Omen Operation (5 page)

Gabriel smiled and tapped his nose with her index finger. “I’ll be fine, D. Two hours.”

“Two hours,” he said again.

Brooklyn turned and walked beside her as they headed toward the sidewalk. The bridge was just around the corner past the freeway entrance.

A city, hustling and bustling with people who didn’t know their names, their faces, or their stories, was waiting for them across the Willamette River.

Chapter Seven

“Do you smell that? I haven’t smelt that in so long!” Gabriel’s eyes closed. She lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she inhaled a deep breath.

Brooklyn looked through the frosted windows of the little coffee shop to their right. A couple tables were set up outside, where Portland natives sat huddled in coats and scarves. A yellow Labrador whimpered at them from his place beside an older gentleman who was reading on a tablet.

“Oh, hi,” Brooklyn cooed and knelt down. The pain in her abdomen had lessened, but it was still uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to grimace. She held out the back of her hand and received a sloppy wet kiss from the dog. “What’s your name?”

“That’s Miss Sunshine.” The man smiled, his eyes crinkling up around the edges. “I overheard your friend say that y’all haven’t enjoyed the smell of a good cup of coffee in quite some time. I don’t know where you’ve been, but if you haven’t been smellin’ coffee, then you haven’t been in Portland.”

“We’ve been camping for a while,” Julian was hesitant, but he continued. “We’ve been out of the loop. Do you remember what happened with that virus scare?”

The man looked confused, but after a moment, his eyes lit up, and he lifted a wrinkled pale index finger. “Oh, you mean that whole bird flu pandemic from way back when?”

Brooklyn scratched behind Sunshine’s ears. Julian shot a worried look to Porter, who leaned against the window.

“Yeah,” Julian said slowly. “Yeah, that must have been it.”

“Well, that got cleared up years ago. You young people been campin’ that long?”

“We wander,” Porter said.

Brooklyn feigned a smile. They waved as they continued to walk down the sidewalk past a long alleyway riddled with bright pink tables and a shop whose icon was a pastry in the shape of a voodoo doll.

Gabriel rolled her lips together as they crossed the street. “That guy…he probably just…” She searched for excuses, for reasons, “J-just forgot or something. He was elderly.”

“I don’t think so,” Julian said.

They walked past a large fountain and found themselves trapped in a thrift store, playing dress-up with old coats and hats. A three-story bookstore across the street caught their attention. They walked from room to room, flipping through science fiction novels and cookbooks. Julian buried himself in an aisle labeled “history of music.” They all had to pester him for close to fifteen minutes before he finally put away the three books he was skimming and followed them out.

“We should get back.” Porter bumped his shoulder against Brooklyn’s as they walked.

“We’re fine,” Gabriel assured crisply. “Let’s go in here.”

A one-story building with two black doors loomed on its own at the end of the street next to a pizza parlor.

“What is it?” Brooklyn asked, tilting her head to the side.

“I think it’s a theater. Just c’mon, let’s look.” Gabriel swung one of the heavy doors open and disappeared inside without a second thought.

“We need to go.” Porter said. He grabbed Brooklyn’s arm when she turned to follow. “Please, trust me.”

“Porter, it’s not a big deal. She’s just excited to be somewhere new. We’ll be here for five minutes, she’ll get bored, and then we’ll head back to the truck,” Brooklyn said, glancing down at her arm before she pulled it away.

Julian said nothing; he simply shook his head and held the door as they walked inside.

The carpet was dark red, stained with years of being trampled on by muddy shoes. A concession stand stood in the back, next to the small empty box office window. Popcorn popped in an old machine, a freezer with an ice cream display was taped shut, and only three out of the seven sodas on the dispenser were available.

Gabriel stood with a cell phone perched in her hand. It hovered away from her ear, shook from the tremors that pulsed through her arm. Her mouth hung open in silent disbelief. Confusion was an emotion she didn’t wear often, one she kept hidden behind her air of confidence. But in that moment as her eyes welled with tears, Gabriel blinked at the ground and her lips twitched into a defeated frown.

“Shit,” Porter growled. “We need to go. We need to go now.”

Brooklyn stomped forward just as Gabriel was handing the phone back to the cashier behind the counter.

“Who did you call?” she asked as she reached out to touch Gabriel’s shoulder.

“My parents,” Gabriel’s said meekly. “My mom she…she just sat on the line, and then—” she paused and raked her hands nervously through her hair “—she started to cry.”

Porter kept glancing over his shoulder. He paced in front of them. “We have to go,” he repeated.

