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

This is incredible!

I glance over my shoulder. The rocks hurtle after me now, skipping across each other as if they too are propelled by some unseen force of nature.

What the hell is going on? Maybe it's all in my head. I've finally lost it.

A sharp pain jabs my calf muscle as a stone slams into it. I stifle a short cry.

Yep. This is really happening.

I leap over another boulder, then across a yawning ditch. My vision is consumed by the eastern mountains. They loom closer, growing as I approach. At the speed I'm running—as insane as it sounds—I'll reach them within minutes.

Thirty kilometers? Forty? How fast am I moving?

A heavy stone hits me as hard as a fastball, square in the back. I cry out, but I can't hear my own voice above the rumble of the avalanche rampaging after me, gaining ground. Have I offended Mother Earth somehow? I've been minding my own business out here, trying to survive one day at a time, leaving her to her beauty sleep, doing my best not to disturb her.

Rocky.

Cursing, I reach into my pocket mid-stride and dump my erstwhile pet into the rushing dust below.

"Take it!" I yell, hoping the stampede will be appeased by my offering.

Rocky hits the ground and bounces back, striking me in the shin. I howl and stagger, losing some of my momentum. Then gravel launches upward from all sides. I run through sheets of dust and sand swirling up from the ground, obscuring my vision. My face shield is instantly caked with the stuff. I should wipe it off so I can see where I'm going, but I can't slow down to do so. I run faster than ever, carried blindly by a superhuman speed I'm unable to fathom.

I don't bother trying to comprehend. It's the only thing keeping me alive right now.

Gravel pings against the reflective polymer of my face shield. Did those scientists design it to withstand an attack like this? Unlikely.

Another rock hits me in the back, followed by another. They're catching up—or I'm slowing down. One good shot to the head, and all of this will be over.

I should have worn that suit with the helmet. Thought it was overkill at the time. As soon as the bunker doors opened, I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Didn't care what was waiting for me on the other side. Couldn't stay another second.

Not with all that mess down there.

The gravel—thicker now—pelts my face shield. It's going to crack—only a matter of time. Then I'll meet my end. I will have survived a nuclear holocaust only to be pulverized by killer rocks.

Some kind of sedimentary mutation? There have to be all kinds of side effects the government scientists never could have foreseen. You don't nuke a planet and expect everything to stay the same—or ever be the same again. And with all those toxins and bioweapons released during the early stages of the war, maybe there was a bizarre chemical reaction, and the rocks and dust became sentient in some kind of freak molecular interaction.

Ridiculous maybe, but didn't the ancient Hebrews believe we all originally came from dust?

Tears trickle down my cheeks, an involuntary response to the pain as one rock after another slams into my back.

Didn't stoning also originate with the ancient Hebrews?

My legs keep running, but I've dissociated myself from them. They're connected through bones, ligaments, and muscles to my back, which is racked with pain right now. I want to be as far away from this insane situation as possible. I want to hover above it and watch from the outside-in.

I've always wanted to fly…

The sudden silence is peaceful but deafening in contrast to a moment ago. The gravel around me has hit the ground and now lies still. The rocks and boulders have done the same. I imagine the sand and dust clearing, wafting away slowly, settling. I stand swaying in the breeze. My breath is steady and unlabored, as though I haven't just run over thirty kilometers in a matter of minutes. I can't see a thing—other than the crack in my face shield from my brow to my chin. Blindly, I wipe at it with my gloves, succeeding only in smearing the dust around the imbedded gravel.

Eventually I see light. Shapes.

I catch my breath. I've reached the foot of the mountains—my sleeping giants. They're even more massive up close. It would have taken me all day to travel this far. Can't quite believe my eyes. It's like a weird dream, not possible, yet there they are, and here I am.

I wipe the remaining layer of dust from my face shield.

You're not alone.

Stumbling backward in surprise, I stare at the human form on the north ridge. He stands twenty meters above me, as high as a five or six-story building, and wears loose sand-colored garments unlike my standard-issue jumpsuit. Every centimeter of his skin is covered, but instead of a hood and tinted face shield, he wears strips of the cloth wrapped around his head, leaving room only for black goggles over his eyes.

I raise my hand as hope swells within me. I wave, giddy like an idiot.

"Hello, friend," I call. Can he hear me?

A gust of wind ripples his outer garment as his goggles seem to study me. His gloved hands remain firmly planted on his hips.

"Hello?" Heart racing, I struggle to unlatch my face shield, opening it just enough to be sure I'm heard. My hood will provide enough protection from the sun at this angle. "Hello!" I take an unfiltered breath of the dry, dusty air. It smells like an old ash tray filled to the brim. "Good to see you!" I can't contain the smile taking over my face. "It's been so long. Started thinking I was the only one out here..."

My awkward laugh echoes, fading until silence reclaims the moment. My smile dims. As still as a statue, the figure watches me. I try to