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

on each of the bunkers and aid the survivors in their reentry and rebuilding. Salvage as much as they could.” He pauses. “Twenty years after the bombs dropped, we assumed there would be nothing left on the surface.”

We did a real number on them. I was only a kid at the time, but I remember well enough. How could anybody forget such a war? The Sector Patriots, or whatever they called themselves. Terrorists. Cowards. The biological weapons they released resulted in global catastrophe. For the planet and its people.

I blink, fighting to return to the moment—even as my thoughts drift back to my kids. Mara and Emmanuel, two of the last children born in Eurasia.

“I’m sure we’ll never forget their final radio contact.” The scientist nods with reverence.

It was all over the Link at the time: a squad leader screaming his guts out, sounding like he was being flayed alive. Choppers were sent en masse, but they couldn’t get close. The dust storms were too massive, on a scale of the Saharan variety. They wouldn’t quit—not until the choppers backed off. Uncanny, to say the least. Remote drones flew in next, and the footage they captured was even more horrific, also broadcast throughout the Eurasian domes.

“May we dispense with the nostalgia? I believe our memories remain completely intact,” Sinclair says. “The issue is our current mission. We’ll be landing in a matter of minutes. I, for one, would appreciate knowing what our orders are.”

“Right on,” Morley mutters.

The scientist clears his throat. “Very well. I guess it’s all a matter of record—”

“And rehashing it doesn’t do a whole lot for the ol’ morale,” Granger adds. “Every tour of duty’s a one-way trip, like as not, but how about we accentuate the positive here? Last thing I want to be thinkin’ about is all those boys and girls getting their skin ripped off by some freaky sandstorms.” He shivers in his suit.

The scientist smiles, and it looks almost genuine. “Lucky for you, I do have some good news.” He claps his gloved hands and rubs them together, glancing at each of us and seeming to expect an eager reaction. So we stare back at him until his grin falters. “Now, this is top-secret information here—”

“You don’t have to tell us twice.” Nobody on board is a security threat. The UW has made sure we won’t be, has taken certain precautions. Mara and Emmanuel.

I dry-swallow and focus my attention on the rivets along the steel floor.

“Let’s hope not.” The scientist forges ahead. “A few months ago, we established contact with a group of survivors within the Forbidden Zone. Sector 31, to be exact—a trade sector, back before the war.” He watches us, pleased now to have our undivided attention. “They have managed to keep themselves free from contamination by remaining beneath the surface since All-Clear. We have learned much about their current situation over the past months, and we believe the time has finally arrived for us to make contact. In the flesh.” He leans forward. “That, my friends, is why you are here. You are the first UW team to meet the only survivors from the North American Sectors!”

Morley and Harris cast glances at me. I do my best to maintain a stoic expression—as much like Sinclair’s as I can muster.

Granger clears his throat. “Am I the only one who thinks that’s a load of bullcrap? Only half the story, if that?” He chuckles awkwardly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure we’re honored and all, but take a look at us. An engineer, a science officer, a weapons tech, a doctor, and—” He gestures at me. “Fearless Leader here. We’re not exactly poster-ready ambassadors.”

“Granted.” The scientist nods. He doesn’t smile, which is nice for a change. “But that’s all I’m authorized to tell you right now. The particulars of your mission will appear on your heads-up displays once you’ve reached the drop site.”

Morley forces an arm upward and raps on his helmet. “These things are equipped with HUD’s?”

“State of the art, with night vision and thermographic scanning capabilities. No matter where you are, you’ll be able to see where you’re going.” He glances outside. “Go ahead and try them out, if you can maneuver yourselves adequately. Practice using them long-range.”

I’m the only one facing the open side of the chopper. I squint my eyes, straining to see beyond the whitecaps of the ocean below. The shore will soon be in sight, but it’s still too far to make out any particulars.

“Voice commands,” the scientist says. “What optical device do you normally use for long distances?”

“Binocs,” I mutter.

Instantly, the HUD blinks on my transparent face shield, and my field of vision zooms toward the coast. My head lolls backward involuntarily at the sudden change in perspective.

“Cool, huh?” The scientist giggles, returning to obnoxious mode.

I mumble something in the affirmative. Very cool. I can see it all: the beach grey with ash, polluted by all manner of debris. The foul breakers rolling in with foam an unmistakable toxic yellow tint. Overturned ships lying scattered all along the shore like the massive bones of a disturbed nautical graveyard. No signs of life anywhere.

“How do you shut it off?”

“Just say the word.”

“Off.” The HUD vanishes. I return my gaze to the pronounced rivets along the floor.

“Does this thing have x-ray vision?” Granger faces Sinclair.

“What would be the point?” she counters. Then she notices his gaze, level with her chest. “Grow up.”

“Afraid not,” the scientist says. “No x-ray. But it’ll see you through.” He’s the only one to find that pun humorous. “Keep an eye on the temperature gauge—it’ll be on the bottom left of your HUD. Those suits can get up to thirty degrees warmer than the ambient temperature. Not a problem at night, but right now—during the heat of the day? It’ll get pretty toasty in there. So when you see the gauge dip into the red zone, just give the voice command: cool down. The suit will take care of the rest.”

Granger