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

“Thirty-four?” I nod, pursing my lips. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” I direct my gaze to Justus. “You see? Because of this young man, there are now thirty-four fewer of those flesh-eaters out there on the loose. I’d say he’s more than earned his place among us. Don’t you agree?”

Not one to question authority, the old-timer bows slightly. “Of course, Lord Cain. As you say. Always.”

“Regarding your question...” My eyes return to Lemuel. “These men, these desert nomads from the east, they are followers of a lesser god. They have no home, no land, nothing but what they carry with them. They have not carved out a place for themselves in this world, as we have here in the Shipyard.”

“They seek our assistance, then,” Lemuel says.

“Don’t interrupt!” Justus lets fly with another punch.

“You would think so,” I continue. “But that is not why they are here. They do not wish to join us.” I pause. “They want us to join them.”

Subdued laughter erupts among the chieftains, but it is quickly snuffed out by a stern glance from Lady Victoria. A reminder that the others are sleeping during the heat of the day, when the sun is at its strongest and most dangerous. It is time for rest in the shelter of this ship and the others like it, toppled along the seashore.

“But who are they? Where do they come from?” The eager, undying flame of curiosity burns in Lemuel’s eyes.

I look to my wife. “How many times have they taken advantage of our hospitality?”

“This is the third.”

“And always with the same song: Join us. Leave all that you have worked so hard for and follow. Like sheep.” I curse mildly, shaking my head at the audacity of it. “Fools. That’s what they are. It’s all you need know.”

I rise then, ducking my head to keep from hitting the whirling rotors of the fan above. I tower over everyone present. The top of Victoria’s blonde head reaches only my sternum.

“I won’t be long,” I tell the chieftains, who nod, mumbling that they will await my return. Of course they will. They have nowhere else to go.

Victoria leads me to the room’s iron exterior door and spins the hand wheel deftly, heaving it open. I squint in the glare of the sudden light outside and step over the lip of the doorframe, shielding my eyes with one hand.

“Where are they?” I reach for my goggles and dark cloak, dangling from one of many steel hooks beside the door. Similar garments left by the chieftains line the rusted wall.

“At the gate.”

“You didn’t let them in?” I glance at her as I pull on the cloak. It will shield me from the sun’s merciless rays, even at their strongest. I tuck in my braid of coarse, black hair before tugging the hood over my head.

“Not this time. It’s as you say. They have worn out their welcome.”

I smile. Sometimes the woman actually speaks sense. “Just the two of them then. Unarmed.”

“Yes. But the cyborg—”

“A weapon in and of himself. I know full well.” I strap on the goggles and adjust my hood. “How do I look?” I take a step backward, out of the shadows and into sunlight, my protected skin instantly warmed by the relentless heat. I flex my muscles for her, and they strain against my garments.

“Go on and strut, you big rooster.” She folds her arms across her belly, remaining in the shade of the ship’s hull.

I lick my lips. “Mmmm. Chicken.” My stomach growls at the memory of it. “Grilled. Fried. Or roasted?”

“Don’t torture me,” she pleads with a sudden wince and a hand to her stomach. “You have no idea what sorts of things I’ve been craving lately. But what do we have instead? Protein packs, vitaminerals, and let’s not forget the stuff that passes for water. So much to choose from!”

“I could roast you a goblyn.”

She almost vomits right there.

I chuckle. “Go back to bed. I will join you before sundown.”

With a tolerant flutter of her hand, she turns away, waddling along the side of the ship’s hull toward another door that opens into the women’s sleeping quarters. I watch her until she vanishes from sight, shutting the door behind her.

I hope for a son. I will name him Adam. Fitting for the firstborn of a new generation. Unless Gaia chooses another, of course.

“Lord Cain,” one of the guards greets me as I cross the meters of ashen sand between the overturned ships and the wall. “They’re back.”

With a grunt, I approach the rusted sheet metal driven deep into the ground, standing three meters high and topped with coils of barbed wire. I nod to the men at the gate.

“They’re nothing if not persistent.” I slow my pace, noting the rash of bullet holes piercing a large section of the east wall. “Those were to be plugged.”

“On it,” the guard says. He shoulders his rifle by its leather strap and beckons to a comrade farther down the wall.

I take a moment to survey the damage, cursing the goblyns and their bloodlust. While I am at it, I curse the nomads and their heretical beliefs. Under my breath, I also curse my men who neglected to do their assigned repairs. Dereliction of duty is not something I take lightly. It may as well have been outright insubordination. I will have to make an example of these two, scurrying about in their cloaks as they search for the bucket of tar necessary for the job.

Incompetent idiots.

I turn from the punctured metal and sweep my gaze along the shore, across the row of capsized ships rejected by the sea long ago, abandoned like a giant child’s playthings. I watch the breakers roll in, the murky water, the yellow foam. I stare out into the distance.

My eyes gradually adjust, focusing a kilometer out, then two, three. My jaw muscles tighten as my gaze locks onto the United World warship sitting there, patrolling this Forbidden Zone as