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

His image is vivid now in my mind, but why can't I remember what he said?

"Everything's looking good. I think we can risk bringing your muscles back to life, as long as you promise to behave. You don't want one of these, trust me." She touches the collar again.

"Agreed." My voice cracks, struggling to return full-strength.

She retrieves the same instrument from the cart and fills it with a fresh cartridge. Hesitating a moment, she surveys my body, perhaps waiting to see if her collar shocks her into a different course of action. Then she moves along my arms and torso, applying the instrument at intervals. Injections of some sort, but I feel nothing.

Without warning, a sudden tingle spreads through my muscles, blossoming into a prickling heat similar to what I've experienced after a limb hasn't received adequate circulation.

"Might feel a little weird at first. You'll probably want to jump out of your skin."

That would be an understatement. I grit my teeth as the sensation crawls through me.

"Don't move around or try to get up yet. You might hurt yourself. You haven't been up and around for a couple days now."

So that's how long I've been here. I jerk involuntarily, tugging against the hoses.

"These can go now. We've got plenty of...what we need." She removes each of the plastic tubes. The one at my groin occupies her longer than the others. "You may notice some discoloration here, bruising. It will fade in time."

Is this the same pitiful creature I saw cowering in the corner? How can it be? Now she displays all the poise and detached expertise of a doctor. My muscles shudder spastically, and I shiver with cold. She quickly unfolds a sheet and covers me in a single movement.

"This has a heating element in it. Should help with the shock of your re-entry."

I nod, now that I'm able. "Thank you."

"Just doing my job. Don't you go and get a crush on me or anything."

I catch her eye and mouth the words, Where are they?

She looks down, then meets my gaze briefly. Next door, her silent lips reply.

I must see them.

She looks away, shaking her head as she tucks the sheet around me. "Give this a few minutes, and then we'll try propping you up."

Warmth oozes across my skin, and my muscles begin to relax. The prickling sensation gradually fades. She removes my right arm from beneath the sheet and holds my hand cupped in her open palms.

"Try wiggling your fingers." She looks at my ravaged fingertips, her expression vacant.

I must see them, I mouth the words again.

"Nothing, huh?" She shakes her head.

I focus on my hand, and eventually my fingers twitch in her grasp.

"Good. Now I'm going to ask you to flex your claws for me."

What? Doesn't she know? "They…they're gone."

"We have to be sure. Do whatever it is you do to make them appear."

Are they all right? I watch her lips.

She massages my fingertips, one at a time. They've been cleaned, no longer bloody. But the skin looks wrinkled, like the aftermath of an amputation. She doesn't answer me.

Have my friends' gifts been removed as well? What have Willard and Perch done to them?

"I'm waiting." She sounds like a physical therapist.

I grit my teeth and flex my fingers, willing them to move. They respond, stretching outward in five directions. The tendons on the back of my hand rise to the surface. But that's all. It's merely the hand of a natural man.

"Very good," she says quietly. She replaces my arm under the sheet and moves around to the other side of the bed where we repeat the same exercise with my left hand. "Captain Willard will be pleased."

"Oh, I'm sure he will be." The sarcasm in my tone isn't lost on her. She gives me a cautionary glance—the only expression I've seen from her yet.

"Now let's get you sitting up." She reaches under the bed to flip a switch, and the entire frame hums to life. The mattress inclines slowly, propping my torso upright. "How's that?"

A slight vertigo swims through me, but it passes. What's been done to them? I mouth the words, but she looks away. "How soon before you let me out of here?" I stretch both my arms out in front of me and clench my fists. It's wonderful to have feeling in them again.

"That will be up to the captain to decide. And of course, it'll depend on your behavior." She fixes me with her blank stare.

What have they done to my friends?

This time, she reads my entire question and shakes her head slowly. You don't want to know, she mouths.

A heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach. Willard will pay dearly if they've been harmed in any way.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and cast aside the sheet. "Give me something to wear." I glance down at my exposed genitals and wince at the bruising.

"I can't help you!" she hisses, then jerks involuntarily, her hands curling inward. "He's coming back!" she chokes out before collapsing to the floor in convulsions. The red light on her collar flashes angrily.

I push myself off the bed and land on legs that wobble, sending me careening against the machines as I do my best to head straight for the door. I right myself quickly and reach for the handle. Unlocked. I shove it to the side and am met with a blast of white light. I raise an arm to shield my eyes and find that I'm on one of the suspended catwalks along the dome's interior. On the concrete floor below, Willard stands with a dozen of his armed soldiers, their rifles aimed at my head.

"I'll give you an A for effort, Luther. You've got some real cojones—a little blue, from the looks of 'em, but I'm sure that'll pass." He chuckles, and his men echo, nodding to each other.

"I want to see my friends." I keep my voice level and pray for strength