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

by Milo James Fowler

  Not me.

  "Will you do it?" Plato takes me by the shoulders, his eyes fierce with intensity. "We don't have much time."

  Get out.

  I catch my breath at the sudden voice inside my head. The back of my neck prickles.

  They are already dead. There is nothing you can do.

  The sensation is so bizarre, like someone else is thinking through me. Surreal, yet strangely familiar. Without a word, I move toward the mouth of the cave.

  "You will, then," Plato's voice echoes behind me. He sounds hopeful. He thinks I'm going to save them.

  Let them kill each other. We will see who survives.

  No. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. It's obvious who will survive if I do nothing. I'll be the only one the cannibals don't kill. I'm too fast for them. Everyone else here will die.

  Who are they to you? The only one who matters is not here. These can perish.

  I open my eyes and move ahead, quicker now, one foot in front of the other. As I do, something weird happens: everything around me slows down.

  I can't help but stare. They're all running in slow motion now, their voices moaning, garbled. I step closer to the light and see each of the rounds fired by the mutants below. The casings glint under the sun as they float by. I dodge them easily.

  My forearm tingles and starts to burn. Even at this speed, my skin isn't safe from the sun. I retreat out of the light, ducking back into the caves to retrieve my jumpsuit. Quickly pulling it on, I make sure the gloves are zipped to my sleeves—a compulsive little habit.

  Leave. Now.

  I pull up the hood and attach the cracked face shield. Instantly, my view of the mayhem is tinted. I become detached. A couple of glowsticks and nourishment packs sit in my pockets. Maybe I should bring more.

  There is plenty of food where you are going.

  "If you say so." Whoever you are. Guess I shouldn't worry. Everything appears to be in order.

  I step aside as a half dozen of the ugly mutants appear, climbing over the ledge with gleaming military-issue daggers in hand. They're really hideous creatures. Eyes bulging wide, jagged teeth drooling, they charge into the cave to wreak havoc. My boot just happens to catch one of them in the shin as it passes, causing it to pitch forward and fall headlong. Plato plunges a spear into its back as it hits the dusty floor of the cave. Score one for the good guys.

  Then Rip lets out a shriek. Two of the cannibals have converged on him, tearing him apart in a slo-mo feeding frenzy.

  I can't save him now. It's too late. But I could avenge him.

  What good would that do? These people are outnumbered. Survival of the fittest.

  Leave. Now.

  I hesitate for one last indecisive moment. Then I take flight, moving with a speed and strength that's not my own. A wild energy floods through me. Without glancing back, I plunge down the cliff, my boots barely making contact as I cross over rock and crevice, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake.

  The mutants turn, distracted momentarily as I pass. There are so many of them, more than Plato estimated. Could this be all of them? Some kind of final assault on their prey? I count at least twenty solar-powered jeeps and easily more than a hundred of the rifle and rocket launcher toting freaks. They seem to be moving in ranks, yet there's no form of communication that I can see—only grunting and drooling. They're running on instinct, like animals.

  They are not animals.

  The voice inside me is sharp, like a slap in the face. I slow reflexively, but I don't stop.

  "Who are you?" My own voice sounds weak and hollow in comparison. What's happening? Have I finally lost my mind?

  Go northeast. She is there. She is all that matters.

  "She?" The climber—Daiyna, they called her—is the first person who comes to mind. "Is that who you mean?" Why is she so important?

  An explosion rocks the earth behind me, and I reel around to see large chunks of the cliff face shoot outward in all directions. Three of the mutants kneel, rocket launchers on their shoulders, aimed up at the cave. They're reloading.

  I have to do something.

  Leave. Now!

  I will. But first...

  Before the next barrage of rockets can be fired, I run to intercept. With a push here and a well-placed nudge there, I turn the slow-moving mutants on their own ranks. Then I run as fast as I can to avoid the blasts to follow. The makings of a grin tug at my face as the rockets find their new targets. Solar-powered jeeps fly into the air above fiery billows of smoke, and mutants by the dozen are scorched out of existence.

