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

a big rig with loads of supplies piled outside its open cargo container. Wrecked, in flames. Judging from the twisted remains of the truck, a missile strike would be my best guess.

The locals are working with shovels, tossing sand onto the fire in an attempt to smother it. Looks like a solid community effort. Part of me likes the idea of taking a seat right here on this hillside, pulling out my flask and enjoying the show. But those flames look warm, and my teeth are chattering inside this stupid helmet. So I keep walking.

Until a couple well-meaning sentries block my path.

"Going someplace?" one of them asks, seeming to think she's real sneaky popping out from behind that boulder.

I don't tell her I saw her heat signature from fifty meters back. And I didn't even need to activate whatever tech is in this helmet. I'm just special that way. Gifted.

"Trade." I keep my rifle propped back against my shoulder.

"What you got?" The firelight casts her in a cocky silhouette, one hand on her hip where a sidearm's holstered. The other holds a sawed-off shotgun aimed at my chest.

"Eden special." Slowly, I set down my rifle and satchel. Then I take off the helmet and place it on top. "Protective suit. I'll take a 12-volt auto battery in trade, if you've got one. If not, whiskey and a bed for the night will suffice."

The other sentry lets out a low whistle at the sight of me. Not because he thinks I'm easy on the eyes. "It's her," he murmurs.

"You've got some cojones coming back here," says the she-sentry, drawing her sidearm and pointing the business end at me. Because two guns are better than one when you're dealing with a loose cannon. "Planning another drunken brawl?"

"Don't want any trouble this time. By the looks of things, you've got plenty already." I nod toward the fire.

"Interesting timing," says the he-sentry. "You showing up like this, just minutes after that missile hit."

"Nothing to do with me. My jeep died, twenty klicks south. Ran into some bounty hunters from Eden—"

"What's your head worth now, Daiyna?" she asks, taking a step toward me.

"Twenty hydropacks, I heard," he answers for me, closing in as well. "Almost worth it, don't you think?"

It wouldn't be much trouble to take them down. Her first, then him. Disarm them, shove their faces into the dust. They might get off a lucky shot or two, missing me entirely as I leap through the air, twisting to land between them, throwing my elbow into her face, my knee into his groin. But with my wounded shoulder, I'd be at a distinct disadvantage. And they'd have help in a matter of seconds. The missile strike has caused all the sentries to hold a tight perimeter. We're within spitting distance of the nearest Stack container.

"Daiyna?"

Time stops at the sound of that sweet, familiar voice. My sister's voice.

Shechara…

Like a scene from a dream, she jogs toward us from beyond the fire, her long hair around her shoulders swaying like thick curtains, half her face illuminated. If her mechatronic eyes could glisten with tears, they would be. She's smiling at me as she approaches.

And I'm staring at her with hot tears drizzling down my cheeks. It's been so long without her.

"She's with us," a thunderous voice booms as a large figure lumbers after Shechara. His metal arms and legs clank, reflecting the flames.

The sentries take a step back, lowering their weapons a few degrees. Shechara passes them as if they're not even there and pulls me into a tight embrace.

"Daiyna, it's really you!" She squeezes me, drops back half a step to cup my face in her hands and look into my eyes, then hugs me again and doesn't let go.

She's so warm, so real. I put my arms around her tentatively, afraid she might shatter or disappear, and I'll be left alone again. I can't believe this is happening. I've tried so hard to stay away from them, to keep out from underfoot. To avoid people. These people, in particular.

Because I love them too much to ever hurt them again.

"It's good to see you, Daiyna," Samson rumbles, and he sounds like he means it. "Been a long time."

"You vouch for her?" says the she-sentry, obviously disappointed.

He nods, keeping his gaze locked with mine over Shechara's head. His eyes shine, but he doesn't smile.

"She does anything to upset the balance, it'll be your head, cyborg." The sentries back off, glaring at me as they retreat.

Good riddance. Go find somebody else to annoy.

"Daiyna, where have you been?" Shechara half-whispers, her lips next to my ear.

"Around." I shrug and hold her close, stroking her hair. I've never seen it this long, so thick and healthy.

"I've missed you so much! We all have. It hasn't been the same, not since…" She trails off. "That doesn't matter. You're here now, and I'm never letting you go!" She laughs, squeezing me again.

"Might want to let her catch a breath, Small Fry," Samson suggests with the makings of a grin. He reaches out with his mechatronic hand like he wants to touch my arm, but he scratches at his nose instead and turns to look past the fire. "We should see about renting a room here."

"Not sure we'll be welcome now, Strongman." Shechara keeps her arms around me, her head resting on my shoulder like it doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Okay by me.

"So you don't live here." I can't stop stroking her hair, and I hope she doesn't ask to see mine. Keeping it short with a fairly sharp knife has made it look a little ragged around the edges.

"Nope," she says, "just passing through. We were hoping to trade, maybe spend the night in an actual bed…"

"Not lookin' promising," Samson observes as Stack's mayor heads our way, appearing more dour than usual and flanked by those same two self-important sentries.

I face Shechara, my eyebrows lifting as I nod toward the fire. "That was you?" Not like her to make