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

“Check him. We don’t want any surprises.” Hillside gestures at the third sentry, who seems to know better than to argue with him. A pecking order is obviously in effect.

I raise my arms. “I’m not your enemy. I’ve tried to make that clear.”

“I recommend you shut it for the time being,” the sentry mutters, slapping at the air around me until he makes contact.

“Hot damn!” Eight O’Clock hoots. “There he goes again!”

Just like before, the sentry vanishes as soon as he comes into contact with my jumpsuit-clad body.

“What’s it feel like to be the invisible man?” he hisses into my ear as he smacks my arms and torso in a rushed manner. “Hidden from the world?”

I shake my head. “I’m kind of used to it by this point. But you don’t have to be afraid, son. If it was catching, you’d have already gotten it by now. That’s how it works, seems to me. You take a big gulp of this air—”

“I’m not afraid,” he whispers. Then loud and clear: “Well, look here!” He tugs a 9mm semiautomatic from my belt and steps back, reappearing in an instant.

Eight O’Clock aims his rifle at me. “He’s been armed this whole time.”

“Just a precaution, boys,” I do my best to reassure them. “You can’t blame me. There’s plenty of mutos—daemons all around these parts.”

“That’s all you found?” Hillside’s tone sounds oddly flat.

The third sentry shrugs and nods, checking the clip. Then he flinches as Hillside pulls the trigger on his rifle. The shot explodes, hitting me in the chest and throwing me over backward like I’ve been kicked by a horse.

“What the hell?” shouts the third sentry, goggles splattered with my blood.

“Pick them up.” Hillside points at the incubation pods and shoulders his weapon, climbing up the hill toward his deserted post. “We’re going to the Homeplace.”

Without a word, Eight O’Clock follows orders, shouldering his weapon and stooping to retrieve the canister. The third sentry remains rooted, 9mm gripped in one hand, his spattered goggles darting from my shadow to Hillside’s retreating form.

“We’re just gonna leave him?”

“Get the other one,” Eight O’Clock grunts, hefting the male’s incubation pod to his chest, bearing the burden like an unwieldy sack of potatoes. Amniotic fluid sloshes around inside as he nearly loses his grip.

“We can’t do this!”

Mid-stride, Hillside says over his shoulder, “Look east. Then tell me what we can’t do.”

The third sentry turns to find a billowing dust cloud on the horizon. It can mean only one thing.

“They followed his tracks,” Eight O’Clock says hoarsely. “He’s led them straight to us!”

Halfway up the steep incline, Hillside says, “They’ll smell his blood before they smell us. He’ll buy us some time. But we need to pick up the pace, boys.”

Eight O’Clock doesn’t need to be told twice. Clutching the pod to his chest, he scales the shifting sand on the hillside at full tilt, his legs a blur of speed.

I watch him go and nod to myself. They are indeed gifted, just as I supposed.

“Damn bastard,” the third sentry mutters, giving my shadow another glance before stooping to retrieve the female’s canister.

I cough and clutch at the bleeding hole in the right side of my chest. At close range, the high-powered rifle should have killed me. But the round went straight through, only taking enough flesh and bone to leave a bloody mess.

“You’ll look out for them, won’t you? Both of them.” I grimace, falling back to the ground. The grey sky above is all I can see. “They’re in your charge now.” There’s so much more to be said, but I don’t have the strength. Tell Luther and Daiyna there’s plenty more just like ’em back in Eden. You need to get your people together, and you’ve got to go back for them. Because if you don’t, the UW will take them all. “Keep them safe,” is all I manage to say.

The sentry pauses. He weighs the 9mm in his hand and glances at my shadow. Then he tosses the weapon into the dust, hefts the incubation canister to his chest, and starts up the hillside after his companions, scaling the shifting sand with incredible speed and agility.

When the gun landed with a puff of dust at my side, for a split second I considered rolling over, grabbing the weapon, and squeezing off three headshots. That would serve the sentries right for leaving me as muto bait. But with my bleeding wound and all, my aim wouldn’t be the best, and I can’t risk a round accidentally hitting the little ones.

If Hillside was right and the approaching dust cloud signals the arrival of a roving muto pack, then the unborns better get out of here as fast as possible. They appear to be in capable hands.

Capable, but misled. Who gave them standing orders to fire on an unarmed man?

I curse and clench my teeth as a wave of dizziness sweeps over me. Maybe they’re right, leaving me to bleed out like this. It gives them the time they need to put as much distance as possible between them and the mutos. The freaks will sniff out my blood and see my shadow. Invisible or not, I’ll provide the meal they crave. How will they react to seeing their pals disappear once they start digging through my juicy insides? Should be entertaining.

But I have no intention of making things easy for them. I grab the gun and check the clip: eight rounds. Plus another two clips stashed in pockets the sentry failed to check. I need to climb to higher ground, up to that shale outpost. A good vantage point.

I curse my shadow. I curse my blood, staining the hard-packed earth, drooling out of me visibly as soon as it leaves my shoulder.

“Some guys never get a break,” I grunt, straining to rise. The sky goes black for a split-second, and I shake my head sharply. I can’t pass out, no matter how bad the pain gets.

No way am I getting