their happy forever with their new mate, a thousand-dollar bonus in their pocket to help them and their new family. Babies are expensive, after all.
In front of them, the Major was still talking. Wrap it up, old man, Ray thought, with a roll of his eyes. As if there’s anyone in the country who doesn’t know how the Hunt works.
“The Hunt gives hope to the American people,” Major says. “The Hunt gives children to our nation, children who will become mechanics, and farmers, and soldiers, and Americans!” A cheer goes up from the crowd of omegas. A self-conscious, half-flattered cheer. Hearing the Major talk about them having children is like when your grandfather says well, Ray, you’ve grown into a shapely young man. Make sure you cover your chest before you go out. Alphas can’t help but look. Deeply uncomfortable, with the sick thrill of knowing at least someone is thinking about you like that.
When the Major finally shut up, Ray glanced down at his watch. It was quarter to three. The Major was always punctual. If he was wrapping up, it was because the alphas were nearby. The same realization seemed to be rolling through the crowd. Suddenly, Ray could see people shifting on their feet. Checking their shirts, their pants. Ray pressed a hand to his mating gland on the left side. At some point in the next five days, the gland would be pierced, scarred, marked.
“Luck to all,” said the Major, the same phrase he had said at the start of each Hunt. With that, his Jeep roared away, and the omegas were left at the starting point, just a skeleton crew of soldiers with carbines to keep order.
—
Around five minutes later, a girl in the second row, with thick, thick glasses and prominent front teeth, started to sway. She leaned this way, and that way, and then shuddered. “I can smell them,” she said. Ray couldn’t smell anything. Ray’s nose had always been for shit. Dad liked to joke that Ray couldn’t have picked his own scent out of a line up.
But by the way a few more omegas were shuddering, drawing in huge, gulping breaths and trembling at each inhale, Ray felt pretty sure that the stink of alpha musk wasn’t far away.
A soldier, holding a large, dented, chronometer, strode to the front of the assembled rows. “It is fifteen-hundred-and-three hours,” he said. At 3 p.m, or just after, that’s what the Major said, Ray recalled.
“Let the Hunt begin.”
Beside him, the girl omega, little Number 8, was off like a shot. She didn’t run, and yet she moved with speed and was gone.
The rows quickly depleted, as omegas peeled off in all directions. Ray wasn’t one of the last to go, but he hardly had a plan in mind, as Number 8 had seemed to. Art slowly shambled over to his side, in an odd, shuffling gait. “I suppose we don’t have to split up straight away,” he said in that lovely drawl. “We can make a start together, can’t we?”
How strange, Ray smiled. We come from opposite ends of the country, and we met here. It was against his nature to think fondly of the Hunt, and yet he couldn’t help a smile at having heard Art’s voice at least once in his life. He never would’ve, otherwise.
“Sure, we can stick together,” said Ray. “For today at least.”
Shoulder to shoulder, they slowly made their way off the concrete pad where they had assembled, and into the forest which lay on one side. On the other three sides were cornfields. It made sense that most of the omegas had headed into the forest. There was only so much nesting you could do in a cornfield.
As they shambled over knotted roots and dips in the soft forest floor, Ray and Art talked.
“What all did you bring?” asked Art. “You know, for your nest.”
Omegas were allowed one bag of items for their nests. It was usual to bring a blanket or a scrap of clothing, something imbued with pack scent.
“I’ve got a few things,” Ray said. “I’ve got a sleeping bag that my Dad gave me.”
Art hummed. “That’s nice. Useful. You go camping much?”
“With my dad, yeah. A few times. I’ve slept out before, at least. I get the feeling some people here never have.”
“I never have,” Art said softly. “I never slept anywhere except my own bed.”
Ray grabbed his warm, dry hand and squeezed. He didn’t say anything. Neither of them did.
It was unhappy to think that Art’s first time sleeping outside of his own bed would be so- this.
So intense? Ray wondered. So frightening? He dearly hoped it wouldn’t frighten Art. But it frightened him.
He wondered if Art was a virgin. Probably. He seemed like the church-going, save-yourself-for-mating type.
It wasn’t unusual for omegas to be virgins before the Hunt. It wasn’t usual, either. It didn’t seem to go either way. Some people were and some people weren’t.
I wish I weren’t, Ray thought, not for the first time. It was going to be the worst sort of torture, when it came. To be the last chosen omega, as he no doubt would be. The final hope of some desperate alpha, looking to cash in the only chance of survival before fifty alphas bought their ticket. To know that Ray was only slightly more preferable to death.
And then lose his virginity on live television. With his Mom watching.
It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Ray had had a girlfriend, a pretty alpha girl from his high school algebra class. Jan had long, shiny, pin-straight hair and a flat tummy. She liked math and collecting ceramic figurines. For her birthday, Ray had saved some of his allowance, and bought her a little powder-blue kitten, with a truly concerning expression of dopey love on its little kitten face. Jan had squealed and proclaimed that she would name it Ray, in his honour.
When Ray’s name had been picked for the Hunt, and Jan’s hadn’t, things became awkward between them. Jan was sweet, and always a lady towards Ray, never slipping her hand into his pants or up his shirt. Still, it was one thing to be ladylike and take things slow. It was quite another to be cuckolded by an alpha neither of you knew yet.
