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

I haven't felt that way for months now. The voice of the spirits—startling me every time it's emerged in my mind—has kept me from ever feeling alone. Something else was always there, always with me.

Was I possessed? Just as Milton was possessed by an evil one, could I have been possessed by one of the others?

My muscles shudder. Is that what keeps gnawing at the back of my mind—that something isn't right with me? Is the spirit gone? Why would the spirits possess me and then abandon me? It makes no sense.

I blink my eyes and focus on the ladder. Maybe Tucker isn't the only one who's gone off the deep end.

The spirits said there was nothing to fear. If they haven't spoken to me lately, so what? They haven't spoken to Luther, and yet he believes without question. I need to dig down deep and find that kind of faith. Seriously, if I believe only when I hear, that isn't faith at all.

I believe in you. My voice echoes in my head as if I'm alone in an empty room. I know you're there, watching over us.

It sounds like a prayer. To the spirits? The Creator? I don't know. But I hope it brings me closer to wherever Luther and the others are.

Tucker's hand grips my ankle and I stop, glancing down to find his silhouette backlit by the light below. The ladder vibrates with the hum of large machinery filling the air. The air... It's so fresh. I inhale deeply. What have we been breathing on the surface all this time?

Tucker gives my ankle a tug and lets go, resuming his descent and his invisibility. Close behind, I reach the last rung hidden within this shaft. The remaining rungs lie exposed for at least five meters before they reach the floor below.

I wait and listen. Has Tucker already touched down on the concrete floor? Is he taking out the guards? I can't hear anything. No scuffle, no bodies slumping to the ground. Maybe there's no one here. If so, then he should come back and lend me a hand, make me invisible so we can look for Shechara and the others.

What's taking him so long? I clench my jaw and grip the short rifle in one hand, bracing myself. Time to jump out into the open.

Before I can let go and drop, loud voices echo and boots pound across the concrete. I see their shadows before I see them. They encircle the ladder below with weapons drawn. Without warning, they fire.

What feels like a thousand volts of electricity shoots through me, igniting every nerve in my body. A guttural scream explodes from my lungs as I fall through the air to land hard on my back, convulsing uncontrollably, my arms and legs flailing, my head jerking spastically. I'm out of control.

My body's in agony, unable to function—yet my mind's strangely detached. I can't see anything beyond blinding flashes of white, but I hear everything: the laughter from men with guns, the monotonous drone of machinery nearby, the measured approach of another set of boots.

Tucker's voice:

"Well, I did like you asked, Captain. I got one of 'em. And this one, she can see in the dark." Muttering, half to himself. Agitated again. "So what do you say? Can I?" Sniffs. "Can I come back now?"

11 LutherTen Months after All-Clear

The daemons have returned. They must have followed our tracks. They slaughtered and feasted upon our brothers and sisters in the caves, and now they are here to finish us off.

"It's the mutos. They're back," Willard said. What else could it mean?

Our footfalls pound, ringing across the steel catwalk as we leave the apartment and jog after Willard. His men close in tightly from the rear. One glance at Samson tells me all I need to know: he plans to use this sudden diversion to aid in our escape. I glance at Shechara and see fear in her eyes. I'm sure they mirror my own.

Willard barks an order as he takes the ladder down quickly, demanding a situation report.

Amid the commotion below, one of his men turns and looks up. "They've breached the east tunnel, Captain!"

A jeep blows past us with three armed soldiers checking their rifles.

Willard's boots hit the concrete floor, and he beckons us to follow. "Pick up the pace, folks. You won't wanna miss this!"

I start down the ladder and try to keep my breath steady. I focus on each rung in my grip. My claws have retracted, but I don't know how long they'll remain that way with so much tension in the air. I glance up as Shechara follows me, her bare feet less than a meter from my hands. Her blue jeans hug the curves of her hips and thighs. Another jeep squeals past us. The concrete is cold and slick as the soles of my feet make contact.

"Perch!" Willard shouts to one of his men on the catwalk—the one foolishly attempting to stare down Samson as he climbs onto the ladder. "Get these people some proper uniforms ASAP." He claps me on the back once I'm within reach. "You ready to fight for humankind, Luther?" He grins broadly and winks. "Hey, did you shave? You're lookin' good." He turns away to confer with his troops.

Everyone is in motion around us, but it's far from chaotic. They all seem to know exactly where to go, what to do, and how to go about it. The voice on the loudspeaker must have something to do with the well-ordered chaos. The scene has every aspect to it of a military drill, one that's been practiced repeatedly. Regardless of whether these men were truly soldiers prior to D-Day, they now play the part well. How many times have they needed to scramble to arms? How often have the daemons attempted to invade this underground sanctuary?

Shechara steps beside me, followed by Samson. Willard's men slide down the ladder by its vertical supports. The one named