Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Milo James Fowler

  "Bunch of lesbians?" Figures. Underground for twenty years, they had to find a way to satisfy themselves. I'm sure Samson and Luther shared a few intimate moments of their own.

  "Not exactly." There's a grave look in his eyes now. "We're facing certain dangers…with which you're not yet familiar, it would seem. When we found the women—numbering less than thirty, out of an original complement of one hundred fifty—they made it clear to us that survival was their priority for the time being, not baby-making. We agreed, for we'd lost many of our own as well."

  Dangers? Worse than killer sand and rocks that decide to pound weary travelers to death?

  "So, Mother Earth is after you guys too?"

  "If only that were all."

  "Hey, it's enough. Believe me, if it hadn't stopped all of a sudden when it did, that dust storm or whatever it was out there would've killed me."

  "She saved your life."

  "Huh?" I manage to articulate.

  "She sees the spirits. They communicate with her."

  I'm staring, and my mouth is hanging open a little, but I can't seem to do anything about it. Luther looks serious, but the words coming out of him are complete gibberish. What the heck is he talking about?

  "Spirits?" I force a chuckle. "Like ghosts or...?"

  "What are your spiritual beliefs, Milton?"

  "I don't believe in ghosts." Jackson's face—twisted with surprise and covered in blood—flashes through my mind. I sure hope ghosts don't exist, because if they do... "Is that what was chasing me?"

  Ghosts of the departed? All the ones I led to the noose, back now for vengeance?

  "What I mean," Luther rephrases his question, "is what are your beliefs about spiritual matters?" He watches me for a moment. "Do you believe in the Creator?"

  "God? Hell no!"

  Samson chuckles.

  Luther appears unaffected. "You feel strongly about it."

  "Well, yeah. I mean, how could anybody believe in God after D-Day? How could any all-powerful god let something like that happen to the planet?"

  Luther raises an eyebrow. "It could be argued that we're the ones who let it happen, and that even so, we've been given a second chance. But I digress. The reason I ask you is because we have seen things—similar to your experience with the rocks and sand—that defy logical explanation. I ask about your beliefs because it will take an open mind to begin to comprehend what's happening here."

  I'm staring again. This is definitely the strangest conversation I've had in a while. Not that I've had many lately, but this one really takes the cake.

  "For example..." I hope he fills in the blank.

  "Take my hand." He holds it out to me over the light.

  Weird, but I reach for it anyway. Samson shuffles his feet as Luther takes my hand in a strong grip, and I return it. Then his fingernails extend outward like long claws, pinching into my skin without breaking the surface.

  "What the—!" I jump to my feet, my heart lurching. He doesn't release his hold. "Let go of me, you freak!"

  "We've been changed, Milton. All of us, in one way or another. You yourself can run faster than any human in the history of the world."

  "Changed?" I stare at his claws. A memory of the bald girl sweeps back into my mind: how she launched herself through the air and landed at my feet. And how she could also see in the dark. "Changed how? Why?"

  His claws slowly retract, and he releases his grip on my hand. It hangs limply in mid-air. "We've been given certain gifts, Milton. I don't know how else to describe them. Some are shared among a few of us, while others are unique to the individual. Many of us have more than one ability."

  "Well, aren't you special," I sneer, backing away from the rock table. I have to get out of here somehow, leave these freaks behind and be back on my own, outside where I belong. "So you're all mutants?"

  He shakes his head. "Not mutations, as far as we can determine. Seldom is a random physiological mutation beneficial to the organism, and never can it be activated at will. Our changes are unlike anything that's ever arisen in nature." He pauses. "They've helped us stay alive in spite of a well-armed adversary that outnumbers us five to one, according to the most reasonable estimates."

  "Right. The ghosts." He's out of his mind, and he's a freak of nature, to boot. I've got to grab that glowstick and make a run for it. The ladder can't be too far away.

  "Not ghosts, Milton. These creatures are flesh and blood. Men like us once, but something went horribly wrong and changed them as well."

