Free Omen Operation by Taylor Brooke

said.
    They unrolled sleeping bags from the compartments beneath the windows on the passenger’s side of the bus.
    “They’re fine,” Brooklyn lied. Her stomach was itchy and tight.
    “Still—” Gabriel shrugged “—just to be sure.”
    “Yeah, okay,” she mumbled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was easier to pacify Gabriel than to argue with her.
    “Can you believe all this?” Gabriel sighed. “I mean, I just don’t get it. Do you think it’s the whole fight-or-flight thing? I’ve read about mothers who lift entire cars up to get to their babies and people who can crush concrete with their fists, but what we did was kind of crazy…kind of scary.”
    Kind of was an understatement.
    “We’re all primitive at our core. I think we just did what we had to do.”
    Gabriel’s lips were parted, and she scoffed. “Do you know how much torque it takes to snap a human neck?”
    Brooklyn chewed on her lip.
    “A thousand pounds, Brookie.” Gabriel narrowed her eyes and slid one of the sleeping bags over her shoulder. “And you did it like it was nothing.”
    They walked together toward the three tents that were now fully upright, ready to be occupied. Some of the group opted to sleep in the bus, which was probably a bit warmer, but Brooklyn didn’t mind the tent as long as she would be sharing it with Gabriel.
    They spread out their sleeping bags, topping them with thick quilts.
    “Hey, Julian? Rayce was looking for you and…” Porter’s voice fell away when he peeked inside the tent and saw the two girls sitting down next to their duffle bags.
    “Oh, hey!” Gabriel flashed a wide grin. “We were just about to come looking for you. Brookie needs her stitches looked at.”
    Brooklyn shook her head and stammered, “I-I’m fine, actually. I’m good. They’re just kind of sore, a little. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
    “They’re sore?” he asked as he leaned further into their tent.
    “She was limping a little,” Gabriel chirped.
    Brooklyn scoffed. “I wasn’t limping.”
    “You were, actually. I’ll go help Amber start the fire.”
    Gabriel was up and out of the tent before Brooklyn could continue protesting. That left her alone with Porter, which was the one thing she’d been trying to avoid since they fled Portland.
    “Can I please help you?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “C’mon, Brooklyn, the stitches probably just need to be taken out.”
    “It’s too soon,” she croaked, glancing down at her stomach. “There’s no way it can be done healing by now.”
    Porter took a step toward her, and she shimmied away from him.
    “I’m fine!”
    “I know you are, but if you don’t let me clip those stitches, the pinching is only going to get worse. The skin will tear back open, and it’ll be a mess. If you would just listen to me—” he paused and took a minute to catch his breath “—I can make you more comfortable.”
    “I doubt it,” Brooklyn gritted.
    “I would doubt me too if I were you, but I’m still a doctor. You’re healing at an accelerated rate; I’m assuming you’re used to that, aren’t you?”
    He held his hand out to her and took the opportunity to kneel down so he could look at her eye to eye. He sat back with his shoulders hunched and sighed, heavy and tired. His question took her by surprise. Brooklyn froze in place. All the muscles in her legs tensed. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. He wasn’t wrong. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and decided to stay quiet.
    “Bruises? Bumps? Scrapes? They all seemed to disappear after a night or two, didn’t they? You told me about a time on the soccer field when you swore you heard your own ankle break, but by the time they’d gotten you to the hospital the doctor only saw a small fracture? And then training at camp, all that fighting and conditioning, yet none of you ever had an injury that took longer than a day or so to heal. It’s not a coincidence.”
    “I’m resilient.” She bit down