  That should even things out some. I wish I could do more. I wish I could stay. But I can't. I don't belong here.

  More explosions echo behind me as this superhuman speed carries me on its own energy, driving me into the unknown. The sandy, ash-colored moonscape is a blur on all sides.

  "Where am I going?" I venture to ask. I feel only curiosity, not fear.

  I'm invincible. Nothing can hurt me. I'm too fast.

  The voice doesn't answer.

  Kilometers of desolation pass beneath my feet in a matter of minutes. I glance down and marvel at how fast my legs are pumping, yet I feel no effort or strain, no fatigue. It's almost like I'm flying. Nobody else has ever experienced this, that's for sure. I've been given this gift. I've been chosen.

  Me, of all people? I'm not complaining, but there had to be better candidates.

  Craters, deep and yawning, suddenly whip by on both sides, and before I know it, I'm headed straight for the broken remains of a city. Is that my destination? After being out in open spaces for so long, it'll be strange to feel the confines of concrete and steel again. What will I find there?

  A lone figure garbed in dirty, sand-colored cloth stands next to the sublevels of a ruined building and watches me approach. He or she looks vaguely familiar, even with the head covering and goggles masking any facial features. I feel my pace slow.

  Then abruptly I'm no longer moving at superspeed. I'm standing before the lone figure.

  "Milton?" It's her voice that comes through the head covering—Daiyna's voice. She takes a step back from me as if I've startled her. Must be the smell of my suit. She never liked it.

  The dust I've stirred settles around us. I'm covered in the stuff, my face shield hardly transparent anymore.

  "They're dead," I manage. The image of Rip being mutilated and eaten by the gruesome cannibals returns to my mind. "They're all dead."

  Her black goggles stare back at me without expression. She stands rooted. There's something familiar about her, a connection we both share. Energy surges within me like a wild dog lurching against its chain, so strong it takes my breath.

  "Luther—" she gasps, doubling over with a hand to her midsection as she backs away. Repelled by my presence?

  Another figure, dressed as she is, climbs up out of the dark sublevel. "Daiyna." He catches her as she falls against him. "What is it?" Then he sees me. "Milton?"

  "Hey, Luther."

  "What are you doing here? How?" He's at a loss. I don't blame him.

  Two others climb up from the shadows. One of them is bigger than Jackson—Samson, probably. The other one is smaller than Daiyna. Both are armed with what look like high-powered rifles.

  "You're...well?" Luther asks me. It's like I'm the last person he expected to see. "Your wound—"

  "They're all dead," Daiyna murmurs, pulling away from him and leaning heavily against the charred concrete wall.

  Luther keeps a hand on her shoulder. "Dead?" He faces me. "Who?"

  "All of them." I shrug. I don't know how else to say it. "There were more than a hundred of those cannibals you mentioned, with jeeps and rifles and rocket-propelled grenades. After the cave-ins, your people were trapped inside the mountain."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Samson growls, starting toward me.

  Luther stops him with an upraised hand.

  "He's saying they had help." Daiyna's voice is cool. She keeps her distance fro
m me.

  "Help?" the big man demands. "From who?"

  "The spirits?" Luther turns to Daiyna.

  She nods.

  I shrug again. "I don't know about any of that, but it sure looked like those freaks meant business."

  "How'd you get away?" Samson grates out through clenched teeth. He doesn't come any closer, but he grips his rifle with menace. "How'd you find us?"

  I open my mouth, but no words show up. I'm glad the face shield hides my dumb look. What do I say? I don't even understand it myself.

  "He had help, too," Daiyna says. Everyone is quiet as her words sink in.

  Does she know about the weird voice in my head? How could she?

  "You mean he's still..." Samson's loud whisper trails off, and he backs away a couple steps.

  Luther and Daiyna confer quietly. He stands with his back to me, blocking my view of her. Samson shifts his weight awkwardly. The small one remains silent with her rifle slung over her shoulder, but her goggles watch me. I wish I could read their thoughts. Now that would be a real gift.

  The memory of those screams in the cave is fresh in my mind. Raw. I really should have done more to help Plato and the rest. I could have saved them all.

