Omen Operation (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Do I need to do anything for these?” Brooklyn asked as she took a look at the stitches holding Porter’s skin closed on his shoulder.

He shook his head. “No, they’re okay for now.”

They stood next to the bathroom in front of a tall mirror. Brooklyn dabbed the ointment over his wound with the tips of her fingers. Porter’s body was warm again, and even though it was clear he was exhausted, the discoloration beneath his eyes had brightened.

“We should probably wash those bandages and dry them out before we wrap you up again,” she muttered. “The last thing we need is you getting an infection.”

“I’ll be okay without them for the night.”

Brooklyn nodded.

“You should take a shower.” He reached up to pull her hand away from his shoulder. “I can take care of myself for now.”

“I’ll start washing those bandages, then.” She tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and walked toward the front of the room where their clothes were, but Porter caught her arm before she could make it too far.

Brooklyn tensed and pulled away, holding her hands snug against her chest.

“I can wash the bandages,” Porter whispered, glancing to Julian who was asleep only a few feet away. “Go take a shower.”

Her gaze darted around, settling on everything except for Porter. She shrugged, bottom lip quivering as she rolled it up and pinched it between her teeth. There was no way to capture how empty she felt, no way to make Porter understand that constant movement was the only way to keep the weight on her chest from sinking in any further. He stared at her, defeated, eyes warm and knowing. She hated it. She hated that he knew her as well as he did.

Porter sighed. “Go…”

Gabriel’s face flashed through Brooklyn’s mind, her scarred lips curled back as she yelled to them, “Go! I’ll hold them off!” It was impossibly clear, like a film of her might have been playing on the television. That fight, the way Gabriel flew into battle like a Valkyrie, crawled behind Brooklyn’s eyes like an old video.

She flinched and shied away, afraid to close her eyes but weary of keeping them open.

Porter moved toward her, but she put her hand out to stop him, fingers stretched out wide from her palm.

“I’m…gonna take a shower.” Brooklyn hiccupped on her words.

“Yeah…just, if you need me—”

“Yeah, okay,” she interjected. Her eyes refused to meet his.

Brooklyn dragged herself into the bathroom and shut the door. She turned on the water and didn’t wait for it to heat up. She peeled her clothes off, shirt, then pants, bra, then underwear, letting them drop away into a pile on the floor. She stepped under the rush of cold water; it washed down her back, jolting her senses, but warmed up gradually and chased away the goosebumps that rose on her skin.

Nothing hurt. Her muscles weren’t sore; her legs weren’t tired. The scratches and bruises she’d sustained earlier had vanished. Brooklyn was stagnant, floating inside herself, trying to feel something that wouldn’t seem to come. There were no bones to realign, no scabs to pick at or bullet holes to mend.

All she had was the weight of Gabriel’s death like an anvil on her chest.

The shower wall was smooth as she slid down it and sat underneath the hot water. The steam was thick, and her lungs ached when she tried to take in a deep, long breath. Her arms posed as a shelter that she hid her face in. She felt secure with her legs, long and thin, pulled up against her chest.

It was like being trapped in the haze of a dream—the point where the body had convinced itself to wake up but the mind still clung to sleep. The free falling.

She used the tiny bar of soap to scrub her hair and face and stayed under the spray of the shower head until her skin pruned.

Brooklyn glanced at Porter when she stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her torso. He held a fluffy white robe in his hands and handed it to her. “I found this in the closet. Didn’t think a place this shitty would supply robes, but…”

The first thing she thought to do was to reject it and tell him to wear it instead. But her skin crawled with anticipation as she stared at it. She took it without saying anything and walked back into the bathroom to slip it on.

The robe was warm and roomy. She tied it tight and combed through her hair with the disposable brush they’d found in the vanity drawer. Once she felt comfortable enough, she walked out and sat down on the edge of the empty bed. The sheets were cold and stiff. She glanced at Julian asleep a couple feet away, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I’ll stay up while you get some sleep,” Porter said, walking over to sit in a large green chair pushed against the flimsy wooden desk.

“Will it be too hard for you to stay awake if you’re in the bed?”

“No…” He looked taken aback and adjusted his glasses nervously. “Do you want me to lay in the bed with you?”

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she confessed.

Brooklyn waited, watching Porter as he took his time climbing in beside her. He was slow and careful as he slid under the covers and made no point to reach for her until she was situated next to him. The pillow felt nice, cradling her neck. Brooklyn lay on her side, facing him, eyes cracked open, scanning the delicate ridges of his face, neck, chest, his busted shoulder.

