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

by Milo James Fowler

  I glance at Milton and Bishop. They have located the repair kit and are jacking up one of the front wheel wells to remove the deflated tire. With Milton’s speed, they are sure to be done in a matter of minutes.

  But how much time do we have before the hostiles return?

  I project my mind westward, searching for any signs of life, expecting to find hundreds of them surging this way. But instead I find only one. That’s strange enough, but what makes it even more perplexing: the lone figure is being watched by someone with telepathic abilities equal to or greater than my own.

  I draw back into myself, hopefully before I’m detected, as I work the suit free of the injured woman’s legs. Who is that solitary figure stumbling through the night, filled with fear and despair? Who watches over him?

  Harris has removed the upper torso of Granger’s suit, freeing both arms. He applies the healing salve from my medkit. “I’d like to say we’ve come up with something better in the past twenty years, but honestly, nothing beats this gel in a pinch. It guards against infection while regenerating cellular activity, providing a secondary layer of skin and stimulating renewed tissue growth. Rather a genius creation, I must say.”

  “Doctor, in case I’m mistaken, weren’t you the one who invented it?”

  Harris grins broadly at me. “Why yes, of course. Just testing your memory, that’s all. Had to make sure your bunker database was up to snuff.”

  “Damn, it burns!” Granger complains. Already his bleeding has stopped due to the biogel, which seems to glow faintly—an amber luminescence on his arm, surrounding his elbow like a cast.

  “That means it’s doing its job.” Harris glances at me. “Could you use a hand?”

  I nod. “Please take all of the weapons to the Hummer. Once the tires are back in working order, we’ll need to leave quickly.”

  The doctor appears flustered for a moment. I declined the assistance of an exalted man of medicine?

  “Very well.” He stalks away in his clumsy suit with Granger at his heels.

  “He doesn’t think much of himself,” the injured woman says with a raised eyebrow. Then she winces as I apply gobs of the healing salve to her leg. She’s lucky, despite her wound. A little higher and the blade would have severed her hamstring.

  “So I’ve noticed.” I ease off before applying more of the gel. “But it’s not every day you meet a living legend in your field.”

  “You are a doctor, then.”

  “Nuclear engineer.” I shrug. “But I’m the only one in Eden who took any medical courses while we were in the bunker.” The only one still alive, anyway. “So I’m the only doctor they’ve got.”

  “You’re doing a fine job.” She pauses. “What is your name?”

  “Margo.” I keep my eyes on my work.

  “Sinclair,” the woman replies. “Elaine.”

  “Let’s get you on your feet, Elaine. You must be freezing.”

  We approach the Hummer. I have both arms around the woman, helping her make every step. Milton and the sergeant have already succeeded in reinflating the two front tires. The air pressure appears to be holding—only they’re not filling the tires with air. Instead, it’s some kind of expanding foam from a large aerosol can that seals punctures from the inside and turns into a gas after a few seconds, filling each tire completely.

  “Don’t know why the Edenites didn’t use this stuff to begin with.” Milton grunts, working with the sergeant to remove a deflated rear tire. “As long as this goo-gas is inside, any additional punctures will be resealed immediately. Just in case those trigger-happy goons decide to have another go at it.”

  Bishop knocks a gloved fist against the vehicle’s scarred black hull to show that the armor plating is holding up fine.

  I can’t tell how much air remains in his O2 reserves, but his helmet is close to shattering. So far, it has not been completely compromised, but it won’t take much to break what remains of the cracked polymer, fragile as a damaged eggshell.

  Harris and Granger each carry an armload of weapons to the vehicle. The stocky fellow’s injury is already on the mend.

  My mind wanders as we wait for Milton and the sergeant to finish their work. Small talk is attempted, then abandoned to the cold silence of the night. No one brings up the most important question: Where will we go once the vehicle is up and running?

  I doubt that Milton intervened just so we could head back to Eden. If my plan was carried out successfully, then Luther’s people know their children are to be used as bargaining chips to get Willard and his pals off this continent. Luther would have sent Milton to intercept the UW team and bring them to him, to convince them that these children are as special as their parents.