  Daiyna pushes past Luther, ignoring his words of caution. She points straight at me.

  "Spirit of the earth, I see you!" she cries.

  Luther restrains her. "Daiyna, not like this." His hands grip her shoulders. Then he whispers something I can't make out, and she pulls free from his grasp, turning away and crossing her arms.

  She is the only one who matters. Kill the others.

  Overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness, I stagger backward, unable to breathe. The ruins around me sway and lurch, then tip over on top of themselves as my head hits the ground. The rest of me crumbles to join it.

  "He's bleeding. Quick, get him inside." Luther's voice is followed by a grumble and curse from Samson.

  Strong hands and arms lift me up, and I'm carried down into shadows, cool and musty. My face shield is removed, and the fluid of a hydropack pours across my forehead, down into my eyes. Careful fingers open my jumpsuit at the chest. I wince as the bandages are gently ripped away.

  "It must have reopened. Apply pressure here." Luther attends to me.

  He is dangerous. Kill him.

  Fabric tears beside me.

  "Not the most sterile solution, but it'll have to suffice. Samson, prop him up." To me, Luther says, "One would think you'd heal faster with your gift of speed."

  That makes sense, I guess. Why isn't that the case? And why isn't my stomach growling? Shouldn't my metabolism be faster, too?

  "The spirit is interfering with his gift." Daiyna keeps her distance.

  Some kind of ghost—is that what's talking in my head? I sure hope not.

  Luther pauses as he wraps the strip of fabric around me. He looks me in the eye, and even in the shadows his uncertainty is clear to see. "Are you...aware of it, Milton?"

  "I don't know what she's talking about." Partially true.

  He resumes his work on my new and improved bandage.

  "So-uh...who shot me?" I ask.

  Luther pauses again as Samson scoffs.

  "Don't you remember?" the big man growls incredulously.

  "One of the daemons, Milton," Luther says. "They had you in their sights. But fortunately, Samson was there, and he brought you back to us."

  I don't remember any of that. "I was following Plato out through the caves. But then things get kind of fuzzy." They go black, actually, like I've got amnesia or something. Why can't I remember?

  So the cannibals shot me. Bastards. I should've killed them all when I had the chance. Maybe there's still time. I can go back to the mountain and wipe them all out, the gun-toting freaks!

  Kill him now.

  My breath catches as Luther ties off the bandage under my armpit. His eyes remain focused on his work. I'll strangle him before he can lift a finger to resist me.

  No. I can't. Why would I?

  "Luther." Daiyna wants to talk to him again in private.

  He glances up and meets her gaze. "Take it easy, Milton." He squeezes my shoulder and leaves my side with, "I'll be just a minute."

  Samson remains crouched behind me, muttering something to himself about wasting time. The smaller one, her head covering and goggles no longer in place, steps toward me. Her bright eyes stand out in contrast to her smooth, dark skin.

  "Did you see Ali?" she asks quietly, kneeling at my feet. "Do you know him?"

  "Don't get too close, Small Fry," Samson warns her. "This one's not altogether... together."

  I smile and give him the finger.

  "Did you see Ali fall?" By the way she clenches her jaw, I can tell she's fighting back tears. She's doing a good job of it, though her eyes are glassy.

  You can kill her easily.

  "No!"

  She jumps to her feet at my sudden outburst and steps back, eyes wide. Samson adjusts his hold on the rifle. Luther and Daiyna watch me from across the room.

  "No, I'm sorry. It's just the pain, that's all." I gesture lamely at my chest. I close my eyes for a moment, let my nerves settle. "I don't remember anyone named Ali. I wasn't there long. I mean I was, but I wasn't conscious, I don't think."

  I look up at her and hope she can tell how sorry I am.

  Weapon at the ready, Samson steps between the girl and me. "So why aren't you covered in their blood?" he demands, glowering.

  "What?"

  "The daemons. Didn't you fight them?"

  "I did what I could." I grimace as I try to sit up. "There were too many."

