Dawson was as fierce as ever. There was no fear in his eyes. He sat down next to Rayce, his back straight, chest lifting with every breath he took.
A boy named Jordan from Rayce’s cabin took a piece of bread from the top of the duffle bag, which lay as a makeshift table.
“What’re we doing?” Jordan asked timidly as he nibbled on his bread. He was tall with strong arms and long legs. He looked tired. He glanced around at each of them but never let his gaze linger, flicking from face to face before falling to the bread in his hand.
The camp had been small. They all knew of each other but tended to keep to their own cabins. Most exercises were done with the same small group day in and day out. The only time they all had the chance to really mingle was during breaks and meals.
“Resting,” Rayce answered. He tried to give a convincing smile.
“Everyone wants to know what’s going on and…” Jordan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the tent where Porter was. “What we’re going to do with him.”
“Nothing yet,” Dawson said.
“Is it true?” Jordan’s voice cracked. “Ellie heard something about us being sick.”
“We’re not sick.” Gabriel laughed sourly, reaching over Brooklyn to grab a piece of bread.
Dawson glared at Gabriel. “Rayce and I will fill everyone in. Just eat and relax, okay?”
Jordan didn’t look like he was too fond of the answers he’d received, but he nodded anyway and headed back into the bus where the others were taking shelter from the cold.
The puffiness that swelled around Gabriel’s eyes made her seem more fragile than she was. Her bony shoulders hunched up around her neck as she leaned over and rested her elbows on the tops of her thighs. Her tongue ran across the scar on her mouth, and she glanced at Brooklyn. “Sorry.”
Goosebumps spread over the top of Brooklyn’s arms, scaling the back of her neck, but she played along. “For what?”
“Trying to shoot Porter.”
Brooklyn eased. “We need him.”
“You need him.”
Heat radiated through Brooklyn’s cheeks, and she gritted her teeth. “Everything he knows could be useful in the long run, and he’s a doctor. We need him in case someone gets hurt.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Do you honestly think I would jeopardize our lives for…” she waved her hands, trying to find the words she was looking for “—that guy?”
Gabriel’s nostrils flared. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath. “No, I don’t.”
“After Seattle, we’re going home,” Brooklyn whispered. She reached over and snatched Gabriel’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Back to the beach, our eleven-month summer, street tacos, and…”
The way Gabriel ripped her hand from Brooklyn was devastating.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Gabriel said, face twisting into a scowl.
Amber watched them from the other side of the fire. She bumped her knee against Dawson’s to get his attention.
Brooklyn felt like she’d been kicked in the gut.
Gabriel stood up hastily, wiping her eyes. “We can’t go home, Brookie! We can’t. If we go home, those Surros, those things will find our parents, find my little brother. Then what?”
Her mouth was dry, and if Brooklyn could have hidden inside herself, she would have.
“We don’t get to go back home.” Gabriel shook her head and turned to stomp away. She was good at that, at getting away from situations until it was acceptable to ignore the things she didn’t want to face.
Dawson turned to set his plastic bowl down, but Julian stopped him.
“No, no, just eat. I’ll go get her,” Julian said. He stood up to trot after Gabriel, who melted into the darkness.
Rayce watched Julian go while Dawson stared down at his bowl and chewed on his lip.
“We need a good night’s sleep,” Dawson said. “We need to collect ourselves and get everyone together to discuss what comes next.”
“Isn’t Seattle next?” Rayce asked.
“Yes, but I don’t want anyone thinking this is going to be safe or easy. I don’t want anyone to feel like they’re being forced. So, in the morning, we’ll get everyone else to sit down and talk.”
After the situation in Portland, Brooklyn could understand exactly what Dawson was saying. The journey ahead, whatever journey it may be, could be a rough one. People could get hurt. It was no longer a game of hide and seek, and the letter he had come across in Terry’s room wasn’t a clue anymore. They were being hunted, and those who didn’t want to run shouldn’t feel obligated to. Those who didn’t want to fight shouldn’t be forced.