  "They'd be the mutants," Samson mutters.

  Fresh air, that's what I need. Clear my head. These guys and their bald beauty must have gone stir-crazy a long time ago, probably after their mutations started kicking in. I don't blame them. Probably wasn't their fault. I'm sure they're great folk and all, but they're not my type. I prefer your average variety of human.

  I'll keep looking.

  "Let me guess: those mutants happen to be cannibals?"

  Before Luther can respond, I snatch up the glowstick and make a run for it without any idea where I'm going. The light extends a meter ahead of me, and I hold it out in front as I make my mad dash. I glance over my shoulder, and by the light of Samson's spear I see them move to pursue me. But their movements are so sluggish...like they're in slow motion...

  Or is it because I'm moving so much faster?

  The cavern wall slams into me full-force, and I groan out loud. That's what I get for not looking where I'm going. I almost lose the glowstick as I sprawl sideways, but I manage to right myself, and I tighten my grip on it. My feet barely skim the surface of the cavern floor as I run, and I feel that strange awareness again, the sense that this speed is not my own. A powerful energy courses through me, wild but contained, harnessed like a fuel source.

  Have I been changed? Obviously. But I'll figure it out on my own. I'm not staying here with this bunch. I've got to get out.

  A sudden blow to the face stuns me. I curse at the blinding pain and fall backward. The glowstick clatters beyond my grasp as I land flat on my back. Then a chorus of cracks fills the air, and the cavern is illuminated by twenty more glowsticks, each held by a bald woman garbed in loose, sand-colored garments. They stand on a wide ledge a couple meters above the cavern floor, the green light reflecting in their eyes as they watch me impassively. Creepy, to say the least.

  One of them stands over me with a spear made from PVC pipe and scrap metal.

  "You?" I wipe at the blood issuing from my nose.

  It's her: the bald beauty, the first living person I'd seen in months. Only now I wish I never laid eyes on her.

  "I have him," she calls to the men behind me, the point of her spear held at my throat. She looks me in the eye.

  I meet her gaze, not even trying to rise. "Where have you been?"

  "Miss me?"

  Samson and Luther's footfalls pound toward us.

  "Not really." I grab the spear below its head and jump to my feet in a single move, whipping the weapon free from her grasp as I step behind her and shove the sharp point flat against her throat. She's too slow to resist. "Stay back!"

  Samson and Luther stand rooted, as do the twenty-odd men behind them who've come out of the dark corners, their eyes glowing in the sickly light.

  "Did you see that, Luther? How quick he can move?" one of them stage-whispers loudly.

  Luther nods, watching me. "He's embracing his gift."

  What are they talking about? Can't they see what I'm doing?

  "You too! Keep back," I shout at the women above me. Murmuring among themselves, they hold their position and keep their eyes focused on me. "Everybody stay back! I'm getting out of here, okay? No one's going to stop me." I press my lips against the bald beauty's ear. "Which way?"

  "I can't help you escape," she says without fear. "I won't."

  "You will, or this spear starts impaling." I tighten my grip on her. "Which way?"

  "We need you, Milton," Luther says quietly. "Our survival may very well
depend on what you can do."

  More crazy talk. I look around at them all, and I don't know if it's the eerie light or the bald women or the eager looks in their eyes, but they're really giving me a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.

  "Listen, I really don't want to be part of your cave cult, okay? I just want out of here."

  A younger man behind Luther steps forward.

  "Plato," Luther cautions him.

  Plato holds up his hands in response and faces me. "How will you survive out there, Milton? It's midday. The sun is out in full strength. You'll roast."

  He's right. "Give me my suit."

  Plato shakes his head.

  "I'll kill her!" I swivel the spear tip, and it punctures her skin, drawing a narrow bead of blood. She stiffens.

  "Please." Plato takes another step forward, his hands hovering. "You're a reasonable man, Milton. You're not a killer."

  That's kind of funny. Ironic would be a better word for it.

  "You don't know anything about me, man. So stay back!"

