Omen Operation (2 page)

She swatted him when he grinned.

Porter moved back to his own bed. Brooklyn inhaled a long, drawn-out breath, easing her heart into a regular rhythm.

A slender arm hung down over the edge of the bed above her, and Gabriel snapped her fingers, lavender nail polish shining in the darkness.

Brooklyn reached out and took her hand.

“You okay, Brookie?” Gabriel’s voice was raw with sleep.

Brooklyn squeezed Gabriel’s hand and closed her eyes.

Chapter Two

The door of the cabin swung open, and sunlight poured in over the floor boards straight onto Brooklyn’s face. She scrunched her nose and smashed her cheek against the pillow, groaning as heavy hiking boots kicked the side of her bunk.

“Come on, sleeping beauties. I let you have an extra twenty minutes. Now it’s time to get up,” a woman with short platinum hair said as she stomped around the cabin.

Brooklyn’s eyes cracked open. Her lips parted into a wide yawn. It was still surreal waking up in a world without the daily news or an up-to-date magazine to read. No celebrity gossip to catch up on. No Super Bowl halftime show to watch. Life seemed incredibly empty when it lacked the option to focus on the things going on around the world. Brooklyn even yearned for school, and a structured education was one of the major things most of them never thought they would miss.

The people in the camp were all fairly young. Most had been going to college when the outbreak happened. Some, like Brooklyn and Gabriel, were in their last years of high school.

Terry was the camp supervisor, the eyes and ears of the outside. She’d been a nurse before the government had recruited her to help with the recovery lodges set up around the country. Whenever someone asked where exactly they were, what was happening, or why, she answered with vague, scripted lines.

You’re safe, and you’ll be back with your families soon.

The virus is contained but has to burn itself out before we can return to a life of normalcy.

You have everything you need.

I am here to keep you safe.

Terry curled her fingers into a fist and knocked on the edge of Brooklyn’s bed.

“Up,” Terry shouted, “and running in ten minutes. Don’t be late for breakfast.”

Strands of dusty brown hair fell in front of Brooklyn’s eyes. She huffed, toes curling when she stretched her legs out and lifted her arms up over her head. She rolled both her wrists and then her ankles, flexed her hands, and sighed. Another morning in remote nowhere. Another day waiting to be notified of their clearance to dispatch. Another day waiting to go home.

Home was different for everyone besides Gabriel and Brooklyn, seeing as they happened to live in the same city.

Gabriel had been on pep squad, while Brooklyn had preferred soccer, and though they’d crossed paths a handful of times, neither one had ever introduced themselves to the other. Gabriel had been a junior when Brooklyn had been a senior. They were like ghosts haunting different parts of the school, sharing brief nods and a friendly “hello” on occasion.

It had been four weeks after the initial outbreak in southern California when a gunmetal truck had dropped Gabriel off. Three days after Brooklyn had arrived. The younger looked scared, lost, and just like everyone else, she had raked her gaze across the grounds in search of anything relatively familiar. Brooklyn, shy and reclusive, had waved. Gabriel’s eyes had widened.

“Hey, I know you, right?” was all Gabriel had said, and halfway through the question, she had linked her arm around Brooklyn’s elbow.

It seemed so long ago.

“Mornin’,” Porter said, clearing his throat.

Brooklyn turned over on her side to face him, glancing briefly at the knife on the night stand. “Morning…”

Porter had been going to med school before he’d landed himself in the camp. Lucky for them, he had ways to pull strings and get certain luxuries that other camps didn’t. He had an
in
; someone in his family apparently was a main supervisor for the program, and he did his best to appeal to his comrades in Cabin A. Nail polish, literature, snacks, and sometimes a beer or two were thrown their way from the stock that Terry got off the provisions truck every month.

Small things like a book and a bag of Skittles made life a little more manageable.

“How’s that hand?” he asked, nudging his jaw forward before he sat up and slid his glasses on.

“Seems fine.” Brooklyn shrugged and stretched out all her fingers, quirked her wrist to one side and then to the other.

Porter nodded as he ran his fingers through the front of his short, dark locks, askew from restless sleep.

Julian pawed at his eyes with the back of his hands and stumbled toward the communal wash room at the end of the cabin.

“It’s guys’ turn to shower first. You might wanna wake her up,” Julian said to Brooklyn, waving lazily at Gabriel, who was hiding under her comforter.

It took a couple shoves, a few aggravated shouts, and finally a promise of her choice of juice at breakfast for Brooklyn to coax Gabriel out of her nightly hibernation. Once awake, they brushed their teeth.

Brooklyn looked at herself in the mirror as she washed the foam of the standard mint toothpaste out of the sink and tied her shoulder length hair into a ponytail. Her face was smooth, tanned from being outside even if the sun hardly made an appearance. She rolled her small, thin lips, and stared at the flecks of gold hidden inside raindrop shaped eyes.
You’ve got Saturn’s rings in your eyes.
That’s what her mother always said. She didn’t like looking at her own reflection anymore. Even though training in the camp had made her body stronger, Brooklyn missed her makeup bag and soccer cleats.

Gabriel shouted for her from the front of the cabin, prompting her to strap on her running shoes, throw on sweatpants, and then run out the door.

The dew on long strands of wild grass slid against Brooklyn’s ankles, and the sun tried its best to break through the heavy mist settled over the ravine where the camp resided. One of the fire pits still smoldered on the back side of the smallest cabin, and they watched a few other campers complete their morning runs around the edge of the territory. There weren’t any serious markers, just the outline of trees on all sides of them besides a dirt road that led out to a highway. They were secluded and, as Terry always liked to remind them,
safe
.

The cushion of Gabriel’s hip bumped into Brooklyn’s as they ran. “You think I should move to L.A. after all this? I mean, that’s probably where all the best cosmetology schools are, huh?”

