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

"Who are you?" I demand.

He chuckles. "Believe it or not, we've already had this conversation. Two days ago." He waves a slight hand through the air. "Never mind. My name is Captain Arthur Willard, and you're currently in the tender loving care of the Eden Guard. We're doing our damnedest to make sure you're comfortable during your stay with us, and I hope we're succeeding." He winks.

I keep anything worth reading out of my expression. "You're the naturals."

His eyebrows lift. "Wow. No beating around the bush with you!" His gaze wanders down my dress again. "Well, if by that you mean we're all-natural children of God, then yes. We're guilty as charged."

"Where are my friends?" My abdomen cramps up. I bite my lip.

His grin fades. He raises his chin, sweeping the room with a steely gaze. Then he fixes me with a sidelong look. "I'm pretty sure one of them is in here."

How does he know? My guard falters.

Willard chuckles again and lifts a finger toward the ceiling. "Daiyna, Daiyna. We're always watching. We've got cameras in every room. Had 'em installed back when I suspected my old squeeze of being an ash freak. Boy, have they come in handy!" He leans toward me and rests his hand on my bare knee. "That one, she could move things with her mind and get inside your head. Telepathy, telekinesis. God-awful stuff." He squeezes my knee. I cringe inwardly. "But boy oh boy, was she good in the sack." He licks his lips. "Just like an animal."

I grab hold of his wrist and jerk his hand into the air between us. "Don't touch me."

I release him, and he leans back.

"All right then. We can either do this the easy way—" He winks at my figure with appreciation. Then he sighs reluctantly and draws his handgun, pointing it at my face. "—or the hard way."

A rush of air whips past, and Milton stands between me and Willard's gun. No, Milton now holds Willard's gun, aimed at the floor.

"Howdy."

Willard stares up at him, speechless.

"You're the guy in charge down here. Right?"

"Yes..." Willard finds his voice, his thin lips parted but no other words emerge.

"Thought I've seen you around, telling people what to do." There's an easy confidence about Milton. He doesn't seem afraid at all. "I've been waiting to get you alone. So I can tell you what to do."

Willard blinks, snatching the radio off his belt. He has it halfway to his mouth—but in a blur of speed, so fast he's almost invisible, Milton's other hand reaches out and tugs it away.

"Nope. You're on your own now, Captain."

Willard curses him, glancing at his gun and radio in Milton's hands. "They'll be here in no time. They're watching us as we speak! My men are well-trained, armed to the teeth—"

"And s-l-o-w. I'll knock them out before they even know what hit them. Probably with their own guns." It's a statement of fact, not arrogance.

"You won't make it out of here alive," Willard counters, licking his lips. "I don't care how fast you are. We'll loose the dogs on you."

"Now I know you're bluffing." Milton grins. "There aren't any dogs, not anymore." He points the gun between Willard's dumbfounded eyes and cocks the hammer with his thumb. The resounding clink holds the moment. "Now I'm going to give you back this radio, and you're going to call one of your men. That brown-noser who was here before. Jamison. Got it?"

Willard's eyes dart to the radio.

"Nothing funny, or I blow off one of your ears. Okay?"

Willard keeps his mouth shut as Milton hands him the radio. Then he mutters, "What do you expect me to say?"

Milton glances at me. His eyes hold a sadness I haven't seen in them before. "Tell him to bring Luther over here."

"Under what pretense?" Willard scoffs. "We keep them separated—"

"I don't care. Tell him it's mating season and you want to watch." Milton cringes at me apologetically. Then to Willard, "He won't question it, probably knows you're a little kinky."

Willard curses him, fuming, gripping the radio with white knuckles.

"Make the call." Milton presses the gun muzzle hard into Willard's left ear.

The radio clicks on with static.

"Jamison..." Willard clears his throat, seething.

"Sir?"

"Bring Luther over here."

A pregnant pause. "Sir?"

"You heard me. On the double." Willard leans sideways to wink at me. "Daiyna's feeling extra frisky today."

Milton snatches the radio and shuts it off, tossing it onto the couch.

"Now what?" Willard smirks. "Torture? Death?"

"Soon," Milton mutters.

"What did you do to me?" I rise, fists clenched.

"When?" He winks again, suggestively.

I punch him in the face, sending him over onto his side.

Willard grins with blood in his teeth. "You mutant freaks!" He laughs as he sits up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Where do you think you'll go? How will you survive? There's no place on this earth for the likes of you."

"Answer her." Milton's tone is cold.

Willard sniffs and feels his nose with bloodied fingers. "I think you broke it," he mutters. Then he fixes his eyes on me. "We harvested your eggs. You were quite the fertile specimen, and that's a fact. Took some doing, but we managed to get them all. And now we have what we need to start up Eden's first generation of test-tubers!"

The room spins as I drop back onto the couch. My hand slides toward the stitches under my dress. The cramping pain blossoms again. I grit my teeth to keep from making a sound.

"How about you, soldier?" Willard's eyes drift down Milton's filthy jumpsuit. "Got any seed in there to donate to the cause?"

"Not even if I could."

"Sterile too, huh? Yeah." Willard stares at nothing in particular. "Ain't it a bitch."

Their voices fade as reality hits me hard. I look down at the roses and lilacs, dizzying in their random pattern, swirling wildly without purpose. Like me. What they took... How is it possible?

A void has opened deep inside me, one that won't be filled again.

Rehana