With their heavy footfalls echoing through the interior of the larger vessel, the A-5 let Tatum lead them farther into the bowels of the ship toward its medical bay. One floor up from sea level, hidden away in a narrow hall meant to deter wandering vacationers, they located a gurney to ease Reno down on. A bare bulb swung overhead, plugged into an extension cord duct taped to the ceiling. White cabinet doors hung slack on broken hinges, the shelves behind them tragically devoid of supplies.
“Who is this? What happened?” A black woman in a white lab coat layered over long johns and flannel darted to the side of her new patient, immediately checking his vitals.
“Believe it or not, Doc,” Tatum grabbed gauze and rubbing alcohol from one of the cabinets and passed it to the doctor, “this is a member of the Apocalypse Five. He got shot trying to save a baby from being offered up to the Fortress.”
Popping an old-school stethoscope into her ears, the doctor’s nimble fingers unzipped Reno’s flight suit and shoved the T-shirt underneath aside to press the cold steel to his chest. “Never had a celebrity on my table before,” she mused, brow furrowed at his weak heartbeat. “Does he know babies can’t survive longer than forty-eight hours on Earth?”
Setting her handful of supplies on the edge of the gurney, Tatum jerked her chin in the direction of Reno’s anxious crew hovering at the door. “The whole team seems convinced that it’s bullshit.”
Doc huffed a humorless snort of laughter. “I’ve been saying that all along. If the mother and father can both breathe the air, there is no medical explanation for their newborn suddenly being unable to. What kind of weapon was he shot with?”
Seeking comfort in the security of her warrior façade, Detroit muttered, “SIG P320C, clean shot. Exited the back of the muscle.”
Doc peeled open one of Reno’s eyelids then the other, shining a penlight in his eyes to evaluate pupil dilation. “I actually was just wondering if a spray of BBs or shrapnel were going to be an issue, but thanks for the battlefield breakdown.”
After sloshing alcohol over his wounds, she began stitching him up. Minutes ticked by like hours with the doctor in blood up to her elbows. A half an hour later, she emerged from the medical bay drying her freshly-washed hands on a towel. The other A-5ers were easy to find slouched outside of the door, waiting in silence.
“He’s going to okay,” Doc explained, tossing the towel on the counter “He’ll have a nasty scar, and there will be a risk of partial or full paralysis due to nerve damage. Even so, that sure as hell beats dead. Antibiotics are in short supply, but I have enough for him to take for two weeks. One a day. Do not let him skip. That wound gets septic and we will have no choice but to amputate.”
The four scrambled to their feet, each expelling a relieved breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding.
“I’ll make sure he takes them first thing every morning. Even if I have to hold him down and shove them down his throat.” Blinking back tears, Juneau extended one hand. Hesitating, she retracted her offered hand and opted instead to grab the doctor in a tight bear hug. “Thank you for saving him.”
The doctor gave the exuberant teen an awkward pat on the back. “I didn’t realize teammates got that … close.”
Pulling back, Juneau wiped away a tear that had snuck from her lashes. “He’s my twin brother. But I would feel the exact same way if it was any of them. They’re my people.”
Augusta pushed off the wall to wrap a supportive arm around Juneau’s shoulders, and get a little help supporting his own weight. “Is he awake? Can we see him?”
The doctor opened her mouth to say … something, only to snap it shut again. Head tilted, she dragged her stare over Auggie. “You’re exhibiting flu-like symptoms. Do you need an I.V. drip to get your electrolytes in balance?”
“No, I think I’m past the worst of it.” Feeling the knowing glances of his teammates burning into him, Auggie’s chin fell to his chest.
Doc crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Well, don’t feel you have to be brave. That’s one of the great things about being among the compassionate commoners—we actually care. Let me be among the first to welcome you to our way of thinking.”