Brooklyn nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I would start if I were you. You still sure about doing the hair and makeup thing? It’s a pretty cutthroat business.”

Pretty green eyes rolled, and Gabriel swung her head back to laugh, long golden pony tail tapping her lower back as she trotted ahead.

Sometimes Brooklyn forgot that cutthroat was Gabriel’s middle name.

The morning went by like any other. The dining hall smelled like egg whites and protein pancakes, tangy grapefruits, and sugar-free maple syrup. They took the time during meals to make bets on which of them would hit their target first at mid-day firing practice. Then they chatted about the outside world, camp gossip, so on. At the end of breakfast, Julian popped the traditional question that they all took turns answering:

“If you could be anywhere else, doing anything else, where would you be, and what would you be doing?”

Dawson shrugged. “Probably eating real food.” He wrinkled his nose at the scraps on his plate. “Somewhere warm with someone pretty.”

Gabriel smiled down at the table. “I’d be on a plane, drinking champagne, on my way to Paris for fashion week.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Julian said.

Porter hummed and drummed his fingers against a glass of guava juice. “In Aspen, snowboarding with my dad, drinking Irish coffee.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Brooklyn, and she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

It was hard to focus on one place when so many were calling her name. The city streets of New York, the white sand beaches of Fiji, the distant Indonesian temples of Bali, they swarmed her thoughts and lit up like a fluorescent string of Christmas lights deep behind the rest of her thoughts.

“I, uh, I mean, I don’t know,” she stammered. “I guess…” The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Oh, come on, something has to sound good!” Gabriel said.

Brooklyn sighed, shoulders slumping as she closed her eyes. “
Sushi
,” she moaned through a small laugh. “I want to be eating fresh sushi at a little bar in Tokyo.”

Julian smiled wide and nodded in agreement. “Well, if you can’t make it to Japan, you’re always welcome at my mom’s place.” He leaned on the back legs of his chair. “She’s the best sushi chef in the city of angels, if you ask me.”

“I always forget you live in L.A.,” Gabriel said. “I’ll have to find you and crash on your couch when I finally get up there for school.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Julian said. “But only if you use me as your canvas and teach me how to make my own fake elf ears and shit.”

Gabriel arched a brow. “Deal.”

They practiced shooting after that, which Terry said was for their collective safety.

“Everyone should know how to shoot a gun,” Brooklyn mocked, irritated and tired of the snap, thrust, and pull every time she tapped the trigger on the handgun that was assigned to her.

Two hands pressed against her wrists and strong arms bracketed over her shoulders. “Like this.”

Porter had constellations of moles dusted along his clavicle and up over his neck, little splatter marks that stained him from the sun. Brooklyn had a strange habit of trying to count them when he was close to her.

“It’s a big gun,” he said, angling her hands and squeezing the top of her knuckles. “So it has a kick. That’s why you have to adjust your grip.”

“Why’d she give me the Judge? I asked for the .22,” Brooklyn said, ignoring the press of Porter’s chest against her back.

“I don’t know. But it’s not like you need a gun anyways.”

Brooklyn could feel him smiling and pulled the trigger.

The sound splintered the sky. Porter winced, bouncing on one foot as he pointed with his thumb toward the other side of the field where Gabriel stood with her shoulders squared, a desert eagle clutched between her hands.

“See! Better! Now let’s see if blondie’s as good with that as she is with an AR,” Porter said.

They walked together toward the other targets. Brooklyn smiled, watching Gabriel adjust her stance. “How’s it going over here?”

Gabriel sighed, one eye closed as she tilted her head, staring at the target. “Shitty. I feel off balance.”

“Both eyes open,” Dawson said, standing a few feet away.

“They always close one eye in the movies. I never understood why.” She turned to look at him, gaze traveling down where his arms were folded across his chest.

“It’s more dramatic,” he answered with a shrug. “Now hurry up and shoot.”

Pale pink lips curved up. “At breakfast, you said you wanted to be somewhere warm with someone pretty.” She focused on the vibrant color of his eyes, glacier blue like the syrup at the bottom of a snow cone. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Julian watched as he sat on a large log and tugged one of his ear plugs out so he could properly eavesdrop. Brooklyn took a seat next to him, and he smirked, eyes drifting back to where Dawson was currently put under the stress of a very tricky question from a very tricky girl.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Dawson said quietly, almost too quiet for the rest of them to hear.

Gabriel grinned, her gaze still wrapped around the smug expression Dawson wore. She lifted the gun with one hand. “I’m flattered.”

She pulled the trigger, and Porter winced, covering his ears from the blast.

“Damn.” Julian craned his neck to see the target at the base line of the trees now split down the middle. “Gabriel wins.”

Whoever won in firearms had the privilege of picking dessert.

Terry’s whistle was their queue to take a break. Hydrate. Stretch. Relax.

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing endurance drills and combat simulations.

Brooklyn was quick and ruthless when it came to hand to hand. She was always ready to engage, and her unpredictability gave her an upper hand in most cases.

Julian was the first to spar with her. After she dodged two fast jabs and a roundhouse kick, she swiped his legs out from underneath him, pressing her foot down across his chest.

“Down one,” she breathed, yelping when he knocked her back with his knee.

He was quick to rise and twisted her arm back. He bent her forward until she hissed for him to release.

“Up one,” Julian corrected. “Try to slow down.”

Brooklyn nodded and stood, rubbing her index finger and thumb together before launching forward again. She slid down around his knees as Julian aimed another jab at her and knocked him to the ground, snatching his wrist and folding it up behind his back.

“Down two,” Brooklyn said.

It was Dawson and Porter after that. They switched partners, one right after the other until the score was tallied.

“It’s a tie,” Gabriel said. “Porter and Brooklyn.”