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

me, obscuring my vision. Apparently, my gifted eyes can't see through particulate matter.

Ahead, the dust darkens to black, the smoking rubble of our vehicle. A body lies face down, covered in soot.

Shechara! I fall to my knees beside her and roll her over. There's no blood. Her neck—her jugular—there's a pulse. She must have been thrown clear of the jeep, the blast knocking her out. Or the fall knocked the wind out of her.

I jostle her with both hands. She has to wake up. They're coming, and the dust is beginning to dissipate.

You must save her.

What about Luther? Where is he?

Shechara stirs, coughing. The head covering around her mouth pulses outward. I help her up, and she touches her ears instinctively, dismayed by the deafness and ringing. I pull her to her feet, draping her arm over my shoulder.

Straight ahead is the boulder and Samson. But what about Luther? Will I have time to come back?

Run.

Shots ring out behind me, sharp popping sounds. They send a jolt of adrenaline through my system, and I take off as fast as I can, half-carrying, half-dragging Shechara as she stumbles along. I risk a glance back in time to see Luther emerge through the clearing dust, staggering backward with a rifle held low, firing blindly across the jeep's remains. He sees me, slings the rifle over his shoulder and breaks into a run. Catching up with us, he takes Shechara's other arm, and we carry her ten paces, then ten more.

We should be at the boulder by now. Only there is no boulder. No Samson. In the dust cloud, I've lost my way.

"Keep moving!" Luther's voice sounds garbled, like he's under water.

Where are we? Where's Samson?

"Daiyna—they're coming!" Luther pulls Shechara forward and me along with her.

More shots punctuate the distance, but this time they come from the opposite direction. The daemons have us surrounded. Luther pulls us to the ground and holds his rifle ready on one knee, swinging side to side, aiming for the first daemon to show itself.

The spirits said they would go with us, that we would have nothing to fear. Where are they now?

Get down.

"Luther—get down!" I grab hold of his arm and tug him to the ground just as a massive figure charges out of the dust with a rifle in each hand.

Samson.

Three hideous shapes emerge behind us. Grunting, the daemons rub at their bulbous eyes, irritated by the dust.

"Stay down!" Samson roars at us, leveling his weapons over our heads and squeezing the triggers, holding them tight. A twin burst of automatic fire explodes from the muzzles, and the three daemons convulse as the rounds hit their marks. The mutants flail their arms and scream, weapons hitting the ground moments before they do as well, torn and bloody and lying still.

Then everything is quiet. Samson discards empty magazines as he steps over us and scavenges what he needs from the fallen weapons. He looks at me.

"That was suicide. You going back." He glances at Shechara and Luther. "But good work, Daiyna."

I don't need his praise. I get to my feet and take up two of the daemons' rifles—one for me, one for Shechara.

"You're hurt." I gesture at Samson's back.

"Flesh wounds." He shrugs.

"The dust... It's providing cover." Luther gazes around us.

"They're doing it." I offer Shechara the butt of her rifle, and she pulls herself to her feet. "But it won't last."

"The spirits." He nods. "They fight with us."

"How many, do you think?" I give one of the daemons a kick to make sure it's dead.

"Three fewer now." Samson clears his throat. "They hit us with some kind of grenade launcher. A Stinger, I think."

"I didn't see it," Shechara says quietly. "I'm so sorry, Daiyna."

"No way you could have." Samson faces her. "They took us by surprise."

Shots pop in the distance, farther away than before. They'll leave us stranded out here, then come back and take us out one at a time. What were we thinking? Why'd we travel so far from the caves? We should have waited for Milton, for his speed. He could have run them down, disarmed them, and shot them before they even had a chance to see him.

But that doesn't matter now.

"We need another jeep," Samson states the obvious. He stands rooted, looking toward where the shots originated.

Luther nods. "What do you have in mind, my friend?"

"We take one."

Luther turns to me. "Would the spirits be willing to help us?"

I don't know. "How?"

"A full-on sandstorm would be nice—one that targets only the daemons. Think they could swing that?" Samson shifts his weight. He looks like he's ready to take off running. "I mean, from what you said, they did a good job attacking Milton."

"Those were evil spirits," I mutter.

How do I explain something I don't understand? Are the same spirits who speak to me the ones that stirred up the sand and attacked us in the past? Is the voice I hear from the same entity that ravaged Rehana's skin? What voice did Mother Lairen hear? What did Milton hear before he tried to kill himself?

"Can the spirits go on the offensive, or do they only defend us?" Luther asks. He seems to believe without questioning. What kind of faith is that?

"I don't know, I really don't." I shake my head. "They haven't told me."

Samson shrugs again. "How about you ask them?"

I wish I could. "It doesn't work that way. They speak to me only when they want to."

"Convenient," Samson mutters.

"It's almost gone," Shechara says.

She's right. It's happening quickly now, like a vacuum is sucking away all the dust. In moments, we'll be completely exposed.

"Can you see any daemons?" I ask her.

Her goggles face north, beyond the charred ruin of our vehicle.

"They're moving off." She stands tall now. "Four of them. One carries a long pipe on his shoulder."

"That'd be the Stinger," Samson says.

"You don't see a vehicle?" Luther steps beside her.

She shakes her head. The last of the dust cloud has settled, and the dark figures moving in the distance are too