  They will not be welcome in a world where such differences are not tolerated.

  But are the little ones special? I have to assume so. How else have I been able to communicate with them telepathically? The female, in particular, seems to have an ability that will no doubt rival my own someday.

  “How soon will I know?” Elaine asks me quietly. Unlike Granger, she opted to keep her helmet on until the battery runs out—perhaps to stay in communication with Sergeant Bishop on internal comms. But without her suit, she is breathing our air. “That I’ve been…changed?”

  “It depends on how much of the dust has been absorbed into your system.” I pause. “Before it became clear that my neurological pathways were altered, I’d been out on the surface multiple times with scouting parties, breathing in the air. Our bunker commander, Arthur Willard, made us promise to wear oxygen masks. He was paranoid that there was some kind of toxin in the dust and ash, residue from the blast zones. He ended up being right about that.”

  The woman nods. “So it will happen…whenever it happens.”

  There’s no point in sugarcoating the matter. “It could be days—weeks even, before you notice anything out of the ordinary.” I glance back at the vehicle to find only one rear tire in need of repair. They are making good time.

  “Was he correct about you?” The woman keeps her voice low. “The doctor?”

  “A lucky guess,” I admit. It’s good to have my ability back, thanks to Milton snapping that shock collar off my neck.

  Elaine stares at me in unguarded amazement. “Then you know what I’m thinking before—”

  “—you even put it into words? Yes.” I don’t feel comfortable under this woman’s microscope. There are more important matters at hand.

  Harris notices the two of us speaking in hushed tones. “So, tell me about the fetuses down in that Eden of yours. I assume you’re the one in charge of monitoring their growth and development?” He ignores Elaine, turning his full attention on me. “How are they progressing?”

  I face him as Milton and the sergeant fill the last tire. Unfortunately, this is the only time during the repair work when Milton can’t use his high-speed abilities; he has to wait for the foam to work its magic. It’s unclear how much of the substance remains in that can.

  “They are developing within expected parameters,” I answer.

  He laughs at that. “Details, you must give me details. We’re talking about the last best hope for humankind here. I’ve been in the dark until just recently, and I still have no idea how many there are, what the gender ratio is, how close to term they are, what sort of arrangements have been made to facilitate their artificial births…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, holding up a hand. “Forgive me. I sound like a frantic mother.”

  “It’s understandable, Dr. Harris. It seems that one thing after another is keeping you from your mission.”

  “You’re damned right. First those deformed hostiles who blew us out of the sky, then that second variety who wanted to remove our suits and drag us to their leader—some Lord Cain person...”

  I frown at the name. I have never heard it before, and yet instantly, an awareness grips me that I am being watched—all of us are. Somehow, I recognize the disembodied sentience as the same that was wa
tching over that solitary figure languishing eastward through the night.

  Cain is coming for you.

  The words resonate in my mind. Someone is projecting thoughts into my consciousness that are not my own. It’s not like the two-way communication I share with the little female; this is one-sided, from a completely unknown source. Whether benevolent or malevolent, I cannot tell. As Dr. Harris continues to ramble, half the time making demands, half the time apologizing for himself, I turn inward to focus on these thoughts and their source:

  Cain will destroy you. It is the will of Gaia, Mother of the Earth, whom he serves with his whole heart. She has blessed us with all manner of supernatural gifts, and she demands only our love and obedience in return. A brief pause. Cain loves her more than he loves me. He despises me now, even as I bear his child.

  I blink, unable to believe what I’m hearing. Who are you? I project with no clear target in mind.

  The thoughts continue uninterrupted, surging in a torrent: You will die, unless you do as I say. As powerful and omnipotent as Gaia pretends to be, she cannot be in all places at once. So she does not know that I speak to you now, even as she and my husband plot to overthrow the United World. He forgets, you see, that I know his thoughts. We are much alike, you and I. Whoever you are...

  And whoever you are, I return.