Stabilized yet still asleep, Reno’s gurney was moved downstairs on an elevator now operated with a pulley system. The private room he was given was once part of the crew quarters and was just a short walk down the hall from the furnace room the Floaters used as their gathering space. Being the warmest level of the ship, it met their needs far better than the formerly posh suites above ever could. Not wanting to cause a panic among her people, Tatum had ushered Adalyn’s family to their own quarters for the night. There they could rest, eat, and regroup without being crushed under unwanted attention.
The cold metal of the ship combined with the sea breeze caused an icy ache to rattle through the A-5’s bones, making the humid warmth found in the belly of the ship a welcome relief. When they pushed open a swinging door, it opened into a cafeteria-sized great room filled with bodies, conversation, laughter, and food.
All of that came to an abrupt halt the instant they stepped inside.
Silence fell, judgment weighing heavy on the unwanted newcomers.
Pushing her way in front of the team, Tatum threw her arms out wide and addressed the room with a throaty boom. “Floaters, the Apocalypse Five walk among us! They are here, on a mission to aid us all, and seek refuge for the night. I have discussed the risks with them, reviewed the situation, and have offered them sanctuary. Any that act against them, act against my orders. A crime punishable by dismissal from our camp. This is my decree.”
Detroit braced herself for the ripple of excited titters she’d come to expect aboard the AT-1-NS. Instead, their presence was easily dismissed, and the buzz of conversation resumed.
“Huh. That was new,” Auggie marveled, seemingly following Detroit’s same train of thought.
“Look at the way they live.” Houston’s nostrils flared with outrage. “In their minds, we’ve already failed them a thousand times over.”
“Speaking of,” Detroit’s narrowed gaze tracked a lanky guy in flannel rising to his feet to the right of them, “I think we have an indignant patron headed this way.”
As he approached with a cocky swagger, the raven-haired guy combed his fingers through his hair, revealing a web of scars around his neck much like Tatum’s. Planting himself directly in front of them, he spoke only to Tatum. “Trouble will come looking for them. You’re okay with it tearing our home apart to get at them?”
Tatum folded her arms over her chest, peering daggers his way. “Our home? You’re only here because I allow it, Nicoli. Don’t make me regret that decision.” To the A-5ers she added, “The food is hot, and plentiful. Please, help yourselves.”
Grabbing overturned buckets for seats, each team member accepted a woven plate from a gray-haired woman with a kind smile and wind-burned cheeks.
Nicoli’s penetrating gaze never left them. He pulled up a bucket of his own, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. The sleeves of his shirt crept up enough to expose further scarring on his forearm. “So, which of you dumbasses blew up our primary trail off the beach?”
Hands balling into fists, Houston puffed with protective valor only to have Detroit pump the brakes by extending one arm to halt him.
Detroit pinched off a hunk of smoked tuna, popped it in her mouth, and talked around the bite. “That would be me.”
“Nicoli, in no way is that appropriate!” Tatum barked. Hovering behind them merely out of fear of what Nicoli would say or do, her face reddened with equal parts rage and embarrassment.
“It’s okay, really.” After setting her plate aside and wiping her hands off on the front of her pants, Detroit turned to face her accuser. An easy smile playing over her lips, she flipped her hair from her eyes. “After watching someone shoot a hole in my friend, I took the needed measures to get him to safety. Picked up a grenade launcher that is,” her gaze flicked down t
o his trousers for a fleeting glance, “undeniably bigger than any weapon you’ve ever handled, I initiated a strike that would make it impossible for them to follow us. That said, if they did, we would throw ourselves overboard in a second if it meant steering the fight away from all of you. Because, see, that’s our mission.”
“That’s your mission?” Unbridled hatred churned up storms of accusation in Nicoli’s eyes. “Well damn, it would have been swell if your mission called you here when a chemical infestation destroyed land crops and people starved. Or when random bombings claimed entire cities, sending the shrinking population scurrying into the woods in search of shelter. Hell, how about during any of the countless humanoid attacks? Any one of those situations, you could have made an appearance and put that fabled training to work to help us. But no. Those ‘everyday hurts’ weren’t big enough for you to descend from your palace in the clouds. Those were our fucking problems. Now you want to show up and play superhero? You go right ahead, princess. Just don’t expect me to salute. And know this, if any of my people are harmed because of you? You best watch your back for friendly fire.”
