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

the thick strap. I tuck the nine millimeter into my belt, beneath my outer garment. He sniffs and tells me to follow, his tracks heading off to the left, down a side street. As we come around the corner of a dilapidated structure, we leave the cover of its shade and step out into the brilliant morning light. The sun hangs in the sky just above the horizon now, at the end of the street. We head straight for it.

Behind Tucker's tracks in the dust, a dark form hovers across the ground: long and awkward, exaggerating each of his otherwise invisible movements.

"Your-uh..." My voice breaks the rhythm of our boots. "Your shadow's showing."

He chuckles. "Yeah. Weird, huh? Can't really figure that out. I try to stick to what shade I can find during the day. Keeps the mutos from getting interested."

"Should we—?"

"We're here."

His tracks stop in the middle of the street, a section that seems to have avoided whatever catastrophe tore up the rest. The shadow of his hand wipes at a layer of ash on the ground, clearing what looks like a circular hatch. Raised lettering set deep in the steel reads: SECTOR 31—15TH STREET.

"They thought of everything," I mutter, making an attempt at levity. If he's right, that we're on some other planet and all of this is a re-creation of our world, then the attention to detail here is incredible.

"They?" His shadow turns toward me. His hand stops wiping.

"The scientists." I falter. "The ones experimenting on us."

His shadow turns away as he resumes clearing the hatch cover. He mutters "mind reader" to himself, agitated again, cursing under his breath. "Give me a hand here."

His shadowy fingers grapple with the hatch, but it's no use. Even with my help, it won't budge. He curses and lets go, muttering some more. His shadow turns away, disappearing into the sublevel of a ruin behind us. After some clattering around in there, he returns with a long, slender shadow in his hand.

"Been a while," he explains, whatever that means. There's a heavy metallic thud as he drops whatever tool he found onto the hatch. Then his shadow uses it to pry upward. It creaks, metal on metal. A gap forms between the cover and the rim around it. "A little help," he grunts.

We manage to lift the heavy cover and slide it aside, letting it drop with a puff of dust. Just inside the hole, steel rungs of a ladder lead down into the dark—which my eyes transform into a hazy blue.

"After you." The shadow of his arm sweeps toward the ladder. "Unless you've got a glowstick I can borrow."

"What's down there?"

His shadow shrugs. "You'll see better than me. I have to feel my way along, usually." He sniffs. "Some kind of tunnel—probably for water or sewage back in the day."

If I go first, what's to keep him from dropping the cover into place and sealing me inside? "How close are those naturals you mentioned?"

"This shaft goes for a ways before it connects to the network they use. We won't see them for a while. But we'd better get a move on." His shadow glances back. Did he hear something?

"What'll keep the daemons from following us?"

"They won't. Too scared." He sniffs. "The naturals...do stuff to 'em."

"You're going to tell me everything you know about these naturals."

"Yes ma'am," he says gravely.

I hold the rifle against my side and step into the ring. The rungs of the ladder whip past me as I fall, the drop at least ten meters. The concrete of the tunnel floor below is dry as I land on all fours. Slowly, I stand. The curved concrete above is less than a meter from my head as I step away from the ladder and take off my goggles, leaving them to dangle around my neck.

The tunnel goes on in both directions as far as I can see. Silent. The smell... I can't quite place it. Not entirely pleasant, but tolerable. The air is stale. It hasn't been disturbed recently.

"You've got some skills, I'll grant you that." Tucker's voice echoes as he steps down a rung at a time, completely invisible again. "Wouldn't mind being able to do that myself."

After seeing so much dust and sand on the surface, this smooth, clean concrete seems out of place, sitting down here all this time, abandoned. Forgetting Tucker's half-witted theories, I think back to what Sector 31 must have been like in its prime. As a trade sector, it would have been the center of all design and manufacturing. From food to clothing to vehicles, even the weapons we carry, everything was manufactured here. I turn the Uzi over and glance at the stock. The UW insignia is right where I expected it.

I guess it makes sense, if this is where the daemons strike out from and where they return to sleep and gather supplies. Home sweet home. But why the cannibalism? Didn't Tucker say there's food here—real food? If so, I've yet to see it. Could be another one of his delusions.

Tucker's boots land on the tunnel floor behind me.

"Which way?" I don't bother looking back at him. I won't see anything.

"Straight ahead. We've got maybe a kilometer or more until we reach the junction shaft down."

"Plenty of time for you to talk."

I wait for him to mutter, "Yeah, right," and begin his tale before I take another step forward. I probably won't believe half of it, and only half of what's left will be true, but it's better than nothing. I have to know what we're up against. "You mind?" He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm blinder than a bat down here."

I don't resist his touch. He begins his story.

The way he tells it, these naturals have never been out on the surface. By somehow managing to stay underground since All-Clear, they've avoided contact with the ash—which their leader believes to be infectious, causing anyone who breathes it to become contaminated and turn into a mutant freak with