  Cain uses me to see into the distance. Without me, he is blind. His men have returned, telling him of a vengeful demon, an evil spirit incarnate who thwarted his plans to retrieve the United World scouts. He now tries to convince them that Gaia is stronger than their fears, and he will send them emboldened, and in greater numbers, after you. But he will not go with them. Instead, he will return to me in this bed we share, and we will link our bodies and our minds. We will watch your slaughter as if we are standing in the distance.

  “Why tell me this?” I murmur aloud before realizing I’ve done so.

  “How’s that?” Harris looks perturbed by my interruption as he continues to spout off.

  But you can help me, the pregnant woman’s thoughts continue. Or rather, you can help someone I love. You have seen him already, stumbling through the darkness. His name is Lemuel, and he is my lover, my own, whom I share with no one. Cain banished him into the dead of night. He has nowhere to go. When the sun rises, the goblyns will tear him asunder and devour his flesh.

  Goblyns. Daemons. Mutos. Every enclave on this continent seems to have a pet name for the monstrosities.

  Please, go to him. You know where he is; you saw it. Tell him Victoria sent you, and he will trust you.

  I frown. This is not part of the plan. There is so much more at stake than—

  Do this for me, and I will lead Cain’s men off course. They will not find you. I am their eyes, and I will choose to look elsewhere. When Cain discovers that I have deceived him and sent his men in the wrong direction, there will be hell to pay. But my Lemuel will be safe. There is one last pause in the transmission. I am watching you. Save his life, or lose your own. I leave the choice to you.

  I sway, suddenly unsteady on my feet as the mental link breaks and the presence in my mind departs. Harris braces my shoulder with his gloved hand.

  “Forgive me. You’ve suffered a great ordeal coming out here. We all have,” he says. “I’m sure I can wait until we arrive in Eden to have all of my questions—”

  “We’re not going to Eden.” The thought escapes my lips, and on its tail comes the sudden awareness of a mass of predators headed our way. I jerk my head westward, peering into the dark with the light of my extrasensory perception. The superhuman hostiles have doubled in number. “They will be here in a matter of minutes.”

  Did Victoria lie to me? Has she already sent the warriors straight to their prey? Or are they merely retracing their own route of retreat from earlier?

  “Good to go!” Milton calls from the vehicle’s rear. The sergeant nods in agreement.

  The battle-scarred Hummer now sits on four tires strong enough to hold its weight. I beckon to the UW personnel to follow as I dash to the driver’s side.

  “Luther wants to see them.” Milton holds my door open. “Before they go to Eden.”

  “I know. But I have to make a stop first.” I help Elaine into the backseat, followed by Granger. The sergeant and Dr. Harris load the weapons they collected into the rear hatch.

  “Want me to run some interference?” Milton glances west.

  “You’ve endangered yourself enough for one night. Go back to your people and tell them we will be there shortly.” I give his shoulder a gentle push. “Go on now.”

  Elaine speaks up, “Where are you planning to take us, exactly?”

  “Do what you gotta do.” Milton shuts the door after me. “I will too.”

  I grip the wheel and rev the engine, looking into the rearview at the pair seated behind me, shivering in their thermal bodysuits. “I’m sure you’re both cold—”

  “Freezing,” Granger says, “but you haven’t answered the lady’s question.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You can’t expect us to play dumb here. We’re toast, and we know it. We’ve tasted of your forbidden fruit, and the UW won’t want us back inside Eurasia now. Neither will your friends in Eden. We’re mutants in the making, right?” He clears his throat. “So where can people like us get a bite to eat around here?”

  I almost smile at his devil-may-care attitude—until I see movement on the horizon less than a kilometer away, figures running with plumes of dust sky-rocketing into the moonlight behind them.

  14 Bishop

  18 Months After All-Clear

  Harris and I throw ourselves into the rear compartment of the Hummer, rifles and bladed weapons clattering against the armored plating on our hazard suits. The rear hatch closes automatically, and Margo guns it, sending sand and gravel pinging upward in our wake. The flying man, Milton, takes to the sky—but not to escape the situation. Instead, he tears straight toward the hostiles at an angle that sends a wall of ash and dust upward behind him, concealing our vehicle’s escape route.