  He lunges forward and spits at me, right in the face. Thick mucus slaps against my eyes, but my disgust lasts only a moment. The next thing I know, I'm doubled over and screaming, scrubbing at my burning eye sockets as they're devoured by acid.

  Voices converge on me all at once:

  "Daiyna, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  "We should tie him up."

  "I'm sure that would really earn his confidence."

  "Nice shot, Plato."

  "Nasty, but effective."

  "He spit at me? What the hell?" I scream.

  "Milton, hold still."

  "Stop rubbing. You'll make it worse."

  "Flush it out."

  Strong hands clamp my head and jerk it back. My arms are held down against their will. Cool liquid from a hydropack pours across my eyelids. They continue to burn, and I continue to scream. I've never felt anything so intense. It's like a raging fire behind my pupils. I can't see a thing. Incapacitated, I'm completely at their mercy.

  "Relax, Milton. You'll be fine. Plato's gift doesn't incur any permanent damage," Luther says at my side. His hand squeezes my shoulder.

  "As far as we know," says an unfamiliar voice.

  I struggle to form words, and when I manage to do so, they erupt in a string of curses.

  "Yeah, he'll be all right." Samson chuckles behind me, holding my head back.

  "Open your eyes. We need to flush them out." It's Plato. Why is he helping? He's the freak who spat at me! "Pinch his eyelids open."

  I struggle, but they overpower me yet again. I scream as they open my eyes and pour the fluid in. After the initial shock, the burning starts to subside; the hydropack seems to have a neutralizing effect. I blink and sputter as they help me sit down on one of the rocks nearby.

  "We should tie him up," someone says.

  "No." Luther remains by my side. "Can you see, my friend?"

  Friend? What's this guy smoking? Didn't I have one of his cult members at spear-point? But I nod, blinking away the fluid as my vision returns, blurry at first but gradually sharpening up. Luther, Samson, and Plato the Spitter appear first in my field of vision. Behind them are the others, men and women dressed alike in the same loose-fitting cotton I'm wearing now. They strain past heads and shoulders to see me.

  The bald beauty is not among them.

  A pang of remorse strikes me for no reason. She's nobody to me, yet I wish I hadn't hurt her. And I don't know why, but my urge to flee has subsided considerably. Go figure.

  "Let's give him some room to breathe, my friends," Luther says.

  The others back away, but a scrawny old man mutters, "We should tie 'im up."

  "Try it, Grandpa, and I'll hang you with the rope." The words come out before I know what I'm saying.

  My stomach drops. I don't want to see another coil of rope ever again.

  "I'm sure you could, son," he replies, locking his grey eyes on me and standing confidently, albeit stoop-shouldered. How'd he ever make the cut for Sector 51? "You're fast enough, that's surely a fact."

  "Rip, please," Luther says.

  "I'm sure you could kill us all if you wanted to, and we'd be too slow to stop you. But is that what you want, son? Do you want to be a killer?"

  I stare back at him.

  "Use your gift for good," old Rip says. "That's why it's been given to you."

  He lets those words sink in, then turns to join the others, their lights fading into the dark recesses of the cavern beyond. I'm left alone with Luther, Samson, Mr. Spit, and some pretty strange thoughts.

  I have a gift, apparently: superspeed. I've used it three times now. These people have gifts, too: claws, night-vision, super-spit, probably others. But the word gift implies it was given by someone.

  So...who exactly handed out these bizarre abilities?

  "Where do they come from?" My voice is low and sounds a little defeated. I sniff and wipe at my oozing eyes, my bloody nose.

  "The others?" Luther frowns, gesturing to the men and women who've left.

  "No. The gifts." I mime claws with my fingers.

  He almost smiles. "We believe... We have come to believe—"

  "With Daiyna's help, of course," Plato adds. He looks so young with his bright eyes and hairless face. How old was he on D-Day? A newborn?

