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

leave him to the authorities." Luther nods toward a tall, bald woman in a severe-looking black uniform. "Daiyna, this is Mara Bishop. Commander of Dome 1 law enforcement."

We shake hands. "You must work with Sera Chen."

Bishop's daughter nods. "One of our best. If I know her, she's already located where the Twenty have been taken. You'll just need to find her." She gives the thug on the floor a cold glare. "I'll take Trezon back to Dome 1 for processing. He won't be seeing the light of day for a long while."

Trezon? Probably gave himself the moniker.

"The truth will get out," he warns with a bloody hand on each of his wounds, pressing against his ugly faux-leather pants. "All across the Ten Domes, citizens will rise up and demand what they have coming to them!"

"Equal rights?" Milton suggests. He and Victoria have their arms wrapped around each other, and it doesn't look like they'll be untangling themselves anytime soon.

"Powers!" Trezon bellows.

"You can tell your cellmates all about it." Samson hauls the gangster up by the scruff of his neck and lets him dangle there—which seems to have a sobering effect. "They won't think you're nuts at all."

Mara gives Drasko a direct look. "There will be a vacuum in the underworld without his leadership. I'd hate to see someone worse rise up to fill the void."

Drasko nods. "I can take care of that, ma'am."

"I'm sure you can." She seems to be seeing him for the first time. "We'll be in touch."

He salutes her as she turns away.

"Emmanuel," I speak into my communication device. "We've got them. Everybody's fine."

He sighs with relief. "That's good. Thank you... But you'd better hurry. I have a proximity warning on the display here."

"Company?"

"Half a dozen aerocars are headed this way. The Chancellor's security force."

Luther and I nod to each other. Time to move out.

"To the roof," he says.

"Just a second." Erik stumbles out of the room and disappears through a holographic wall that ripples like the surface of a pool as it devours him whole.

"Go ahead," Luther tells the others. "We'll catch up."

We wait for Erik as everyone else files out of the room. A young woman with piercing, clear-blue eyes glances at us with open curiosity. This must be the biological daughter Emmanuel mentioned. She looks so much like Luther, it's uncanny. The same intelligent face, the same beautiful eyes.

He introduces himself as she passes, and she hesitates, looking from me to him and back again.

You're...my biological parents, she projects into our minds.

We nod, glancing at each other. She's obviously been gifted by the spirits.

"I'm Arienna." She places her hand over her heart as tears glisten. Then, without warning, she steps forward and throws her arms around both of us.

It's an awkward hug, but it feels…so good. We hold each other tight, unable to come up with any words.

"Got 'em!" Erik reemerges patting his lumpy pockets. He notices the three-person embrace, and he winks. "Hey, you guys look related."

"I have so many questions," Arienna says.

"There will be plenty of time later." I squeeze her arm reassuringly. "First we need to find your siblings." I face Erik. "And yours."

"About that," he says. "I might have a way to get those coordinates."

We leave the lounge-in-shambles together and catch up with the others in the stairwell. Our leg muscles are complaining by the time we reach the roof. Samson deposits Trezon into the aerocar where a younger version of James Bishop sits in the cockpit, and Mara climbs in beside him. Their father seems torn, standing with us, ready to continue on-mission, but watching his children with obvious longing in his eyes.

"Go." Luther claps Bishop on the shoulder. "Be with your family."

"You were right, Luther. You said I'd see them again, but I wasn't sure I believed you." He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. "This isn't over. We haven't reunited you with your kids yet."

"We're well on our way." Luther nods. "You have an overdue hero's welcome waiting. We'll reconnect with you after we find the Twenty."

It's obvious Luther doesn't want to put him in further danger.

"I owe you." Bishop clasps Luther's outstretched hand.

"I'd say we're more than even," Luther replies.

Bishop climbs into the cargo compartment beside Trezon and keeps a stern eye on the shriveling gangster. The doors drift shut, and the aerocar takes off with a burst of air, heading straight for the oncoming vehicles. They look like hungry predators, flying in formation against the dreary light filtering through Dome 10's far-from-spotless ceiling, bearing down on us. The clone pilots aren't interested in Mara's police car, and they let her pass without incident.

We're left with a vehicle that's seen better days. The windscreen sports a pair of bullet holes, and a dead clone reclines in the cockpit. Drasko is already at work patching the two holes, smearing what looks like—

"InstaGoo, right?" Milton observes his handiwork with approval.

"Never leave home without it." Drasko grins.

Meanwhile, Erik, Arienna, and Samson are standing beside the open cockpit door, their eyes fixed on the dead clone.

"A data spike would be the only way," Arienna says, pointing to the back of the clone's helmet. "That port right there."

"Can you do it?" Erik raises an eyebrow at his biological father.

Samson grunts. "Won't know till I try."

He folds his left-hand blade back into his forearm and twists it at the wrist, running through an assortment of tools that flip outward. Settling on one that looks like a large needle, he holds it up for inspection.

"That should work." Arienna nods.

"What's going on?" I ask her.

"We saw a security clone access information this way." She shrugs. "We're hoping it works again."

"Information…" Luther echoes. "Coordinates to where the Twenty have been taken?"

"Fingers crossed," Erik says.

As Samson plunges his spike-hand into the data port on the back of the clone's helmet, a readout instantly lights up the screen on his metal forearm.

"Tell me what I'm looking at here," Samson rumbles with a frown, squinting at the strings of alphanumerics.

"Strongman might need glasses." Shechara pats his arm.

He grunts,