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

to get himself off this continent—and they’ll come back. I know they will.” I paused, staring at the empty space where Tucker stood. “As long as you get to them in time.”

“I’ll move as fast as these boots carry me. But remind me again: Why don’t I just borrow one of the Hummers?”

I shook my head. “You do that, and Perch will have the dogs hot on your trail. This way, you sneak out quietly, and nobody knows you’re missing until they find your shock collar without you attached. By the time they start hunting you down, you should have close to a day’s head start.” I paused. “Then I will tell Willard about the missing fetuses.”

“Shouldn’t you do that right off? Won’t they suspect you had something to do with it, otherwise?”

“Let me worry about that.” In the end, the timing was far from perfect, despite our best-laid plans. “You just get to where you need to be—as fast as you can.”

“All right.” Tucker’s last words as he left.

But his voice has returned since then in garbled, gentle tones as heard by the neonates in their amniotic chambers. Somehow, I share the makings of a telepathic link with these two little ones that does not diminish over space or time. It’s not something I am always conscious of, but I can tune in whenever I wish to check on their progress.

It has already been weeks, and they have yet to reach Luther and his people. Wild mutos along the way impeded Tucker’s progress, as did the dogs Willard sent after them once the two fetuses were discovered missing. Much sooner than I anticipated.

Now I sit bound to an unforgiving steel chair in one of the bare rooms that was used for interrogating and dismembering sand freaks last year. Yet it doesn’t seem like that much time has passed. This is the same room where I fitted Samson with his artificial arms and legs...after the gruesome amputations Perch performed during the interrogation process.

“Where’d he take ’em?” Perch demands for the umpteenth time, slugging me across the face with his brick of a fist.

My head whips to the side and I spit blood, see it splatter across the cold floor, feel it ooze thick and warm down my cheek. My daily beating. I’m almost numb to it by this point, but the blows still have a way of stinging, bringing me out of my thoughts.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and jerks my head back. Perspiration stands out on his upper lip and glistens across his flushed brow.

“You’ll tell me. Oh yeah, one of these days. Once I start taking pieces of you.” He chuckles. “Willard doesn’t want me to go that far, and I’m sure you don’t either. But we’re getting awful close to a turning point, darlin’. Real close.”

I close my eyes and focus on an image from my youth: a mighty torrent of rushing water cascading off the side of a cliff, down into a deep lagoon below. I project this scene into Perch’s subconscious mind.

He releases me abruptly.

“I-uh—” There’s a look of bewildered discomfort on his broad face. “I’ll be back. You sit tight and think about how you’re gonna start answering my questions.”

He leaves the room, sliding the door shut behind him with a bang. I hope he fails to reach the restroom in time.

Alone now, I reach out to the young ones with my thoughts, closing the gap of endless barren kilometers between us.

Where are you?

I sense they are out in the open and on the move. There is an urgency to Tucker’s movements, stronger than before. Is he drawing close to their destination? Or is he once again being pursued? Willard called off the dogs when a sandstorm cleared all traces of Tucker’s tracks. It would have to be the wild mutos now who caught Tucker’s scent and are tracking him through the day or night—I cannot determine which, trapped in this room. His plan was to travel only by cover of darkness, but perhaps the mutos are making that difficult for him. If it is daylight, and if his shadow is plain to see, they will close in on him easily. Gun him down and devour him, as well as the young ones he carries.

I have to banish the images from my mind. These are my own fears, nothing more. There is no reason to assume such things. Tucker’s pulse is elevated; I can sense the neonates take notice of this, but he might be picking up the pace for no other reason than to reach Luther’s people before another encounter with the wild mutos.

Be at peace, little ones, I project my thoughts. Soon you will be safe.

Then it will be time to rescue the remaining fetuses housed deep in Eden’s core. As long as Luther and the others are courageous enough to return for the sakes of these innocents—

The door slams open, and Perch enters with Jamison on his heels.

“No more games!” Perch slaps me hard, streaking the blood across my face. “Keep your damn mind tricks to yourself!”

I wince, feeling the inside of my swollen cheek with my tongue. “You didn’t have to go, after all?”

Jamison chuckles. “He ran over to the urinal like he was going to explode. Took him a while to realize it was all in his head.”

“Bitch!” Perch brings back his fist to strike me again, but Jamison steps in the way with a frown.

“Enough. We’ve tried it your way. Willard wants results.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Let me give it a shot. A little good cop routine might be all she needs.”

“You do realize I’m sitting right here,” I say, “hearing every word.”

Jamison shrugs. “We can’t keep our thoughts from you. So why bother?”

“She’s not talkin’. Maybe once she starts losin’ her fingers and toes, then she’ll have something to say.”

“Fine.” Jamison extends his arm toward the door. “Give me five minutes. If I can’t get her to tell me anything, then come back in