The Drowned Fear No Sea

Chaos always wins. The moment the soap bubble of civilization bursts, humanity eats, f***s, and kills itself — in any order. And the first to end up on the edge of the mass grave are those who can’t defend themselves. Ray’d pray for them, and for himself, but the words just won’t come. Behind the wall, someone laughed shrilly. Ray jerked, pain lancing through his arms. He whimpered under his breath, trying not to draw attention. The wire around his wrists bit deep into the dark, swollen flesh. Death would arrive long before his hands had the chance to rot away. Everything hurt — the broken nose, the ribs counted off by heavy boots, the hips and back beaten with fists and sticks. He lay at the edge of a rusty cot, arms wired to the headboard. Curled into a ball, he fought not to slide into the sagging hollow of the mesh, where Jess’s corpse stared blankly at the ceiling. They’d been caught together, but Ray had been “lucky” — given a few extra hours of life. Only because Jess was sexier — blond hair, big t**s, and she’d known one of those bastards. They f****d her to death right in front of him. He saw the moment she choked on two men’s c***s as they came down her throat. Saw it — and did nothing. Maybe that alone meant he deserved to die. He’d been saved for the gang leader’s dessert. The man would be back by evening. Ray had already been told the bastard preferred beta-type men: thin, dry inside, without pheromone stink. The best lubricant, after all, was blood. And when the leader rammed his huge alpha c**k into Ray and released the knot, it would tear him apart. He’d bleed out while the rut-maddened monster kept f*****g him. If he was lucky, it would be quick. Maybe the radicals had been right. Maybe alphas and omegas should have been wiped out — a dead-end branch of evolution dangerous to normal people. They’d tried: blew up the hydroelectric station at the old Alkingon Reservoir. Entire towns went under. Normal betas soon learned they were good only as meat or s*x toys, while freaks of all kinds thrived. The irony was that the terrorists had targeted settlements where half-humans lived close together. They hadn’t accounted for the terrain — alphas chose higher ground. The high banks stayed above flood level. The low banks vanished underwater, valleys turning into swamps and back, the river feeding the capital carving a new course. When twelve of twenty states collapsed, the government stopped functioning. Hunger, disease, and violence followed. Temporary regimes came and went, sometimes several in a week. Protests never ceased. Along the line between land and swamp, floating “camps” were built for the “drowned” — refugees from the flooded lands. They weren’t allowed ashore. Told to pray, endure, and stay behind the fences. A thousand kilometers away, normal people lived normal lives — taking kids to school, drinking beer on Fridays, buying toilet paper at supermarkets. But Ray, nineteen, had spent eight months in a half-drowned apartment block, living on rations, diving into foul water for other people’s possessions. For a wall clock from a client’s beloved grandfather, salvaged with brutal effort from a submerged flat, he’d been paid with a can of condensed milk, half a loaf of bread, and sneakers without laces. A good haul. That was life — until he fell into the hands of a mixed gang of alphas, omegas, and degenerate betas. They’d f**k him and eat him. Jess wasn’t just missing an eye. “Tough times call for tough choices,” said that same beta — Jess’s pal — who’d sold them out while a heat-crazed omega rubbed her wet cunt lips against Ray’s face. He turned away as best he could, but still got smeared in the sour-smelling slick. At least none got in his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried again to call on higher powers, but instead cried — tears spilling from stinging eyelids, washing away someone else’s filth. He wasn’t given water. Wouldn’t be taken to a toilet. Just lie there and wait, like a piece of meat in a display case. Please, let his death not be pointless, senseless, unjust. He’d never had anything against alphas or omegas before, though he’d met them rarely. Once, a man on the street had growled at him, but a cop had dropped him with a stun gun. And a year and a half ago — felt like forever — the junk dealer Claud, whom Ray worked for after college, had suddenly pressed him to a wall and started grinding against him, smearing his omega slick over his own pants. Ray had broken free and run. Another shriek behind the wall, long and loud. Someone laughed like an i***t on a high; glass shattered. Then — a gunshot. So loud Ray thought he’d gone deaf. Had the captors turned on each other over the loot? Chaos erupted. Someone howled, someone cursed, the two women in the gang screamed. Beneath it all came a low, terrifying growl, almost beyond hearing. The alpha’s here, he realized. He lost balance and slid onto Jess’s corpse. Bit his lip to keep from vomiting. She wasn’t fully stiff yet, but cold, lifeless, and stinking — probably of dried blood and semen. Another shot, then another. Was the alpha disciplining his own? Something crashed so hard it sounded like a wardrobe falling. Ray couldn’t even cover his ears, just flinched and waited. The pain in his arms kept him from passing out. And then, in the gray light of dusk, a huge black figure appeared in the doorway. Ray’s heart kept the countdown as the alpha walked toward him. Tall, like all alphas, with broad shoulders, long arms, big hands. A strong-boned face framed by messy hair, eyes flickering red. His wide mouth hung half-open, and Ray caught the wet gleam of sharp teeth. He fought the urge to whimper — that would only provoke the rut. The scent hit him — hot metal, burnt powder, stagnant water, and alpha rage. For a beta, Ray had a sharp nose, and the primitive part of his brain knew: this alpha wanted to kill. Don’t look him in the eyes, don’t, his mind screamed, but he couldn’t look away, stinking of sour fear even to himself. Only when the alpha loomed over the rusty cot did Ray notice the dark clothes and rough fisherman’s cloak dripping with clear and almost black droplets. In his free hand — a massive semi-automatic pistol, a special modification no beta or omega could handle. Panic took over, and Ray screamed when the alpha pulled his left hand from behind his back — in a black leather glove with knife blades fixed along the fingers. He sniffed and snorted. “Shut up, omega!” He dragged the blades along the cot’s headboard, throwing sparks and screeching metal. “I’m not an omega,” Ray muttered, forgetting the local boss had wanted one. The alpha leaned closer, licking his lips unconsciously. “Little beta, imagine that,” he said, tucking the gun into the deep pocket of his rubberized coat, then suddenly grabbed Ray by the throat. “Well, well.” The blade tip touched the dimples under Ray’s chin. “This won’t hurt. Just close your eyes.” “I won’t,” Ray whispered, feeling the point pierce his skin, the copper-and-iron scent of the alpha wrapping around him. “Boom!” The alpha laughed so low the vibration ran through Ray’s battered body. “There, I killed you. You’re gone. Someone else is here now, and he’s not afraid anymore.” He pulled the knife-hand back, let Ray go, tried to lift him — but Ray screamed in pain as the wire bit in. The alpha stopped, frowning. “Come on, little beta. Time to survive!” And with a single swipe of the “claws,” he cut him free.