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

glaring red. Sections of the ceiling and walls recede and spigots protrude with dribbles of artificial water leaking out, followed by short spurts.

"Brace yourselves." I plant my feet and keep my arms down at my sides. Against my natural instincts, I shut my eyes and squeeze my lips into a tight line.

When the spigots unleash their spray, it's a blast that packs a wallop, hitting us hard from all angles. Not hard enough to cause any permanent damage, but definitely some bruising, and I quickly cover my more sensitive area. Shechara lets out a short yelp at first, but Daiyna hasn't made a sound. The scent of the water substitute definitely leads me to believe there's a chemical agent involved. We're being sanitized as well as decontaminated. Makes sense they'd want us to look and smell our best when we meet the captain.

After the wash, the chamber turns into a wind tunnel. Shechara holds onto my arm, and Daiyna holds onto her as they struggle to keep their footing against the relentless blast of air.

When the wind stops without warning, the red light turns to yellow. The opposite end of the chamber swings open like a hatch on an ocean vessel. A woman in a white uniform stands outside, just like I imagined, holding out three large towels for us. Not that we have many damp areas left. But we take them to avoid seeming rude.

The woman also has three navy-blue jumpsuits waiting, the baggy zip-up variety that look a lot like what we wore after All-Clear, along with rubber-soled shoes. We put them on, Shechara and Daiyna managing to do so faster than I can, and once we're presentable, we find ourselves led through a warren of tight, vacant corridors. I have to be careful not to clang my arms or legs into the walls. Don't want to wake up half the ship.

Eventually, we reach the wardroom. The woman knocks once on the door.

"Enter," a man's voice emanates from the other side.

She gives us a nod but remains outside. Guess that's our cue. I step up to the door, and it slides open automatically.

"Mr. Samson." Captain Mutegi stands on the opposite side of a large conference table. He's in his uniform, shaved and alert, like it's 0600 instead of after midnight. I've never seen the man before, but he stacks up to what Milton and Bishop had to say about him. He commands the room with a strength both intelligent and physical. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Shechara says, sidling up next to me. "Coffee would be wonderful."

"Make that two." Daiyna stands on my other side.

I can't remember the last time I had a cup of anything to drink. It's been nothing but hydropacks for years now. "I'll take one. And it's just Samson."

Mutegi nods, gesturing for us to sit down across from him. As we do so—Shechara and Daiyna pulling chairs out from the table while I lock my mechanical legs in a seated posture, not trusting these flimsy chairs to support my weight—the captain steps toward the countertop behind him. A large coffee maker has already brewed a fresh pot, filling the air with its rich aroma.

The room appears to be a miniature mess hall, maybe just for him and his senior staff, with plenty of counter space, a couple small ovens, and a double-doored refrigerator. My mouth waters as I wonder what delicacies might be found inside.

"We'd almost given up hope." He brings Shechara and Daiyna their steaming mugs. They pause to inhale like they're sniffing flowers. Then they take their first sips and nearly melt with delight. He smiles at their reaction. "Luther said there might be others, but that was years ago."

"Where is he?" Daiyna sets down the coffee, giving the captain her full attention.

"He's here." Mutegi hands me my mug, and I do my best to cradle the thing without crushing it. The coffee is hot and bitter, richer than anything I've had in a long while. It brings back a flood of memories from before the apocalypse, of diners and kitchens and breakfasts. Life when it used to make sense. "Lieutenant Commander Davies, who saw to your decon, is rousting him now. He will be here shortly."

Daiyna's gaze drops to her coffee.

"Took us a little while to get here. Some of your raiders decided to capture us."

He nods. "Yes, I heard about that. It seems they walked into an ambush. In Eden."

I don't react. Just drink my coffee and wait for him to elaborate.

"The next team of raiders who came through said it was a real bloodbath." He seats himself across from me and folds his hands on the table. "Only a single survivor."

"Was his name Perch?" Daiyna doesn't bother to hide her disgust.

Mutegi shakes his head. "Cain."

Shechara and I exchange glances. "Where is he now?"

"Aboard the Integrity. He'll make them a fine test subject." Mutegi leans forward slightly. "Unlike you and your friends, he fits the official narrative. He looks like an infected mutant. So they will spend years, potentially, running all manner of tests on him, finding out how he can possibly still be alive. As for you and your friends…" He sits up straight, squaring his broad shoulders. "You're immune to the contaminants."

"Immune," I echo, not sure where he's going with this.

"That's right. Your singular immunity has afforded you the ability to breathe without an O2 tank, to survive in harsh environments, to live off whatever you can scavenge." He lowers his voice. "You of course do not exhibit any superhuman abilities whatsoever. Because that would be a sure sign you don't belong here with us, wouldn't it?" He holds my gaze. "You do not want to find yourself in the same situation as Cain."

"We're as normal as any immune survivors can be," I speak for the three of us.

So that's why Milton never flew back to find us. Because he's been here, pretending he can't do anything...extraordinary.

Mutegi gives us a solemn nod. "It's the only way