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

by Milo James Fowler

  "I just want to know what we're up against." He faces me. "You don't have to answer, if it's too hard on you. He was a good friend to us all."

  He was that. For the good of the many, Tucker ol' boy. For the good of the many. He would have done the same in my place. He never was the selfish type.

  "They converged on him. I managed to crush one with the bunker door." I can't mention the guns. That wouldn't make any sense. Why would the women give me weapons to use against them? "He killed one, broke her neck. I took out the other one, but I paid for it." I glance down at my arms as explanation. "He was a bloody mess when I saw him last. What was left of him, that is. They clawed the life out of him."

  My fiction inspires another curse from Jamison. "And there's still one of them left up there?"

  I nod.

  "Maybe Catherine's right. About their names." Margo's dark eyes implore me. "Who is it, Willard? Sharon or Anna, or—?"

  "I told you. It wasn't them. Not anymore."

  "Right. Abominations, I get it. Claws and fangs. I can't argue with what I'm seeing here." She takes a breath, weighing her words. "But if we know who it is, couldn't we help her? Bring her back to reality?"

  I shake my head. "It's better you don't know. As far as we're concerned, we've got a wild animal up there, and it's hungry. No matter what, we can't let it get down here."

  "We should kill it," Jamison growls.

  "There's been enough killing for one day," Margo says.

  I don't know that I agree, but I pretend to look like I do. Muttering something, Jamison rises and heads toward the far wall where Mathis and Catherine have attracted a small group to sow discontent. He claps his hands as he approaches them, gesturing for them to join the demolition crew. Heavy metallic thuds echo from the southwest corner.

  "They could be trouble." Margo watches Catherine and Mathis lag behind the others that Jamison has herded in the right direction.

  I face her. Ever since the first scouts came back, I've withdrawn from the women. I knew something wasn't right about them. Margo could be infected too, for all I know. Yet I find that I trust her. Can't really explain it.

  "Those two?" I grin. They're no trouble. "Constructive criticism never hurt anybody."

  I'll put them down the moment they become a real threat. For now, I'll just watch them. And at the first sign of any sort of change, I'll know what to do. I did it once, and I'll do it again.

  But I need those guns.

  "I'm just saying, if we're going to make this work—meet up with survivors from the other sectors, head up to the Preserve—we'll need to stay strong. United."

  When have we ever been united? She never listened to me. Not Margo—the other one outside with the bullet in her brain. When she was Sharon, she always cut me down. The sex was good, but she never really respected me. She always belittled me in front of the others.

  "They have their doubts, I'm sure. Bet you do, too." I wink at Margo. She doesn't respond with a smile. Not even a hint of one. "But you'll see. When we break through that wall and find the tunnels, Mathis will change his tune. Believe me. Everything is going to change."

  Hours later, maybe twelve, maybe twenty-four, after some mis-attempts, grumbling and complaining—even the makings of a half-hearted mutiny—the hammers eventually break through as I said they would.

  I have to hide my surprise. Of course I was right. Who am I to doubt myself?

  Perch coughs, covering his face. The others do the same, waving away the dust from the broken concrete. "The air's stale in there, but it's just like you said, Boss." He reaches into the tunnel with a glowstick and takes a quick look around. "Wide enough for the jeep."

  Excitement mounts among us. This is a big step in the right direction.

  "Suit up. We're going for a little drive." I beckon to Jamison, and he nods, heading across the bunker to where the jeep's parked. The batteries better be fully charged, or this will be a short trip. I'm not up to scouting on foot. "Want to tag along?" I turn to Mathis.

  He thinks for a moment, leaning on his sledgehammer. He'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

  "Sure," he shrugs.

  Margo approaches me. "Don't you think your doctor should join you?" She holds up a medkit.

  Might be a good idea. I'm not at a hundred percent. "Suit up, Doc."

  She smiles and takes off in a jog toward the locker room. My gaze lingers on her round backside.

  The jeep revs, lurching forward. Jamison honks the horn to clear a path. "Juice is at eighty percent." He leans toward me over the driver's side door. "All reserve power."