“That’s a good idea,” Amber said.
“It is,” Brooklyn agreed.
Dawson stared into the darkness where Gabriel had gone. Rayce slapped a hand over his shoulder and said, “She’s fine, D. Julian will calm her down.”
“She’s scared,” Dawson whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Brooklyn stood up quickly, brushing the dust off her pants. She reached out to get the last bowl of lukewarm soup and a hunk of bread before motioning toward the tent.
“I’m gonna take this to him,” she said cautiously, almost asking for approval.
Dawson nodded. Brooklyn watched Amber give her a quick reassuring nod before she turned to unzip the tent and step inside.
Porter was sitting in the same exact spot he’d been in all night. His hands were balled up in his lap, and he was playing with the sleeves on his maroon sweatshirt. He didn’t look up when she set the bowl in front of him. He didn’t say anything. She decided to take a seat across from him on top of her bundled-up sleeping bag.
“Thank you,” he said as he poked at the bread.
“Amber made it.” Brooklyn pushed the bowl toward him. “It’s still warm.”
“You don’t have to stay in here with me.”
“Just eat your food,” she grumbled.
He dunked his bread in the soup and took bite after bite until everything was gone.
It’d been a long day. Despite the many thoughts running through her head, Brooklyn could feel the tug of sleep pulling at her. She leaned back and stared at Porter, looking from the top of his head, which lolled lazily to the side, to his shoulders, slumped and weighted. His chest was strong. She could tell he was concentrating on each breath, the sound of his inhale, and the scratch of the air on his teeth when he exhaled.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” Brooklyn said. “If I listen closely enough, I can hear it. You’re nervous.”
“That’s incredible.” He smiled and tapped on the space between his clavicles. “Harnessing something like that could come in handy. You could be a human lie detector.”
“I don’t want to be a human lie detector,” Brooklyn growled.
Porter shrugged. “And you’re right. I am nervous.”
“Because you think we’re going to kill you?”
“No, I don’t think you’re going to kill me.”
“You’re wrong. I am going to kill you, just not yet.”
His lips twitched into a crooked smile, and he flicked the plastic spoon with his index finger. “I’m scared that I won’t be able to stop them if they find us.”
“Who?”
“Everyone associated with the project that’s out searching for us right now.”
“What will they do when they find us?”
“That’s the problem,” Porter said. “I don’t know.”
Brooklyn’s stomach turned, and she closed her eyes. Her thoughts revolved around laboratories filled with gleaming silver tools, curious hands prodding at her like she was an animal. She imagined cages and needles, rooms with stark white walls. The image of a cold steel slab where doctors and technicians ogled her kept branding itself in her mind. All the things she’d read in books and seen in movies were the building blocks of her nightmare.
“You need to sleep,” he said softly.
> She shifted uncomfortably and gnawed on one of her fingernails. Her options were small, but they were there. Brooklyn could take her sleeping bag into the other tent, or she could climb into the bus.
But if she left him…
Her eyes flicked up to Porter’s face. The urgency that consumed her when Gabriel pointed the gun at him still lingered.
Brooklyn kicked off her boots.
“You don’t have to sleep here,” Porter said.
“I know,” she said through a yawn. She shrugged her jacket off so she could wad it up and use it as a makeshift pillow.
A battery-operated lantern glowed in the corner of the tent.
Brooklyn thought about Gabriel, thought about home. She thought about her friends and wondered if they would die running. Or, one day down the road, could they start over?
Porter sighed. Brooklyn listened to the crunch of the tent as he moved around.
Her eyes were closed when Julian and Rayce walked inside. They cracked open when chilly fingertips brushed a piece of hair off the curve of her cheek.
“Hey,” Julian whispered. “Gabriel and Dawson are staying in the other tent with Amber; you wanna go with them?”
