Omen Operation

by Taylor Brooke

  “I told you,” Julian whispered. “We should’ve just hit the road!”

  Brooklyn hushed him again.

  The movement from inside the room came to an abrupt stop. Brooklyn nodded as they rounded the corner and came face to face with the creature inside.

  Porter stumbled into the frame of the door. Julian gasped, his breath caught in his throat. It seemed like every drop of adrenaline rushing through Brooklyn’s body spilled out of her. She refused to blink, refused to breathe. It was a nightmare—it had to be. Her eyelashes fluttered. Her breath was cut short. She rolled her ankle and felt pain bite into her foot, but still, the sight before her didn’t fade.

  The Surro stood in the middle of the room. Long, pale fingers twitched, and petite nostrils flared. Knotted locks of blonde hair fell in messy waves over its shoulders, and the outline of sunken ribs showed through the dirty top stretched tight across its torso.

  “Gabriel?” Brooklyn whispered.

  Large bulging eyes stared at them long and hard. It cracked its neck, flexed its jaw. A thin stream of black blood dripped steadily from its right ear.

  Brooklyn was paralyzed. She tried to ignore the dread welling inside her. The weight on her chest slammed down into her heart and wrapped tight around her lungs, squeezing every ounce of air out of them.

  “Is that you, Gabriel?” Brooklyn squeaked, taking a step forward.

  The Surro looked up. Its lips curled back. The resemblance was uncanny. There was no way that what they were looking at wasn’t Gabriel, but everything about it was wrong. Everything. From the tips of its broken, yellow nails to the sallow color that tinged the whites of its eyes. A distinct smell of rot mingled with its breath and the wracked, sharp movements…somehow Gabriel had become one of the monsters.

  It yowled, loud and deep, before lunging forward and swiping at Brooklyn. Porter shoved Brooklyn out of the way, and in the process came in direct contact with the Surro’s fist. It knocked him to the ground, sending the gun sliding toward the door, where Julian stood frozen in place.

  “It’s me! Gabriel, it’s me!” Brooklyn gasped, rolling out of the way when the Surro charged forward again.

  Its mouth opened. Its teeth slammed together over and over as it bit at her. Large mossy eyes were dull and empty, void of any sympathy or life. The veins in its arms splintered under the paper-thin skin like dark grey thread and spread all the way up its throat on to its cheek.

  Even as Brooklyn hopped over one of the beds to get away, it clawed at her. She choked back a sob. “Gabriel, please! It’s Brookie! Listen to me. We can fix you, okay? We can get you help! Just…”

  She pushed the Surro back with her hand and tried to dodge its flurry of attacks. It continued to howl and shout. Its hollow voice trembled with rage, dirty fingernails leaving angry red welts down Brooklyn’s arm.

  “Stop! Please, don’t make me do this, Gabriel! I’ll fix you!” Brooklyn shouted, batting at the Surro’s hand as it clasped tight over her shoulder, trying desperately to get to her throat.

  Brooklyn fought and squirmed. She pushed as far as she could and held the Surro at bay. It writhed, bones cracking, mouth open. Its savage screech rang in Brooklyn’s ears. It was too close, only inches from Brooklyn’s neck. The image of the Surro, so familiar, coaxed tears to spill down her cheeks. Her stare bore into the Surro, into Gabriel, and she sobbed, blinking through her tears. The Surro stared back at her, face screwed into an expression of hatred and agony. One hand dug into her shoulder, the other ripped through the air trying to get a grasp on Brooklyn’s free arm.

  It was too late. Gabriel was gone.

  The words left Brooklyn’s mouth in a hurry. She closed her eyes as she said them. “Shoot her, Julian! Shoot her!”

  Julian’s breath came in short bursts, and his eyes were swollen from crying. His arms quaked, fingers clutched around the gun. He tried to pull the trigger; his index finger danced against it. But when he attempted to press down, an exasperated breath was all that came from him.

  “Shoot her!” Brooklyn shouted again. She gasped, stumbling backward as the Surro finally snapped forward and dove for her throat.

