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

“We could sell tickets.” Perch grinned. “I’m sure the boys would go for it. Haven’t seen us a good fight in—”

“We’ll be watching the whole time, Margo,” Jamison interrupted. “Through your camera. You won’t be alone out there.”

I nodded, understanding I had no choice in the matter—as long as I wanted to keep my head. “No special suit for me, then.”

“You’re already a sand freak.” Perch cursed. “What good would it do?”

Jamison ignored him. “A standard-issue jumpsuit is the best we can offer. The windows in your vehicle are tinted, so you won’t need to wear the face shield while you’re driving. But be sure to put it on if you step outside during daylight.”

“Don’t want the sun to mess up that gorgeous face of yours.” Perch guffawed.

The jumpsuit they had for me was not impermeable to the demon dust that Willard was so afraid of, a toxic, mutagen-carrying agent that turned anyone who breathed the stuff into a sand freak—his pet term for anyone with superhuman abilities. So far, none of the other men in Eden had displayed mutations like my telepathy or Tucker’s invisibility, and Willard planned to keep it that way. Jamison’s current project was to create environmental suits to safeguard against all external air and dust, with enough O2 to see the men of Eden out of their sealed, underground refuge and up to the surface. A chopper would then take them off this diseased continent and into the domed, sterile world of Eurasia on the Mediterranean Sea, the last bastion for all-natural humankind.

Willard’s dream come true.

“No suit for the muto, obviously.” Willard chuckled. “Even God himself wouldn’t be able to reverse what’s been done to that thing.”

Sitting now in the Hummer with the creature beside me, I glance at it intermittently to find the protruding eyes either staring straight ahead or focused on me, the drooling fangs gaping. Willard was probably right. There is no hope for these mutants. They carry no memory of being human. All they know are animal urges and the primal need to feed.

“You still there?” I dip my chin toward the mic on my collar.

“Another kilometer until your next relay point. We hear you fine.” Jamison sounds exhausted. He’s been in the Eden control center from the moment I drove out through the tunnel, and he’s been on watch ever since, unwilling to leave Perch in charge. For now, Jamison keeps tabs on me while Perch supervises the mutant riding shotgun. “Everything all right?”

I glance at the muto. “He’s looking…hungry.”

Jamison curses under his breath, followed by what sounds like a short scuffle on his side of things, and ending with a string of curses from Perch and a short burst of electricity shot through the mutant’s collar. It stiffens and jerks away from me, returning its bulbous-eyed gaze to the terrain before us.

“Jackass nodded off,” Jamison mutters, followed by another string of foul obscenities from Perch.

“You sound tired yourself,” I tell him. “You should get some rest.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one out there…with that muto. I’m not going anywhere until you meet up with the UW crew.”

“You’d better not be drinking anything.”

He chuckles softly. “Coffee, lots of it. But I’m wearing a jumpsuit like yours to avoid restroom breaks.” It was designed to recycle urine into the cooling element.

“The wonders of modern engineering.”

I reach the peak of the hill and nose the Hummer over to the other side, approaching a short plateau. A valley of ash meets my gaze, the same unaltered moonscape stretching on for endless kilometers in every direction.

“Still no sign of them.” I lean forward, scanning from left to right.

“You won’t reach their position until after dark, I’m afraid. You’ve got another hundred kilometers to go.”

I glance into the rearview mirror at the pile of relay rods in the back of the vehicle. Less than fifty remain. “I’ll stop here and plant another relay. This is the highest geographical feature in my line of sight. Might provide better reception from here on out.”

“Don’t want to lose your head, after all,” Perch cuts in, commandeering Jamison’s microphone.

“Good idea,” Jamison says after another scuffle between them. “How many rods do you have left—exactly?”

“I’ll take a look.” I ease the vehicle forward another meter and set the parking brake. “Stay,” I tell the mutant. This time, it doesn’t turn at the sound of my voice. I shove open my door and step out, stretching my arms and back in the waning light of day as my boots crunch across the gravel.

“You should have thirty, at least,” Jamison reminds me.

I reach for the rear hatch and tug it open, surveying the pile. “We’re good.”

Gunshots echo from the valley below. I reel at the sound, my heart pounding.

“What was that?” Jamison demands, alarmed.

“Shots fired.” I slam the rear door and dash back to my seat. “Is this thing bulletproof?”

“Everything but the tires.”

“Good to know.” I pull my door shut and stare out through the tinted windshield at the valley floor. Two solar-powered jeeps, each carrying a full complement of gun-toting mutants, kick up plumes of dust in their wake. “You’re seeing this?”

“Yeah.” Silence.

“Would’ve been nice of you to send some weapons along.”

“That damn muto is your weapon,” Perch says, back on the line.

“Those things get close, you open its door, and we’ll take care of matters from this end,” Jamison says.

“A remote-controlled killing machine?”

“Something like that.” Jamison sounds wearier than ever.

“They’ve spotted me.” Dread sinks down into my stomach. My hands grip the steering wheel. “I could try to outrun them. Their solar batteries won’t last long into the night.”

“Lead them straight to the UW team, you mean? I don’t think so.” Perch curses. “Besides, we didn’t pack enough fuel for you to go burning it up in some high-speed chase.”

Jamison takes the comm. “That’s a last resort, Margo. First we’ll see how much damage the dog can do.”

“He’s outnumbered—eight to one.” I watch as the jeeps