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

Bishop's rationing plan. Outside of Homeplace 2.0, there isn't anything left in these ruins to eat or drink; so our scavenging days are through for now.

Hard to believe, but there's not a single government-issued bunker in this sector. Guess the esteemed United World Governors didn't think anybody living here was worth saving.

A month or so after our arrival, we celebrate the union of Samson and Shechara.

I never saw it coming, but their odd-couple romance is enough to cheer everybody up. "Turning our mourning into dancing," as Luther says. We light up the new Homeplace with a dozen glowsticks that make the big concrete box we're living in seem alive with otherworldly energy. Luther leads the proceedings, facing the happy couple while the rest of us sit on crates covered with blankets. I try to imagine everybody in suits and fancy dresses, with incandescent bulbs glowing and live stringed music playing, flower petals strewn across a polished wood floor. Never considered myself a romantic, but weddings will do that to you.

Instead, we're all in our grubby desert nomad attire, smelling the furthest thing imaginable from fresh, and after the vows and the kiss—Shechara on tip-toes and Samson hunched over like a gentle giant—we get to eat and drink the same ration-packs we've been eating and drinking every day since All-Clear. But since it's a wedding, Bishop says we can indulge in double-rations. And, wonder of wonders, he managed to get his hands on a couple bottles of champagne and keep them hidden until this moment.

"To the bride and groom!" he toasts, taking a swig from the bottle and handing it to the next person in line, which happens to be me.

Samson and Shechara beam and take turns drinking from their bottle. They even get Luther to take a sip. The rest of us pass ours around and congratulate the newlyweds. It doesn't take much to become mildly intoxicated. After drinking only hydropacks since All-Clear, our alcohol tolerances may have atrophied a bit.

We hum some faintly recognizable tune—can't remember the name of it or the lyrics—while Samson and Shechara slow-dance with their eyes closed. Cheek-to-cheek, her standing on top of his metal feet. Every clank and clunk of his mechanical parts echo in the enclosed space, providing the rhythm to our well-intentioned attempt at acapella background music.

Maybe it's the champagne and the beauty of the wedding. Or it might be because Victoria and I spend the night on the same blanket, spooning with our arms entwined. It could also be that for the first time in a very long time, I feel safe here. Regardless, it's the best night's sleep I've had in more years than I can count.

Months pass the way they do, one rolling into the next. We expand our scavenging runs to nearby city ruins, once I've scouted ahead to be sure there's anything worth taking. In the process, while adding to our growing stockpile of food, water, fuel, and supplies, we come across a solar-powered shortwave radio.

Luther sees it as a sign from the Creator: it's time to contact the United World and notify them that the daemon threat has been neutralized. The former North American Sectors are now safe for visitors. It's clear he wants to establish diplomatic relations with them so that, someday, all the children will be allowed to return and meet their parents. The problem is, the Integrity is the only UW ship currently patrolling our shores, and Bishop doesn't want them knowing he's still alive.

"I'm a deserter," he explains. "And that's bad enough, a court-martial offense. But they'll also want to run all kinds of tests on me, now that I'm infected. I'll be a human lab experiment."

"If they're the ones who fired that missile at the Homeplace, do we really want them knowing where we are now?" Samson adds.

"But if it brings you one step closer to seeing your family again," Luther says to Bishop, "isn't it worth the risk? We won't mention you at all. We'll simply tell them the hostiles who downed their helicopter a year ago are no longer a threat. And that we welcome the possibility of speaking with a UW representative in person at some point."

"To what end?" Shechara steps forward. "We saw what their hoverplanes did to Cain's warriors. Why contact people with such disregard for human life?"

Samson nods. "It's in our best interest to keep them off our land. Let them think the daemons are lying in wait with rocket-launchers at the ready."

Luther keeps his focus on Bishop, seeming to realize the newlyweds aren't going to change their minds. "We could find out what happened to Captain Mutegi, whether the Argonaus will be returning to our coast. You said you trusted him."

Bishop gives a reluctant nod. "He'd be the only one."

After having his superiors decide he was killed in action long before it was clear he'd become infected and ineligible to return to Eurasia, it makes sense he'd be leery of trusting any of them.

"So we find out how to reach Mutegi," Luther continues earnestly. "Perhaps he could sneak us aboard his vessel, disguising us as members of his crew—"

Samson curses under his breath. All eyes turn on him.

"You can't be serious," he rumbles. "There are only ten of us left. And two are toddlers." He sweeps a metal hand toward our diminutive group. "You'll put their lives in danger by contacting the very people responsible for blasting the Homeplace."

"We don't know for sure it was the Integrity," Justus allows. "Could've been the mutants."

"They never attacked us that way before," Shechara argues.

"They were never that hungry before," I suggest, remembering what the spirits told me.

What would they have to say about our current debate? They can't speak to me or Bishop inside human-made structures, so I excuse myself and step outside. I wait until I'm halfway down the silent street before I stop and stare up at the stars, shining like diamonds scattered across black velvet. The cold night air chills my face and lungs