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

“Well now, get a load of this.” The man chuckles, his voice making him Perch. He wears a firearm holstered at his hip, and he carries a handheld electronic device of some sort. “No chance the demon dust will get you inside that thing!”

“It’s done its job so far.”

“So have you.” Perch leans back on his heels, sizing me up. “Man alive. It’s been a while since I’ve laid eyes on your kind. A true blue United World marine. Semper Fidelis or something, right?”

There’s no insignia of any kind on Perch’s uniform. Is it nothing more than a costume? “How close are we to Eden?”

Perch squints. “You in some kind of hurry, marine? Cuz if so, I would’ve thought you’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner.”

“I’d like to see Arthur Willard as soon as possible.”

For a moment Perch looks like he’ll either cuss me out or beat me senseless. Then he seems to make up his mind, and he does neither. “Hop in. You won’t need that suit once we’re inside, but for now you’ll want your own air supply.”

He climbs into the passenger seat and hits the manual release for the rear door. It floats upward to receive me.

The backseat’s empty. My only traveling companions are the silent driver and Perch, who doesn’t seem able to stay quiet for very long.

“So you lost your whole team, huh? You must be some kind of leader, marine.” He guffaws as his own door drifts back into place and locks itself with a quiet whir. “But seriously, you’ve got to tell me what happened with Margo. When we lost contact, we thought for sure you’d all been killed.”

I grunt as I heave myself into the seat. “She’s fine. We were attacked—”

“Wild mutos, yeah. We’re doing what we can to round them up. Got most of ‘em collared.” He raises the remote. “Our own special army of freaks. But plenty are still out there, roaming around. Hope to God they can’t breed.”

The rear door closes automatically, and the driver takes us in a crisp three-point turn, heading back the way he came. Down two more sublevels until we reach the mouth of a tunnel that opens into the lowest level, just wide enough to squeeze the vehicle through. No option of opening any doors until we reach the other end.

“Groundwater channel.” Perch points at the concrete washed white by the headlights. Only darkness beyond their range, no end in sight. “We pumped it dry and directed it elsewhere. This is our main route to the surface—not that we ever go all the way up. On occasion, we meet a straggler or two who’ve managed to hoof it down into the lower levels. Always spot ‘em as soon as they arrive. We’ve got thermographic imaging monitoring the structure twenty-four seven.”

“Stragglers?” I remember Luther’s story of being caught by these people.

“Wild mutos, mostly, looking for fresh meat. It’s uncanny how well they can smell. But we sic the dogs on ‘em and get ‘em collared, and they’re no trouble at all after that.” He clears his throat. “So where’s Margo? And where the hell is that Hummer we sent with her?”

“I’ll share everything I know, but I’d like to wait until I meet with Mr. Willard.”

“Captain Willard.” Perch twists in his seat to face me. “And you’ll answer my questions, or maybe I’ll just crack open that helmet of yours and leave you topside! How’s that sound?” He grins.

The man is obviously unstable.

“I’d rather not repeat myself.”

“Fair enough.” Perch faces forward. “But keep in mind the fact that you’re our guest, marine. And truth be told, your mission ended the moment we lost contact with Margo. You’re—what’s the word for it?” He snaps his gloved fingers. “Superfluous!” He nods. “Yeah. At this juncture, you would definitely be superfluous.”

I don’t have anything to prove to this lunatic. When I meet Willard, I’ll let the man in charge know what’s headed his way, and we’ll go from there. Regardless of whatever deal Willard is attempting to make with Chancellor Hawthorne, the UW still needs me here to act as liaison. Matters must be handled quickly and efficiently.

An intercom crackles on the dashboard. The driver taps a screen mounted on the console and says, “We have the sergeant in custody, Captain.”

Custody? I keep an eye on Perch’s holster.

“Bring him to my quarters,” replies a low nasal voice before the intercom cuts out.

“Welcomed in style!” Perch bellows, stretching his arms. “I think you’ll be impressed by our lifestyle here in Eden, marine. Captain Willard is quite the host. I’m sure you haven’t eaten so good since you left Eurasia.”

My stomach cramps as if on cue. Other than the protein pack Luther gave me, I haven’t eaten since disembarking from the Argonaus. “That was Captain Willard on the line?”

“Sure was.” Perch drums his thick fingers across the dashboard. “I wonder if he’s heard back from the Chancellor yet. That sure might change things around here!” He laughs out loud and punches the driver’s right arm. The fellow cringes, seeming to know better than to make a sound. “Holy hell, we’ve got the UW over a barrel, and that’s no lie!”

The driver nods, keeping his eyes on the tunnel. Up ahead, the headlights reflect against what appears to be a massive hatch built into the surrounding concrete at the tunnel’s end. The Hummer slows to a halt as the driver reaches toward the console.

The hatch shudders and swings slowly open. The driver didn’t touch the console. His hand hovers over it, not seeming to know what to do with itself.

Perch goes for his sidearm.

“Proceed with caution,” he murmurs, staring straight ahead. “Something ain’t right.”

The mood inside the vehicle has shifted. No one speaks as the driver eases us out of the tunnel and into a vast subterranean dome a hundred meters in circumference, as bright as day thanks to lights mounted along the concrete ceiling. I take a quick survey of