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

have to describe their flesh as charred, burned beyond repair due to extreme exposure to the sun. Or radiation, perhaps, from a nuclear blast. Impossible that they would still be alive, if that were the case.” Harris clears his throat. “Their eyes are lidless, but with a yellow, free-flowing mucous that appears to coat and protect them. No nose to speak of, but the nasal cavity is coated as well. Viscous, but fluid. And quite pungent.”

“You touch that stuff, I’ll blow your hand off.” It sounds like Morley has cocked back the hammer of a semiautomatic pistol.

So, he’s armed.

“Stand down, soldier.” I descend the bottom of the hillside and face the voices of the others, doing my best to exude the appearance of authority despite my inability to see any of them. “Give me that sidearm.” I stretch out my gloved hand, palm upward. “Have you already outfitted the other members of our team?”

Morley is slow to answer. “This piece is all we’ve got, Sergeant.”

How can that be? “Hand it over, weapons officer.”

“Weapon officer.” Granger chuckles. “You know, because there’s just the one.”

“All due respect, Sergeant. But is it true that your HUD is offline? You can’t see?” Sinclair says.

Morley uncocks the hammer. “Perhaps it should remain with me.”

“It should remain with someone who doesn’t threaten to shoot his crewmate.” I ignore Granger’s snickering. “So hand it over before I take it from you.”

“Look at these teeth!” Harris gasps.

Morley groans again. “Why does he insist on touching that thing?” His boots pound the dust toward me, and he places the sidearm squarely in my hand.

“What is it, Doc?” I shuffle toward Harris’s voice.

“They’re—why, they’re—”

“Fangs,” Sinclair says. Both of them sound like they’re kneeling by one of the corpses. “But they did not grow this way naturally.”

“What do you mean?” Granger says.

“They have been filed to points. Intentionally.”

“What the hell for?”

“What do you expect?” Morley keeps his distance. “They’re flesh-eaters. Plain as daylight. I don’t have to go poking and prodding the thing to see that.”

“Flesh?” Granger’s boots shuffle. “But animals haven’t been around since before D-Day.”

“No one said anything about animals,” Sinclair retorts. “By all indications, they are pack hunters. The sandstorm frightened them, but they will return.”

I nod. We’re the only game in town. “Collect whatever weapons they left. Granger, check out that jeep. See if you can get it running.” I step toward Morley. “The other jeeps took off toward the east, you said?”

“Yeah. Along the same heading we were given.”

I blow out a sigh. Our orders haven’t changed.

But if these fanged creatures are the survivors we were sent here to meet, then first contact has already occurred.

Part II

Turmoil

5 Cain18 months after All-Clear

A long time ago, in a world far different from this one, the ocean liner was queen of the seas. Magnificent, undoubtedly. But now, overturned and half-submerged in ashen sand, the rusted, charred hulk of this vessel isn’t much to look at from the outside. Just something belched onto shore by an ocean-faring world that no longer exists.

Inside, with the grand ballroom’s dance floor now serving as a ceiling for the arched, gold-plated floor, things are entirely different. If you were to stand on your head, you could almost imagine a big band on the stage and wealthy couples swinging to the music, hand in hand and hip to hip. But it seems almost sacrilegious to imagine such things now. This place is no longer meant for parties and frivolity. Here, the faithful gather to hear the words of Gaia through her son: Lord Cain, Chieftain of Chieftains.

This is Gaia’s Temple. These are her chosen people.

Tonight the floor gleams like streets of gold. Candelabras hold green glowsticks which add to the otherworldly aura. The believers have gathered, sitting cross-legged and silent along the sloping floor. Every tribe is represented here, every chieftain accounted for. I stand before them, sweeping them with my gaze. I do not bother to count. I know with a glance at each chieftain that all are present.

“My brothers and my sisters,” I begin, extending my strong hand out over the heads of those assembled. “War is upon us.”

There is no murmur from the gathering, no gasps of shock. For as long as they have lived here beneath the shelter of these derelict ocean-faring vessels, they have known it was only a matter of time before the UW ships patrolling our coast decided to do more than hold the blockade. Even those not blessed with far-sight have seen the Argonaus from shore; it is a familiar shape on the horizon. My water-breathers overheard the captain of this ship, a man named Mutegi, in radio communication with his superiors. There was no mistaking his orders. Since All-Clear, the UW has chosen to observe my people from a distance but not interfere. This will be the status quo no longer. The UW is sending soldiers to land, and it is only a matter of time before they arrive.

“The United World cowards have sent their first scouts inland, as we expected them to do,” my voice echoes as all listen attentively. “They came in a helicopter. Most of us are old enough to remember what such vehicles of the air looked like.”

Lemuel, standing near the back of the large room, frowns. Of course he is too young to remember. He was born months after his pregnant mother went underground, into one of those government-issued bunkers that protected us from the fallout.

“They came with their science and their weapons and their ignorance of Gaia’s ways. They came in pride and arrogance.” I pause, savoring the silence and the effect it has on the assembly. They hang on my words. “And mighty was their fall. Gaia used the goblyns to shoot them down from the sky!” I chuckle, baring my teeth, and everyone present echoes my laughter. “Gaia works in mysterious ways, and while we would sooner strike the head from a goblyn’s shoulders than look twice at one, we are grateful for this act.