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

"Settling in, I trust?" Captain Willard strides toward us with three of his armed soldiers and a familiar grin stretching his face. His eyes wander to Shechara and linger, roving slowly across her curves. "Forgive me for barging in like this, but the situation calls for it. Your friends are here."

Daiyna and Milton? "You've found them?" I step forward, my pulse racing.

Willard chuckles and shakes his head. "Not exactly." He pauses as a loud commotion echoes outside in the dome—tires squealing, orders barked over loudspeakers, boots pounding to and fro. "It's the mutos. They're back. All of 'em." He turns to wink up at Samson. "You'll be needing that gun in your belt."

Part IV

Origin

9 WillardSix Weeks after All-Clear

We have to kill them. Every last one. It's the humane thing to do. Something's in the ash out there, and it's messed with them—altered their genetic makeup somehow. It's so bizarre, I can't really wrap my head around it, but it's happening. That I'm sure of. We've got to do something before it's too late.

And we've got to get the hell out of here.

We've managed to extend life support since All-Clear these past few weeks, but we're engineers, not miracle workers. It won't last. We'll have to go outside eventually...but not here. Dust and ash as far as the eye can see, like a desert wasteland from a Dali painting. There has to be another way out, somewhere, kilometers from here, and we've got to find it.

I blow out a sigh, and it hisses loud against my O2 mask. I'm stressing again, losing my cool. Just one step at a time—that's the mantra. I've got to take it easy, keep a level head here. Can't change a thing by worrying, and that's a fact.

Tucker joins me at the bunker's exterior door. He's got his mask on and the same government-issued jumpsuits we're all wearing now. I hope it's enough to keep out the ash if there's another freak sandstorm on the horizon. Fortunately, the door mechanisms still function, thanks to our tender loving care. Any swirling dust devils amble our way, and we shut it. I don't care who's still out there.

"Any sight of 'em?" He leans against the thick steel door frame and gazes out across the barren plain before us, a sickly grey in the fading light.

I shake my head and curse. "They take much longer, they'll be running on reserve power." I gesture toward the sinking sun. "We'll give 'em half an hour, then lock up for the night."

"I could go after them." They took a jeep, but we still have one down below. "They went south this time." Tucker nods. "I could track 'em easy enough."

"It was her idea to go. She can find her own way back."

"I'm sure she will."

Silence. Everything is so quiet out there, so dead. If we could make it work, I wouldn't mind spending a few more decades in the bunker. It has all we've needed for twenty years now: food, water, entertainment. Plenty to keep us busy. Unlike those poor bastards in Sector 51, we weren't segregated by sex. Sure, they sterilized us for obvious reasons—a limited food supply doesn't allow for babes in arms—but that didn't interfere with our coital recreation. It kept us busy, inspired us like nothing else. Some of my best ideas always came after a good orgy.

But that was before.

It's been twelve days since I first noticed the change in them. I've been counting. And I'm not letting a single one of them near me ever again.

"You think they found anybody?" Tucker sounds hopeful.

Survivors. Would they be ash freaks, too? Or did they have the presence of mind not to come into contact with the stuff? "Going by the maps those government geeks left us, there should be bunkers to the southwest, but who knows? Nothing looks right out there. You'd think there would be ruins, some sign this used to be a major city. But after two decades, the desert has reclaimed everything that used to be ours."

"She said they found an InterSector coming from the east. Mounds of sand covering what's left of all the vehicles, frozen like statues. Maybe some things are still there. All we need to do is find 'em and make 'em right again."

"Silk purses from sows' ears, eh?" I give him a half-hearted grin.

He laughs and nods. He's right, though. It's what we do. We have all the tools, materials, manpower, and know-how. But I don't have a mind to.

It isn't safe on the surface. We have to stay underground. It's the only way we'll survive.

"We can't assume the other sectors made it. So far, there's no proof we aren't the only ones left."

Tucker sniffs. "I can wait for 'em, if you want to go below."

Will she be wearing her O2 mask? Probably not. The others will follow her example, sucking down all that particulate matter in the air, letting it infest their lungs.

"It's all right." I cross my arms and widen my stance. "I'm as eager as you to hear what they've found. Must be something. She doesn't usually cut it this close."

The sun sinks into the west as a rippling crimson orb. I take a deep breath, feel the brief chill in my lungs. I hate wearing this mask. Give me a room full of filtered air over this any day. But anything is better than the alternative. I can imagine the dust particles from the infected ash and sand out there finding their way into my respiratory system, taking root, changing my DNA, mutating me into something unnatural.

Like she is. Like the others are. Bastardized children of God.

We should shut the bunker door and seal it, once and for all. There has to be another way out. The UW geeks would have planned for every contingency. They had no way of knowing that two decades, on-the-dot, would be enough time