  "So, forty-kilometer range. Give or take." How far is the town she mentioned? I can't remember much of what she said before I ended her.

  "Each way? Yeah, that would be the farthest. Might be able to stretch it a little."

  "Then let's not waste what we've got." I slap the hood as I pass around the front. He ignites the headlamps. "Perfect timing." I grin at Margo who jogs back with an extra suit.

  "For you." She hands it to me as she tugs on her O2 mask. "You need the sleeves."

  I look down at my arms. Strange. With the salve on them, it feels like they're already covered. "Right."

  Jamison rolls forward. Suit and mask on, Perch runs up and climbs into the back. Margo assists me in a quick suit change, then we climb in as well. I ride shotgun as she slides in next to Perch. Jamison shifts into gear, and we accelerate toward the gaping hole in our southwestern wall.

  All ninety-odd of the others line up on either side to send us off. Their optimism, smiles, and cheers are contagious. Waving and grinning, I feel like a victorious UW general returning from a battle already won.

  "Where's Mathis?" Margo leans forward, her voice muffled behind her mask.

  I shrug. "You snooze, you lose." Someone slaps my shoulder as we pass, but it's not a friendly gesture. It's Catherine.

  "What do you expect us to do while you're gone?" Sour as ever.

  I wink at her. "Hold down the fort."

  Jamison guns the engine, and we enter the tunnel as the cheers reach a crescendo behind us. The white light from the headlamps extends twenty meters ahead, illuminating space that hasn't been disturbed for decades.

  "So what do you think? Some kind of groundwater channels?" Perch leans forward.

  "That'd be my guess. I doubt they've seen a drop since D-Day."

  "This is awesome." Jamison chuckles as he accelerates. "How the hell did you know this was down here, Boss?"

  How did I? "Just a hunch. Thank God I was right!"

  Our laughter rises above the engine noise echoing from the tunnel walls.

  "Really? You had no idea?" Margo leans forward next to Perch. What is she implying? Her tone is hard to decipher with the mask's interference.

  "Before they attacked me and Tucker, they told us they'd found the remains of a city to the southwest. I put two and two together, figured the government scientists were counting on us and wouldn't have left us with only one escape route. And voila!" I gesture toward the dark recesses beyond the headlamps.

  "So that's where we're headed—the city?" Perch glances at Margo.

  "The surface is no longer an option. But we'll see what kind of materials and supplies are available in the sublevels below the ruins. We've got to get everybody out of the bunker before the O2 runs out." I nod, half to myself. "I've got a feeling we'll find exactly what we need."

  Jamison taps the steering wheel. A nervous gesture. "We'll have to juice up at some point."

  True. Solar cells are difficult to charge without sunlight. And the sun prefers to shine on the surface. Can we do without the jeep? It could be a long distance to haul all our tools and supplies on foot.

  "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For all we know, there'll be parking structures full of gas-powered vehicles where we're headed. Wouldn't that be something?"

  Perch lets out a loud sigh and falls back into his seat, fingers interlaced behind his head. "A 2042 Mustang..."
r />   Jamison joins in the reverie. "A turbo-charged Hummer..."

  "I'd be happy with a clean water source, gentlemen." Margo shakes her head. "And some real food for a change."

  I grin at her. "Dream big. Can't hurt any, right?"

  "Since when have you been the optimist, Willard?" She gives my shoulder a playful slap.

  She has a point there. Before All-Clear, I was more of a cup half-full kind of guy, but since the scouting teams started coming back covered in demon-dust, I became a prophet of doom and gloom. With good reason, it turned out. But that's all over. We're on a new path now. I'll be their prophet again, this time leading them to a new Promised Land.

  "God's on our side. Why wouldn't I be optimistic?" I wink at her again. This time she dips her chin—the appropriate response for a lady. "He's with us, and he'll guide us along the way. I'm sure of it."

  Perch and Jamison shout "Amen!" in unison.

  "Are you sure God is gender-specific?" she asks quietly, so that only I can hear. "You're certain she isn't with us?"

