The Apocalypse Five (Archive of the Five Book 1)

by Stacey Rourke

  Juneau bound down the stairs, caught Reno’s sleeve, and dragged him along behind her. “We were 1205 and 1206!” she chirped, clapping her free hand on top of theirs.

  Detroit wanted to join them in the rare display of team solidarity. Unfortunately, her position on the stairs allowed her a sobering view of the ocean of hauntingly beautiful people. All of which cast their glances in Washington’s direction in search of cues on how to react.

  Clearing her throat, she fixed on a dazzling smile with trained perfection. “You’ll have to forgive Augusta. The reentry process can be taxing. We’ve all been crippled by it at one time or another. Brave soul he is, Augusta thought he could take a muscle relaxer and soldier on. I think we can all agree that didn’t work in his favor.”

  A ripple of laughter cracked through the iced over room.

  “Let’s give him a round of applause for his effort, as he is escorted back to his quarters to recover.” Clapping her hands, Detroit led them in the gesture.

  The lackluster response from the few who joined in was easily drowned out by clinking crystal, and the awkward clearing of throats. Still, sideways glances eagerly awaited Washington’s reaction.

  Well aware of the quivering anticipation of his judgment, the chancellor paused a beat longer and dragged his tongue over his lower lip. “We put such lofty expectations on our A-5.” The soothing resonance of his voice was a blend of wistful melancholy and regret. “We have elevated them to such untouchable standards that we forget they are humans with weaknesses and vulnerabilities. By all means, Handler Saco, escort Team Member Augusta back to his quarters. Make sure he gets the rest and recuperation he needs.” The smile that seeped across Washington’s features couldn’t mask the dark threat looming in the depths of his stare. “The last thing any of us want is for his weakened state to cause a catastrophe during tomorrow’s mission.”

  “Yes, Chancellor.” Having been rooted in one spot to await further orders, Saco sparked to life and glided down the stairs to collect her charge.

  Drained of his alcohol-induced bravado, Augusta draped one arm around Saco’s silicon padded shoulders and sagged against his Undertaker. Wrapping the vise-grip of her robotic hold under his arms, Saco supported the majority of his weight.

  As Detroit watched them leave, she felt the chancellor’s glare boring into her and shifted under its smothering heat. What message he hoped to find scrawled across her face, she didn’t know. Even so, the scrutiny forced the protection of her public mask firmly into place. Widening her smile until her cheeks ached, she rolled her shoulders back into a sultry pose. “I believe we were promised a party?”

  “That you were, my dear.” Washington beamed back at her with a conspiratorial grin that made Detroit feel she had shaken hands with the devil. “Bring on the music! I believe our team leader fancies a dance.”

  The orchestra rushed to the stage, launching into the theme song that would have been played had the A-5 made a traditional entrance.

  “Love, love me do.

  You know I love you.

  I’ll always be true.

  So please … love me do.”

  “You okay?” Houston asked, offering Detroit a hand down the last few stairs.

  Suddenly, she felt like the walls were closing in. Taking his hand, she assumed a ballroom hold with little mind of whether he wanted to dance or not.

  They moved through the steps with practiced ease, always careful to keep a respectable distance between them. Tilting her chin his way, Detroit deprived the rest of the room a glimpse of the tears glistening like sparks of amber in her mahogany stare.

  “Auggie’s right,” she rasped, voice cracking with barely contained panic. “Everything we do is for their acceptance and approval.”

  “And?” Houston pressed, not in a dismissive fashion but in acknowledgment of a harsh truth he had long since come to bitter terms with.

  Pulling back, Detroit stilled her steps and forced him to hear her. “And … they know it.”

  Chapter 4

  Cranking up the speed on the treadmill, Detroit pushed her muscles to their limits. Sweat streaked down the flawless brown skin of her well-toned back as she stared out the circular window before her at the infinite mysteries of space. Even with her legs pumping like powerful pistons, she couldn’t outrun the demons of doubt lurking in her mind. Not for lack of trying. At her current pace she was set to beat her personal best for a five-mile run.

