Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Perch chuckles as his hands glide over the controls. The three dogs stir, jerking awkwardly, stepping away from the radio and reeling to face Tucker. Their bulging eyes focus on him as they stagger his way.

"Hey now..." Tucker backs up.

"There's only one way in and out. Stand still, and they won't notice you." Jamison releases the pad and faces Perch. "Right?"

He shrugs. "They're awful hungry."

"He's invisible," I retort. "They won't even know he's there."

"Might be able to sniff 'im out. Invisible or not, he smells like food to them."

"You just make sure they don't try anything."

We watch the screen from Tucker's point of view as the three mutos approach one step at a time, grunting and drooling. The stuff of nightmares, really—even more horrific in the night vision's negative light. Their glowing white eyes seem to stare straight at Tucker, even though they can't see him.

Or can they? Like Mathis, are they able to see what we can't? Regardless, I'm sure they reek in that confined space. All that foul mucus oozing out of them. Nasty. I almost feel sorry for Tucker.

They come upon him and brush past. One turns and snorts suddenly, fangs flashing hungrily—but Perch is right on it, sending a jolt of electricity through its collar. It falls backward, flailing, then scrambles away. The other two stagger on, oblivious.

Without a word, Tucker heaves a deep breath and turns toward the radio. The screen focuses on the blinking light—that incoming transmission.

"Well, what d'you know," he muses, cursing softly. "Looks like we've got something."

"We need you to bring it back to us," Jamison tells him, in case it isn't obvious.

"How about I see who's calling first?" Tucker reaches forward, his hand emerging from the bottom of the screen.

"No." Jamison glances back at me. "Just bring it back, Tucker. Be careful. We need it in one piece."

I nod. Only one person's going to answer that transmission. Me.

"Bring it back the way you came…and Perch won't have to hurt you again." Jamison swallows, staring at the screen.

Tucker's hand remains poised in mid-air. He sniffs. "Didn't hurt all that much."

He flips the switch on the receiver. Instantly the blinking light dims, and a deep voice speaks loud and clear in the Common language of the UW, but with a thick Eurasian accent:

"—physical mutations. Consider them hostile, armed and dangerous. Repeat: What remains of the North American Sectors is a forbidden zone. Off limits entirely. Do not venture within fifty nautical miles of the coastline. Proceed, and you will be fired upon. Search and rescue teams have not returned. It is believed they were infected and have suffered severe physical mutations. Consider them hostile, armed and dangerous. Repeat: What remains of the North American Sectors is a forbidden zone..."

"They're on a loop." Jamison frowns. "A recorded message?"

"Then nobody will hear 'im scream." Perch spins the dial under his left hand and the voice on the radio is drowned out by Tucker's sudden shriek. The image on the screen goes berserk. "Didn't hurt that much, huh?" Perch grins. "How about this?" He twists the dial 360 degrees, and our speakers crackle with a guttural roar.

"He's no good to us dead." Jamison scowls.

"Just showing 'im who's boss."

That would be me. I'm the boss. "Stop it."

Perch doesn't look back. He's enjoying this too much. The sadist.

"I said stop!" I clench my fists.

He shrugs with a curse and dials down the settings. The screams subside to groans, then weak whimpers, the kind no man would want anybody to hear. I lean forward and press the audio pad on the console.

"Tucker, you there?" I listen to him gulp and sniff. The image on the screen continues to quake. "Let me know you can hear me."

"Yeah," he manages in a hoarse whisper. "I'm still here."

Good. "Listen, Tucker. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But you're going to bring that radio back here, regardless. And you're going to do it now. No more fooling around. You hear me?"

Another sniff. "Yes sir."

"Good." I turn to Jamison as I release the pad. "Get him back here on the double. Undamaged."

"We'll contact you as soon as he returns, Captain. As soon as we've got the radio." Jamison salutes as I leave.

I shut the door behind me and stand there a moment, sucking down a deep breath. Too many thoughts crowd my mind. Chiefly: Where's this UW transmission coming from? How long has it been on the air? Is it even current? If so, that would mean the rebels weren't successful in demolishing the United World as we knew it. It would mean there's still a government out there, beyond our forbidden shores. A world without demon-dust, ash freaks, and mutos.

A world we could rejoin, eventually.

My pulse quickens at the thought of it. This is the best news we could have gotten. What a morale booster for the Eden Guard, to know exactly what we're fighting for now.

There's still a whole lot to be confirmed, and that'll have to wait until we've got the radio and can make contact with the outside world. But to think... The outside world. It's still there. The whole planet isn't an ash-covered wasteland!

Images fly through my mind of UW helicopters landing with rescue teams ready to take us away, the rotors stirring up demon-dust and infecting the crews as they land—

No. No, I can't. The glass if half-full here, half-full. Our salvation is near. I know it, I can feel it. It's no time for pessimism. We will be saved.

"A credit for your thoughts."

Margo smiles as she steps close for a brief embrace. She retreats a step and salutes. "Ready for my rounds, Captain." She's wearing her white medical coat, the one our dogs found for her. Makes her look so official.

"Right." I nod as if remembering something from a lifetime ago. "And I'm riding along."

"That you are, sir. As a man true to his word."

I've got