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

The United World is finally breaking its silent standoff with the inhabitants of this quarantined continent. I don’t have to wonder why. I just finished burying the UW soldier that Cain staked into the earth.

Come and get us, the gruesome murder seemed to say. Is Cain out of his mind?

This way, the old fellow gestures, pressing himself flat against the wall in a spread-eagle position and urging me to do likewise beside him. I’m not sure what’s going on until an incredible wave of vertigo sweeps over me. The ship rolls sideways, nearly righting itself in the sand where it took root decades ago. Judging from the violent tremors coursing through the wall, the latest blast must have taken out a sizeable chunk of the hull on the ship’s west-facing side.

“How many of you are there?” I shout, hoping the older man’s ears aren’t shot to hell like mine.

My guide shakes his head as if to say there’s no time for idle chatter. Is he one of Cain’s minions left behind or some kind of squatter who moved in after Cain’s people vacated the place?

More than once amidst the barrage of explosions, I’ve felt the overwhelming urge to take to the skies. But the thought of being downed by a short-range missile has kept me grounded. I can imagine myself plummeting to the sand, rolling like a limp-winged bird shot in flight. But on the other hand, at least I wouldn’t be trapped like this, crushed inside a derelict vessel.

With a quick burst of speed, I overtake the old man and grip his arm firmly. “Where are we going?” I demand.

You’re him, aren’t you? say the chapped lips on the man’s wrinkled face. The flying man? Not a bird, not a plane— He breaks off into what appears to be maniacal laughter. As if there’s time for such lunacy.

“We’re not safe in here!” I shake him.

We have to hurry. He pulls at me. You’ve got to get them out!

“Them who? Who are you?”

I am Justus, one of the elder chieftains. The others—

So he is from Cain’s crew. But didn’t they all head east toward the Homeplace? Or did Cain leave the older generation behind to fend for themselves—after posting that soldier’s corpse outside? That was like pronouncing a death sentence on anyone who remained here.

Which includes me at the moment.

Please—you need to get them to safety! Stronger than his years, Justus grabs hold of my wrist and takes off at a dead run down the passage.

Another blast rocks the massive vessel. Suddenly it gives way on the seaward-facing side, leaning over at a forty-five-degree angle. Justus doesn’t slow down, adjusting his trajectory to make up for the wall becoming a portion of the floor. I shoot forward, my boots barely making contact. Sweeping Justus up into my arms like an ugly damsel in distress, I shout, “Point us in the right direction!”

Justus nods, jerking his thumb toward the very end of the passage. A split-second later, we arrive at a hatch on the east-facing side of the ship. I drop Justus to his feet, and the old man gestures with both hands, miming pushing the door outward. Working together, we struggle to open it, but gravity is not our ally. Shoving with all our combined might, we eventually get the hatch to budge. Sunlight bursts inside as it falls open the rest of the way with a resounding clank.

This way! Justus grabs a hooded cloak and goggles from a peg beside the door and tugs them on, ducking his head as he leaps outside.

I follow, squinting in the sunlight, and slide my goggles into place. Justus appears to be speaking as he forges across the ashen sand. This is a central courtyard of sorts, fenced in by rusted sheet metal with barbed wire along the top and rotten daemon heads mounted on spikes.

Not very aesthetically pleasing.

“I can’t hear you!” I yell, coming abreast of the old-timer so I can read his lips.

Justus grimaces. You don’t have to holler at me. I’m standing right here!

I glance ahead of us at the hulk of an old armored battleship, capsized next to a triple-deck, barnacle-encrusted fishing boat. The crustaceans have long-since dried out, now only brittle husks of their former selves.

“Who else is here?” I pull open the head covering around my left ear.

Instead of answering, Justus leads the way to the armored vessel. Another blast hits the ocean liner behind us, and it caves inward with reverberations I feel through the ground. My exposed ear can make out a muffled version of sheering, wailing vibrations as the enormous ship folds in on itself. Shrapnel launches skyward as Justus and I duck under the overturned deck of the abandoned battleship. Justus spins the hand wheel and heaves the hatch open, gesturing for me to follow him inside.

My muscles tighten, ready to burst into super-speed or flight at the first provocation. This quasi-deafness has left me at a severe disadvantage against every unknown waiting in the dark, but I forge ahead anyhow.

If Justus wanted to ambush me, he could have done so earlier. Why wait?

The darkness inside is impenetrable at first, the stagnant air stale and smelling like sweat. Blinking, I follow the old man’s shadowy form into what appears to be sleeping quarters on the ceiling of this overturned vessel. I accidentally bump my shin into a mattress and feel a body stir.

“Who’s in here?” I have no idea how loud my voice is.

The sudden flame of a butane lighter flares in Justus’s hand. The glow shines upward against the crags and whiskers of his wizened face. He moves his lips. You’ve got to get them out of here.

“Who—?”

The light flickers across a bunch of mattresses jammed tightly together, covering the entire ceiling/floor. Lying on a few of these makeshift beds are half a dozen very pregnant women. Exhausted-looking, undernourished, and obviously stressed out, they squint up at me and Justus with fear in their eyes. Dark shadows obscure the corners of