Her throat closed when she spotted a small cut spanning the curve of his jaw and a welt darkening his chest. Bruises fanned up the side of his neck, blossoming patches of navy, muted yellow, and ivy. The black stitches on his shoulder still held the skin tight together, but the area around them was red and swollen. Black and blue bruising faded into dark yellow blotches that broke up the freckles she was so fond of down his side, covering some of his ribs.

He took his glasses off and set them down next to a dusty bible on the nightstand.

She reached out and touched the mark on his jaw. “What happens if they take us?”

“I don’t know anymore. After combat training, everyone in the camps was supposed to be transferred to headquarters for interrogation techniques and moxie training. But after everything that’s happened…I don’t trust what I was told.”

“Do you think they found Dawson and the others?”

Porter hesitated but ended up shaking his head. “No. I don’t think they did.”

“Do you think they’ll find us?”

“Eventually, yeah, they will.”

“You could leave, you know. You could call your dad and get out of this. You don’t have to stay and keep getting hurt.”

He was quiet, eyes flicking around her face. The cold tips of his fingers moved to brush along her knee, and then he shifted his arm over her waist and tugged her closer.

“I think I’d rather keep getting hurt with you guys than pretend that I’m safe with my father.”

Brooklyn shuffled against his chest and let him engulf her. It was nice to feel small and weak for a moment. To feel his chin resting on the top of her head with his arms wrapped protectively around her. Not that Porter could protect her, but that he would try. That was what mattered.

She closed her eyes.

“I was supposed to take Gabriel home,” Brooklyn whispered, fighting back the lump in her throat.

Porter pulled one of her legs between his knees and tangled them together. His heart was kicking loud and steady. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t expect him to.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brooklyn woke up alone.

She didn’t open her eyes but instead stayed still, listening to Julian and Porter whisper to one another. The dusty smell of old wallpaper mingled with cheap, stale coffee. She craved the bitter warmth of it, of something that reminded her of normalcy.

Julian sighed. “It’s shitty coffee.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Porter said.

“You’re awake!” Julian kicked the bed with the sole of his bare foot.

Brooklyn huffed and cracked her eyes open. “How’d you know?”

“Super powers, remember? Your breathing changed.”

She sat up and nodded her chin toward the old coffee pot. “Is there any left?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you some.”

“Thank you,” Brooklyn mumbled as she pawed at her eyes with the back of her hands.

The mug that Julian handed her was chipped and decorated with doodles of cats. She didn’t expect the roadside hotel to have anything nice, and the mug was just dinky enough to make her think of home. She smiled fondly down at it, the powdered cream rising to bubble on the top of the rich brown liquid.

She glanced up, noticing that Porter’s shoulder was wrapped in clean bandages, and the clothes that had been laid out to dry were now folded on the table.

Brooklyn sipped at the coffee and wrinkled her nose. “We still have the apples that Cambria packed for us, right?”

The coffee wasn’t good. It would have been nice to wake up to Plum’s mint green tea with honey.

“Yeah, I washed them this morning after I took a shower,” Julian said.

“Seems like I slept through a lot…” She shifted her gaze to Porter.

Porter shrugged his good shoulder. “You needed the rest.”

“Did you eat?” Brooklyn asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

Julian shook his head. “We wanted to wait for you.”

She slid off the edge of the bed and walked over to the table where her jeans and shirt were folded. Her jacket was draped over the back of one of the chairs, still damp from the river, and their backpack was hung open upside down. The gun was laid out alongside the water bottles and apples.

Brooklyn grabbed one of the apples and tossed it to Julian.

“I’m guessing there’s nothing in the mini fridge?” Brooklyn asked.

Julian shook his head. “It’s broken. There’s gotta be some vending machines around here though. Think we could stock up if we found one?”

“Yeah, we’d just have to bust it open,” Brooklyn said. “It’d be something we did on our way out.”

Julian nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Eat this.” Brooklyn handed Porter one of the apples.

“What about you? You need to eat too,” Porter said.

She glared at him and took her folded clothes into the bathroom so she could change. Her jeans felt loose around her hips, and the tank top she’d had on since they left the camp was no longer tight. It wasn’t alarming to notice a bit of weight loss, seeing as they were no longer receiving three square meals a day overflowing with protein. She stared at herself in the mirror and poked at her stomach, pinched the meat on her thighs, and flexed her arms. She was thin but still okay, still alive.

Brooklyn walked out of the bathroom after securing her hair into a ponytail and glanced at Julian as he shrugged the backpack on.

“I left a water bottle and an apple out for you,” Julian said. “I got everything else packed.”

Brooklyn gave a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Porter shoved the gun in the back of his pants and slid his glasses up on to the bridge of his nose.

