Page 7 of Shared Omega

“Bring her back in one piece?” Donovitch whispers beside me. “Hell yeah. Once I get my hands on this little slut, I’ll check every inch to make sure there aren’t any pieces missing.”

I roll my eyes and let the comment slide. I’m too intrigued by the picture. There’s something here that doesn’t add up. The innocent, ingenuous expression on the woman’s face doesn’t match the wanton lust we just witnessed.

What happened to this woman to make her change?

It’s the contamination of the Zone, of course. The omega mutation.

“I don’t understand, Doctor,” I find myself blurting suddenly. “Why are we risking the lives of an entire cadre of marines to rescue a woman who obviously doesn’t want to be rescued?”

A dozen pairs of eyes turn toward me, shocked that I’ve spoken out.

To be honest, I’m a little shocked myself.

“Please, don’t be deceived,” Frostgrave answers in a patronizing tone. “While it may appear that Miss O’Neal is…enjoying herself, I can assure you, she most certainly is not.”

I can’t help wondering how the hell Frostgrave knows what this woman enjoys.

“There are numerous explanations for the apparent willingness that Miss O’Neal displayed in that recording,” he explains. “It may simply be self-preservation. It would be useless for her to attempt to fend off even a single Alpha, let alone three. Or she may well be experiencing an advanced form of Stockholm Syndrome, in which a hostage develops misplaced feelings of affection for her captors. It’s not unheard of for this attachment to take on a sexual dimension. And this, of course, is further compounded by the fact that Miss O’Neal has most certainly been tainted by the contamination of the Zone, metamorphosing her into an omega.”

“But that’s just the thing,” I persist. “She’s an omega now. If we brought her back—”

“Lance Corporal Sloane!” Colonel Fulgore cuts me off with a pissed off growl, “the details of this mission are on a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to understand the purpose of the mission. All you need to know is your objective, and that is to find and retrieve the target.”

A renewed blush scalds my cheeks and sizzles the tips of my ears. The colonel is right, of course. I’m a weapon. A tool. My job is to keep my mouth shut and get the job done, no questions asked.

I don’t know why the hell I blurted out that question like that.

But there is an inexplicable connection that I feel to this woman.

Dr. Frostgrave eyes me with a silent, appraising look.

“Now, here’s how this is going to go down.” Fulgore continues, “You will be parachuting in. A cloaked jump-ship will fly you in over the wall and carry you to Ground Zero, here.”

He points to the map that has reappeared on the screen.

Another low murmur passes through the small audience.

“Ground Zero?” Donovitch scoffs beside me. “Hell, boss, everyone knows that Ground Zero is off-limits. Even the best protective gear we’ve got won’t let us go half that deep into the Zone.”

Colonel Fulgore scowls with annoyance at Donovitch’s interruption.

The thing is, as dumb as Donovitch may be, he’s correct. Like they say, even a broken clock gives the right time twice a day. Trying to go all the way to Ground Zero would be suicide, plain and simple.

The entire Zone that is contained within the Quarantine Wall is pervaded by a mysterious contamination that even the top scientists at SynerGen don’t fully understand. Some think it’s a virus. Others say it’s radiation.

There are only two things that are known for sure.

First, without adequate protective gear, the contamination will mutate a human in a matter of minutes.

Second, the levels of contamination increase in intensity the farther one ventures into the zone, culminating at Ground Zero—the place where the cataclysm occurred over a century ago, giving birth to the horrific aberrations of the zone.

“Shut your gob, Donovitch,” the colonel’s voice snaps from the side of the room. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. This is a briefing, not a debate.”

Dr. Frostgrave, steps forward again and raises one scrawny arm to calm the colonel down.

“Actually,” Frostgrave says. “The soldier raises a good point. He’s right, we don’t have the technology to travel deep into the Quarantine Zone. Even our best protective gear can’t hold up to the contamination levels of the deep Zone…”

Frostgrave lets his words trail off. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Donovitch nodding to himself like he’s won some little victory. The Colonel gives him the stink eye.