On one of the last days of April, when Ray had been packing for the Hunt, he went over to Jan’s house. The familiar dust-stained white siding. The creaking porch. The sweet, perfumed smell of her bedroom.
Things had effectively been over between them since the names were called. Still, it was the honourable thing to do, to end things officially. Ray had stammered something about not wanting to hurt her, and it not being his choice.
Jan had nodded. Her shiny hair swept across her shoulders with each bob of her hair. She had sniffled, and drawn him in for a tight hug. And then-
We could, y’know, Jan had whispered. Do it. Her voice was wet in Ray’s ear, the slick sound of her spittle against her tongue.
But Ray didn’t want to do it with Jan.
Like a coward, he pretended not to have heard. Bye, Jan, he’d said, pathetically. I hope you have a nice summer break.
Before he left, Jan had pressed the little porcelain Ray into his hand. The kitten looked up at him with glassy, lovestruck eyes. You should have it, Jan said. I want you to have it.
She probably hoped he would bring it to the Hunt. Look at it, and think of her.
But it was still in the pocket of the jacket he’d worn to her house. If he’d brought it, it would have only been the millionth reminder of Ray’s inability to do it.
It’s the job of alphas to want it. It’s the job of omegas to get away from it. But not too far away. If you give in too soon, you’re easy. You’re loose. You’re a slut. If you hold out for too long, you’re uptight. You’re frigid. You’re a bitch.
You’re a fucking loser virgin, Ray thinks glumly. You’re Ray Garraty.
“Hey, Ray?” Art’s mellow voice broke him out of his funk. Even breathing shallowly, Ray could pick up the musty smell of his own unhappiness.
“Yeah, Art?” he said.
“What kind of alpha are you hoping for?”
“A boy,” Ray said instantly. Then blushed. Dumb answer, he scolded himself. “Or, like- I mean. Someone who’s nice.”
Art kindly smothered his laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Nice is important. I want- I know it’s not that big of a deal, but I want someone who cares about church, and God. Who wants to live their life the right way. You get that?”
“Yeah,” Ray said, and had the distinct feeling that he was living his life the wrong way.
“Uh, I guess,” he began, feeling that he needed to reciprocate Art’s honesty. “Someone who wouldn’t mind moving here? I mean, I wouldn’t want to leave Mom. It’s just us since my dad died-” Art tried to give condolences, but Ray brushed him off. “So yeah, I don’t think I could move to California or something. They’d have to come here.”
“He’d have to come here,” Art corrected with a teasing grin. “Ain’t that what you said? You don’t want no lady alpha?”
He nudged Ray with an elbow, and giggled, and Ray giggled, and then they were off. They wandered through the forest for hours, always bearing generally south and talking about nothing. They talked about nothing and laughed about nothing, and when they occasionally strayed into something that wasn’t nothing, something painful, they would freeze, like puppies realising that a bite can hurt.
They passed a happy few hours, until the sky was a bruised purple, and the forest was more gloom than not. Art and Ray looked at one another, and neither wanted to be the one to say it.
“I guess we oughtta go our separate ways,” Art said at last. Set up a nest for the night.”
“I guess so,” said Ray. They stood, looking at each other for a moment longer, and then, at once, started off in opposite directions.
For a few minutes, Ray wandered aimlessly, smarting at his newfound loneliness. The hours had passed so easily with Art, but now he was alone, and it was almost nightfall. He would need to find a nest, or at least bed down somewhere for the night, within the next hour.
A sturdy pine tree loomed up ahead, twice as thick as the trees around it. Ray walked right up to the trunk, and leaned against it as he paused to think. Where to go? Where could be safe?
Ray almost jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke from above his head. “Follow the white rabbit.”
He swallowed a scream, and peered up. It was skinny little Number 8.
“What?” he whispered hoarsely, as if there was anyone around to hear them.
Number 8 rolled her eyes, a barely-there flicker of pale blue. “There’s a river about half a mile that way. I passed it on my way here. There were some caves not far downstream.”
Ray squinted up at her. Her pale skin almost glowed in the blue light of dusk. “How come you didn’t go for one of those caves?”
She smiled, or almost did. “This is better.”
It seemed true that her perch, high up in the branches, was safer. Ray had no idea how she’d even scaled the smooth trunk. He didn’t have a hope in hell of pulling off something similar.
“Okay,” he said eventually, and took off in the direction she had pointed. “Thanks, Number 8.”
“Stebbins,” she said faintly, and then her ghostly pale face and airy voice were gone.
In the almost-darkness, Ray stumbled on protruding roots and muddy ground underfoot. After his third time tripping over an unseen hazard, he fished his dad’s old flashlight out of his knapsack.
It wasn’t smart to wave a bright beam around like a beacon. But it would be more stupid to break my neck on a tree before the first night is even over, Ray thought mulishly.
Like his dad had once shown him, Ray ripped two pieces of duct tape from the roll with his teeth, and taped them over the lens. A narrow beam burst forth, far less noticeable than the come and fuck me! beacon he had been flashing before.
