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

"Make me your leader, and I'll take you someplace you've never been. But I'm sure you've heard of it." She pauses dramatically. "Eden."

They nod hungrily, liking the sound of that. Who hasn't heard of Eden? Subterranean refuge, stockpiled with milk and honey. Used to be, anyway. Rumor has it the Edenites are starving these days, thanks to UW raiders taking everything Willard's collared daemons used to scavenge from the city ruins above. But by all appearances, these desert freaks don't pay attention to the local gossip.

"You'll live like kings!" Daiyna laughs as they cheer, ready to make her their queen.

Cain shakes his head angrily and tries to get their attention, but his rasping pleas are no match for their volume. They completely ignore him—a bloody, broken mess of a man unable to stand before them.

"What do you think?" Shechara leans toward me.

I look at her. "I think we're going to Eden."

Part III

Annihilation

10 Luther2 Years After All-Clear

My scarred finger traces the route, east to west, across a map printed off the bunker database long ago. The paper is dusty and wrinkled, torn at the edges, and the map itself is an inaccurate portrayal of the topographical features surrounding the Homeplace; but it is the best we have. Over the past two years, I have added a black marker overlay that represents the current terrain of this new earth. No lakes, rivers, trees, plant or animal life whatsoever; only sand, dust, rocks, hills, and mountains. The map now shows distinguishable land features—lopsided elevation, massive craters—in order for us to orient ourselves.

I've added notes on the roving daemons in erasable pen. Eden's collared variety are no longer a concern. The UW saw to that by incinerating them all. But the packs of wild, armed mutants are still an issue for us in these desert wastes. Thus far, they have not attempted to scale the cliffs or tread along the winding path up to our caves, but our sentries continue to spot them. Jeeps parked in the distance, the daemons stare at the Homeplace for as long as thirty minutes before driving away.

We know they are able to communicate to one another with grunts and snorts, but it remains unclear how intricate their language is. The sounds could be merely warning signals or ways to announce an attack or retreat. Vestiges of their military training, ingrained in what remains of their minds.

I tap my finger on the map. "Here."

Samson leans over my shoulder, squinting in the yellow-green light of the glowstick, and nods. "That would be a good vantage point. Higher ground. Plenty of cover." He glances at Sergeant Bishop.

The three of us are in my study—the alcove in our warren of caves where I go to think, strategize, and pray. It was here that I first met James Bishop when Margo brought him to the Homeplace. He wore that bulky environmental suit, afraid of contamination. But the whole time, he was already infected, as his superiors saw it. As soon as his helmet was fractured and his air supply was compromised, he was no longer welcome to return to Eurasia.

"Then we keep moving. South, west, north. Three hunting parties." Bishop points out the locations.

"Split our forces," I echo.

"Set up camp at equally solid locations. Gun down the mutants, take their weapons and vehicles. Form a supply chain to provide the teams that follow us with everything they'll need to hold down the forts as we continue to press outward." Bishop shrugs. "Assuming everything goes according to plan."

Samson smiles fiercely. "I like it."

We have wanted to eliminate the daemon threat for well over a year. When we followed those daemons into the ruined city above Eden, we hoped to find the creatures' home base. For many of them, it was. But after moving our people to the Homeplace and finding just as many daemons out here, so far away from any nearby ruins, it became clear that they are scattered everywhere. As far as we can tell, they continue to hunt in the same units they were assigned upon arrival—back when the UW sent scores of search and rescue teams to prepare for All-Clear.

Originally, the daemons were human beings. Military personnel, ordered to assist us with our re-entry into the world, helping us rebuild lives for ourselves on this wasted continent after we left the bunkers. Their superiors had no idea the spirits of the earth would have other plans for them.

"If only there were more of us." I shake my head at the map. We cannot afford to lose anyone else. Not that we ever could. "The mothers with children will remain here." I look both men in the eye in turn. "Leave two sentries to guard the front and rear cave entrances. Everyone else—arm them, divide them into teams. We'll move out at dusk."

Bishop nods, almost saluting as he exits the alcove. He's one of us now, and he's taken to his role naturally, putting his military training to use. Our people seem to like him, and they don't mind when he orders them around. Because he does it with respect for their abilities. He's learned each of their names, and he knows what each of them can do. He seemed lost when Milton brought him back to us, once it became clear the UW wouldn't allow him to return home. But he's found his new purpose.

He has hope, as I do, that we will see our children again. It may not be tomorrow or even ten years from now, but it will happen. The Creator has not seen us through all of the trials we've endured only to leave us without a future. I have faith He will continue to guide us and protect us, and that somehow, we will break into that city of glass across the sea. Or at the very least, make this quarantined continent a place worth visiting, should