She shook her head.
“You sure?” he pressed, voice straining.
She nodded.
Rayce and Julian took turns staying up. Both lay on either side of her like warm, solid walls, blocking her from the sight of Porter, curled up on the opposite side of the tent.
Brooklyn fell asleep while Julian told Rayce stories of his mom’s restaurant in L.A., and Rayce told Julian about growing up in Texas.
She didn’t dream.
Chapter Thirteen
Two arms twisted around Brooklyn’s front, settling on her lower back. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, squirming backward to try and get away. When she saw golden hair and Gabriel’s big clear eyes blinking back at her, she stopped struggling.
“It was weird not sleeping in the same place as you,” Gabriel murmured tiredly as she scooted forward and buried her head under Brooklyn’s chin.
Brooklyn took a deep breath. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Dawson was there, and so was Amber, but it still didn’t feel right leaving you alone in here.”
“I wasn’t alone.” Brooklyn smirked. “Julian and Rayce were in here. So was Porter.”
“Exactly,” Gabriel growled and wrinkled her nose.
Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Yes, he would,” Gabriel said, snuggling closer into Brooklyn’s space and hugging their bodies tightly together. “I mean, he’s already hurt you enough. If he did any more damage, I would definitely have to kill him.”
“No one’s killing anyone right now,” Brooklyn breathed whilst petting Gabriel’s hair.
If anyone felt like home, it was Gabriel.
The air was cold and damp. Even in the tent, the younger girl shivered against Brooklyn’s torso. They stayed like that for as long as they could. Sharing such a small space reminded them of the simplicity back at camp. Of routine and ignorance. Sometimes, Brooklyn wished they could go back. Sometimes, she wished they could rewind and never find that letter.
“Did you hear that?” Gabriel whispered suddenly, body stiffening.
Brooklyn opened her eyes and held her breath. She listened carefully to what was going on outside.
Dawson was walking back and forth between the bus and the tent.
Julian was helping Porter make coffee over a dimming fire.
Amber was in the bus with the others. Jordan, Rayce, but Ellie…
Ellie was screaming.
It echoed distantly through the trees along with the sound of her boots beating the ground. Twigs snapped. Her nails raked across the trunk of a tree when she passed it.
“They found me!” Ellie squealed and shrieked, “Run! They’re here! They’ve found us. Run!”
Gabriel squeezed Brooklyn. “You’re my best friend, Brookie. You know that, right?”
Brooklyn couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
Dawson’s footsteps stopped and Porter’s voice went quiet.
Rayce was the first to run toward Ellie.
“We need to get the guns,” Brooklyn said quickly, scrambling to sit up and get her boots on.
Gabriel darted out of the tent. Dawson tried to reach for her, but she swung around the left side of him, sprinting toward the woods after Rayce.
“Gabriel, stop!” There was desperation in his voice. A sleek black gun was shoved at his chest.
Porter’s expression was grim. “Let’s go.”
Julian tried to keep calm, piling as many bags as he could together so they were easier to grab. His eyes moved to Brooklyn when she came stumbling out of the tent. Her head whipped from side to side until she found what she was looking for: the slender curve of Gabriel’s legs as she ran through the trees, with Dawson and Porter at her heels.
“We need to get everyone in the bus. We need to get out of here,” Julian’s voice shook.
The sound of bodies clashing came before the drowned, gnarled howling of the Surros.
Ellie bounded into the camp heaving in deep, burning breaths. Her hands were covered in black sludge, and her shirt was torn. She tripped trying to get to the safety of the bus, and tears came pouring out of her eyes.
Brooklyn rushed to her side and pushed strands of Ellie’s hair away, peeling them out of the black blood on her face.
“How many are there?” Brooklyn asked.
Ellie couldn’t stop crying, clutching at Brooklyn roughly, with her nails scrabbling to find purchase on her shoulders.
“Ellie!” Brooklyn shouted, “Talk! How many?”