“It’s like she thought I was dead,” Gabriel whimpered.

It wasn’t the sound of the back door slamming that jostled Brooklyn into backtracking toward the door. It wasn’t the scuffling of the cashier’s feet on the dirty tiles behind the counter or his escalated breathing as he locked himself in the storage room. It wasn’t even Porter’s voice when he yelled to Julian.

When he shouted, “Get the gun!”

It was the sick, deteriorated scream that was torn from the throat of a tall, thin, infected creature that skidded into the front of the lobby and bared its teeth like an animal.

It was masculine, skin dry and pale, peeling up on its forehead where its eyes protruded out of its skull. Black blood dripped from its nose in a thick line over trembling cracked lips. The blood continued down the expanse of its throat to a bare chest. Dark charcoal lines fanned out over its torso like broken glass, mimicking the image of veins.

The creature was bruised. Its jaw clattered and clanked together, grinded back and forth.

Julian fished around inside the backpack and tossed Porter a gun. Gabriel jumped forward and almost tripped to get in front of Brooklyn.

There were two more. They came running in behind the first, howling and screeching. They cackled like a pack of hyenas, blood-thirsty and crazed.

“Angel,” one of the creatures spat as they took a step toward Gabriel, “angel, the angel, the angel.”

“If we run, they’ll follow us,” Porter said and took aim.

“We only brought one gun!” Brooklyn heaved in breath after breath as they all took quick steps backward toward the double doors at the front of the theater.

“You don’t need a gun!” Porter yelled.

Brooklyn’s eyes were wide. She stared over her shoulder at Porter who ducked down and fired a shot at the one in the middle.

The creature looked confused as the bullet tore a hole through its stomach. The thing didn’t bother looking down at its wound, but instead staggered forward, eyes pointed accusingly at Porter.

“What do you mean I don’t need a gun?” Brooklyn screeched.

Porter shouted, “Fight them! You’re stronger!
Fight!
”

She was frozen. The three beings in front of them moved like they were broken, quick and sharp. Their legs snapped forward. The one to the left, focused on Julian, opened its mouth, jaw sliding back and forth as tar-like saliva coated its lips. It looked like a woman. All Brooklyn could think about was the evening of her winter dance. How petrified she had been. How brave she had been.

“Get behind Porter,” Gabriel huffed, shoving Brooklyn backward with her arm.

Brooklyn didn’t have time to protest. Gabriel launched forward and cocked her leg back, kicking the oncoming creature in the chest.

Julian was scrambling to dodge the flailing arms of the one on the left as it tried to grab him.

Porter fired another shot.

Brooklyn shrank back until she felt a hand latch over her shoulder. Warm, putrid breath dampened her cheek. The bony hand on her jacket was moist with sweat. She gasped when it gripped harder; swinging a clenched fist, Brooklyn knocked the tall, bulky creature back. Its whole body shook. The sound of its teeth gnashing together made her want to wretch.

“Move!” Porter yelled. “Brooklyn, move to the right!”

It was hard to focus on his words when she was falling to the ground, trying to kick the creature’s legs out from underneath it. The gun went off, and the creature turned. Its eyes, soaked in the same onyx liquid that they all seemed to share, stared at Porter. That creature, whoever or whatever it was, looked completely taken aback.

Seconds later, Gabriel’s lean figure ran by in a blur. Her palms hit the ground; she vaulted herself into the air, legs wrapped tight around the creature’s face. She twisted and the sound of a strangled growl was followed by a loud snap.

There was only one left. Its hands were around Gabriel’s throat before she could regain her footing.

It was the same feeling from the kitchen that swelled inside Brooklyn—the same instinct that drove her to kill, to shove a knife under that woman’s chin all those months ago. That primal urge was what made Brooklyn place her hands against either side of the creature’s head and twist.

Its body hit the ground. Brooklyn looked across from her, and was staring into Gabriel’s wide green eyes.

Gabriel clawed at her throat to make sure everything was intact.

Brooklyn turned in a quick circle and found Julian slumped against the wall beside Porter, trying to catch his breath.

Three dead bodies littered the floor of the old movie theater lobby. The smell of their blood was rotten and sour.

Chapter Eight

Porter’s hands were on Brooklyn’s hips. He turned her to face him.

“Brooklyn.” His voice was calm and direct. “I need to check your stitches. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, focusing on Gabriel, who stared at the crumpled bodies on the ground.

“We killed them,” Brooklyn whispered. “H-how did we…? And why…” Her words trailed off, dropped lower and lower until they vanished. Her gaze drifted back to Porter, who was kneeling in front of her. He lifted her shirt and sighed.