  A loud crack split the air. Brooklyn winced when a shower of black blood sprayed the side of her face. She caught the Surro’s expression when the bullet entered through its temple, the animalistic anger suddenly shifted into sadness and then faded into nothing. Its body folded forward, falling against Brooklyn’s knees as it toppled into a heap at her feet.

  Julian tried to catch his breath. He stared down at the gun, confused and bewildered, because he hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  Brooklyn steered her eyes away from the body that lay atop her boots.

  And found Dawson in the doorway with his gun raised.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The carpet cushioned Brooklyn’s knees as she knelt down in front of the Surro’s body and cradled its head in her hands. The same long hair, the same sharp bone structure, the same plump mouth. It was all the same. Brooklyn stroked her hand across its cheek.

  “How…?” Brooklyn whispered as she traced the line of the Surro’s jaw up to the small bullet hole in the side of its head. “How did this happen to her?”

  The floor creaked under the weight of large black boots. Brooklyn looked up at Dawson as he knelt down beside her. It felt like so long since they’d seen one another, and in any other situation, she would have thrown her arms around him. But Dawson’s attention was submerged in the body on the floor. He reached out and touched the Surro’s shoulder, brushed a piece of hair out of its face.

  “Dawson…” Brooklyn’s voice cracked. “I don’t know how to explain. I don’t know what to do. I…”

  “We gotta go,” Dawson said. “We found something, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “But we can’t just leave her here.”

  “We have to. You can tell me about what happened later.” Dawson’s fingers wrapped around the Surro’s lifeless hand and squeezed.

  Julian and Porter slumped against the wall, catching their breath. Julian’s eyes softened when they laid on Dawson, who walked over, grasped him by the arms, and hauled him into a suffocating embrace. Julian’s fingers dug into his shoulders, holding on. He sputtered, choking on his words. “I don’t know how this…D, I don’t know what happened to her. She…”

  “We backtracked around the woods after we got split up but ended up heading into Seattle after a few hours. Rayce figured you guys would go in that direction too,” Dawson said, ignoring his comment about Gabriel.

  Porter cleared his throat. “It’s my fault we didn’t find you guys sooner. I got hurt, and we found some people that helped us out in the woods.”

  Dawson turned toward him, “You good now?”

  “For the most part,” Porter said. “I need that duffle bag, the one we packed the medical supplies in. Did you guys grab it?”

  “We have it,” Dawson said. “But we have to go. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Brooklyn stared down at the body. Her fingers flexed over its sternum, the place where she’d seen the Surro’s fist go through Gabriel’s chest. She touched the space between its eyes, trailed the tip of her ring finger down its nose. Brooklyn’s heart was broken, and there was nothing that could justify what she’d witnessed in the last two days. There was just a pool of black blood and a creature that looked like Gabriel’s twin lying dead in her arms.

  It couldn’t be her. Could it…? Would that happen to all of them when they died? Brooklyn needed to know. She was thirsty for answers to questions she never thought she’d be asking. Did being an Omen mean that becoming a Surrogate was inevitable? It couldn’t be. It went against everything Porter had told them.

  Maybe this was another one of Juneau’s tests. Maybe Brooklyn was already dead.

  “Brooklyn,” Dawson said sternly, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Let’s go.”

  It was hard for her to stand, to not look back. But she did. Brooklyn rose to her feet and walked ou
t of the room with Porter just behind her.

  She had never thought that this would be the way they found their friends.

  ***

  The truck was at the bottom of the stairs. Rayce leaned against it, pushing off as they approached. “Is everything okay? I heard a shot.”

  “We lost Gabriel,” Dawson said. His eyes stayed straight, his gaze cold as ice as he climbed into the driver’s side and turned the key roughly in the ignition.

  Brooklyn swept away the stray tears clinging to her lashes. Porter reached for her hand, but she didn’t budge. There was no time for consolation, and she didn’t want to make any time for it. They just had to keep going. They had to keep moving. If they didn’t, then she would fall apart, and none of them had the time or resources to put her back together.

