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

disappear, and in their place expands an empty grey sky with a scorching sun. My feet are planted in sand now, not damp earth. The trees have been replaced with an arid, ash-colored moonscape that's all too familiar to me. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach as I gaze across an empty crater and blink against the dry wind that flattens my sodden clothing. It won't be damp for long.

"A new earth," I hear the words rasp from my chapped lips. "A new heavens, and a new earth."

The exposed skin on my face begins to burn, but I can't raise my arms to shield myself from the sun. My hands are restrained by an unseen force at the wrists, my fingers cut off and bleeding. I stare at what remains, overwhelmed by loss. A tear skids down my cheek, dropping to dampen the sand an instant before it's swallowed by the thirsty ground.

"Why have You forsaken me?" I gasp.

Wake up!

High voltage rattles my rib cage and I cry out, my eyes jerking wide open with a start. I focus on my limp, bloody fingers, dangling from the steel shackles. They're still intact, but severely maimed.

"Perch says you took it like a man for the most part. Not too much blubbering." Willard grins at me, his head upside down, his thin face stretched too tightly across the skull underneath. "I told him that you would, but he had his doubts. Anyhow, what's done is done. And now you're on the road to recovery, Luther my man. Say, you don't want these, do you?" He extends an open palm. In it, he holds all ten of my talons, sharp at the tips and oozing fresh blood at the roots. "Mementos from a former life? What do you say?"

I cough against a surge of bile and jerk my head forward, my body swaying violently from the chains.

"Perhaps not. Okay, toss 'em." He hands them to Perch, who takes the claws without a word and heads for the door beyond my suspended feet. Willard wipes the blood from his palm onto a towel and casts it aside. "Bring some water. Luther's been through quite the ordeal today."

With a noncommittal grunt, Perch heaves open the steel door and leaves it to slam shut behind him. The walls reverberate from the impact.

"So." Willard scrapes a metal stool across the floor and seats himself beside my head. "How're you doing, buddy?"

I turn slowly to look up at him, but I say nothing. I clench my jaw, for the first time appreciating the chains that restrain me. Otherwise, I'm afraid I might kill this man.

"You're angry. Sure, I get it. Believe me, you're not the first person to hate my guts, and you won't be the last. Not everybody understands the Eden Guard. They don't realize what we're protecting. But they all see the light, eventually." He winks down at me and pats my bare chest with his clammy hand. "So will you, Luther. You're a reasonable man, after all." He catches himself. "You will be, that is—once we've got you back to normal. Once you're fixed."

I cough again, clearing my throat. "Where are my friends?" I manage, my voice little more than a croak. Dizziness washes over me in waves, and I struggle to remain conscious. I don't know how many more jolts from that prod my heart will be able to take without shutting down.

"They're no longer your concern. Think of them as dead, if that helps any. Right now, you've got just yourself to worry about. And that's more than enough, believe you me." He reaches for my right hand and surveys the work of his henchman. He clucks his tongue at the damage. "I'm sure it was tough to see them go. They've probably come in real handy out there on the surface with all the mutos and what-not to contend with. But now you're one step closer to—"

"How do you control them?"

His beady eyes rotate to meet my gaze. "Hmm?"

"The collars. How do they work?" I strain my neck muscles to keep my head raised.

"You wouldn't understand. It's fairly complicated." He releases my hand.

"How many of them have you fitted with those collars?"

He regards me for a moment, his eyes cold. "Why don't you ask what's really on your mind, Luther? The burning question that demands an answer." He pauses. "Did we send the bunch that went after your cave buddies?"

My jaw muscle twitches. "Did you?"

"We didn't even know you were out there. And besides, it's not like we've got all of the mutos collared. For every one we capture, there are easily five more topside running around loose." He curses. "We can't seem to get 'em to turn on each other, no matter how high we increase the settings. It's an extermination problem, really. We've just got to figure out a way to wipe out the rest."

"Sounds like you could really use a nuke." As soon as the words leave my mouth I'm filled with disgust, but the irony isn't lost on him. He laughs out loud, echoing against the walls.

"Yeah, wouldn't that be the ticket! Too bad they're in such short supply these days." His laughter subsides. "So here's the deal, Luther. One of my colleagues will be in here shortly to run a few tests on you, just to make sure you're on your way back to being the way God intended. We'll need to take some tissue samples and maybe a little blood—nothing major." He pats my chest again as he stands. "You just hang tight." He strides toward the door.

I clear my throat, drawing his attention before he leaves. "You're not soldiers, any of you. We know who you really are."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" He waits.

"You're engineers. From Sector 30."

"We were." He bites his lip. Then he shrugs. "Structural, chemical, molecular, genetic, nuclear—you name it. But that was a lifetime ago." He heaves the door open. "No longer relevant."

"We—" I grit my teeth against