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

"I won't hurt you," he says, staring down at me. Straddling me now.

"Wish I could say the same." I bring up a knee, ramming it squarely into his left kidney. As he lurches upward in a combination of wide-eyed surprise and grimacing pain, I bring up my other knee just as hard, aimed strategically for his groin.

With a loud groan, he lets go of me and collapses onto his side, cradling his crotch with both hands.

"Stay the hell out of my head." I'm on my feet, backpedaling toward the kitchen and the one large knife I keep on hand for infrequent culinary adventures. The blade is dusty but sharp. I hold it out toward the bruised intruder and lean toward my console on the table. Swiping a hand across the screen to power it up, I glance at the keys as I type in the number for HQ.

"You won't get through," he says, curled up with his eyes closed. Yet he seems to know exactly what I'm doing. "In an emergency situation like this, every citizen in the dome will be calling law enforcement. Thinking they're helping. Claiming they've seen terrorists on the move in their buildings, on their streets."

"Are you one of them? A patriot?"

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter what I say. You'll think what you want. You've always been stubborn." Wincing, he sits up, leaning against the wall. He turns his head and looks at me. Oddly enough, there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "So you don't remember Tucker? That long trek through the desert?"

I scowl at that. There are no deserts, not in Eurasia.

"What about Margo?" he prods. "You two seemed to get along real well, from what I remember. Always talking to each other, back and forth. Telepathically."

I have the number dialed. I just have to connect. "You've got me confused with someone else."

He shakes his head slowly, eyes locked with mine. "I've done my research. Believe me, it's taken some effort. The way they've got us separated across the Domes in different social castes, working opposite shifts. Could they be more obvious?"

Could he be more obtuse? Unless… "You're talking about the Twenty."

"We've got that big banquet coming up. Like that's going to iron out years of their abusive power. Let's celebrate! What exactly? Oh, right. Years of filling sperm and egg banks. Making babies for upper-class citizens." His brow creases as he watches my expression. "Wait. You didn't know." He curses under his breath. "Sorry. I've been looking forward to talking to you, but everything's spilling out like sewage here." He mimes vomiting. As if I couldn't find him more unattractive.

"Let me get this straight." My hand hovers over the console keyboard. "You expect me to believe you're one of the Twenty. That you don't snort dust but have bizarre abilities anyway. And that you remember me from when we were kids."

"Before, actually. We first met while we were fetuses." He shrugs. "Weird, huh?"

"You think we're siblings."

"You ran the DNA search. You tell me."

I narrow my gaze, studying his facial features. No, his face didn't show up in the results.

"Right." He grins. "You and I have something in common: we each have nine siblings exactly the same age we are. What are the odds?"

Not good. Nothing about this makes any sense. Time to shift gears. "You say you've been looking for me. What was last night all about? Why not make your first impression on my doorstep?"

He raises an eyebrow. Going for dashing now. "I had my reasons. One being the opportunity to knock out your augments. They get in the way." He leans toward me and stage whispers, "Of your abilities."

I've had enough of this. I connect to HQ. A message flashes on the screen about expected response times taking longer than usual, and that my call will be answered in the order it was received. Fabulous.

"Okay, you think I'm nuts. How about this: read my mind. Gather all the intel you want. I give you permission to ransack the place." He taps his temple. "Go on. I dare you."

Compared to how I spent the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning and screaming to make the voices stop, I'm doing pretty well holding myself together. Somehow I managed to quiet the thoughts pouring in from my neighbors, and I'm not about to risk opening those floodgates by digging into this guy's mind. I don't care what he's got going on in there, whether I'll find out if he's actually a terrorist or a dust freak or if we were friends as kids. If he, of all people, was invited to the Revelation Banquet, then that's another reason for me not to go.

But who am I kidding? I've always dreamt of being more than a curfew enforcer. And if this newfound telepathic ability is my key to becoming an interrogator—

"I don't know how," I blurt out, surprised to be admitting such a thing to this stranger. I glance at the console and see the wait time now at twenty minutes. When I look back at him, he's smiling.

"I could teach you." Another casual shrug. "I've been augment-free for a while. Plenty of time to practice."

"They let you do that?"

"Who?"

"Your parents. Superiors." Whoever the government put in charge of him before he joined his terrorist cell.

"I wasn't fortunate enough to grow up in Dome 1."

Time for his sob story. I take a seat at my table, figuring I'd better settle in. "Let me guess: Dome 10?" Sewage treatment would suit him well.

He laughs. "Close. Dome 9."

"You were a farmer." Surprising.

"Until I earned enough to take the maglev to the big city. Made a handful of connections, met the right people. All very fortuitous. They seemed to think my face would be tolerable in VR and Linkstream ads."

"Oh, so you're a model." I feign a disgusting mix of astonishment and awe.

"I prefer actor. Pays the bills. Gives me time for my research." He winks at me.

"Stalking."

"You want in here or