Omen Operation Read online

  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 f
or 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.”

  “Tiebreaker for the side dish?” Dawson asked.

  The sun was starting to set, and Terry’s whistle sounded from the dining hall.

  “No time, but I do want mashed potatoes tonight.” Porter shrugged, glancing at Brooklyn.

  Brooklyn grinned. “Good, me too.”

  “See? We don’t even need a tiebreaker,” Porter said, shoulder bumping into Brooklyn’s as he walked by. “She gets me.”

  Gabriel appeared at her side, cat eyes narrowed playfully from under her lashes.

  Brooklyn told her to be quiet before she had a chance to say anything.

  Julian glanced over his shoulder as they all trudged through the grass toward the dining hall. She followed his stare and found what he’d caught sight of, Dawson’s muscular frame slinking around Terry’s small, secluded lodge near the front of the grounds.

  “What’s he doing?” Julian mumbled. He linked his arm through Brooklyn’s as they walked.

  Brooklyn glanced over her shoulder again, watching closely. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

  Dawson’s silhouette disappeared behind the cabin’s front door, and Brooklyn looked away.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  But nothing ever felt right anymore.

  Chapter Three

  Brooklyn held her breath as she curled further under her bed sheets. The floorboards dipped under the weight of footsteps. The five of them knew where to step in the night, the quiet paths to take so they didn’t disturb the others.

  Brooklyn knew that whoever was awake didn’t want to be alone.

  The first thing Brooklyn saw when she opened her eyes was Porter staring back at her from his bed a few feet away. His jaw was set hard, lips pursed into a tight line.

  He glanced up, and Brooklyn followed the tiny flick of his lashes until she noticed that the bunk above him was empty.

  She heard laces being tied and pants being tucked into the top of a pair of boots. A jacket, the slide of it against bare skin. A zipper.

  “What’re ya doin?” Gabriel slurred.

  Brooklyn started to sit up when Gabriel swung her legs over the side of their bunk and let them dangle there. The shine of shell-pink polish glittered off her toenails.

  “D,” Gabriel whined, “what the hell are you doing?”

  Dawson rolled the sleeves of his black jacket up and crouched down to pull a heavy duffle bag out from under their bed. Brooklyn held her breath when he looked over his shoulder and said, “We’re leaving.”

  Julian was on his feet, reaching for the lights. Dawson snatched his arm. “Don’t,” he hissed. “Do not turn on the lights. Just get your stuff.”

  The thoughts that circulated through Brooklyn’s mind were a mess of memories and warnings. They swarmed around Dawson’s words, we’re leaving, and she felt tightness in her chest that reminded her of what it was like to be vulnerable. To be scared. Because people like Dawson didn’t make empty statements like we’re leaving without reason. People like Dawson didn’t run.

  Gabriel said his name, “Dawson,” like tires skidding to a stop on the asphalt, like an emergency break being pulled. “We can’t just leave…there’s nowhere for us to go.”

  “We can just leave, and we’re going to. Tonight.”

  “We can’t.” Gabriel slid off the bed and took a couple quick steps toward him. “Everything’s contaminated. Everything’s gone. We can’t…”

  Dawson thrust a magazine against Gabriel’s chest, which she fumbled to catch. Brooklyn watched as she analyzed the cover then the back, soft fingertips peeled open page after page. It was one of those glossy beauty magazines. A picture of a woman smiled on the cover and block words spelled out the headlines “what makes her sexy” and “please your man this fall”.

  Dawson reached forward and pinched the spine of the magazine. Gabriel let him take it, and he shook it until a folded piece of paper fell at Gabriel’s feet. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Just stood, swaying slightly with her eyebrows pulled down toward the bridge of her nose.

  “What…” Brooklyn picked it up off the ground. She glanced at Julian who was in front of the door with his arms crossed over his bare chest, silently asking for guidance. She didn’t know how to do this; she didn’t know how to keep Dawson from exploding.

  “Read it,” Dawson interrupted her mental plea for help. “Out loud.”

  Brooklyn wanted to snap at him, to tell him to calm down and not to bark at her, but the way his eyes moved, careful and nervous, made her reconsider scolding him.

  It was a handwritten letter with a smudged signa
ture decorating the bottom of lined notebook paper.

  “We miss you,” Brooklyn sighed out the words, eyes drifting over the first line before she continued. “Marly did well on her science project…” Her voice dropped lower, eyebrows pulled together as confusion started to spread like frostbite under her skin. “But she wishes you were here to help pick out her homecoming dress. She keeps asking where you are. This is getting too hard, Theresa…”

  Brooklyn’s hands started to tremble.

  “My parents asked about you. They want us to fly out to Chicago for Christmas this year; will you be home by then? I love you.” Brooklyn’s voice trailed off. “Marly loves you. Please ask for some time off.”

  She paused before clearing her throat. “P.S they published my article in The Times. Hope you like the magazine. Marly picked it out.”

  The piece of crinkled paper felt unbelievably heavy in her hands. Her eyes followed the swoop of the curved “S” on the sender’s name at the bottom of the page.

  Gabriel’s breath was shaky. Julian stared down at his feet.

  Dawson kicked an empty duffle bag toward Porter. “There’s a truck behind Terry’s cabin, and the transport bus is on the other side of the field. The surplus trucks brought supplies and food yesterday that we’ll stock up on before we take off.” Stern blue eyes darted around from one person to the next.

  “I don’t…” Brooklyn heaved a sigh. “I don’t think we should jump to conclusions.”

  “That letter,” Dawson said, pointing down where Brooklyn had it clasped in her hand, “was sent from Seattle. Not from a ‘recovery camp,’ from Seattle.”

  Gabriel tossed the magazine on to the bed and shook her head, turning to stand next to Dawson. “It was published this month,” she said bitterly.

  That wasn’t possible.

  “They’re lying to us,” Dawson said, teeth grinding together as he spoke. “Terry and whoever brought us here.”

  “You sound paranoid and insane,” Brooklyn said, eyes narrowed as she stood and waved her hand between them. “They’ve done nothing but take care of us!”