With a slim beam to light the way, Ray trudged along the edge of the river for about twenty minutes or so. It was truly dark when he came to the entrance of a small cave. It was just shorter than his standing height, and when Ray shone the flashlight around, it was about five feet deep. It seemed dry enough, didn’t smell too musty or damp. It seemed a wonder that it wasn’t occupied already, but perhaps Number 8 - Stebbins - was the only person who had come this way.
Ray set to work making the cave a habitable nest.
In the few months between the names being called and the Hunt beginning, Ray and his mom had planned and planned again everything he would need. One of the most important items was the worn blue tarp he laid on the ground. Necessary to keep both Ray and his stuff dry. On top of that, he layered blankets and thin sheets of fabric. Anything that his mom thought she could spare, she had pressed him to take. Finally, Ray climbed into his dad’s old sleeping bag, and balled his worn army jacket into a pillow.
It was truly pitch black. From inside the cave, Ray couldn’t see the stars. He could only hear the rustling of wind in the trees, and the occasional crack or crunch. Nobody scream, Ray thought desperately. Please, nobody scream.
With that thought in his mind, Ray drifted off into fitful sleep.
—
Crack.
It was as loud as a gunshot. Ray’s eyes flew open.
The sky outside was milky blue. The colour of earliest morning, before the sun is really up.
Ray’s heart was pounding. What made that noise? he wondered. Who made that noise?
Through bleary eyes, he glanced at his wristwatch. It was just past four in the morning. Ray must have slept for a good few hours, at least. The thought was cheering and terrifying. Who could’ve found him in that time? What could they have done to him? It wasn’t unheard of, alphas claiming omegas while they slept, desperate for a reprieve from the constant threat that hung over their heads.
Crack. Snap.
“Shit!”
A low voice startled Ray even further. He dared to peer out of the mouth of his cave.
He froze.
Across the river was a man. An alpha. Even from here, Ray could smell his deep musk. Smokey and oily and delicious. He sniffed a little more.
The man was beautiful. Dark, dark skin and short hair. He was wearing a thin jacket, but it wasn’t enough to hide the sight of rippling muscles from Ray’s greedy eyes. The alpha had huge, muscular arms and a flat stomach. Ray squinted. And a scar across his face.
Oh my God, Ray thought deliriously. Oh God. I hope he doesn’t see me. The idea of the most beautiful man on Earth seeing Ray, with his early-morning cowlick and pudgy figure, was almost too terrible to imagine.
Oh God! Oh my God! Ray’s thoughts began to slide towards panic. That was the unmistakable feeling of slick pooling between his legs. He was slicking up for a strange alpha, who he was spying on like a pervert. Desperate to stem the heat kindling at his core, Ray shifted in place.
Traitorously, the worn blue tarp crinkled. It was as loud as a bomb in the empty forest. The alpha’s head snapped up, focused on Ray’s location.
“Hey!” he called, stage whispering. “Hey, is someone there?” The man stood silently, waiting for a reply.
I want to lick him, Ray thought. The idea casually danced through his head and away.
“I swear,” the man called again, “I don’t want to start nothing. Is someone there?” The alpha’s voice was warm, and not as deep as Ray would expect from a man that size. It was the tired hope in his voice that made Ray stick his head out of the cave. Just enough to be seen.
Quiet joy lit up the alpha’s face. “Hey!” he said. “Hey, man!”
“Hi,” whispered Ray.
The man glanced at the river, then back at Ray. Then back at the river. “I’m gonna come over,” he said. “Just hold on. I’m gonna come over.”
The man walked out of sight.
For a second, Ray wondered if he had been a figment of his imagination. But he heard a splash, and a stifled hiss, and he knew the man was there. Wincing at the stiffness in his muscles, Ray shifted so he was sitting up, waiting for the alpha.
A few seconds later, he appeared.
The milky blue light of morning washed over the man, highlighting all the sharp points of his body. His cheeks. His collarbones. His bright eyes.
“Hi,” said Ray, inanely. “I’m Ray Garraty.”
“Pete,” said the alpha in front of him. “Peter McVries.”
They bumped wrists politely, exchanging names and scents like classmates meeting on the first day of high school, or strangers running into each other at the grocery store.
“I’m glad to see you,” said the alpha. Said Pete. “I’m glad to see anyone.”
Ray wasn’t quite sure what to say. Stebbins’ words floated back to him. We’re only the bait. Who knows what the alphas have been through already?
“Did-?” Ray started, but couldn’t seem to finish. Pete seemed to know what he wanted to ask anyway.
“Two people got their ticket before we even made it here,” he said with a grimace.
Ray swallowed thickly. How could it happen without us even knowing? he wondered. At some point yesterday, two alphas had their tickets punched. Perhaps while he and Art were giggling in the forest. Maybe when they were lined up on the concrete. Possibly even when Ray was still in his mom’s car, listening to the Sunday morning broadcast on the radio. Wouldn’t I have known? Wouldn’t I have felt- something? We’re all in this together. But they weren’t. Not really.
We’re only the bait. Stebbins’ voice floated back to him again.
Well, Ray caught an alpha. What now?