Omen Operation (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

They ate raw vegetables and drank hot tea that was brewed over an open flame. The sun set only a short time after. Brooklyn stared off into the distance where the cabin was. She thought of the others, of Dawson, Rayce, and Amber. She hoped they were somewhere safe, maybe sitting around the familiar crackling of a fire or even better, in a bed with the covers pulled up over their chins.

Brooklyn could hope for them.

Nicoli’s laughter was loud and cheerful; it distracted her from old memories and new worries.

“Okay, what? You think we’re the people holding signs outside of aquariums, waving hemp flags, and throwing blood on celebrities? No. No, I can assure you that we are not
those
people.” Nicoli sat close to Julian with a mug of oolong tea resting on his thigh.

Julian tried not to offend or to be too awkward. He shrugged nonchalantly. “So I guess the title “eco-terrorist” isn’t necessarily all too fitting?”

Nicoli rolled his head from side to side and shimmied his hand. “I don’t like titles, to be honest. We fight for those who can’t fight for themselves. There’s a lot of shit goin’ on these days. Our water’s poisoned, our food is poisoned, pharmaceutical companies are keeping us sick, and we’re running out of time. Mankind is starting to play god, and if someone doesn’t take a stand…well, we’re not going to have anything left to play god with.”

“If you’re non-violent, then why the gun?” Gabriel cut in from her place next to Plum. Her arms rested on the tops of her knees, and she was using a washcloth to scrub the dark remnants of the Surros from underneath her nails.

“Oh, now I never said we were non-violent, sweetheart.” Nicoli barked another laugh, shaking his head. “Someone has to be a voice and a defense to those without one.”

Gabriel nodded. “I like you more.” She wrinkled her nose and dug at her hand with the washcloth. “Now that I know that.”

Plum shifted and brushed a piece of hair off Gabriel’s shoulder. “My now, you are a mess. What is all this stuff anyway?”

“Blood,” Gabriel said.

“I ain’t surprised.” Plum clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and sighed. “You do need a bath, though. It’s too cold for the river now that the sun’s sleepin’, so how ‘bout we go down in the mornin’? I’m sure you’ll feel much nicer when you’re clean.”

“Are you gonna try and wash me with tree bark?”

“Well, if you want me to wash you with tree bark, I can, but I think you might prefer a lavender dry soap I cooked up,” Plum hummed.

Gabriel’s lips creased into a smile on one side. “Yeah, that sounds good. Can I borrow some of your polish too?”

Plum looked down at her bare feet and wiggled her toes. “I don’t have no big selection, Miss Gabriel, but I’d be more than happy to share what I got.”

“You’re lucky, you know,” Gabriel said, deflated and soft.

“Oh, am I now?”

“You are.” Gabriel nodded. “To have the luxury of being so free.”

Plum laughed and swayed her shoulder into Gabriel. “Oh, honey, no. I don’t have no luxuries here. I do have good friends, and we take care of each other just like y’all, but when it comes to being free, well…I fight for that every day. And you should too.”

Gabriel’s big jungle eyes flicked up and settled on Brooklyn, who was sitting on the ground against Julian’s legs.

Brooklyn listened and watched. She smiled softly at Gabriel, who tried to smile back, but the attempt was solemn and small. It seemed that no matter how comfortable they became they knew that it was only a matter of time before someone found them.

All they could do was hope that the “someone” who found them turned out to be Dawson and the others.

Nicoli trailed his eyes down the expanse of Julian’s arm, dusting his fingertips lightly along one of the many illustrations tattooed into his skin.

“What do they mean?” Nicoli asked.

Julian turned his arm over and opened his palm, showing the traditional Japanese art marked into his skin. A delicate temple curved up over his wrist and merged with a blooming lotus flower. A Geisha sat high on his shoulder, wrapped in different colored robes, and down one side of his back was the unfinished outline of a roaring tiger.

“My mom and dad left Japan when they found out she was pregnant with me. Totally cliché, but they chased their dreams of opening up a restaurant on the west coast. I never really understood how important it was to keep my heritage alive, because my parents and I, well, we aren’t that traditional at all,” Julian laughed. “I never saw any of my dad’s tats until I was ten. He took off his shirt one night after a dinner rush in the back of the kitchen, full body suit, chest, back, stomach, the whole deal. I was hooked as soon as I saw ’em…when I turned nineteen, I started my arm then I waited a couple years and kept going down my back.”