“Nicoli, that’s enough!” Tatum scolded. She turned to the team, her face full of bitter apology. “I’m sorry. He’s an ass.”
Slipping into a mask of neutrality, Detroit shook her head. “No, he’s right. We weren’t here for any of the hardships Earth as faced. He has every right to be pissed. I know I would be. That said, you should know it wasn’t our choice. We had no idea what was happening down here. They painted a picture of a world of rainbow and glitter that it was up to us to protect. It may not mean a damned thing to you, but you have my personal apology. I speak for my entire team when I say, if we knew the truth we would have been here.”
“Excuse me, Commodore?” an albino woman, with a stark-white rope braid hanging down her back, interrupted. “You’re needed in the armory. The final inventory of our current supply has been tallied.”
“I’ll be right there,” Tatum stated, hanging back long enough to level Nicoli with a glare. “You behave, or I’ll tie you to the hull and let seagulls feast on you.”
With a dismissive snort, he ignored her warning. The moment Tatum strode from the cavern, he swept over the famed team of warriors with a disparaging glance. “You say you would have been here, but what evidence do we have that you would ever want to leave that starship of yours? I stand by what I said. If—”
“Your people get hurt, I answer to you,” Detroit interrupted, picking her plate back up off the floor. “I got it, and respect that. If the roles were reversed I’d be saying the same thing. My team is the only family I have. At any moment, I’m prepared to die for any of them. By inviting us in, your camp has been added under my team umbrella, and I will fight for all of you with that same unrelenting passion.”
“As compelling as that visual is,” smoky blue eyes traveling the length of her, Nicoli’s full, pouty lips twisted into a smirk. While he had no intention of admitting it, he found himself warming to the brazen little badass. “We’ll see how much truth is actually behind it.”
“That’s enough of that.” The gray-haired woman swatted at Nicoli until he moved from his bucket seat. “These kids need to get their bellies full and can’t do that with you snipping at them. Now, I just pulled a fresh batch of fish out of the furnace, and I won’t see it go to waste. So, you get.”
“I know better than to argue with you,” Nicoli said with an audible smile, casting one last condemnatory glare over his shoulder before sauntering away. “I have no problem continuing this later.”
Tilting her chin, the gray-haired lady with leathery skin and a warm, contented face listened. Only then did the A-5ers notice her milky-white eyes and the cane protectively nestled at her hip. “Is he gone?” she asked, with a hint of mischief in her tone.
“He is,” Juneau giggled.
Big as it was, the furnace room was cramped with people and smelled of smoked meat and ash. Still, the feeling of home was undeniable. Some people lounged on blankets on the floor, others warmed mugs of tea by the fire. While this ship was a far cry from the luxurious accommodations aboard the AT-1-NS, it surpassed it in heart ten times over.
“Thank goodness!” the woman exclaimed. Swatting at the air, she shook with laughter as she leaned heavily on her cane. “Well, let me introduce myself. Everyone calls me at Aunt Kat. And, as far as I’m concerned, we’re all family here. Whatever you need, you just ask.”
Returning to her own deliciously rustic meal, Detroit slurped flakes of tender meat from her fingers. “Nice to meet you, Aunt Kat. Could I ask you a quick question?”
“Of course, dear,” Aunt Kat’s eyes crinkled into a warm grin as she wiped soot from her brow. “Keep in mind, though, that if you’re a blusher you might not want to ask me about my personal life. I’m prone to exaggerate with a fisherman’s flourish.”
“It’s nothing like that.” Auggie chuckled, hesitating when he realized he had no clue where his team leader was going with this. “I hope.”
Rolling her eyes at Auggie’s interjection, Detroit finished off the last of her fish and rubbed her hands together to clean them off. “It absolutely is not. Far cry from it, actually. On the space station I underwent special training in mechanics and engineering, thereby making it impossible for me not to notice that this is a modern, diesel-powered ship, but that is a wood burning stove piped out to the propellers.”
