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

tug of war with him, two sides attempting to sway him to their cause: saving the human remnant versus destroying it. I prayed for him while he was possessed by an evil spirit, but I had my doubts whether he would emerge from the experience unscathed.

Yet he did. And he was granted an additional ability by the spirits. Not only is he the fastest man I have ever seen, but he's also able to fly without a jetpack. It's clear to me that the Creator has a purpose for Milton's life, as He does for all of us. But with Milton, safe to say it is something special.

He went through a period of doubting the spirits, even after they blessed him with flight. He let them know he could figure things out for himself. But lately he seems to be on speaking terms with them again; and they, in turn, have communicated with him.

They have confirmed what we suspected: that the only daemons who remain alive are located in our corner of the continent. Once we eradicate them, life will change for us. We will not have to hide in our clifftop caves. We can scavenge materials from deserted city ruins and build a life for ourselves. Makeshift villages will lead to towns and future cities—

One step at a time, one foot in front of the other. We cannot afford to get ahead of ourselves. One of the pitfalls of optimism, I suppose.

Sergeant Bishop takes over my post at the shift-change, and I take his word for it that two hours have already passed. He's the only one of us who wears a timepiece. We'll trade places two hours from now.

"All quiet," I tell him as he sets his rifle on the rock and settles in. "Anything from the spirits?"

"Not yet."

He's uncomfortable sharing an open line of communication with the spirits of the earth. So far, they haven't told him anything different from what they told Milton. And, so far, Bishop has yet to see a manifestation of the malevolent spirits. Only the benevolent variety has appeared to him, taking the form of his beloved wife. He has not exhibited any other unique abilities, which is probably for the best. His interactions with the spirits unnerve him enough as it is.

I have often wondered why I was excluded—why the spirits have chosen to communicate with individuals who are less inclined toward any sort of spiritual belief system. But I remind myself that the Creator is the one I worship, not His creation. These spirits of the animal kingdom are powerful, but they are not omnipotent, nor are they omniscient. If anything, they remind me of the capricious gods of ancient Greece: some blessing us while others curse us.

Many spirits retain fond memories of their interactions with humans prior to D-Day, but others do not. When the blasts and resultant nuclear winter wiped out every living creature on the planet, the spirits with no love for humankind found another reason to hate us. They tried to get Milton to detonate the nuclear reactor in Eden, but they failed. Then they tried to get Cain to destroy the unborn children in Eden's incubators—another failure. What plan are they currently concocting to exterminate the human remnant?

Once the daemons are gone, they will no longer be a tool for the evil spirits to wield against us. Whether another group of survivors similar to Cain's warriors rises up to fill the void, only time will tell. I pray for peace to fall upon these ravaged wastelands, and I hope those of us gifted by the spirits will unite behind a common purpose. More than mere survival, we need to find a way to flourish.

I eventually nod off, and when I awake, it feels as though no time at all has passed. Instead of Bishop, it's Milton who jostles my shoulder.

"I'm heading out," he says, wrapping his head covering into place.

What happened to my second shift? I sit up with a start.

"Bishop took two watches," he explains. "Said he couldn't sleep anyway. Figured you could use the rest." He slides his goggles down from his forehead over his eyes. "I'm thinking he was right."

"Thank you," I tell the sergeant in the predawn darkness. "But going forward, I won't tolerate any preferential treatment."

"You did me a favor," Bishop says, keeping his eyes on the terrain below. "I feel more like myself right now than I have for...too long. If it's all the same, I'd like to hang onto this feeling."

He's a marine again, a man with a mission. A purpose. "But you need to get your rest as well."

He nods. "I will. I know my limits."

Milton takes off into the sky with a burst of dust, waking up anyone who wasn't already greeting the early morning of a new day. We break camp but hold position, waiting for Margo to let us know when Milton returns, leading a few daemons our way. I pray that he's able to get their attention while remaining out of range of their guns and rocket-launchers.

But when Margo approaches me, her brow wrinkled with concern, it's not Milton she's worried about.

"I've lost Victoria," she says.

At the same instant, a flash of light illuminates the eastern sky and the ground reverberates from the impact of a massive blast. We all catch our breath and stare, frozen in place.

Oh God, no...

"The Homeplace," Shechara says, her mechanical eyes rotating as she zooms in to focus across the distance. Ten kilometers makes no difference to her. "It's been hit."

Samson stomps forward on his mechatronic legs. "With what?"

"Missile." Bishop peers through his binoculars.

"Who…?" I struggle to find words, as if the air has been knocked out of me. "Daemons?"

"Could be the Integrity," Bishop offers.

Samson curses under his breath. "The UW strikes again."

We saw plenty of evidence during our journey west from Eden, survivor encampments wiped out with only craters and scorched wreckage to show anyone had ever gathered there to start a new life together. We assumed