  Only a tenth of a mile away from her goal, Detroit’s calf cramped in a stabbing knot. Head falling back, she screamed more in frustration than pain. After she keyed down the speed, she managed an awkward hobble in an attempt to loosen the spasming muscle.

  “You need to stretch that out,” Houston called from the gym doorway. Thumbs looped in the pockets of his loose linen slacks, the chiseled muscles of his chest strained against the fabric of his fitted T-shirt. “Or you’ll be useless during tomorrow’s mission.”

  After tapping in the code to end her session, and run report to her fitness log, Detroit limped off the machine. She snagged her vitamin-infused water from the top of the weight tower, and treated herself to a healthy swig. “If you came in here to push your yoga agenda, save it. Calm meditation isn’t my thing. I need the endorphin release of good, sweaty cardio.”

  “Biting my tongue on the very obvious dirty rebuttal I could make to that remark, I will take the high road, and ask a far less suggestive question.” Closing the distance between them, he hitched one brow in question. “What about torn ligaments? Are those your thing, too?”

  Water bottle still poised at her lips, Detroit took another swallow before answering. “Sometimes, it’s a necessary risk.”

  Houston grabbed a fluffy white towel from the neat stack on the shelf and tossed it to her. “And, did it work? Do you feel all better now about your little epiphany?”

  After padding down her chest, Detroit dropped her chin to swab off the back of her neck. “It wasn’t a big deal. This whole A-5 situation can just be … a lot. I had a moment where the walls were closing in. That’s all.”

  With the gentle insistence of his knuckle under her chin, Houston made Detroit meet his stare. “You were trembling and fighting back tears. That’s more than a panic attack.”

  “Actually,” Detroit corrected, shrugging away from his touch—as much as she treasured any fleeting moments of his skin on hers, in that instant it felt too intimate a contact, “that’s the very definition of a panic attack.”

  “Dee, you can talk to me. You don’t have to-”

  “There’s nothing to talk about!” Detroit snapped, wringing the towel between her hands. Whatever stress relief she’d achieved during her run was rapidly fading away. She could already feel ropes of tension tightening along her shoulders. Inhaling through her nose, and out through her mouth, she tried for a calmer tone. “At least not here.”

  Houston followed her glance to the camera dome mounted on the ceiling.

  Somehow, someway, someone was always watching.

  Wetting his lips, he took a step back. With a roll of his shoulders, he shrugged on the persona of the sexy hunk that made girls throughout the AT-1-NS swoon. “All the more reason for you to let me give you that yoga lesson.”

  Playing off his lead, in a little improv scene for those who filtered their candid moments for public viewing, Detroit jabbed her fist to one cocked hip. “Why do I feel like this is an attempt to get us pelvis to pelvis?”

  “Not at all.” He blinked her way in feigned innocence. “This is about me, a concerned team member, taking an interest in your health and well-being.” Houston punctuated the sentiment with a saucy wink, and his lips twisted into a leering smile.

  Mouth parting with a pop, Detroit set her water bottle down and turned to face him with lightning bolts of challenge flashing in her eyes. “Oh, yeah? And what techniques would you use to assist my … ahem, well-being?”

  Edging in close enough that nothing but a sizzling veil of electrified ene
rgy lingered between them, Houston’s voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “I’d start with a good quad stretch in downward facing dog. Then, I would grab your ankle and, nice and easy, guide you into a wide standing split. Taking you farther than you ever thought you could go. When you’re nice and limbered up, we’ll move together into camel pose. I’m thinking we go for the two-hump variety.” A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he peered up at her from under his lush forest of lashes. “If you’re up for it, there’s nothing I’d like more than a nice … deep … plow. That can be rough on the back, though. If it gets to be too much, I suggest going down on all fours for a little Dog Tilt. With that one, it’s really critical that you arch your back. It might be necessary for me to hold your hips, and ease you back into it …”

  “Are you about done?” Lips pinched tight, Detroit’s tone rang with a lilt of laughter she fought to squelch.