“Too many,” Ellie sobbed. “I couldn’t count. I c-couldn’t…”
“Go inside,” Brooklyn said.
Ellie was taken inside by Jordan. He was pale-faced and sickly-looking.
Brooklyn looked over her shoulder to Julian, who was staring back at her. It was an unspoken agreement between close friends. No words were necessary.
I don’t leave without you is what they said to one another in silence, eyes locking for a short moment. Then they were off, running faster than they ever had.
Straight toward the clatter just past the tree line.
Chapter Fourteen
Brooklyn thought about slowing down as the noises started to get louder. She expected her legs to falter, and give out before she faced the Surros again. But they didn’t. She lunged past the trees with Julian at her side while the sun peeked through a thick layer of morning mist hovering low in the sky. They made a quick turn around a large oak, and suddenly, the blur of the enemy became clear.
The crash of a squirming body startled her into a skidding stop. Brooklyn caught herself before she could fall backward.
It was a Surro.
Its body writhed in the leaves scattered on the ground. Its back was broken, eyes bloodshot and protruding from their sockets while it wailed and clawed at her feet. Brooklyn gave it a blunt kick in the skull and turned back toward the chaos to find Julian running into the fray.
Ellie was right. There were too many—at least five Surros to every one person in the camp. They were everywhere, screaming and hissing. It was Brooklyn’s nightmare played out in real time, and the only thing that pushed her to move was a gunshot.
Porter struggled to reload as he shoved a larger Surro back with his fist. Black blood was splattered across his face. It speckled his glasses and dripped over the front of his shirt, accompanied by a patch of damp crimson bursting over his shoulder.
Brooklyn ran forward and tried to piece together a plan or an idea, anything that could help them get out of this alive. Maneuvers danced behind her eyes, every strategy Terry had forced on them, every combat simulation, and every fighting style. She kept it all on repeat and strained to keep focused and controlled.
Three closed in on Porter, only a few feet away. The nearest to him was the largest. When it rea
ched out, he raised the gun to fire, shirt lifting to expose a gleam of metal shoved in the back of his jeans.
She saw it happen before she moved. Every particular play. Every intricate detail. It happened exactly how she predicted, exactly how she wanted, and all she had to do was concentrate.
As he pulled the trigger she slid on her knees behind him. Her fingertips latched around the sleek silver gun. She tugged it out of his jeans and slammed it into the jaw of a slender Surro to their left. It crushed the creature’s jaw and left its mouth hanging open. Teeth dropped from its gums, rotted and sallow, while empty eyes stared out at them before it fell to the ground. Brooklyn swooped in front of him and aimed the gun over his shoulder, firing a bullet between the eyes of the third Surro that had been running toward them from behind the dense brush.
Porter’s breathing was shallow, and he clutched on to her waist. “God, you’re fast,” he said, voice grave and low.
“Go back to the camp,” Brooklyn said as she tore his shirt and revealed the wound on his shoulder. A deep gash, caked in drying blood and dirt. His shoulder had been filleted open, and unlike the rest of them, Porter didn’t possess any radical healing powers. How he hadn’t already passed out from blood loss was beyond her.
“I rubbed some dirt on it. I’m fine.” Porter’s voice wobbled.
“What happened to you?”
“A Surro got a hold of one of Amber’s knives.” He winced when she tugged on him. “I said I’m fine. Go help them!”
“I can’t just…leave you, you idiot. You’ll die.” She grabbed his hand and kept it snug on her hip, demanding that he hold on to her.
He leaned against her, and she backed up, forcing him to take heavy steps backward as well.
“Well, I guess letting me die would leave you without the opportunity to kill me yourself,” he said, almost laughing.
“Exactly.”
Brooklyn focused on the orchestra of sounds. On each branch that was broken. Every yelp and shout. The cluster of voices melted together and made it nearly impossible to find her friends.
Omen Operation Page 8