  Rayce’s strong expression fell into something shocked and forlorn as Dawson’s words clicked into place. He reached out and grabbed Julian’s wrist, twisting the other man to face him.

  “What happened?” Rayce asked, giving a light squeeze.

  Julian shook his head. “We’ll talk later. You okay?”

  “I don’t…I don’t really know, but you don’t look like you’re all right.”

  “I’m not. But we have to go. Where’s everyone else?” Julian’s slate eyes focused on Rayce’s boots. Nervous energy was captive in his arms and legs, causing his fingertips to rub together, his ankles to weaken.

  “We found another camp in a closed-off site just outside Seattle, ended up crashing there, and then moved on to an empty warehouse by the port. Not everyone made it out, though…the Surrogates took Ellie and the others that were held up in the bus before we got separated. There were just too many of ’em…Amber got Dawson and me in the truck. We took off before they could get us too.”

  Julian chewed on the inside of his cheek and opened the back door.

  Rayce kept hold of his wrist a little longer. “I went lookin’ for you, ya know?” His eyes searched for recognition, to know that Julian wasn’t under the impression that they’d been left behind.

  It was a mutual feeling.

  “I know.” Julian swallowed. “I looked for you too.”

  They piled into the car with Brooklyn situated between Julian and Porter. Her throat was raw—her head spun. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. Porter rested his hand on her knee, thumb swiping back and forth along her thigh. She didn’t bother brushing him away.

  She looked out the back window and saw that the concierge in the lobby was jabbering on the phone. The couple that stood by the stairs had shrunk behind the soda machine. They were on a cell phone too, probably with the police, reporting a gunshot and a dead body.

  Dawson didn’t pay mind to what they’d seen. The truck rumbled on toward the highway as they left the motel behind.

  “So, it’s just you guys and Amber left?” Brooklyn asked.

  “Yeah,” Dawson said. “It’s us and a couple people from Camp Fourteen.”

  Brooklyn closed her eyes. A sour taste spanned the back of her throat as relief and regret battled in her stomach. She pictured it, the Surros dragging Ellie, A.J., and Jordan away. She imagined what it would’ve sounded like, their screams for help. She’d always thought of the leaders, Dawson, Amber, Rayce…And somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten about the others. Somewhere along the way, she’d given up on them without realizing it. A stray tear dampened her cheek, and she cleared her throat. “Camp Fourteen? Like, another camp like ours?”

  “Yes, exactly like ours. One of the girls in the camp was already figuring shit out before we got there. She ended up coming with us.”

  “What happened? How many people were there in the camp?” Brooklyn pressed, leaning forward in her seat.

  Dawson sighed. “There were seventeen of them at the beginning. Apparently we arrived right after the majority had been re-directed.”

  “Re-directed?”

  “They were air lifted somewhere else for the next level in their training. That’s what they were told at least. We would have had a chance at getting some answers if their camp supervisor didn’t off himself in his cabin,” Dawson said.

  Brooklyn poked Porter’s hand and turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”

  “Means they were taken to Denver for desensitizing and mental enhancement,” Porter said. He looked out the window, far off somewhere in the rain.

  Brooklyn listened to his heartbeat, shallow and steady. She leaned closer, nostrils flaring. Sadness smelt sweet, like cotton candy or packaged sugar. It poured off him in waves, clogging up her senses. Sometimes, Brooklyn forgot that Gabriel wasn’t just hers, and she reached out to take his hand.

  “Figured as much,” Dawson said. “We also found their mole. We have her cell phone and laptop at the warehouse. Amber’s keeping an eye on her.”

  “Did she tell you her name?” Porter blurted.

  Dawson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we got her name. Savannah Kingston. Did you guys do some studying together before you were sent to spy on us?”

  Porter tensed and stared down at his lap. “I know her if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Good, maybe you can get her to talk,” Dawson hummed.