  Houston’s shoulders sank with relief. “Thank the Blue Moon you stopped me! I was trying to figure out a way to work in an Upright Seated Angle, but anything I said was going to come out sounding straight up pornographic. Not on purpose, it’s just a really dirty pose.”

  Adjusting the strap of her sports bra, a chuckle slipped from Detroit’s lips. “I can’t even be mad. The length of detail you went into was nothing short of impressive.”

  One arm crooked on the top of the weight stack, Houston bumped her shoulder with his. “Does that mean you want to let me play the part of your personal yoga master?”

  “How would that go again?” Detroit closed the gap of space between them, rising up on the balls of her feet. Her lips teased over his, breath warming his face, without the blissful relief of contact. “You wanted your body brushing mine? For me to envelope your rock hard … form, while your hands grip my hips and sweat slicks our melded skin?”

  Swallowing hard, Houston managed a gruff rasp. “That … would be a heck of a start.”

  “But, see,” pulling back with a regretful cluck of her tongue, Detroit sucked air through her teeth, “that reaction? That makes me the master. I guess that means I don’t need help after all.” Turning on her heel with a victorious grin, she strode toward the locker room. There may have been a little extra sass in her gait, especially since she knew he was watching her leave.

  Houston acknowledged her win with a slow clap. “Well played. You let me know if you change your mind. Or, if you need anything at all. Detroit?” Something in the way he uttered her name demanded her attention. Glancing back over her shoulder, she found his expression suddenly a somber one. A glimmer of the real Houston snuck through a crack in his staged façade. “If you need anything, I’m here.”

  “I will,” she muttered, with a slight dip of her chin. Tossing her towel over her shoulder, she walked on.

  “Anything at all!” he called, back in character. “Wash your back? Help you towel off? Have I found the line into creepy territory yet? How else will I know where it is, if you don’t tell me?”

  Biting her lower lip to fend off the hot blush filling her cheeks, Detroit rounded the corner into the marble tiled bathroom and smacked right into Juneau.

  Clad in a terry cloth robe with wet ringlets hanging down her back, Juneau’s freckled nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’ve been waiting to leave, but whatever was going on out there,” she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the gym, “was just gross. I wanted no part in that.”

  Detroit tossed her sweaty towel into the chute and grabbed a clean one from the built-in shelves. “It’s all part of the show, June-bug. You know that.”

  “Is that so?” Twisting her hair into a bun, she wrung out the excess water. “And yet, I never see you act like that with Auggie or Reno.”

  Detroit flung the clean towel over the top of the frosted glass door, leaned in to turn on the shower, and adjusted the temperature. “First of all, Reno is a kid. No offense.”

  “A little taken. He knows more about emergency medical situations than all of the rest of us combined.” Folding her arms over her chest, Juneau leaned against the gray marble vanity. Every fixture in the bathroom was top of the line, no expense was ever spared in the A-5 wing. “But, go on. I’m dying to hear the rest of this excuse.”

  Stepping into the shower, yet out of the range of the water, Detroit closed the door behind her and peeled off her damp workout clothes. “It’s not an excuse. The fans love the will they, or won’t they banter. So, we give it to them. Don’t read anything more into it.”

  “Orion’s Belt, if you believe that, you are the dumbest smart person I know.” Juneau groaned with an exasperated eyeroll. “Everyone can see the sparks between you two.”

  Detroit eased into the shower’s stream, tipping her face to its gentle spray. “If you believe that, you bought into the hype, too.”

  Purposely banging her elbow against the shower wall, the glass enclosure quaked under Juneau’s strike. “You aren’t that good of an actress. Believe me.”

  Turning her back to the water, Detroit dragged her fingers through her hair. “Is there a point in here somewhere you’re trying to get to?”