“Why didn’t you finish them?” Nicoli asked as Julian lifted up his shirt to show off the thin black outline of the tiger.

Brooklyn’s cheek rested against Julian’s thigh, and she closed her eyes. She knew why.

Julian pursed his lips and shrugged. “Some shit happened. I wasn’t exactly…able to get to my artist.” He laughed bitterly. Chills rose up along Brooklyn’s spine.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicoli said.

“Me too, man.” Julian shrugged and ran the stud in his tongue against his teeth.

A dim glow blinked to life in the dark and got brighter as it closed in on the area surrounding the shed. Brooklyn heard Cambria’s dainty footsteps as she approached. She saw her far off in the distance, walking around the bulky trunk of a tree.

“What’s that?” Plum asked.

“It’s Cambria,” Brooklyn said.

Plum’s eyes squinted and she huffed. “You must be some kind of cat, Brooklyn. I dunno how you can see her out there in that darkness.”

“Yeah, I’ll land on my feet if you drop me,” Brooklyn joked. She stood up as Cambria got closer.

A cloth was draped over the rusty lantern in Cambria’s hand. A small tea light candle was lit behind the glass, allowing only a miniscule amount of light to illuminate her path. She smiled and tried to hand the lantern to Brooklyn.

“I don’t need it,” Brooklyn said. “Is he all right?”

“Porter’s doing fine, but it’s a far longer walk when you can’t see where you’re going. Take the lantern with you and…” She leaned in close to Brooklyn’s ear and whispered, “Go ahead and take a shower if you want. We usually don’t use it, since we have the river, but I left a towel and some clothes out for you.”

The thought of a hot shower sounded almost as good as eating a burrito on the beach in California.

“Did Plum get that ointment made up for him?” Cambria asked.

Brooklyn nodded. “Yeah, she did. I was gonna take him some dinner too if that’s all right.”

They walked together toward the fire. Nicoli stood up to retrieve something from the shed. When he returned, he was holding a bowl with some ground-up oats, warm and sweet, topped with berries. He handed it over to Brooklyn. “It’ll be easy on his stomach,” he said.

Plum also stood up and slid a mason jar half-filled with the homemade medicine into Brooklyn’s jacket pocket. She smiled, but her gaze drifted past them up over the trees where the moon hung heavy in the sky.

“Uh oh, look at that.” Plum whistled, pointing up at moon. An aura of deep red shined against the clouds. “Moon’s got blood on it. Bad omen.”

Brooklyn almost dropped the lantern. Her knees wobbled, and her chest clenched tight. She locked her legs in place and kept herself upright, holding on to the bowl with a shaky hand.

Plum reached out and rubbed her arm. “You okay, kitty cat? Looks like you’ve gone and seen a ghost.”

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I just…I’m curious. I’ve heard the term before, but what exactly is an omen?” Brooklyn tried to keep her voice from shaking and giving her away.

Gabriel was at Brooklyn’s side within seconds and reached out to take the lantern from her.

Nicoli tilted his head to the side, shrugging one shoulder. “An omen?”

“Yes,” Brooklyn said.

Plum walked back over to sit by the warmth of the fire. Nicoli rubbed his fingers through the short scruff around his mouth.

“Well,” he sighed, looking up at the sky, “an omen is usually a foreshadowing. It can be a clue or a curse, a message being sent. Just depends on who you ask, really.”

“Most folks like to think they tell the future,” Plum added. “And depending on the omen, you either get somethin’ lovely happenin’ or you get somethin’ not so lovely.”

Brooklyn nodded, slow and steady. “Oh,” she squeaked, clearing her throat. “Thanks. That…makes sense.”

Nicoli watched her carefully, lips curved into one of his dangerous smiles. He nodded in the direction of the cabin. “Get yourself some sleep, all right? We’ll be here with breakfast for both of you in the morning.”

Cambria touched Brooklyn gently on the shoulder. “No one’s going to hurt you out here,” she whispered.

Brooklyn felt transparent. They were looking right through her, and still,
still
, these people continued to help them. Either Nicoli was truly interested in nothing more than helping them or there was something far more sinister going on behind the scenes of their obscure forest company. Brooklyn couldn’t make up her mind. She couldn’t choose between trusting them and sleeping sound or packing up in the middle of the night and running off.

