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

keep on breathing. I hoped the Preserve—with its acres of untouched wilderness and forests—was still up north, shielded by some kind of force field. Wishful thinking, that it wasn't annihilated on D-Day like the rest of the continent.

"Are you saying…?" Not sure how to phrase it.

"Part of the gift she gave you," Jackson explains derisively, arms folded. "You breathe whatever this air has to offer, immune to any ugly side effects."

"I see." I really don't.

I still have no idea how I can fly or move at superspeed. I accept it because it happens on a regular basis, but I don't understand it. Guess the same goes for breathing now.

"Thanks," I offer lamely.

Julia smiles.

"So you're saying if the guys in Eden try breathing the air on the surface, or if the UW people send another team onto shore, and they aren't wearing any sort of breathing apparatus… They'll turn into daemons?"

If so, our actions here—the lives we lost—were for nothing. We'll never see the end of those creatures.

"Not to worry. They wouldn't be foolish enough to risk becoming infected, Milton. They have safeguards in place." She pauses, shifting her somber gaze to the mountain. "Return to your people now. They need you." She pats me on the arm. It never ceases to amaze me that I can feel her touch. "We've kept you long enough."

The spirits fade away like evaporating mist. Julia with adoration in her eyes. Jackson with disgust, shaking his head at me like he thinks I'm a sack of crap. Maybe I was, back in the bunker as his hangman. But that's not who I am anymore.

I haven't been that guy for a while.

Taking off in a super-powered sprint, I reach the other side of the mountain in time to find Luther, Samson, and the others starting to dig fresh graves beyond the base of the cliff. The Homeplace graveyard, where we buried everyone we lost six months ago—after Cain and his warriors attacked. When Bishop joined us, he left markers for the members of his team, even though their remains were taken by those UW hoverplanes that carried the unborn babies away to Eurasia.

Now we have five more bodies to add.

"It's over." Luther's voice is quiet as I approach his side. His goggles are focused on the ground as he digs.

The only sounds are shovels cutting and scraping through hard, dry earth as the members of our dwindling tribe follow his example.

"Yeah. They're…" I glance up at the ruined cave entrance. "They're done." I reach for his shovel. "Here, let me. You've got words to prepare."

He always speaks over our dead, reciting the holy scriptures he memorized a long time ago. They seem to have a comforting effect on those left behind. Not sure if I believe the words, or the Creator that Luther believes in, but I understand their purpose.

"We can't lose any more," he whispers, trembling, reluctant to hand over the shovel. "We've already lost too much... I can't bear it. How can He expect us to go on like this?"

I assume he's referring to the Creator again.

"I've got this." I take hold of the shovel and gently pull it from his grasp. The others around us keep their eyes and their thoughts to themselves. "Take a break," I tell him quietly. "Pray or something. We need you to be you."

He stares back at me for a moment. Then he nods to himself. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..." he murmurs as he shuffles away.

I keep an eye on him intermittently as I dig. It's unsettling to see our fearless leader out of sorts. I guess he is human, after all. He walks aimlessly for a while, arms crossed, head bowed. Eventually he settles into a rhythm, pacing back and forth thirty meters away.

"He blames himself," Samson states the obvious.

"He shouldn't," I reply.

"Tough not to," Bishop says, "when you're the one in charge."

Guess he would know.

Once the graves are dug, we gather around the bodies. We lower them into their final resting places one at a time and cover them first in loose dirt, then gravel and larger rocks atop the mounds. Not like we have to worry about animals or daemons digging them up anymore, but it's tradition. In the same way that Bishop left markers for each of his team members, we stack rocks in piles, one for each person we lost when that heat-seeking missile struck the Homeplace.

Luther returns as soon as we finish. He's standing taller, his voice quiet but controlled as he recites what he calls Salm 23. At the end of it, he says, "Amen," and we all repeat that word. More tradition, I guess. Then he invites us to say a few words about the ones we've lost.

My focus wanders as the others take turns sharing fond memories. I can't help remembering the bodies I left in my bunker. That was their final resting place, and they deserved so much better. Maybe I should go back and leave rock piles outside the blast door to memorialize each one.

"Milton?" Luther says.

Everybody's staring at me. I guess it's my turn.

"They were good people." I clear my throat, not sure what I'm supposed to say. Nothing sounds right. "They'll be missed." I remember what the Julia-spirit said. "They lived and died for a purpose: so we could have a future. So let's do them proud."

"Amen," Samson rumbles, and the others nod, echoing the sentiment.

I was planning to fly back to Victoria at this point, but Luther convinces me to drive one of the jeeps instead. With only seven of us, we're leaving behind plenty of vehicles the daemons will no longer need; but we choose the best of the bunch, loading them up with all the weapons and ammo we can carry. By the time we're ready to roll out, our mobile stockpile is almost equal to what we had inside the Homeplace. Hopefully we'll be able to recoup our losses