  What's this? Conversation to pass the time?

  "I'm a traditionalist," I offer with a shrug. "I still have a hard copy of the scriptures in my bedroll. Right next to Mein Kampf."

  She grins. "Weren't all those burned?"

  "Which one?"

  "Both." She shakes her head. "Only the government editions on the database were legal."

  "I'll show you when we get back." Weeks ago, I might have added something suggestive about sharing my bunk and reading passages from Hitler and Moses during foreplay.

  Her lips curve upward as she says, "I'd like that." She falls back into her seat.

  Did she just read my mind?

  "How far out have we driven?" I turn to Jamison.

  "Almost ten kilometers." He doesn't take his eyes from the tunnel ahead of us. There isn't much room for error in here.

  "How's the juice?"

  He checks the gauges. "Under seventy percent. Going faster than I thought. I should've charged it up this morning."

  "We'll make do."

  He glances quickly in my direction. "You really believe God's with us, Boss?"

  "Yes. I do." What kind of prophet would I be if I didn't respond that promptly and confidently?

  He blows out a sigh and nods. "Good. Because it's starting to get to me a little—how alone we are. All that talk about what happened to the scouts, I was just thinking..." He lowers his voice. "What if we're not the only ones down here?" He darts me another glance. "What if there are others infected like Sharon?"

  He's letting his fear get to him. "Have faith, soldier. Everything's gonna be all right."

  "How do you know?" He sounds like he wants to believe me.

  "Because we aren't mutant freaks." I grin at him. "We're all-natural children of God, and we've got his blessing upon us because of it. Chase those fears away with the truth, son. As sure as I've ever been of anything, I'm telling you: he's with us."

  The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. God would favor the naturals over the abominations. It's always been his way. The only problem—and it's a big one—is if we're the only natural children of God left on this sorry planet. If the survivors from Sectors 50 and 51 have already become infected by the dust, that would not bode well at all for the human race. They're the only ones still able to procreate. Reproduction is their post-All-Clear mandate.

  We'll have to cross that bridge, too, when we come to it.

  A few more kilometers pass, each one identical to the last. Concrete everywhere you look—up, down, both sides. Water and lots of it would have passed through here once upon a time. But now it's just us, rumbling along like we own the place. I glance at the compass in the center console. The needle is still jiggling in a southwestern direction. I lean over to check the odometer.

  Jamison slams on the brakes, and I lurch forward against my lap belt, just as Margo shouts, "What's that?" and points. The tires squeal, shuddering against the tunnel floor. I follow Margo's finger toward what lies ten meters before us, washed white in the jeep's headlamps.

  Looks like there was a big cave-in a while back. No way we'll be taking the jeep any farther.

  "Shut it down." I gesture lamely toward the ignition switch, my eyes fixed on the rubble. "Keep the lights on."

  Jamison nods, his gloved fingers fumbling. The engine groans and dies.

  Silence, punctuated only by my breath, loud against the O2 mask. Nobody moves.

  What is this? How dare it stand in our way?

  Stand is the wrong word. It protrudes through the roof of the tunnel with large piles of broken concrete on all sides below, engulfing it. The enormous thing is covered in dust, frosty in the light of the headlamps. There might be enough room on either side to squeeze through on foot and take a closer look.

  My curiosity overwhelms my anxiety.

  "Let's check it out." I climb out over the jeep's side door and drop to the tunnel floor. I beckon for the others to follow as I venture toward the rubble.

  "From the surface?" Jamison's voice echoes behind me. He hasn't left the jeep.

  I nod, pointing at the large cylindrical shape piercing the crumbled ceiling. "Came in through there." I drop my hand to gesture at the chunks below. "And did a nose dive."

  "It's huge!" Margo keeps her voice near a whisper. Maybe we all should. I doubt there have been many sound waves traveling through here lately. We wouldn't want to start an avalanche. "What do you think? Leftover equipment from when they built the bunker?"

  That wouldn't make sense. We're over twenty kilometers out.

  "How far down are we?" Perch joins us.

  "Fifty meters." I shrug.