It seemed like most people who told Brooklyn she wouldn’t get hurt ended up hurting her or her loved ones anyways.

“Hey,” Gabriel soothed, stepping in front of her friend. “Relax, okay?”

Brooklyn nodded and swallowed.

“We’re okay, Brookie. I know no matter how much I bugged you, you still wouldn’t let me go hang out with Porter instead, would you?”

“Probably not,” Brooklyn said.

“Even if I promised not to kill him?”

“Even then.” Brooklyn smiled and let the breath she’d held flow over her lips.

“Go on. I’ll be here with Julian, telling scary stories around the fire. Just yell if you need me.”

Brooklyn nodded. “You too, okay? Yell or shout or…”

“If anything happened, it wouldn’t be my screaming you’d hear.”

The idea of something happening to them while she was with Porter in that cabin was daunting. But pieces of Gabriel’s hair were still smudged black, her eyes fierce. It was a morbid reminder of her deadliness. She leaned in to press a quick kiss to Brooklyn’s cheek and smiled.

“Goodnight,” Gabriel said firmly.

Brooklyn turned around after giving a short wave and set off into the woods toward the cabin. The lantern was almost more distracting than it was helpful. Brooklyn could see just fine in the dark. She dodged the noisy crunch of fallen leaves and stepped up onto a log, walking across it with ease and finesse. The tension in her body seemed to vibrate as she moved, testing the strength in her legs and the sharpness of her vision.

It was crazy to think that she had been this way for so long. Advanced. Evolved.

An Omen.

The cabin came into view through the stretched shadow of the trees. It looked different bathed in darkness, haunted. Brooklyn glanced at the back door, the screen open and swaying on its hinges. A window on the second story was open, the wind whipping against a thin white curtain, a candle glowing dim and steady on the windowsill.

Chapter Nineteen

The rumble of a generator in the basement thrummed in Brooklyn’s ears. She set the lantern on the top of the old antique trunk in the middle of the living room. The stairs creaked under her feet as she made her way to a narrow landing, facing a wide hallway. Paintings of different plant species filled the spaces between the doors on either side. Brooklyn admired them as she walked past. At the very end of the hall, the door to the master bedroom was cracked open.

Brooklyn paused, rolling the end of her shirt into her hands. She licked her lips and turned the corner. The air tasted like salt and mint. Light danced on the carpet from candles lit on the dresser opposite the bed that Porter was lying in. They cast shadows that jittered along the walls.

Porter’s lips were parted, breathing faint with sleep. They looked inviting when they were relaxed and when lies weren’t falling from between them. She watched him like that for a moment, remembered his face and how soft it could be when they weren’t fighting for their lives. His eyes twitched, dark, long eyelashes batting. The scratch of young stubble had started to rise up through his cheeks.

She set the bowl of hot cereal down on the nightstand next to him and put the ointment on the dresser where Cambria had left some fresh bandages.

The adjoined bathroom was open. Brooklyn’s mouth watered at the sight of a pristine shower waiting to be used. She left Porter to sleep, assuming that the sound of the water running would wake him.

Two fluffy towels were on top of the toilet seat. A toothbrush with some mouthwash was on the sink, and when she peeked inside the standalone shower, it was stocked with travel-sized shampoo, conditioner, and soap. It was more than she was expecting, and it was more than she needed. But she was going to enjoy every single bit of it.

“Oh my god,” Brooklyn keened, grasping the handle of a pink razor. She gave it a once over to make sure it wasn’t rusted and was thrilled to find it hadn’t been touched.

Cambria’s kindness would not be forgotten.

She stripped out of her clothes as quickly as she could and stepped into the shower. The hot water was like something out of a daydream. It scalded away the black stains on her skin, along with the dirt and grime of their escape from the camp. She scrubbed her flesh with soap, lathered her hair, and scraped her nails across her body until it felt raw. Her hands moved over her hips, up to her belly button and then scrubbed at the smooth silkiness of her stomach. The place where she’d been shot was a plain canvas, no nicks or cracks, scars or blemishes. Just smooth, healed skin.

The shampoo smelled like lilies. She made sure to rake her fingers through her hair and detangle the knots that had grown together.

Brooklyn stayed in the shower until the hot water turned cold. She reluctantly twisted the knob and dried off, debating whether or not she would take a second in the morning. The last thing she wanted was to be selfish or disrespectful, but the thought of another shower before they set off again to who-knew-where was enticing.