  "Without Daiyna, we had only vague conjectures and fears. At first, we thought the same as you, that we were somehow mutating. Perhaps we left the bunker too soon and were suffering bizarre, unpredictable side effects. I was the first from our sector to be changed. I experienced it first in a dream, then in reality." Luther flexes his fingers, and the claws shoot out.

  Samson chuckles. "Gets me every time."

  Yeah. Real entertaining.

  Luther turns his hand over, marveling at it, apparently still awed even after the time that's passed. "I've yet to grow accustomed to this." He shakes his head and allows the claws to retract. "Daiyna—the woman who found you—and her sisters also experienced newfound abilities emerging among them, all beneficial in some way to their survival. They could climb great heights with ease and see without any light. Some of them, like our Samson here, were gifted with super-human strength."

  Samson grins, revealing a mouthful of big teeth. "I don't even have to work out anymore." He shrugs. "But I do anyhow. Gotta look like I'm making an effort. For the ladies."

  "Any luck with that?" Plato asks.

  The giant's expression darkens. "They'll come around eventually."

  Luther clears his throat, and they both return their attention to me.

  "But where do they come from? These weird abilities?" He better not say ghosts, or I'm out of here for good this time.

  "At the same time that my brothers and I were struggling to comprehend what was happening to us, Daiyna and her sisters were doing the same, only they were blessed with a revelation that didn't come to us." He pauses. "Milton, when you were on your journey all those months, did you at times feel...as if you weren't alone?"

  Is he kidding? All I felt was utterly and completely alone. I hoped there were other survivors out there somewhere, but the nagging fear always remained that I was the last man on the planet. Not sure yet whether I wish I was right.

  "No." I think again. "Well, not until the whole attack of the killer sand thing."

  "You felt a Presence?"

  "Then? Yeah, definitely. One that wanted to kill me."

  Luther presses his fingertips together. "It did."

  It? He better not mean a ghost.

  "When we found Daiyna and what remained of her group—after we proved we weren't their enemy, which took some doing—we learned a lot from them. None the least of which was that this life force, something we all felt at one time or another yet none could identify, is indeed real. And it can communicate."

  "Okay." I nod to show I'm listening and hope he'll go on. "And?"

  "Brace yourself," Samson rumbles.

  "This Presence, from
what we can tell, takes two forms: one that wishes us harm, and another, which has somehow granted us these super-human abilities. We don't know why this dichotomy exists, but we have reason to believe there are forces at work on this planet that desire vengeance upon humankind, while others seek to aid us in our survival. It may be that these are two facets of the same entity, or that there are two very distinct entities. From what Daiyna has been told, it appears to be the latter. There's so much we don't know, and even less that we understand." He leans toward me. "What we know for certain is that months ago, Daiyna saw you in a dream. And in this dream, she knew how to save your life. She was told to save you."

  I swallow. "Told?"

  "By the spirits of the earth."

  That's it. I'm out of here. I'll thank them for their fine hospitality and be on my way. The tough guy approach didn't work, so I'll try being the nice guy.

  "Well, good luck to you all." I start to my feet.

  Samson steps forward, the joviality absent from his eyes. Is he trying to intimidate me?

  "You know I'm too fast for you," I caution him.

  "Yeah." He nods. "That's why we need you."

  "Milton, please hear us out. If you still want to leave, we won't try to stop you. Right, Luther?" Plato faces him.

  "Of course," Luther says quietly.

  So they need me. Well, I need them too, because there's no chance I'll find my way out of here in the dark. And I'll need my suit, once I'm outside.

  "How about this. You tell me whatever you want while you lead me out of here. You'll have until we get outside to convince me to join your crew." I smirk at their hesitation. "Hey, if you really don't plan on keeping me here against my will, then you shouldn't have a problem with this."

  Plato takes the glowstick from Samson. "I'll lead you out."

  "I want my suit."

  He nods. "Samson will bring it. He'll meet us at the mouth of the cave."

  Smart move. Probably thinks I'll take his light and run, otherwise.

  He'd be right about that.

  "All right. Let's go." I keep an eye on him. He better not try spitting at me again.