  ***

  Seattle was wet, grey, and cold. Tall buildings erupted on all sides of them, and lush greenery spanned on the outskirts of the city. Rayce’s window was rolled down, letting in air that reeked of coffee and salt. The people of the city weren’t in a hurry. They strode from shop to shop; some dined in cozy cafes.

  Brooklyn boiled with jealousy.

  She was supposed to be one of them—she was supposed to be enjoying her twenties, traveling the world and making mistakes. But instead, she was being hunted.

  The warehouse that Dawson found was on an old fishing dock. The building itself wasn’t impressive. Broken windows were covered in newspapers or boarded up, unlike the other adjacent concrete warehouses that harbored the hustle and bustle one would expect from a busy port. They parked the truck down an alley next to the side door. Brooklyn got a good look at her surroundings and found workers going about their business and delivery trucks being unloaded into the other open garages. She narrowed her eyes as they passed a shiny white Escalade with a crown of lights on the roof next to the back gate.

  “Where’d you get that?” she asked.

  “We took it,” Rayce said. “Courtesy of Camp Fourteen.”

  “Good, we’ll probably need it.”

  Dawson opened the side door, and they walked inside. The concrete floor was cold, and their boots echoed into the large open area. Some old palettes were stacked up and posed as a nice distraction that they could hide behind if anyone stumbled across them. The group followed Dawson toward the back of the warehouse behind another wall of palettes.

  The moment they turned the corner, Amber scrambled to her feet. “’Bout time!”

  Brooklyn couldn’t smile even if she wanted to, but she accepted the warmth of Amber’s arms wrapped tight around her.

  “We thought you guys’d been taken or somethin’,” Amber said. Her big hazel eyes examined everyone in turn before she took a step back. “Where’s Barbie?”

  “She…” Brooklyn’s breath caught, and she settled for shaking her head instead of explaining.

  Amber’s mouth fell open as she searched for something to say. Her lips twitched, and she gave Brooklyn’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Dawson kicked a large duffle bag toward Porter and then sat down on the edge of one of the wooden pallets.

  “All the medical supplies we have left are in there,” Dawson said.

  Porter’s relief was prevalent as he unzipped the bag and dug through its contents. “Good, thank you.”

  Julian sat down on the ground with his back against the wall, and Rayce sank down beside him. They whispered to one another under their breath, probably details of the time they’d spent apart. Dawson wandered in his own thoughts. He swayed his feet and
closed his eyes, jaw held tight, head hung heavy. Brooklyn wanted to sit next to him and beg for his forgiveness. But her attention was stolen by an unfamiliar pair of muscular legs and a sassy voice.

  “You found your friends, Dawson?” The girl asked as she approached from behind a blockade of unused boxes.

  “Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking up. “Everyone, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is everyone.”

  “Hi.” Charlie gave a short wave.

  Brooklyn looked Charlie up and down. She was tall, as tall as Dawson even, with ruddy espresso skin and braids that dangled to her waist. Her eyes, rich like the famous black beaches of Iceland, matched her full lips, which twisted into a dainty smile.

  “I’m Brooklyn.” She took a step forward and offered her hand, which Charlie took in a firm shake.

  “Heard about you, Brooklyn,” Charlie said. “Did Dawson tell you about the situation we’ve got goin’ on around here?”

  “As in the situation with Savannah?”

  “Yes, and some other pretty important details.” Charlie cleared her throat, turning her attention to Dawson.

  “Like?” Brooklyn prompted sourly.

  Dawson inhaled a sharp breath through his nose. “The mole is dying.”

  “And why is she dying?” Brooklyn hissed. “We kind of need her.”

  “Yeah, we do need her. And that is exactly why I need Porter to do some explaining.”

  Porter adjusted his glasses nervously. “Explain what?”

  “Explain why Savannah has black blood coming out of her nose,” Dawson said calmly.

  Brooklyn’s heart skipped, and all the heat in her body rushed quickly to her face.

  Porter sighed. He gave a short nod and reached down into the duffle bag again, rifling around until he pulled out a sleek black tube. The case was slim, void of any sharp edges or locks. He was careful, and he took his time popping it open.