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

"The Chancellor is missing."

I glance from one face shield to the other, seeing my own startled expression reflected back at me.

"So, you're rounding up the Twenty?" Erik stands behind me in the reflection, hands in his pockets. Nonchalant as ever.

I keep my back to him.

The clones' heads twitch a degree to the side as if they've both received the same information on their heads-up displays.

"Erik Paine," they say, "you will also come with us."

"No thanks." He reaches around me, like he's going to hug me from behind. But thankfully that's not what he's up to.

It's something worse.

He tosses two discs at the clones, each device only a few centimeters in diameter, and they affix to the white chest plates. Before either security clone can react, blue lightning radiates outward from each disc, and the clones shudder in place. Their power-suits act as a conduit for this massive shock to their systems, sending them toppling to the hallway floor where they continue to twitch with residual spasms well after the lightning show ends.

Erik presses past me to retrieve the clones' assault rifles. He tucks one under each arm and points the muzzles at the floor. Then he gives me a dashing smile.

"Want to get out of here, Enforcer Chen?"

Part II

Reunion

6 Bishop19 Months After All-Clear

Countless charred bodies cover the ground for a hundred meters in every direction. Black bones, black gaping skulls. Without any skin on them, it's difficult to tell Eden's collared mutants from Cain's superhumans. Fire raining from the sky will do that.

This is how the UW deals with problems: overkill in the extreme.

The carnage is motivation enough for Luther's people to hand over all twenty of their children. Milton had to fly out west to the caves to retrieve the two that were there; the rest came from Eden's sublevels. All carried by hand to the waiting UW troops, all accounted for.

The incubation units have been loaded onto the hoverplanes and strapped securely into place. We're ready to ship out.

"Sergeant." One of the marines aboard the lead plane beckons for me to join him inside. A short walk up the loading ramp, and I'll be parked alongside the unborn children I was sent to collect. Taken back to the Argonaus and Captain Mutegi.

Then home to my family. My wife, Emma. My children, Mara and Emmanuel. My heart swells at the thought of it.

Tears sting my eyes as I look back at Luther, Samson, and the others. They haven't moved from where they stood minutes ago, when they gave us their children. They watch us now, their black goggles fixed on our planes, their faces covered by strips of cloth. Are they broken inside? Is that why they don't move—because they can't?

I want to thank them for their sacrifice. By giving up these fetuses, they're giving the civilized world a future. They won't be forgotten. And who's to say they won't be able to have other children someday?

Not that anyone should do such a foolish thing on this quarantined continent.

"Sergeant Bishop!" the marine shouts. "Time to go!"

I give him a nod and fight my unwieldy hazard suit to raise a hand in farewell. Only one of the superhumans responds in like manner. I recognized his voice earlier when he spoke to the UW troops: the man named Luther.

More than anything else, he wanted these twenty unborn children to be safe. He didn't want the superhumans from the coast or that madman Willard to destroy them. I'm sure Luther wanted to keep them and raise them in his happy cave cult, but this is what I came here to do. Fulfill my mission objective and get the hell out. Make sure these babies grow up in Eurasia where they'll be safe from cannibal mutants, gene-altering dust, and deadly sunshine. In the Domes, they'll be able to live a normal life—and then some.

I haul myself up the ramp and take a seat in the cargo section. One of the marines straps me in, fastening the buckles over my chest plate and lap. I watch the lights on the incubation chambers blink with a steady rhythm, and I think of Granger, Sinclair, and Harris. It's wrong to be making this trip without them. They were supposed to be here beside me.

They will be soon. We're stopping to retrieve their remains outside of Luther's Homeplace. Then it'll be a direct flight to the Argonaus and her sister ships in the naval blockade. The Integrity will take her place while Captain Mutegi sets course for Eurasia with the incubators safe below decks.

"You're lookin' a little worse for wear, Sarge," says the marine, fastening his own buckles in the jump seat across from me.

The ramp rises automatically, shutting out any view of the scorched slaughter or the survivors who stand like a row of forgotten statues.

"Been a rough couple days." I reach to remove my helmet once the ramp locks into place with a loud reverberation along the interior hull. The hiss of fresh O2 fills the compartment.

"You'll want to keep that on," the marine says. He taps his gloved knuckles against his own helmet. "Until we pass through decon aboard the Argonaus, all protective gear remains in place."

Decon. "Right." I leave it alone.

"So what was it like out there?"

"Hell." I stare him down.

His smile disintegrates. He finds somewhere else to look.

I lean back and close my eyes. Time to compartmentalize. What's in the past stays in the past. No good dwelling on it. Learn from mistakes and move on. Focus on what's next: picking up my team. They'll be loaded into the hoverplane flying at the rear of this aerial procession. We'll provide air support, incinerators at the ready, in case any hungry mutants show up while our men are on the ground.

Then it's onward to the Argonaus. Standard decontamination procedures will be followed to the letter. Assuming we all check out, Mutegi will expect me to debrief him while the medical crew takes the