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

such a big splash. But if she's been hanging around Samson, his ways might be rubbing off on her. They make an odd couple, that's for sure.

"There were two trackers," she explains. "A sentry found one and waved us through. By the time they located the second one…" She shakes her head at the destruction.

"So you hijacked a raider rig?" I can't help smiling.

She nods. Samson clears his throat.

"First time," she says.

"Probably our last," he adds.

Now that I look closer, I see that more than just the tractor-trailer was obliterated, the remains sinking into a fresh crater. There was also a crane attached to the cargo container, and it's ruined. As is a jeep parked behind the trailer. Judging from the stern look on Mayor Tullson's face, he plans on making somebody pay for the damages.

"I see you're acquainted." Tullson stuffs his age-spotted hands into the pockets of his overcoat and scowls at the three of us. He looks the same as he did the last time I passed through Stack: long greasy hair combed back, hawk nose, eyes that squint day or night, clean-shaven pale skin. Heard once that he was a university professor back before the end of things. I pity his students. "Hard to believe you've caused more of a ruckus than she did the last time she graced us with her presence." He jerks his head toward me. "Do you have more drunk and disorderly conduct in store for us?"

I lean forward and mime being hard of hearing. He's about to repeat himself when Samson steps in.

"Honest mistake," he offers, his voice like low thunder. "Ask Barrett. He'll tell you."

"I've spoken with him. Scanner malfunction." Tullson nods slowly. "Be that as it may. We've done well to keep Stack off the UW's radar over the years. We don't interfere with their scavenging runs, and they don't bother us. But now that's changed. They have never fired on us before—"

"Why destroy it?" All eyes turn on me. I must have blurted that out loud. "I assume the truck was carrying plenty of provisions. Fuel, foodstuffs, supplies. The sort of haul those raiders really go for."

"That's what it looked like." Samson nods.

"Why blow it up? Why not send a couple squads to retrieve it?"

Tullson humors me with a smirk. "To make a point: do not hijack their trucks. Ever." He looks at each of us again. "We're lucky no one was killed. But we're out a crane, and you lost your jeep, if I'm not mistaken."

Samson and Shechara nod gravely.

"So you have nothing left to trade—"

"Here." I nudge my satchel toward him with my boot. "Take it. The rifle too, and the suit. That should help even the score."

Tullson laughs. "You've killed too many of your brain cells, Daiyna, if you think this will make up for a crane!"

"A down payment then." What am I doing? I didn't bring hellfire raining down on Stack. None of this concerns me. All I need is a battery. Then I'm out of here.

"Take back what you said. Tell him you're drunk, not thinking straight. Say the satchel is a trade, and all you want is a battery." Arthur Willard is suddenly standing right there in front of me, giving me advice. I stiffen with revulsion at the sight of him.

"Daiyna?" Shechara notices my reaction. I look at her instead.

I haven't seen her in so long. Years, probably. And Samson—no idea why it's just the two of them out here, robbing the UW like post-apocalyptic bandits. Not sure why they're traveling together or so familiar with each other. What did she call him earlier? Strongman?

I tried to forget them, telling myself they were better off without me. Maybe so. I don't know. There's one thing I'm sure of: I'm not better off without them.

"A room then. For the night," I try a different tack, nudging the satchel again. "Will that about cover it?"

One of Tullson's eyes is squinted up more than the other, almost to the point of no return. "Here's what we'll do. You'll get your room. But tomorrow we'll discuss how you're going to pay for that crane and smooth things over with the raiders." He nods, liking the sound of his own voice. Typical professor-turned-politician. "Don't even think about running. I'll have sentries posted outside your door on rotating shifts."

He looks Samson up and down with a startling lack of respect for his mechanical parts. Maybe he's never seen the cyborg in action, tearing through a horde of daemons. Because there aren't any daemons, not anymore. Thanks to Samson and Luther.

"We appreciate your hospitality." Samson crosses his metal arms and offers a tight-lipped smile.

Tullson orders the she-sentry to lead the way to our room and the he-sentry to pick up my satchel overflowing with bartered items. I'm tempted to take back the rifle; what's in the bag, in addition to the Edenite's suit, should be enough to cover room and board in Stack for an entire week. But a little voice inside my head tells me to stay cool.

You don't want to put them in danger, Rehana tells me, spirit-mind to flesh-mind.

They've done a good job of putting themselves in it, I counter.

See what happens when you leave them alone? Rehana winks at me. They need you. They always have. And you need them.

Shechara's got her arm looped around mine as we follow the sentry. Samson is close on our heels, clanking along like a faithful robot. I keep one hand nonchalantly over the grip of the 9mm tucked into my belt. The flask is there too, hidden beneath my tunic. I have a feeling I might be needing one before the other, but I'm glad to have both.

We don't talk until we're alone—or alone as we can be in a shipping container that's been partitioned into four tiny rooms. Three floor-to-ceiling makeshift walls are opaque plastiglass; the fourth is the steel wall of the container itself. A single solar-powered light bulb dangles from a pull-chain, splashing a pair