“Cambria?” Porter called from the bedroom.

Brooklyn popped her head around the corner, a towel wrapped around her midsection and a toothbrush shoved in her mouth. “No, it’s me,” she slurred around the handle of the toothbrush, lips covered in foam.

Porter’s eyes squinted. “I can’t see a damn thing. My glasses are on the dresser.”

She walked over, handing Porter his glasses, bare feet still damp as she tiptoed back to the bathroom so she could get dressed.

“Oh, hello,” Porter said bashfully, watching her disappear into the steam-filled room.

“Be quiet,” Brooklyn grumbled. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. We lived in the same cabin for like two years.”

“One year and seven months.”

Brooklyn rolled her eyes and shimmied into the gym shorts Cambria had left for her. She used the shampoo from the shower to scrub her underwear and bra, leaving them to dry over the top of the shower. A large black t-shirt was also folded up on the toilet seat. After she tugged it on over her head, she hugged herself, chin tilted down with her nose buried in the clean material.

“Hey, is this for me?” Porter called.

She walked out as he reached for the bowl of oatmeal. “Yeah, it’s yours. How are you doing?”

He used his good arm to maneuver himself into an upright sitting position against the headboard. “It hurts, but I’m fine. Cambria’s stitches will hold for a while, but I wish I had some of the antibiotics from the bus, though. I’m guessing we haven’t heard from them…”

Brooklyn took a deep breath and shook her head. “No.” Her voice was faint.

Porter’s lips twisted into an uncomfortable frown.

“I’m scared,” she confessed under her breath. “What if something happened to them? What if they got taken? I don’t…I can’t imagine not finding them, Porter. I’m freaking out.”

“You should have gone with them and left me.”

“That wasn’t an option.” Brooklyn stiffened.

Porter breathed through his nose, and even though it seemed like he wanted to argue, he stayed quiet.

Brooklyn wasn’t going to fight with him over her decision to look after his safety. There was no use. She didn’t have the heart to leave him for dead, but she was too proud to admit that.

“They’re gonna be fine.” The edge lifted from Porter’s voice. “I’m sure they’re somewhere safe right now, wondering where we are and looking for a way to find us.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said.

He ate his food while Brooklyn moved the drapes aside so she could look out the window. The woods were dense and wide. The trees were a cocoon around them, spanning out in every direction. She saw the fire in front of the shed blink in the distance. Far off past the tree line, a road curved up a hill that connected with a highway.

That’s probably the direction Dawson, Rayce, and Amber had taken the rest of the group.

The empty bowl slid against the nightstand when Porter set it down. Brooklyn felt his gaze on her. She listened closely to the uneven beat of his heart. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, gearing up to speak.

“Let’s get that ointment on you,” she said quickly.

Porter shook his head, teeth set in his lip. He shifted to the side, giving her more room to work. She stooped over him, untying the small knot in the bandage above his collar bone. She was careful, making slow movements to remove the white cloth. The last bit was sticky with menthol and tugged at the stitches as she tried to ease the bandage loose.

“Sorry,” Brooklyn mumbled, lips curling back in a wince when she finally pulled the remainder off.

“Don’t apologize.”

She used a warm washcloth to clean around the long row of black stitches and gently dabbed Plum’s home-made remedy over his wound with her fingertips. The lower point of the cut curved down over his shoulder onto his arm, and the other end almost reached the base of his neck. It would take more time than they had to heal properly.

“How are you gonna travel like this?”

“Well, I’ll use my two legs until we get to a car—then, I’ll probably upgrade to wheels,” Porter said, eyes rolling.

“You know what I mean.”

“I have a few different medications in mind, but I have to wait ‘til we find everyone to worry about that. Until then, I’ll be fine. I’ll keep up.” He reached out and touched the top of her thigh. It was barely there, a sweeping brush of his thumb against her skin. Still, she stepped back after she’d finished wrapping his arm back up.

The night was placid, just as quiet as any other night they’d spent out in the woods. The home she remembered with warm beaches, authentic Mexican food, and suntan lotion didn’t match the arms of towering trees or the cocoon of ferns and oaks. She’d spent enough time in the forest to appreciate it but not enough to be comforted by it.

