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

contraceptives were included in any of the medkits. Obviously, the scientists expected us to be fruitful and multiply. But with the constant threat of the daemons and the spirits who may wish us harm, we've agreed it would be wise to postpone our government-mandated purpose for the time being. There will be plenty of time later for procreation.

So far to my knowledge, none of us has yet attempted to alter our arrangement, but it's only a matter of time before someone's sex drive overpowers his or her willpower. Then nature will take its course.

Samson is my brother, my dear friend. He's a mighty warrior, and I trust him more than any other to lead us into battle against the daemons. But he's always had only one thing on his mind at all times, and I hope he can keep it in his pants long enough not to jeopardize our current situation. Our strength is in our unity, and we can't allow anything to divide us.

Daiyna's smile passes through my mind as I close my eyes. She didn't seem irritated by the obvious attraction between Ali and Shechara. On the contrary, she seemed amused by it, perhaps intrigued. Strangely enough, I reacted in the same way. I should have expressed fear at the danger their pairing could bring. Instead I beheld her smile as a starving man would gaze upon a feast set for him alone. I couldn't bear to see it fade.

During the rare moments I've caught her smiling, she's always been with her sisters. Never with me or our brothers. Our discussions have been more serious, more strategic and matter-of-fact. Tonight was the first time she—

An explosive snort erupts from Samson as he begins his nightly sonata.

"Roll over, my friend," I urge him quietly, as is our ritual.

Mumbling, he turns onto his side, cuddling the high-powered rifle as a child would a teddy bear. His massive back expands and settles with each gust of breath.

I close my eyes and feel myself instantly drift away again...finally, to sleep.

Daiyna smiles at me again, but now she stands on a grassy meadow in the Preserve, her sheer white garments billowing in the breeze that catches her glossy raven-black hair and plays with it, casting it side to side. She looks directly at me, her eyes inviting me closer. Her radiance consumes my vision. All I can see are her eyes, her smile, her gently waving locks. Her lips move, and she whispers to me, but I can't hear her words. I move closer, and as I do...

A single thought enters my mind: I don't want Samson to bed her.

6 DaiynaTen Months after All-Clear

They merge as one, like many waters coming together as a rushing river, like the murmur of an enormous crowd, yet every word spoken is clear and distinct. The emotions conveyed range from playful and mischievous to anxious, sometimes angry, combining to form a multi-faceted voice that's rich and powerful yet quiet, unlike anything I've ever heard in my life.

It startles me every time they speak.

I don't know if anyone could truly understand what it's like. Luther seems open to the unseen world with his continual talk of the Creator, but that always sets me on edge. Mother Lairen believed in the Creator as well, and she ended up suffocating with most of my sisters. Cows, Rehana called them. But Mother Lairen and the others were possessed by evil spirits, like Milton is. This truth was revealed to me by the spirits who've changed us, gifting us with these incredible abilities.

Possessed. According to Plato, a suicidal urge came over Milton weeks ago. Entirely at peace with the idea, he'd been ready to throw himself off a cliff before he was shot by the daemons—which, ironically, ended up saving his life. He collapsed onto the ledge, and Samson hauled him back into the caves.

This morning, he lies comatose in our central cavern as we ride east at full-speed in the solar-powered jeep we took from the daemons. Our shoulders knock into each other, jostling over every bump along the rocky terrain. Samson drives, hunched low over the steering wheel to see through a clear patch in the dust-caked windshield. Apparently, when he wasn't building his muscles and practicing his award-winning charm down in the bunker, he studied weapons, warfare, and war machines. After a few false starts, he figured out how to get this vehicle running. Beside him sits Luther, holding Samson's rifle with one hand and gripping onto the dashboard for dear life with the other.

They're both dressed as we all are now in the loose, sand-colored garments the women in our bunker wove while we were below. Our heads are wrapped in the same material while black goggles shield our eyes, and standard-issue gloves and boots protect our hands and feet. It didn't take long to convert the men to our style of dress. We made it clear they wouldn't be allowed within a kilometer of us smelling like urine. They received their new attire when they moved into the caves with us, and the jumpsuits were placed in storage. We may need them again someday, but I hope that day never arrives.

In the back of the jeep stands Shechara, hanging onto the roll bar as she gazes ahead of us for any sight of the enemy. Gifted with the same far-sight as Sheylia, she's been a great help to us. I sit beside her and hold the other rifle ready, gripping the rail. Samson is a wild driver, and the way he chuckles every time we hit a bump makes me think he enjoys giving us a scare. I'm not afraid of being thrown from the jeep. I'm only concerned that if he damages this vehicle, we'll be stranded out here at the mercy of the daemons.

And there will be no mercy.

"Anything?" My muffled voice is loud enough for Shechara to hear.

Her goggles turn to me briefly, then return to the east. She shakes her head. No