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

ashen sand, gravel and craters in the desolate earth. The same moonscape under the same unforgiving sun we've seen for kilometers, and no sign of our quarry.

"You think they know we're coming?" I ask Luther.

His goggles stare straight ahead as we move to the edge of the plateau, our boots shifting through dust on the cracked hardpan. "They would have no reason to make themselves scarce."

"Unless word's spreading around mutant-ville that we're not your average variety of human. If so, we could finally be off the menu." Samson stands with arms folded across his broad chest, feet spread. "Or they could be planning an ambush. And that wouldn't be pretty."

I shake my head. "It's open space out there. I don't think we need to be afraid of—"

"Who said I was afraid?" Samson looms over me. His tone is as confident as ever, and I'm sure he's cocking an eyebrow under his head covering.

"Do you see anything, Shechara?" Luther places his hand on her shoulder briefly, but she backs away from his touch.

She scans the distance for a few moments, south to north. Then she shakes her head. "I don't see them."

"Well, maybe these spirits of yours are helping us out, after all." Samson pats the middle of my back with his paw. "Scaring off the hunting parties so we can find Camp Daemon!"

I turn away from him, doing my best to ignore his touch. If he tries it again, I'll have to hurt him. I'm not one of his brothers. He shouldn't be so comfortable with me.

"Do we go on, then?" I ask Luther.

"We have more than enough daylight." He catches himself. "For Samson and me."

Shechara and I can see as well in complete darkness as we can in the light.

"I don't want him driving in the dark. The ride is wild enough as it is."

"Hey, I don't see anybody else volunteering," Samson rumbles. "But be my guest." He holds his hand out toward the driver's seat as we climb back into the vehicle. "No takers?"

He chuckles and squeezes himself behind the wheel, starting up the engine. We veer backward, then jolt forward, down the same way we came up. I half-thought he would take us sailing off the plateau's edge.

Shechara leans toward me as we resume our eastbound journey, the dust and gravel flying upward in our wake. "Where are they, Daiyna? Why can't I see them?"

I slide my arm around her shoulders and pull her close. "You will. When they show themselves, you'll be the first to spot them."

It's her gift. And her curse.

She rises to her feet and grips the roll bar, her goggles fixed forward. When the spirits gave her the gifts of far-sight and night-vision, they gave her something else she never had before: self-confidence. She's so different from the quiet, invisible girl I knew in the bunker.

You must save them.

The spirits' voice surges within me, and I catch my breath.

She will not see it coming.

My head whips side to side. What's coming?

"Stop the jeep!" I hit Samson's shoulder with my fist.

"What?" He doesn't slow down.

"What is it, Daiyna?" Shechara faces me.

"Keep looking!" I point her forward. I punch Samson's shoulder again, the muscle rock-hard. "Stop the jeep!"

"All right, all right," he grumbles, braking abruptly and throwing us forward in our seats. Shechara clings to the roll bar as the vehicle skids to a stop.

"Daiyna..." Luther faces me. The dust we've stirred passes over us in a thick cloud, obscuring our view of anything else.

An explosive concussion slams into the ground in front of the jeep, sending it upward and us right along with it. Deafened by the blast, I fall sprawling to the sand and cower in the rain of gravel and clumps of ash.

Then the world is silent, save for an incessant ringing in my ears. Dust and smoke billow around me, and I taste them both through my head covering.

A large hand grips my arm and pulls me to my feet, jerking me away from the jeep as another blast rocks the earth. The vehicle erupts in a fiery mass of twisted metal, jagged pieces flying in all directions. The hand on my arm throws me to the ground, and a massive body falls on top of me, crushing me into the sand. I scream, but I can't hear myself. The earth beneath me trembles as pieces of the jeep rain down like plummeting birds of prey.

The body climbs off and pulls me into a run. I gasp for breath, recognizing Samson. He has my rifle in one hand and my arm in the other. Shards of metal from the jeep pierce his back and shoulders with blood spreading from each wound. He runs straight for a boulder ten meters away, one large enough to shield us both. I struggle to keep up. He drags me every time I falter, his grip forcing me to stay on my feet.

Another explosion hits the ground behind us, and Samson pulls me close, taking us into a dive behind the boulder. I land hard, my arm nearly wrenched from its socket. No one hears my silent scream as dust from the blast passes over us. Samson aims the rifle toward the remains of the jeep, waiting for the dust to clear.

Shechara? Luther? Where are they?

You must save them.

The dust isn't clearing. How would I find them? Are they even alive?

We will shield you from their sight.

Whose sight? Who attacked us? Daemons?

They will not see you. But you must hurry. They are coming.

If they reach Shechara and Luther before I do—

I shout something to Samson, but I can't hear it, and neither can he. I move to rise, but his arm shoots out and knocks me back to the ground without interfering with his aim. I land on my backside, seething with fury. There's no time for this.

I roll away from him and lunge upward, clearing the boulder with a single leap and touching down in a full sprint toward the jeep. The dust swirls past