Bottom of the Pack

"What kind of decisions."

Dr. Hallow held her gaze. "The kind where they transfer her to county care to free up the hospital bed for someone who might actually recover."

County care. Where people went to die slowly and alone because no one could afford to keep them anywhere better.

"How long," Gwen asked. "How long before they make that decision."

"I don’t know. Weeks, maybe. A month or two if you’re lucky." Dr. Hallow closed the folder. "I’m sorry. I wish I had better news."

She picked up her medical bag and moved toward the door.

"Dr. Hallow," Gwen said.

The doctor paused.

"Do you believe my father was a traitor?"

Dr. Hallow looked at her for a long moment. Her expression gave nothing away.

"What I believe doesn’t matter," she said finally. "What matters is what the pack believes. What the Fenwicks believe." She paused. "And right now, they believe Arthur betrayed everyone. Whether that’s true or not is irrelevant to your current situation."

"That’s not an answer."

"No," Dr. Hallow agreed. "It’s not."

Then she left.

Gwen stood in the kitchen of her childhood home and tried to process what she’d just been told.

Her mother might never wake up.

And even if she did, she might wake up to find herself in county care because the pack had decided she wasn’t worth the resources anymore.

Weeks. Maybe a month or two.

That’s how long Gwen had to figure out how to save her.

How to pay medical bills she couldn’t afford.

How to survive as an omega with no status and no protection.

How to do the impossible with nothing.

She looked around the kitchen one last time.

Then she went back upstairs to finish packing.

***

Friday morning came too quickly.

Gwen stood on the front porch of the Beta residence with her two bags and watched a family she barely knew start moving their belongings inside.

The new Beta...a man named Nathan from one of the northern packs who’d recently transferred to Greywatch, nodded at her politely as he carried a box past.

His mate, a blonde woman with kind eyes, paused. "I’m sorry about your father," she said quietly.

Gwen nodded. Didn’t trust herself to speak.

"And I’m sorry about...." The woman gestured vaguely at the house. "All of this. It doesn’t seem fair."

"It’s not," Gwen said. Her voice came out flat. "But thank you."

The woman looked like she wanted to say more, but her mate called for her and she went inside.

Gwen picked up her bags and walked away from the house where she’d grown up.

She didn’t look back.

The omega housing complex was on the eastern edge of pack territory.

As far from the main residential area as possible while still technically being pack land. A series of rundown buildings that looked like they’d been condemned everywhere except here, where omegas didn’t get a choice about living conditions.

Gwen found her unit on the second floor.

The housing coordinator had called it an apartment.

He’d lied.

It was a room. Eight feet by ten feet. A single narrow window that overlooked the dumpsters behind the building. A mattress on the floor that looked like it had seen better days.....probably several decades ago. A lamp with a broken shade. No bathroom in the unit itself; she’d have to use the communal one down the hall.

This was what omega status looked like.

She set her bags down and looked around at what her life had become.

From a spacious bedroom in the Beta residence to this.

From respected daughter to omega.

From everything to nothing.

She sat on the mattress, it was lumpy and smelled faintly of mildew, and pulled out the one photo she’d managed to take from the house.

Her, her mother, and her father. Taken two years ago at the pack’s summer festival. All three of them laughing, her father’s arm around both of them, pulling them close.

They looked so happy.

So whole.

So completely unaware that in two years everything would be destroyed.

She stared at the photo until her vision blurred.

Then she carefully wrapped it in a shirt and tucked it at the bottom of her bag where it would be safe.

A knock on her door made her look up.

She opened it to find a woman in her thirties standing there....thin, tired-looking, with the particular wariness of someone who’d been omega long enough to know how the system worked.

"You’re the new girl," the woman said. "The one who used to be Beta."

"Yes."

"I’m Petra." She held out a piece of paper. "This is your work assignment. You start Monday."

Gwen took the paper and read it.

* PACK WORK ASSIGNMENT Name: Gwen

* Status: Omega

* Assignment: Sanitation Services - Waste Management.

* Start Date: Monday, 6 AM

* Report to: Hector Grim, Pack Services Coordinator

Waste management.

Garbage duty.

"Everyone starts with sanitation," Petra said, reading her expression. "It’s how they test you. See if you break." She paused. "Most omegas do."

"I won’t," Gwen said quietly.

Petra studied her for a moment. "You know what they’re saying about your father, right? About what he did?"

"He didn’t do it."

"Doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t." Petra’s voice was matter-of-fact. Not cruel, just honest. "What matters is that’s what everyone believes. And that means they’re going to make your life hell just for being his daughter."

"They’re already making my life hell."

"This is just the beginning." Petra turned to leave, then paused. "Advice from someone who’s been omega for five years? Keep your head down. Do your work. Don’t give them any excuses to make it worse." She looked back at Gwen. "And don’t expect anyone to help you. Down here, it’s every omega for themselves."

She left.

Gwen looked around her tiny room one more time.

Then she lay down on the lumpy mattress and stared at the water-stained ceiling.

Two months ago, she’d been Beta Arthur’s daughter.

Protected. Respected. Safe.

Now she was omega.

The lowest rank. The unwanted. The one everyone else looked down on.

And somewhere across town, her mother lay unconscious in a hospital bed, the mate bond broken, possibly never to wake again.

Gwen closed her eyes.

I’ll survive this, she told herself. Somehow. I’ll figure it out.

She had to.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.