  As Juneau inspected her reflection in the mirror, she sucked in her cheeks and tilted her chin in one direction then the other. “My point is that it makes no sense to deny yourself what you truly want, when literally any day could be your last. You grew up watching previous A-5 missions, same as me. You watched them die. Some for a simple mistake. Some in a blaze of glory. In the end, gone is gone.”

  Hand under the dispenser, Detroit got a palm full of citrus smelling shampoo. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t deprive myself of anything.”

  “You deprive yourself of everything.”

  Biting back her building frustration, Detroit vigorously scrubbed her hair into a lather. “Let’s say you’re right. Do I need to remind you of what happened to Olympia? Almost an entire A-5 crew was wiped out because of her feelings for her teammate, Salem. Her emotions made her weak. I won’t do that. I can’t do that. I won’t lose any of you because of yearnings I may or may not have.”

  Damning personal space and boundaries, Juneau grabbed the top of the shower wall and pulled herself up on tiptoe to stare her team leader in the eye. “Whether you act on it or not, your heart wants what it wants. I didn’t need to marathon sappy old movies to figure that out. As gut-wrenching as you think it would be for you to give in to your emotions, the far more tragic ending would be to keep hiding behind a stupid act and never take a chance on what’s real and right in front of you.”

  Blinking Juneau’s way for a beat, Detroit mentally tried on the idea. It only took a second to find it caused a noose of fear to tighten around her heart. With a shudder, she shook off the notion and its effects. “The four of you are the only family I have ever known. You’ve made me who I am. I would deny myself every luxury in this galaxy to keep all of you safe.”

  Juneau’s face fell into a frown and she let go of the shower wall. “In that case, you truly are the best toy soldier the AT-1-NS has.”

  Leaving those words hanging in the thick, steamy air, Juneau padded from the room.

  Chapter 5

  Detroit knew something was off on the following morning’s mission when her pod lid slid open to silence. After double checking that her oxygen mask was in the proper place, she climbed out of the craft. An arid wasteland surrounded her. Foliage of any kind had dried to shriveled stalks of crumbling brown. No life could survive in such a barren prairie. That could mean only one thing.

  “Airborne contaminants,” she muttered to herself, checking the tank status on her cuff. In the current conditions, she had thirteen minutes of breathing time at one hundred percent function.

  Swallowing down a lump of unease, Detroit flipped on her heat sensory viewing. Two yellow shapes hovered in the distance, flickering in the territory of barely detectable distance.

  With the time crunch causing her pulse to pound in her temples, Detroit launched into a jog. Once she found the others, it would
be up to them to determine if the area was salvageable, and if air purification could be accomplished. Simulations like this one were tricky, yet they had beaten it a time or two before.

  “Orion’s Belt, Auggie, take the blasted thing!”

  At the sound of voices up ahead, Detroit threw herself into a sprint. It would use up more of her precious oxygen, but the longer they were exposed to the airborne toxins the most detrimental they became. Reaching the ledge of a red rock wall, she placed her palms on the rough stone and edged herself around its narrow ridge with cautious side steps. She was careful not to let herself get distracted by the sharp plummet into certain death that nipped at her heels.

  Maneuvering around the bend, she found Houston and Augusta dangling at the crag of a cliff. Sprawled flat on his back on the ground, one of Auggie’s arms hung limp over the edge. Gasping lips already cracked and oozing, his mask-free face was blistered and blotching from the air’s foul effects. Squatted beside him, Houston took a deep drag from his own mask and offered it to his suffering teammate.

  Dashing over, Detroit slapped it from his hand. It landed in the dirt beside Auggie, seeping precious oxygen into the greedy landscape.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, narrowed eyes stabbing daggers of accusation at Houston.

  Ignoring her outburst, Houston scooped his oxygen mask off the ground. He brushed it off, then gently eased it over Augusta’s bubbled flesh. Auggie filled his lungs to capacity with a grateful gulp, then another.

  Hands curling into fists at her sides, beads of anxious sweat streaked down Detroit’s spine. “This is not protocol. Your mask has now been contaminated, and the pollutant hasn’t even been identified! Is your plan to get you both killed?”