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

You're a natural leader. You know how to give orders." She shrugs slightly. "But it's equally important to listen."

"Touché," I mutter.

She rests a hand on my arm, her eyes serious. "You need to listen now."

I frown at her and tilt my head toward the others as they reach the hilltop. I'm the only one left standing below.

"Press past their voices. Listen, James."

I close my eyes and focus on any sounds coming from beyond our position.

"Is it Milton?" How laser-focused is my newfound ability? Can I pinpoint the sound of him hurtling through the sky?

Then I hear it: a humming sound, like a swarm of bees in the distance. Growing louder as it heads our way.

"What…?"

"They noticed the missile blast. Usually, such a thing would frighten them off. But in this case, with food being so scarce since they picked the Shipyard clean, something in their degraded brains has told them there is fresh meat for the taking. At the Homeplace."

My stomach sinks. "The mutants."

"All of them." She nods. "This will be your chance to finally rid the land of those who remain. But you must listen, and act wisely."

We don't have to hunt them down. They're coming to us. But we're not ready. We don't have the ammunition to take on—

"How many?" My voice is hoarse.

"Close to a hundred."

So our estimates were correct. Good for us—but little consolation right now. We're gravely outnumbered. We can't hit them from our vantage point above. We'd make ourselves an easy target for any RPG. Last night, there was only one rocket launcher to contend with; when Shechara noticed the jeep full of mutants carrying it, we took them out. There were only three vehicles, and it still took a concerted effort to eliminate that threat.

There could be as many as twenty-five jeeps this time.

"Milton—"

"He's back." The spirit turns toward the hill as Milton descends from the blistering sky and lands near the others with a cloud of dust. "Trust the Creator, James. And fight for your life. We'll help you any way we can." She vanishes with a smile and a wink.

They're going to intervene? Well then. Maybe our situation isn't as dire as it looks.

I can't help remembering what happened to those mutants after they shot my chopper out of the sky. My helmet HUD was on the fritz; I couldn't see a thing. But I felt the whirlwind, and I heard those creatures scream as they were thrashed to death. By the spirits, I've come to believe.

I grab my rifle and charge up the hillside, listening in as Milton reports to Luther: "Daemons—twenty klicks out, coming in from every direction. They're hungry, have been for a while now. That missile blast really got their attention."

"How many?" Luther doesn't sound the least bit nervous.

"All of them."

"How's that?" Samson rumbles.

"According to the spirits, every last daemon is heading this way, desperate for something to eat—or somebody." He comes up for air. "We could do it, right here. Get rid of them, once and for all."

Luther's measured tone is a stark contrast to Milton's excitement. "Are there any defensible ruins or elevated safe zones out of harm's way? You will need to take the babies there immediately."

Our original plan of engagement involved setting up positions every few kilometers, expanding as we moved westward. But none of those locations would be safe for these little ones.

"City ruins, yeah—maybe twenty klicks north by northwest. I can fly them up there, but who's going to take care of them?"

"I will," Victoria says, baby on her hip. "Obviously."

I crest the hilltop and jog toward them.

"Sergeant—" Luther faces me.

"I heard." I give Milton a nod. "We've got company."

He shrugs at Victoria. "I can fly with both babies, or I can fly with you. Not both."

"Two trips, then." Luther beckons to Burke. "Milton is taking the little ones to safety."

Burke hands baby Florence over to Milton without pause.

"Right." Milton struggles to hold the girl, and she starts fussing, not at all confident in his grasp on her.

"Here." Memories of my little Mara at this age hit me like a sucker punch to the gut as I show him how to hold her.

"Thanks." Milton cradles her close with one arm, and she quiets down. Then he reaches for Victoria's son. "Next in line."

"You guys can't be serious." Victoria holds onto little Boaz. "Take me first. I'll be there when they arrive."

She hands her son to me. That's what I get for showing off my dad skills. Milton hands off the baby girl as well.

"Remember how we do this?" He puts his arm around Victoria in a familiar way.

Six months ago, he rescued her from the overturned ocean liner in Cain's Shipyard. I may be wrong, but I might have noticed a budding mutual attraction between them ever since I joined Luther's group.

"I remember." She wraps both arms around him and squeezes tight. "I should be lighter this time."

"Right. Because you're not carrying Boaz." He glances my way, where I have the little guy in my right arm and Florence in my left, staring at each other from behind their makeshift baby goggles and reaching for each other's face coverings with their miniature gloved hands.

"My stomach is flatter now, don't you think?" She slides it against him.

He clears his throat and glances at Luther. "We're off."

With a burst of dust, Milton and Victoria take to the sky and disappear from sight.

"The Creator moves in mysterious ways," Luther says absently, patting me on the back, his attention absorbed by the two babies. "He works all things together for good, even when all we see is evil. The forest for the trees..."

Not sure where he's going with this. "We lost people in that missile strike. We're about to be swarmed by a hundred armed hostiles." I shake my head, doing my best to keep my voice neutral and not upset the little ones. "Where's the good in any of this?"

"You heard Milton. The Creator is bringing the daemons straight to us. We won't have