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

“If you are truly on my side in this...then tell me exactly what Willard wants to know.”

He nods. “Your get-out-of-jail-free card should be worth this much: Where is Tucker going? Do you know the exact location—longitude, latitude?”

“No.” I frown. It is the truth.

“Is he going to find Luther and the others? To tell them about their children?”

I hesitate. How long has it been? Weeks now, brought here for daily questioning and beatings, then released to the nursery to continue my work. Every day, I’ve denied knowledge about Tucker’s MIA status. But now?

Have they finally broken me? Or is it the fear that this time, they won’t allow me to return to the little ones unless I give them what they want?

“Yes,” I admit. Closing my eyes, I see with an evolving inner sight I can no more understand than explain, that Tucker has slowed to a walking pace. It may be the dead of night, but light shines from above. A full moon?

“Are you able to communicate with him?”

“No.” As much as I wish I could, it is impossible.

“But he took them due west, as far as you know.”

I nod. “Will that be enough to get me out of here?” I meet Jamison’s gaze as he mulls it over.

“Enough to keep Perch’s bloodthirsty paws off you, at any rate. I’ll go to Willard myself and tell him what you told me. Just sit tight for now. He may want to come up here and question you himself.”

Won’t that be a treat. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He offers a sad excuse for a smile and exits the room, sliding the door shut and locking it behind him. Not much of a deterrent to Perch if he’s determined to get in here, but it’s the thought that counts. Perhaps Jamison really has my best interest at heart. If not, I will know soon enough.

There are voices, faint murmurs as through the wall. But it can’t be coming from next door; these rooms are soundproof, intentionally so. Willard didn’t want the rest of Eden to hear the screams of the sand freaks as they were experimented on.

So it has to be—

I shut my eyes and focus on the link I share with the two unborn children Tucker carries. That is where the voices originated. It’s like listening to a conversation while being submerged in a pool of water—the artificial amniotic fluid in the incubation pods. I can’t hear exact words or phrases, only the tone of each voice, and I recognize Tucker’s. I sense strong emotions, but it is unclear whether they belong to the speakers or to the two little ones who are listening.

How is this possible? I am floating far beyond the realms of science now, for this ability—much like my recent adeptness at telepathy—defies every scientific principle I know.

Regardless, Tucker seems to have met someone capable of speech, wherever he is. That rules out the mutos, too deformed to do anything but gargle, grunt, and ooze that foul-smelling yellow fluid that coats every facial orifice. It has to be Luther or one of his people. Either that, or the UW troops have already landed, and Tucker has inadvertently reached some kind of military checkpoint. There is no way for me to know.

If only I could hear what the voices are saying. How can I tell the little ones to focus their abilities on understanding what’s said? I can receive information from them, but it is unclear whether I am able to send it. And even if I can, how would fetuses have any way of understanding adult speech?

The female spoke to me before.

Down in the nursery, in the incubation chamber, she and I shared an interchange of thoughts. Telepathy.

That’s it.

If I tell the little ones, mind-to-mind via this incomprehensible metaphysical link we share, not to focus on the words themselves but instead on the thoughts behind the words—

I blow out a short sigh and settle into the uncomfortable chair. I clear my mind, close my eyes, do what I can to ignore the aches and pains from my latest beating.

I won’t know whether this is possible until I try.

Jamison or Perch—or even Willard—will return at any moment. If I am going to make this attempt at communication, it has to be now, while I am still coherent enough to keep my thoughts clear.

I know your minds, little ones.

But is that truly the case? It was only the female before, daughter of Daiyna and Luther, with whom I shared the momentary link. Where are we going? the little one’s mind asked. Home, I projected the thought back to her. Am I perceiving Tucker’s journey through her mind alone? If so, I should focus on directing my thoughts to the female now.

We share this special link between us, and it does not matter how far away from me you have gone. I feel your presence as though you never left me.

I wait in the silence, not expecting anything in return but hoping for some kind of signal, some change in our telepathic link that will let me know the transmission has been received. Either the little one hears my thoughts, or I am talking to myself inside my own head.

Who is there with you? I ask.

I feel a sudden shiver, a tremble—not from cold or fear, but from newly awakened awareness, a soul stirring from a deep sleep.

Where are we? asks the mind of the little one, the female, curious but not afraid. Where are you?

I start forward, jerking against my restraints. The sensation is strong, an energy pressing into my own consciousness through this metaphysical conduit. Are you in danger? I want to ask. But what do these young ones know of danger? They have been sealed inside chambers from the moment of their conception and now are contained in those portable incubation pods strapped to Tucker; their environment would be no different. They know nothing of the outside world: its fears, pains, and horrors.

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