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

“Go then!” I roar.

I watch the fool scurry off to obey. Then I close my eyes for a moment in the calm before the storm. I recall Gaia’s face, the moment when I knelt before her with my head bowed. She lifted my chin to meet her powerful gaze, too beautiful for mere words.

“May we honor you this day,” I whisper.

The sun will rise, and I will brave the scorched kilometers of open terrain with my warriors. The marauding goblyns will no doubt be surprised by the sight of the Shipyard’s inhabitants outside their walls. The slobbering wretches will move quickly to intercept. But Gaia will protect her people. I have no doubt.

May your will be done.

16 Milton18 Months After All-Clear

Maybe halting Margo dead in her tracks was a bit premature, but seeing all those hard-assed warrior-types heading straight for the Homeplace raised my hackles just a bit. It didn’t bode well, that’s for sure.

Shows how much I know.

Floating a hundred meters or so above them now, I nod and give Luther a double thumbs-up, whether or not he can see the gesture from the ground. You’ve got to hand it to the guy; there’s something almost supernatural about the way he plays peacemaker. It’s like a calling for him.

In the Homeplace, he’s kept the peace between the Eden-haters and the rest of the brood. But we’re all on the same side, more or less. These well-armed warriors from the coast? Another matter entirely. They serve their own fake god, for crying out loud, and they’re fiercely devoted to her. Yet somehow Luther managed to talk them down, and now they’re climbing the foothills toward the caves, invited inside by Luther himself.

Go figure.

Once the last of the warriors has entered the Homeplace, I plunge from the night sky like a falling meteorite or something less sparkly and land sure-footed on the hillside with just a couple extra steps to balance myself. I tug my goggles up onto my forehead and clear my throat quietly.

Samson whirls around to face me. “You’ll stop doing that one of these days,” he grumbles. “Sneaky devil.”

“Sorry.” I take my life in my hands every time I show up behind the big guy without any warning. One swing of his mighty steel arm and my head could go flying, leaving the rest of me behind. Risky, sure. But so much fun. “Everything okay here?”

Samson glances at the muscle-men invading the caves of the Homeplace, the sweat on their exposed skin glistening in the green light of glowsticks mounted along the earthen walls inside.

“What do you think?” His voice rumbles like a small earthquake in his broad chest. “We’re sleeping with the enemy. I hope Luther knows what he’s doing.”

So do I. “I should tell Margo to keep her distance, find some shelter until things settle down.”

Samson shakes his head, running a hand down his beard. Then he gives it a pensive tug. “Luther wants to speak with those UW folks before Cain arrives. He’s hoping to sway them over to our side, convince them Willard and the Edenites are not to be trusted. Those babies they’ve got won’t be safe until they’re here with us.”

“You think they’ll go for it—the UW crew, I mean?”

Samson narrows his gaze. “You’ve met them. How do they strike you?”

“They’re doing their best to keep it together, I think. They’ve seen things here they never could’ve imagined. Two of them are going to start noticing a change in themselves pretty soon. Their protective suits were compromised, cut open by that guy with the swords—the one doing all the talking earlier.”

“Which two?”

I shrug. “Not their leader—a sergeant in the United World Marines named Bishop. Good guy, I think. Level-headed. Unlike their doctor, who’s kind of an emotional wreck. Both of their suits seem to be functioning. It’s the two support personnel, a man and woman. Don’t know their names or anything.”

Samson nods, waiting for me to go on. Over the past few months, he’s gotten used to the weird way I dispense with information.

“Oh, and they picked up a kid along the way. His name’s Lemuel—from Cain’s bunch. Exiled, he said, sent out into the desert to die for his sins. Real Old Testament, y’know?” I chuckle lamely.

Samson frowns. “They have one of Cain’s people with them?”

“Margo was in communication with his girlfriend. Something like that. I didn’t get the whole story.”

“And you left them out there with this Lemuel?”

“Uh...” Suddenly it doesn’t seem like the best idea. “I had to make sure everything was okay here—”

“Mission accomplished, Flyboy. Now haul your ass back over there and make sure we haven’t invited wolves into our fold for no reason. If those UW people are already dead—”

“He’s just a kid, man. Scared crapless, by the looks of him.”

Samson raises one of his mechanical fingers skyward. “Get going. And pray to the Creator they’re all right, or you’ll have some explaining to do when you get back. You’ve never seen Luther angry, have you? No? Well, you’re in for a real treat.”

I back away. “Okay, okay. But you’re wrong about this kid. I can feel it.”

“I hope so—for the sake of his escorts.” Without another word, he turns away to stomp down the earthen corridor into the network of caves beyond.

Muttering inventive insults about the tin man under my breath, I take to the skies, feeling the ice-cold rush of air dig into my eyes before I remember to readjust the goggles. I aim my trajectory back toward the armored Hummer five kilometers west. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the sky on the eastern horizon begin to evolve from star-punctured black into a deep indigo above the mountain range in the distance. Dawn’s on the way.

And, with it, the regularly scheduled dangers of daily life on this continent. Sure, Margo’s vehicle stood up pretty well against automatic weapons fire, but a close-range blast from a daemon’s RPG is something else entirely. Detonated under the vehicle’s belly, it would bloom from the ground