“That’s what was going through your head?” Juneau’s nose crinkled. “I suddenly understand you in a far more disappointing way.”
“You and me both,” Aunt Kat muttered, bumping Juneau’s ankle with her cane. “To answer your question, this ship once ran on diesel, but we have neither access to the necessary fuels nor a need to make this vessel travel the seas. What we needed was simply for the propellers to move. To accomplish that we rigged an old wood burner to produce steam to drive them.”
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Detroit’s stare wandered the route of the pipes overhead and the bare bulbs lighting the room. “Clever thinking. You’ve found a way to turn them into a hydraulic generator to run power to the ship.”
“People far more innovative than I are to thank for that.” Opening the creaking face of the wood burner, Aunt Kat fed it fuel in the form of a demolished headboard. “We are sparing with the electricity but have harnessed the systems to pump water through the pipes, provide workable lights, and make the salt water drinkable. That last one being the most important, as of late.”
Accepting a cup of the treasured resource from a bald man with a bushy red beard, Juneau cradled it in both hands and took a sip. “What happened to the water supply? Was there a drought?”
Lips pursed, Aunt Kat stoked the fire with a metal rod. The temperature of the room warmed with her efforts. “Child, I wish I knew all of the details. Out here on the water, we only caught bits and pieces after the tidal wave it caused threatened to capsize us. As I heard it, there was some sort of fire in the forest at the base of the dam.”
“The one the Air Walkers started to cut down trees.” Houston’s stare twined with Detroit’s. Her chin dipped in a brief nod of probable agreement.
“If that was their plan, they definitely didn’t factor in the chances of a monster attack.” The furnace door screeched shut, snuffing out the golden glow it cast through the room. “Those vile humanoids didn’t go for the easy kill. No, they opted for misery and the threat of a slow death. It seems while those hardworking folks toiled away, those beastly contraptions blew up the dam. One explosion washed away the Air Walkers’ efforts and knocked out the primary water supply for all of the area camps.”
Juneau froze with a bite of fish halfway to her mouth. “The humanoids did that? And people saw them?”
“That’s how the story goes.” Relying heavily on her cane, Aunt Kat pulled herself to her feet. “Saw them once myself. Few years back I was part of the Cave Dweller’s clan. One night, while we were out hunting for food, those things at
tacked. Hideous, deformed monstrosities, kept alive only by tubes of God-only-knows-what pumping through their extremities to animate them. I caught one of them trying to steal our Jeep—back when we could still make those buckets of rust move—and took it out with my bow just as my papa taught me.”
Houston’s hands fell to his lap as he stared at Aunt Kat without blinking. Even in the dim light, Detroit could see his complexion fade to a chalky white.
“With my people at my side, we drove them back.” Rolling her palm over the curve of her cane, tears welled in Aunt Kat’s milky eyes. “For a time, it actually seemed we might come out on top of that bloody battle. We managed to whittle their numbers down to one. Our mistake came when it tried to flee, and we gave chase. I’ve regretted that decision every day since. But we were furious over the loss of our fallen clansmen and sought retribution. Diving into some sort of gleaming white pod, that beast fired the launch jets. What happened after that has haunted me every day since.” The tears flowed freely now, falling from her round cheeks unchecked. “I watched as people I cared for burned alive. Those horrifying images of unimaginable pain and gruesome death were the last thing I saw before the scorch of the flames thrust me into a permanent world of darkness.”
Houston bolted to his feet, his bucket screeching over the metal floor. Flying back, it smacked into the wall behind him with a clang. As his chest rose and fell in labored pants, panic widened his eyes to frantic orbs.
“What’s the matter? What’s happening?” Features crumbled with concern, Aunt Kat’s hand batted at the air between them as she reached for him.
Houston flinched away from her touch, as if it scorched with the heat of his jets on that first fatal mission.
Apocalypse Five: Archive of the Fives Book One Page 11