  "For you?" He laughs. "I don't think so. I've seen how fast you can move." He glances over his shoulder at Luther and Daiyna, deep in conversation, and drops to one knee, keeping the muzzle of his rifle aimed in my general direction. "You know what I think?"

  "Nope. I really don't."

  "I think you ran away." He nods. "Yeah, I think you got scared, and you figured you'd just look out for number one. You could've killed every one of those freaks, but instead you ran off. Because deep down, you're nothing but a coward."

  I could kill him right now. Before he even knows what hit him, I could be on my feet and take his rifle, jam the muzzle up under his chin and blow off his big fat head. His strength would be no match for my speed.

  But I'm not a killer.

  So says the Sector 43 hangman.

  I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. A low moan escapes me. Samson's boots scuffle as he backs away, muttering something about an exorcism.

  Their faces return to haunt my mind's eye, each with a noose around the neck. They stare at me, condemning me for what I did in the bunker. What I was made to do.

  I am a killer. I know it as well as they do.

  "Milton."

  A strong hand squeezes my shoulder again, and I open my eyes to find Luther crouched beside me. Behind him, out of earshot, Daiyna speaks with the other two in low tones.

  "Are you in pain?"

  Does mental anguish count? But no, he's referring to my chest wound. I try to take a deep breath. It catches, and I wince a little.

  "I'll live. Thanks."

  "We need to find a vehicle. Can you walk?"

  I ran all the way here. I could come up with something witty to say, but instead I just nod. I don't want to be left behind.

  "Where are we going?" Bracing myself against the wall, I struggle to my feet.

  Luther helps me up. "Through the city. We'll see what can be salvaged."

  Samson sounds like he's refusing to go along with Daiyna's plan, whatever it is. She stands her ground, apparently calling the shots. Maybe he doesn't like that. He looks like a chauvinist.

  Luther catches me watching them.

  "Difference of opinion?" I offer.

  I wonder if it has something to do with me. Maybe Luther convinced her that I should come along, and now she has to convince the Neanderthal of the same thing. The other girl stands by, attentive bu
t silent.

  "They're both very strong-willed individuals, and my brother is accustomed to winning arguments. He finds it difficult when things don't go his way." The beginnings of a grin tug at the corners of Luther's mouth. "How about you, Milton? Do you fight to win?"

  I'm not sure what he means. "Uh..."

  "There's a battle raging inside you."

  My muscles tense up.

  He squeezes my shoulder again. "The only way you're going to make it is by fighting as hard as you can—for your life." He pauses, glancing at my chest. "There's little more that I can do."

  He's talking about my wound—not the voice in my head. That's a relief. "Right. Fight to win." I raise a steady fist. "I'm a fighter."

  He watches me a moment longer than necessary before releasing my shoulder and turning back to the others. He's a spooky guy, that's for damn sure.

  Samson lumbers our way, head covered and goggles in place. He hasn't let go of his rifle since I arrived. Slung across his broad back is a grenade launcher—something you don't see every day. Must've snagged it from one of those mutants.

  "Moving out," he rumbles, his tone a bit dejected. Daiyna must have won their argument.

  Luther nods, and the others start wrapping up their head coverings and retrieving their weapons. I zip up my suit and pull on my hood, fastening the face shield. I probably should have a gun, too. There's no telling what kind of freaks could be running around loose in these ruins—besides us, that is.

  Shoot Luther first.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists. I don't know how much more of this I can take. They're not my thoughts. If I shoot anybody, it'll be Samson. I have nothing against Luther.

  He is dangerous.

  Shut up! Leave me alone!

  "I'll take the rear." Samson steps past me and stands with his boots spread shoulder-width apart.

  Daiyna and the other girl climb out of the sublevel first, followed by Luther, who reaches back to help me up. I stare at his hand without really seeing. It's like I'm not the one inside my own body right now. I'm not in control.

  The voice in my head is taking over. I'm possessed or something crazy like that, and it's going to use my body to kill these people.

  I've really got to get a grip here.

  I take Luther's hand, and he pulls me up. A spasm seizes hold of my chest, but I'll live through it. I take a deep breath once I'm out in the open and look around as the pain subsides.