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

I can relate. "Eden?"

"This place." He gestures at the arched ceiling above us. "Willard's paradise beneath the earth, away from the spirits' influence."

Should I tell him I can't hear their voice anymore? Does it matter?

"Where were they keeping you?" I glance at his hands.

A somber look fills his eyes. "The recovery rooms, where we're headed. They held us there for days, ran tests on us...attempted to change us. Permanently."

I force myself to say it: "They took your gift."

He raises a hand and flexes his fingers. No miraculous talons extend outward. His eyes hold a deep sorrow.

"Luther..." Tears blur my vision.

He shakes his head. "Samson and Shechara had the worst of it." He pauses. His lips part to speak, but no words come.

We continue on in silence. Eventually, we reach another catwalk suspended above us with a ladder leading up to a row of identical steel doors. Luther starts up the ladder and I follow close behind, the throbbing pain in my abdomen keeping me from launching upward on my own.

Milton joins us as we climb off the last rung and onto the steel grate.

"Nobody." He emerges from a gliding blur of speed. "If they're hiding out, I can't find them. Maybe I spooked 'em."

"Let's hope they remain hidden until after we're well on our way." Luther steps toward the first door and knocks twice, then waits. He looks at me. "Brace yourself," he warns.

What's happened to my sister? What have these naturals done to Shechara? To Samson? If they're hurt in any way, I'll go back to that Captain Willard and rip out his throat. Why did we leave him and his men alive?

The door slides open. "Luther?" a quiet voice emerges from the darkness inside.

Shechara.

I rush forward crying her name and embrace her, folding her in my arms, pulling her close. She responds weakly, saying my name, but it sounds like a foreign word on her lips. I take her face in my hands.

Her eye sockets are empty.

I choke. "Shechara..."

"Daiyna—" She smiles suddenly. "You're here! You're alive!"

What have they done? My sister, my dear Shechara, blessed with far-sight, able to see what no one else can...

They will pay for this dearly. I'll kill every last one of them.

She touches my face. "They took my eyes, Daiyna. I don't know why they needed them. And they took..." Her fingers slide across my dress and find the stitches beneath the thin fabric. "You too?"

"Yes, my sister," I manage, fighting back tears. "Me too."

Luther touches us both on the shoulder. "Are you ready, Shechara?"

She nods bravely. "Yes, Luther." She slips her arm around mine. "I'll follow you."

I turn to Luther. He must see the questions in my eyes. The rage. But all he says is "This way." He leads us down the catwalk to the door at the end, the last room. Again, he knocks twice and waits.

This time, no one opens the door. Instead, Samson's voice thunders from the other side, reverberating the steel, "Enter!"

Luther glances at me, then slides the door open, stepping into the darkness beyond. Shechara and I follow, but Milton remains outside on the catwalk, keeping watch.

"Come one, come all!" Samson booms from the bed in the middle of the small room. On both sides are medical machines, blinking, bleeping. "Come and see the one, the only Samson—the human cyborg!"

He raises both arms over his head in a gesture of strength—but from the elbows onward, his arms are made of steel and hydraulics. Mechanical fingers curled into fists gleam in the fluorescent light above his bed. One of his legs is also robotic from the knee down, solid steel with bolted joints and exposed biofluid tubes. His other leg is missing, but a small-framed woman in a white lab jacket assists him, struggling to fit his second leg apparatus into place.

"You'll be a one-legged cyborg if you don't lend me a hand here," she says.

I stare, unable to comprehend what I'm seeing.

"This is Margo," Luther introduces her. "She's been a godsend."

Samson heaves one of his mechanical arms and awkwardly assists with the placement of his artificial leg. His fingers splay and curl, twitching as though he's not in complete control of them.

Rage boils to the surface within me.

"If you don't do something, I will," I grate out through clenched teeth.

Luther turns to meet my gaze. "I know what you're feeling, Daiyna. Believe me. We've all lost..." He rests his hand on my shoulder. "But we're not here to repay evil with evil. We need to leave as soon as we possibly can. That's our priority."

Samson grunts, scowling with determination as he swings his artificial legs over the side of the bed and positions himself with his arms. The one named Margo cautions us to stay back. Samson agrees with a short chuckle. Then he shoves himself forward onto his robotic legs and wobbles, waving his mechanical arms to steady himself. He grins at us briefly, then frowns at his legs, shifting one hip upward to take a full step forward and stomping down with a heavy metallic thud.

"All right!" he booms triumphantly.

"Shechara—" Margo approaches us. "I have something for you as well."

"Yes?" Shechara leans blindly toward the woman's voice.

Margo reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and removes two small metal spheres, holding them out in her palm.

"Artificial eyes." I fix her with a cool stare.

Margo returns my direct look. "Yes, Daiyna. Cybernetic." She's haggard, malnourished, unkempt. But there's sincerity in her eyes. "Would you please escort Shechara over here to take a seat? We'll get her seeing again. I know time is a factor."

I touch my sister's forehead with my own. "Do you want this?" I whisper.

She hesitates. Then she squeezes my arm. "I want to see. Will you stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Samson stomps around, rattling everything in the room and knocking over a few of the machines with his flailing arms. Luther suggests they go outside and ready a