  "The bunker's that deep. What if the tunnel..." He angles his forearm upward thirty degrees. "What if it brought us closer to the surface?"

  My abdomen tightens. "What if it did?" Where's he going with this?

  He strides forward, taking big steps over fallen pieces of broken concrete, heading for the gap on the left side of the cylinder. "Then I might know what this is." He glances back to make sure we're following. Then he reaches into the pocket on his pant leg and retrieves a glowstick. He cracks it, washing himself in the sickly green light. "Awful dark on the other side."

  Margo and I draw the sticks from our pockets but wait until we're beyond the range of the jeep's headlamps before cracking them. I follow the path Perch has taken, sidestepping debris, climbing over rubble. Is that dirt mixed in with the broken concrete? Demon-dust from the surface? I check my O2 mask, make sure it's secure.

  Perch reaches the left side of the cylinder and steps through the gap easily. As he disappears from sight, he curses vehemently. I pick up the pace, clambering over concrete to reach the gap. Perch stands with his head cocked back, gazing upward in the green light. He turns to me and points a couple meters above his head. The large grey lettering on the cylinder is obscured by dust but still legible: UW GUARDIAN MISSILE. Right next to a radiation hazard symbol.

  "It's a nuke," he says flatly.

  That much is obvious. I stare, unable to string any words together.

  "Still in the missile chamber." He curses again. "Undetonated."

  "Undetonated..." I echo. "A live warhead."

  Margo appears around the corner, adding her light to ours. It doesn't take her more than a moment to assess the situation. "We need to get out of here. Now. It could be leaking radiation, and these suits won't protect us." She starts back toward the gap. "Now," she beckons. "We can come back with the right gear and check it out later. It's not going anywhere."

  She's right about that. It's wedged in there pretty tight. We follow her back to the jeep with the threat of leaking radiation hard on our heels.

  "So what is it?" Jamison is right where we left him, behind the wheel.

  "Start her up." I climb into my seat as Perch and Margo quickly follow suit.

  "I don't think we can fit through, Boss," he shakes his head as he restarts the engine.

&nbs
p; "We're going back." I glance at the missile.

  "To the bunker?"

  I nod. "ASAP."

  He doesn't ask any questions, not until he's managed to rock the jeep up and down the walls of the tunnel to turn us around. He takes us back faster than he would have dared on the way out. Now the path is familiar to him.

  "So..." He glances at me.

  "It's a nuke."

  "Whoa."

  If the warhead is still viable, would we be able to harness its power for, say, a nuclear reactor that could provide us with enough energy to rebuild? It's not my area of expertise, but I know someone who's qualified. She's sitting in the back seat. But if the warhead was damaged during its collision with the tunnel, it's now a radioactive hazard blocking our only exit route out of the bunker.

  Radiation sickness is a horrible way to go out. Hair loss and nausea and such.

  I can't let myself think that way. God's on our side. He works in mysterious ways, and we're blessed to be a part of that work. He'll use everything for good, even this unexpected nuclear missile. It'll be part of our salvation. It'll have to be.

  We ride in silence. Only the noise of the jeep's engine echoes all around us. We'll have to do without our vehicle on the next trip out. It'll be kaput after this run. Our boots will carry us in hazard suits. Glowsticks will be our guides. Just like those educational films they made us watch before D-Day: Worst Case Scenario. We'll troop through the tunnel, past the nuke, and find the sublevels of that southwestern city. Then we'll start a new life there.

  Within minutes, we reach the hole we smashed through our bunker wall, and Jamison eases us inside. Everything's quiet. Too quiet. Where the hell is everybody?

  A gunshot explodes, fired over our heads. We duck, crying out in alarm and indignation.

  They swarm the jeep then, all ninety-odd of them. They don't look happy to see us. They glare at me, most looking like confused sheep without a shepherd. Mathis and Catherine and a couple other women hold handguns trained on me. Where did they get those?

  The fools. They must have repaired the elevator in our absence.

  "You've got a lot to explain, Willard," Catherine grates out, both hands gripping the gun, trembling with rage.