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

sensation of fangs and claws tearing, releasing spurts of blood and revealing the juicy organs underneath. More horrific than anything I could have ever dreamed up.

Then a blast of sand and dust washed over us, choking me mid-scream and alarming the mutos something fierce. The sounds they made with their blood-drooling mouths in no way resembled human speech, but I thought I recognized a tone of terrified familiarity with the sudden sandstorm. Or maybe I was hallucinating. Either way, once the dust began to swirl around me like a whirlwind, driving the mutos back, shrieking and fleeing to their jeeps, I coughed and allowed a smile to stretch across my face as I cracked an eye open to take a peek at the afterlife.

What I saw instead was the form of a man descending out of the dust cloud as if it had been his chariot or something equally biblical, a man covered from head to boots in the cotton sandcloth of a desert nomad. The black UW-issued goggles strapped over his eyes were directed straight at me as he walked on the air—or so it seemed.

That was one of the fuzzier details, I have to admit.

Grin intact, I started losing consciousness at that point, but not before an oddly familiar voice said “Gotcha” as strong arms encircled me.

But that couldn’t be right. For one thing, the voice that seemed so familiar at the time holds no meaning for me now, yet I really doubt that a complete stranger would have walked right up to my half-eaten invisible body and given it a great, big hug. Would’ve been a bloody mess.

Regardless, when I awoke who-knows-how-many hours later, I found myself in here, and I knew right away where I was. Not because I’d ever been here before, and nobody told me where here was—I’ve yet to see a living soul—but I used the process of elimination to figure it out.

There were three options I could think of, but only one made any sense.

First off, this might have been some kind of cave the mutos called home sweet home. But that couldn’t be. For one thing, Whirlwind Man wouldn’t have rescued me from the mutant freaks only to give me right back to them. And for another, those yellow bug-eyes of theirs can see perfectly well in the dark, so they wouldn’t have any use for these glowsticks posted along the walls.

The second possibility: this was a UW encampment. The UW team Willard was expecting could have met with some difficulty once they’d set foot on this continent, and they might have decided to hole-up in here while they waited for backup. But that didn’t make sense either, because Whirlwind Man wasn’t wearing a UW uniform.

So it had to be door number three. This was Luther’s Homeplace those sentries had mentioned before carrying off the two incubation pods. One of them must have let it slip that they’d left me to die—maybe the guy who dropped the 9mm—and Luther sent one of his best and brightest sand freaks to go after me and bring me back as fast as he could. Then they laid me out and lathered me up, and I’ve been lying here ever since, dozing on and off in this peaceful, cool, quiet cave.

A coffin of earth and rock from which I might rise from the dead, if I’m so lucky.

Am I sure this is Luther’s Homeplace? Of course not. But if I was a betting man, and if there was anything of value to wager—maybe a few hydropacks—I’d be willing to bet it’s Luther who took me in. His people always seemed like a good lot.

Except for those sentries. I’ll have to ask Luther about that bunch, when the time’s right.

Maybe it has something to do with Daiyna. She might have ordered them to shoot me on sight and leave me out there.

I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the memory of double-crossing her the way I did. In the city ruins above Eden, I promised I was leading her to her friends. But in point of fact, I was just trying to get on Willard’s good side, so he’d let poor ol’ Tucker back into Eden’s fold as a bona fide member of the team instead of a retriever—the only one of Willard’s men allowed topside.

Once upon a time, I took in a few lungfuls of air on the surface. I found myself locked out of the bunker due to some awful snafu and had to fend for myself. The best thing about being stranded in a trade sector: plenty of everything I’d ever need, right there for the taking. Buried under piles of rubble, but that was to be expected after an apocalypse of nuclear and biochemical proportions.

Thanks to the UW military mixing massive amounts of atomic energy with nerve-altering bioweapons, and thanks to the residue somehow surviving in the dust of the earth, I was changed into an invisible man. And when I finally found a way into Eden through the city’s abandoned sewer system, I soon realized that none of my old pals were able to see me.

So, of course, I had to have a little fun with them—after I got over the shock of the whole thing.

I became the Ghost of Eden, haunting Willard on a regular basis until my shenanigans were found out. That’s when they collared me with one of Perch’s latest inventions: a remote-controller wired for video transmission and able to give quite the shock-load whenever you disobeyed Perch’s orders.

Perch. Now there’s one gent who personifies the term bad apple. I’ve got no clue what happened in the man’s past to make him the way he is, but he’s rotten all the way to his core.

Like that sentry who shot me. Daiyna’s idea of vengeance? Is she in charge of the sentries? Did she warn them about an invisible man—one who can’t be trusted, no matter what?

I glance down at my slick skin, seeming to glow