  Except Margo hasn’t altered course. The vehicle is heading west, following Milton.

  “Turn us around, ma’am,” I holler, struggling against my suit, fighting the knees to bend so my boots can brace against the rear hatch. The doctor and I jostle around like unsorted luggage. “We’re going the wrong way!”

  She can’t hear me. Damn helmet!

  “She’s not taking us to Eden,” Harris says, his tone wary.

  I swivel to stare him down. “Where then?”

  The doctor shakes his head.

  “I believe she knows what she’s doing, Sergeant.” Sinclair turns in her seat to face me. “Saving our lives appears to be her main objective at the moment.”

  “By taking us to the enemy?”

  Harris curses. “Sinclair, you’re in no condition to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Meaning?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “You’re one of them,” the good doctor hisses, his gloved hand pointing at the driver and then upward, referring to the flying mutant above. “You’ve got us outnumbered now. The sergeant and I are at your mercy!”

  “Can it,” I order. “Any more talk like that, I’ll relieve you of duty.”

  “You haven’t the authority—” Harris sputters, wide-eyed.

  “Keep your head on straight, Doctor.” I face Sinclair. “Where is she taking us?” She shakes her head. No idea. “Push comes to shove, we’re commandeering this vehicle. You got me?”

  Sinclair warns, “Careful, Sergeant. She knows your thoughts.”

  I look up to find the driver’s dark eyes on me in the rearview mirror. Not creepy at all.

  “Please, tell us where we’re going,” Harris demands.

  Margo remains silent. Then with her eyes darting between the mirror and the uneven, whitewashed moonscape ahead, she says, “We’re picking up someone who needs our help. Then we’ll find cover until morning.”

  “You�
��re taking us straight into harm’s way!” Harris shouts.

  My gloved hand falls flat against his face shield, quieting him for the moment.

  “Ma’am, can you hear me?” I test the waters. If it’s true that she’s a telepath, then she doesn’t have to be on our comms, and my soundproof helmet won’t be an issue.

  “Yes.”

  “Alright then. It’s not as though we don’t have cause for concern here. Those men coming for us—they’re not human.”

  “I’ll try not to take that personally, Sergeant.” Margo whips the wheel expertly around an outcropping of rock, and the vehicle pitches sideways. “Rest assured, we’re not in this alone.”

  “The flying man? They’ll shoot him out of the sky. He caught them by surprise the last time. They’ll be gunning for him now.” I pause. “Unless he’s bulletproof.”

  “Not that I know of,” Margo says. “But he’s not the help I was referring to.”

  I cough. The air in my helmet is getting thin; I can taste the difference. Not now! I cough again, my throat tightening, burning.

  “Sergeant?” Harris faces me as my arms drop like dead weight.

  “His oxygen is depleted,” Margo says. “You’ll have to swap out the O2 supply. Quickly.”

  Harris looks aghast. It wouldn’t be from his suit, that much is clear. He turns to the pair in the backseat, both in their thermals. “Where are your suits?”

  “Left ’em behind,” Granger says. He frowns at me and takes a deep breath of the ambient air. “Really, Captain, it ain’t that bad. I don’t feel any different, honest to God.”

  “Check the emergency compartment in the rear,” Margo says. “There should be a breather or two in there.”

  Harris scrambles to pop open the compartment. Three breathing apparatuses hang on hooks inside. “This is not a sealed environment, Sergeant. You will need to take one deep breath before I disconnect your helmet and affix this breather to your face. Do you understand?”

  I choke but nod, unsure there’s enough oxygen left for a deep breath. I start fumbling with my helmet clamps, prepared to remove the cracked polymer. In my mind, all I see are the faces of my wife and children. If this doesn’t work, if I become infected in the process, I will never see them again. The UW authorities will never allow me to step inside Eurasia.