Brooklyn moved back to the window and distanced herself from the room she was in by losing herself in what was outside. She focused on the hop and thump of a rabbit in the brush, the hoot of an owl, its talons tearing the bark off the branch it was perched on. Her eyes strained, vision sharpening around the image of a tiny mouse scurrying up a tree hundreds of feet away in the dark. Her heart skipped a beat. Excitement climbed up the stairs of her spine. She concentrated, eyes staring out into the darkness, and realized how crisp her sight could be. The clatter of a squirrel in a bush tapped on her eardrums, the sound of the air rushing past a pair of feathered wings.

“Cambria told me about Nicoli and their band of freedom fighters,” Porter said, testing conversation.

Discovering the strengths that had slept peacefully inside her all this time was thrilling. Brooklyn smiled as she glanced back inside. The flame on the wick of the candle was clearer; the shadow it cast across Porter’s bed was too.

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

Porter’s lips stirred into a grin. He narrowed his eyes as she turned her attention back to the window.

“Pretty cool? That’s all I get? There must be something interesting going on out there for you to ignore my crippled sorry self.”

“I can see everything,” Brooklyn said. “I can almost see better in the dark than I can during the day. I can’t explain it…it’s like…” She played with her hands and mulled over how to efficiently describe it. “I can focus on certain things with my eyes and others with my ears. I can…I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m doing this, but it’s amazing.”

“Come here,” he said, patting the empty side of the bed. “Let me see.”

She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether or not she could trust herself to be close to him. She brushed the thought aside and walked around to the other side of the bed. She sat down with her legs crossed, waiting. His heartbeat accelerated as he leaned in to touch her cheek. She heard it prang like a rock bouncing across a frozen lake.

“Incredible,” he whispered over a stifled laugh, warm fingertips settling below her lashes.

Brooklyn’s nose wrinkled. Her gaze shifted around to look at anything else besides Porter. “What?”

“You, in general,” he said quickly. She rolled her eyes, fighting the blush rising into her face. “It seems to me that you’ve learned how to control your pupil dilation.”

“And?”

“And that means you don’t need to adjust to darkness or brightness. Your eyes continuously change throughout the day, I’m guessing. Like a cat.”

Brooklyn heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Plum called me a jumpy cat earlier. Not really feelin’ the label right now.”

“Cats are one of the deadliest stealth predators in the world. You should be flattered.”

She pulled her lips back and hissed at him. He grinned and let his hand drop away from her face.

“Why would, Plum…? Her name’s
Plum?
”

“Yes, jackass, her name is Plum.”

“Okay,” Porter continued. “Well, why would Plum call you a cat?”

“Because I saw Cambria walking toward us in the woods. She said I had to be some kind of cat to see that well in the dark, and then she started talking about the moon and…” Brooklyn’s voice trickled away.

Porter poked her belly. “And?”

She squirmed, brushing his away. “The moon is red tonight, and she said it was a bad omen.”

The tension between them spiked. She watched him lick nervously across his lips, and he sighed, rich caramel eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Why did they choose to call us that?” Brooklyn whispered even though she wasn’t sure whether she truly wanted the answer or not.

Porter’s lips parted. “Are you sure you wanna know the details?”

He waited for her to nod and continued.

“Omens were regarded as powerful messages from the gods in most ancient civilizations. They could be anything from a vase breaking to a massive tidal wave washing away a village, but the people…the people listened to them. They feared them. Every omen demanded respect, and when they came they brought—” he shook his head until the right word came to mind “—chaos. But chaos always evolved into order even if it was only for a short time.”

“So,” Brooklyn said. “We’re here to send a message?”

Porter tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, basically. But what’s the typical message in tactical warfare?”

The realization was ice cold and branched out through the rest of her body. It froze her bones, chilled her insides, a distinct, dreadful presence that she couldn’t swallow down.

“Assassination,” Brooklyn said.

“Yes, a target is given; an Omen is dispatched. That’s it.”

“Just like that…”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

Brooklyn wanted to run as fast as she could and as far as she could. She wanted to put her boots on and go, go until she couldn’t go anymore. Nothing about what Porter said could possibly be linked to her. She wasn’t a killer, much less a trained assassin…she couldn’t be and she wouldn’t be.

The generator in the cellar came to a rumbling halt, and the small lamp on the nightstand dimmed until it was completely out. A couple candles continued to burn, but the rest of the bedroom went dark.