“They’re fine,” he said softly.

“Why didn’t they attack you?”

Porter looked at the ground. His shoulders flexed, muscles clenched. Brooklyn heard the tiny inhale, the sudden shakiness of his breath. He stayed where he was, resting on his knees at her feet while her fingers curled into fists.

Julian coughed. His hand fell heavy on Gabriel’s shoulder as he pulled her into his chest. “You’re something, you know that?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Gabriel said as she looked from one body to the other and back again.

“We need to get out of here.” Porter stood, watching Brooklyn carefully.

“You need to tell me…”

“I will explain,” he hissed under his breath, tugging at her hips as he lowered his mouth next to her ear. “I will explain everything when we’re back with the others and you’re safe, all right?”

Brooklyn glared at him. Her lips pursed as she smacked his hands away.

Porter looked more relieved than he did hurt by her actions. He nudged his head toward the emergency exit near the back of the theater next to the restrooms. They were quick to shuffle around the bodies. Gabriel made a point to step over them, kicking one as she walked by.

They didn’t speak. Not to each other and not to anyone else as they hurried toward the bridge. Brooklyn’s stitches stung in protest as she took long strides down the rain-dampened sidewalk. They kept looking over their shoulders like clockwork. First Julian would look, followed by Brooklyn and lastly Gabriel. Porter kept his eyes ahead. They were narrowed behind his glasses, shoulders squared, body tight with anxiety. Brooklyn could feel the emotion pouring off him. It felt like heat. Like distress.

All she could think about was the way those things looked at him, like they knew him.

“Shouldn’t we be finding a place to hide?” Gabriel asked. She huddled closer to Brooklyn as they walked.

Porter was in front of them with his hands shoved deep in the front pocket of his jeans. “No,” he threw the word over his shoulder and shook his head. “We need to stay in the open, in public areas.”

“I think he’s right,” Julian said.

The road curved up toward the bridge above the train station. The roar of an approaching train echoed off the buildings. Brooklyn looked down over the chipped maroon railing and stared down the Willamette River, eyes trailing over the train tracks nestled up beside the river banks and the apartments across the way. She wondered how easy it would be to sneak into a train car and get off on the last stop. To erase the familiarity of her name and adopt a different personality, cut her hair, get a tattoo. Let go of the questions and the lies and the past. She wondered if it would ever be possible for her to let go of it all.

The chill of a cold hand swept down, soft fingertips lacing around Brooklyn’s own. Gabriel latched onto her hand and held on.

Brooklyn couldn’t let go.

***

Amber was the first person to see them walking up the sidewalk toward the gas station. She called to Rayce and shoved a mouthful of mixed nuts into her mouth.

Porter touched Brooklyn’s arm, but she pulled it away.

“Hey!” Gabriel called to Dawson, who was digging through one of the bags in the back of the truck. “Is everyone ready? We need to get out of here.”

“What happened?” Dawson said. His hands moved to the sides of her arms, and Gabriel leaned into them. His eyes were wide, his gaze moved down her neck to her shoulders, continuing on. He analyzed her for injuries. A gentle pull told her to turn, and she did so, allowing him to be sure she was unscathed. He noticed a black stain on the top of her beige hiking boots.

It was strange how the human mind worked. How something as simple as a black smudge, a tiny splatter, could jostle Dawson into holding his breath. Thick eyebrows were pulled tight, drawn down into a worried expression.

Brooklyn had never seen him look so fretful. She watched as Gabriel gasped when he nearly crushed her. His arms flew around her body and he nestled his face down against the pale skin exposed on her neck. She could feel him breathing, could feel his chest expand as he inhaled the smell of her hair. His thumb was under the hem of her shirt, rubbing circles on her side.

“I’m fine…” Gabriel didn’t mind being held, but her hands were unsure as they smoothed over his shoulders. “I’m fine, D…really, there were three of them and…”

“I told you!” He pulled away and held her at arms distance. “It wasn’t safe, and something worse could have happened. You should have listened to me!”

“I killed them,” Gabriel spat. “I killed two of them. One was attacking me and Julian, and the other went after Brookie. She killed the one that tried to rip my head off.”

“You killed them?” Dawson asked. His eyebrows shot up, and his forehead wrinkled.

Gabriel’s hands were set hard on her hips. She gave a curt nod. “I
slaughtered
them.”

Dawson’s gaze darted over to Brooklyn, who was standing awkwardly next to Porter.

Brooklyn nodded. “We killed them. We need to go.”

