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

last time I saw him. More grey, more wrinkles. The past months have been rough on him, by all appearances. But he still exudes an inner strength to match his stolid bearing.

“Speak up, man,” Samson mutters.

I clear my throat and sniff—a self-conscious tick I couldn’t quit if I tried. “Hey. Thanks for taking me in like this. I would’ve been a goner out there.”

“I’m glad Milton found you in time.” Luther glances over his shoulder toward Daiyna, who remains in the shadows. “You’ve made quite a long journey, and on foot no less.” He frowns slightly, focusing his gaze on the pillow where my head lies. Maybe he can see the depression in the fabric. “How did you know where to find us, Tucker?”

I nod to myself, remembering the dust devil that barreled toward me down the middle of that street, the voice of my mother’s as clear as if she was standing right behind me, whispering into my ear. Like having her dear, departed spirit talk to me from beyond the grave.

“Does Willard know where we are?” Luther persists.

“No.” I shake my head. “No idea. And Margo’s gonna keep it that way. I’m sure ol’ Perch will give her hell for it, but she’s gone through twelve rounds with him before. Besides, all she knows is that I went west. No exact coordinates or anything.” I release a weak chuckle. “Hell, I was surprised when I ran into your sentries out there. Thought I had a lot farther to go, truth be told.”

Luther’s frown deepens. “Yes. About them...” He pauses, and the silence is heavy. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what they did to you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we’re even now.” I peer into the shadows, hoping to catch a better glimpse of Daiyna. “I probably had it coming.”

A quiet curse erupts from the darkness behind Luther, but he continues, uninterrupted, “And those…canisters you were carrying—”

“Right.” I suddenly feel overwhelmed by how much I have to tell them.

“They’re ours.” Daiyna steps into the light, and she’s a vision of beauty. No longer the bald, stubble-headed woman she was before. Now thick, dark hair drapes her face like velvet curtains. Thanks to the healing salve on my invisible skin, she’s able to see me with her night-vision, and she stares me down. There’s a hard look in her eyes, daring me to contradict her. “Created in Eden. From what they took out of us.”

I sniff. Nod. “Yeah.”

Samson curses under his breath. Luther closes his eyes for a moment. The news doesn’t seem to come as a complete shock. More like an anticipated fear-become-reality.

“So what do you expect us to do with them?” Daiyna demands.

13 Margo18 months after All-Clear

I cower in my seat, curled into a fetal position, covering my head as an unrelenting barrage of bullets plows into the Hummer from all sides. The hostiles have the vehicle surrounded, and there seems to be no end to their ammunition. They’re not mutos, that much is clear. They move with the superhuman speed and agility of Luther’s friend Milton. Large men, well-built, their jaws set with a grim determination.

When it becomes clear their rounds won’t be able to puncture the vehicle’s exterior, one of the men shouts for his comrades to aim for the tires.

I curse, fists clenched as the vehicle rocks wildly, then hits the ground on its underbelly.

“What was that?” Jamison’s voice demands from my collar.

“They shot out the tires.” I’m stuck out here. “We’re not going anywhere.”

There won’t be a way to transport the UW personnel back to Eden now. Willard is going to have to wait for the next envoy. By the looks of this crew—two wounded severely and another low on oxygen—they don’t have long to live. Why haven’t these hostiles killed them already?

“Are you in immediate danger?” Jamison sounds concerned.

“Don’t even think of sending our last Hummer,” I warn.

“Hadn’t crossed our minds,” Perch sneers, commandeering the line. “I’m thinking we’ll use you as an old-fashioned suicide bomber. That collar you’re wearing packs a real wallop. Are those hostiles still within five meters of the vehicle?”

Jamison curses. “Margo, that’s not going to happen.”

I bite my lip. The cacophony outside is deafening, like fireworks going off at close range. They’re determined to break through the armored hull, no matter how long it takes.

“How many of them would you be able to immobilize?” I ask.

“Immobilize nothing. They’ll be blown to pieces.” Perch chuckles. “And so will you.”

“Stay the hell off my line,” Jamison says gruffly. “Margo, Perch has no control over your collar. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

I appreciate the sentiment, but Perch has Jamison beat by at least a hundred pounds of fat and muscle. If the beast so desires, he could easily overpower the well-meaning Jamison at any moment. He already has once before, sending a jolt of electricity through my system that felt strong enough to stop my heart.

“Sit tight, and we’ll try to get back in touch with Captain Mutegi. If he gets approval to send in a chopper, I’ll make sure you’re on it.”

These hostiles would blow a helicopter out of the sky. I part my lips to tell him as much when a sudden gust of gale-force wind kicks up outside, colliding with the Hummer and skidding it sideways across the hard-packed earth.

I risk a glance out the window and can only stare.

What appears to be a hurricane of dust and sand whips around the vehicle, keeping me in its calm center. Screaming, the hostiles are forcibly disarmed by the power of the wind and thrown to the ground. A few struggle to their feet only to be knocked down again, grimacing in the sandstorm and shouting at one another over the roar. I cannot make out their words, but it’s clear they are terrified.

Have they experienced this bizarre, unnatural phenomenon before?

One of their leaders, a man who carries blades strapped across his leather-clad chest, gives a signal, and the men vanish, running faster than humanly