A part of Brooklyn didn’t want to leave the motel. It was safe and small, with a way for them to stay clean and beds for them to sleep in. They could keep the drapes drawn and the door closed. The thought of hiding was more than tempting—it chewed on her, begged her. But she couldn’t let the daydream of a little comfort stop her from finding the rest of their group. This was about survival, and surviving wasn’t comfortable.

“You ready?” Porter asked.

Julian nodded and turned to Brooklyn. “We can make it to Seattle in a few hours if we speed walk. Hopefully it doesn’t rain on us.”

Brooklyn pushed the door open halfway and looked around outside. There was a man standing by a Volkswagen bus in the parking lot, a couple of scrawny people sauntered around by the stairs, and the concierge working the front desk flipped through a magazine in the lobby.

They walked down the hallway to the far staircase that led out to the side of the building. There was a soda dispenser on the first floor, and behind the building next to a fire escape was a dilapidated vending machine. Bags of chips, candy, and pastries packed with preservatives sat behind the cracked glass. The old yellow buttons on the selection panel were hardly readable.

“Should we even bother with this shit? It looks gross,” Julian said.

“I want those doughnuts,” Brooklyn snapped. “And those cheese puffs.”

Julian’s eyebrows pulled together as he took a step back. “Okay, warrior princess, you go ahead and get your cheese puffs.”

Brooklyn’s elbow shot back, and her fingers curled into a fist, but before she could punch a hole in the front of the vending machine, Porter croaked out a weak protest.

“Hey!” He tapped on her arm and shook his head. “I don’t really like the idea of your bare hand going through that glass.”

“I’ll heal,” she said and shrugged. She raised her fist, but Porter persisted, grabbing her arm.

“Yeah, I know you’ll heal, but can you just kick a hole in it instead of slicing your hand up? Please?”

Brooklyn rolled her eyes and brushed him off. “God, fine.”

“She really wants those puffs, man.” Julian chuckled.

Brooklyn kicked her foot up and sent the bottom of her boot through the front of the vending machine. It shattered around the force of her leg, and she stumbled to catch herself before she fell all the way through it. Julian grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her out.

Porter craned his neck around the corner to see if anyone had heard the loud crack of the glass shattering, but the people wandering around seemed to pay no mind.

Brooklyn winced and reached down to roll up her pant leg. A sharp piece of the glass had ripped through her jeans and bitten into her ankle. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it bled steadily into her boot. She hissed at Julian when he reached down to put pressure on it.

“Get me one of the shirts out of the backpack,” she said through gritted teeth.

Julian fumbled to open the backpack and blindly grabbed for something soft that she could wrap around her foot. He shoved a shirt at her, and she smashed it down against her ankle without a thought. The light pink color of it took her off guard. Brooklyn swallowed painfully when she realized it’d been Gabriel’s.

Brooklyn tied the crop top around her ankle and pulled her pant leg back down. She tucked the bottom of her jeans into her boot and flexed her foot.

“You okay?” Porter asked.

“Just a scratch.”

She stepped over the pile of glass and reached into the vending machine to grab a few different bags of chips. She handed the majority of them to Julian to put in the backpack and opened up a sealed assortment of powdered doughnuts for herself.

The first bite was more than she ever expected it to be. Sweet, almost stale, processed grocery store goodness. It was something she’d almost forgotten. The powdered sugar was all over her lips, and the dough stuck to the roof of her mouth. It was sad how often she would sneer her nose at a poorly packaged doughnut years ago, but now she was moaning around the taste of it.

“Here,” she slurred around a mouthful of doughnut, handing one to Julian. “Eat one.”

“Ew, no. You couldn’t pay me.” Julian stuck his tongue between his teeth.

“Eat it!” Brooklyn laughed, shaking the doughnut at him.

Julian grinned and grabbed the powdered doughnut from her. He took a small bite and closed his eyes, savoring the sugary dessert.

“You too,” she said, holding one out to Porter.

Porter smirked and lifted his hand to her face. “Got something right here.” He paused, thumb rubbing over her chin.

“Take the stupid doughnut,” Brooklyn mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“I haven’t had one of these in years,” Porter said as he took a bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Brooklyn’s lips lifted into a smile, and she let the empty wrapper fall in the mess of glass on the ground.

Julian zipped up the backpack and tightened it on his shoulders as they walked back around to the front of the motel. There was a sidewalk that ran parallel to the highway; it would be easy to keep sight of it if they decided to take the tree line.

They walked toward the parking lot. Brooklyn heard a seat belt being pulled across someone’s lap; she heard the squabble from the couple by the stairs and water running on the first floor. Then she heard light footsteps and a rapid heartbeat, the crash of something being thrown, the swing of a door on its hinges.

Brooklyn turned on her heels and looked up to the second floor, where the door of their room was wide open.