“What happened? How did they find you?” Dawson asked. He waved his hand toward the group huddled by the bus and pointed at the door. They were quick to follow direction and scrambled to gather the bags and supplies so they could repack everything.

Gabriel’s jaw clenched as she looked at the ground.

“Gabriel used some kid’s cell phone to call her parents while we were in an old theater off Burnside,” Porter said. He sighed, and when his fingertips brushed against the top of Brooklyn’s hand, she tugged it away and shuffled closer to Amber.

There was so much Brooklyn wanted to say. So many questions she wanted to shout at Porter. Answers she wanted to beat out of him with her fists, but there was something squirming inside her that kept her quiet. That, along with the rallied confusion and anger, had her mind and heart digging for clues. For anything that would make sense of what went on in the lobby of that dusty movie theater.

“You used a phone?” Dawson gritted the words out at Gabriel, who turned her head, refusing to look at him. “I told you. I explicitly told you not to make any goddamn phone calls—”

“I get it!” Gabriel shouted. “What do you want, D? I’m sorry. You’re right—now let’s go. We need to go.”

Brooklyn wanted to reach for her, but Gabriel was already storming off toward the bus to help the others load up the supplies.

Gabriel was right; they needed to get on the road.

Brooklyn looked around until she found Julian. He was leaning against the side of the truck, picking at his nails. She watched and listened as Rayce stepped directly in front of him.

Rayce tilted his head to the side, “You all right?”

“Me?” Julian glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was the one being spoken to.

“You.”

“Yeah…?” he tested. “I’m fine, I think. I really don’t know due to the three black-spitting flesh suits that just tried to maul us to death.”

“But you’re all right?” Rayce smiled.

“Yeah, I’m all right.” Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Have we like…” he gestured with long, spidery fingers between the two of them “—ever spoken before? I’m pretty sure we haven’t.”

Rayce chuckled. “I’ve seen you, though.”

“Oh, you’ve seen me?”

“I’ve seen you.” Rayce grinned and shook his head. He tapped the bottom of Julian’s chin before he turned on his heels, walking toward Dawson who was pacing back and forth on the other side of the black truck.

“Why’s your mouth open?” Brooklyn asked. She rounded the side of the truck and opened the door to get to the dark brown bag in the back seat.

Julian shook his head. “Well, I think I’m still trying to catch up with the fact that we killed three people.”

“People?” she snorted.

“Yeah, people. Sick people.”

Brooklyn huffed. “I don’t consider them people.”

She lifted up the bottom of her shirt and held it up with her mouth. A short wince pulled her lips into a glower when she peeled off the bandage and poked her stitches. They seemed to be healing, but were sore from the hurried walk from downtown.

“Hey!” Porter rushed around the car when he saw Brooklyn prodding at her bare skin. “What the hell are you doing? You’re just asking for infection. Let me…”

“Do not touch me,” Brooklyn snapped.

Julian’s eyes went wide when he heard the venom in Brooklyn’s voice. He glanced at Porter, shrugged, and walked toward Dawson and the others.

“Brooklyn, c’mon, I’m a doctor.”

“I’m just putting some antiseptic on it because it stings,” she mumbled.

He took another step forward. She turned away from him.

“Please, let me help you.”

Brooklyn continued by herself and flinched when the tip of her finger dabbed the jelly antiseptic over the ridge of stitches sewn through her skin. It hurt, but what hurt worse was the way Porter hovered just behind her. He didn’t breach the space she’d set between them but stood on his tip toes so he could be sure she wasn’t doing any harm to her already sore injury.

“They’ll kill you,” Brooklyn breathed suddenly. The words weren’t supposed to come out cold, hard and brittle, but they did. They fell into the space between them as she struggled not to lash out at Porter for making this so hard, for being so good for so long.

“I’ll kill you,” she emphasized, turning to stare at him as she smoothed out her shirt.

Porter didn’t move. His lips were loose and parted, but his eyes were the same constant warmth she’d grown fond of over the last two years.

“I need you to know that,” Brooklyn said. “If you’re a part of this. If you’re a part of them, whoever they are. I’ll kill you myself.”

It was hard to look at him, so she walked away. Distance. That was what her mind kept saying would be best.

But Porter was at her heels, grasping her shoulder.

“There isn’t a virus,” Porter blurted.

He was shaking.

“Those people, they aren’t sick. They were just unsuccessful cases. They call them Surros.”

Brooklyn didn’t turn around. Her eyes were straight ahead, and her heart was hammering against her chest.

“And they call you Omens.”