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

by Milo James Fowler

  But if I suffocate here, the end result will be the same.

  My gloved fingers move with clumsy trepidation, unable to function correctly. This is fear—an old enemy I thought I beat into submission long ago—rearing its wicked head.

  “Help me,” Harris barks at Granger. “We don’t have much time.”

  Granger turns around in his seat to lend a hand. Sinclair moves to join them. The Hummer hits a deep rut and rocks at an awkward angle, throwing them off-target. Margo casts an apology over her shoulder.

  A hermetically sealed interior with its own air supply would be ideal right now, but we’ll have to make do.

  “Ready,” Harris says.

  I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be, and barely conscious. Both Granger and Sinclair are there to lend my spastic fingers assistance.

  “On three—”

  “You mean on it, or right before?” Granger frowns. “One, two, three—or one, two, then three?”

  “Now,” Sinclair says, and they lift the cracked helmet off me.

  The breather slips over my nose and mouth, guided by the doctor’s steady hands. I grit my teeth, grimacing as my lungs cling to the last iota of air I was able to suck out of my depleted oxygen supply. My body lurches, fighting for breath.

  Harris curses suddenly. The breather is in place, but the helmet’s docking clamps are not aligned properly as it slides back down over my head. “We can’t start the flow of oxygen until these clamps are fastened tight!”

  I fight the panic surging within me. I’m going to suffocate with a breather ready to go. So close, yet so far.

  I grapple with the rim of my helmet, fighting to push it away—an irrational response. On some level, my body must know there’s breathable air inside the vehicle, and its quality doesn’t matter right now. My mind knows better, however, and I don’t retaliate when Harris and Granger swat my hands out of the way.

  I’m shaking. The fear is winning.

  Then a voice enters the maelstrom of my mind, and I know exactly where it comes from. I stare into the rearview mirror with wide, bloodshot eyes.

  I know you’re afraid, Sergeant, Margo says, mind-to-mind. They have taken your family from you, and you can’t bear the thought of never seeing them again.

  How is this possible? I freeze. Have I already been changed? Am I like you now?

  Not to worry. Then she says out loud, “Try to relax. Your people are taking care of you.”

  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I feel no reason to be afraid. An overwhelming sense of calm sweeps over me instead, making me feel light-headed—or that could be due to hypoxia.

  From you? My eyes remain fixed on the rearview. Margo nods in response, returning her gaze to the terrain ahead. She’s filled me with a sense of peace. Amazing. Indescribable. Tears burn my eyes and a couple spill out, streaking my face.

  Granger slaps the side of my helmet. “Breathe, dammit!”

  They’ve clamped it back into place and activated the breather now that it’s housed inside. I gulp down the air, inhaling oxygen deep into my lungs, coughing until my breathing settles into a steady rhythm.

  “Thanks,” I rasp, glancing at each of them in turn. “I owe you.” I squeeze Granger’s shoulder.

  “Hey, we’ve gotta keep our fearless leader in one piece, don’t we?”

  “Are the hostiles in pursuit?”

  “They are not following us, Sergeant,” Margo reports. “For the moment, they don’t appear to know where we are.”

  “They’ll find our tracks in no time,” Harris grumbles, always the optimist.

  “Don’t think so, Doc.” Granger glances outside and jerks a thumb back toward the ground behind us. “That guy’s covering our trail.”

  I swivel to look out the rear window. Sure enough, Milton is sweeping side to side through the air, whipping up the sand in our wake.

  “That’ll buy us some time,” I allow. “But you still haven’t told us where we’re going.”

  Margo nods. “We’re here.”

  The Hummer skids to an abrupt halt, throwing its passengers forward. I strain to see where we are, but thick clouds of dust hover outside, obscuring my view.

  Harris gives the voice command “Life signs,” and instantly his face shield lights up with a thermal image of a lone figure standing stock-still twenty meters ahead of us, out of the headlights’ range. “Who the hell is that?”

  I watch Margo. She sits as if in a trance, her hands loose on the steering wheel as she stares straight ahead. The engine idles.

  “I don’t like this one bit,” Harris mutters. “It’s another one of them—dressed just like those superhumans we’re trying to escape!”

  “Our numbers keep growing, don’t they Doc?” Granger smirks at him. “Sure you don’t want to come over to the winning team? The air’s great.” He inhales deeply.

  “Cut the chatter.” I watch as Milton touches down in the glow of our headlights. Removing his dust-covered goggles, he glances over his shoulder at Margo behind the windshield and nods with some sort of unspoken understanding between them.

  “Now what’s he doing?” Harris demands. “You had better do something about this, Sergeant. The situation is gravely out of hand.”

  Milton approaches the stranger with hands out to the sides in an unthreatening posture, taking slow, deliberate steps.

  “He’s armed.” Harris’s HUD has already cataloged the stranger’s array of weapons, similar in variety to the hostiles we encountered earlier.

  “So what? Our guy’s faster than a bullet, right?” Granger grins.

  The stranger stumbles backward, away from Milton, smaller in frame and nearly overcome with exhaustion by the looks of him. His hands don’t go to his weapons. He doesn’t appear to feel threatened by the situation, just wary.

  “What are they saying?” There must be a setting on a functional helmet that can pinpoint and receive distant audio signatures.

  “He’s young, maybe twenty. Milton is doing his best to convince him we are his friends, that we’re here to help him.” Harris pauses, glancing at the silent woman in the driver’s seat. “I cannot be certain, but it appears that Margo may be speaking through Milton. He’s telling the young man we’ve been sent by someone named Victoria, that we’re here to help him, that he can trust us. But this is not our mission.” Harris struggles against the pile of weapons, turning around to kick against the rear hatch. “Get that damned door open! If you won’t put a stop to this, Sergeant, then I—”

  “Stand down,” I order. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re through giving me orders, Bishop. It’s clear that you’re unfit for duty, so as ranking medical officer, I hereby relieve you of command!”

  Margo glances into the rearview. She focuses her gaze on the emotional man writhing like a toddler in the throes of a mean temper tantrum. “Dr. Harris, I can see you’re concerned. You don’t understand what’s going on—”

  “Damned right! I demand an explanation.”

  She pauses before continuing, “This young man has been exiled by his people—the same people we’re doing our best to avoid. He has no one to help him out here, and without us, he is sure to die.”

  “He’s not our concern!”

  “We need every ally we can get,” I argue.

  “The enemy of our enemy is our friend?” Sinclair suggests.

  Something like that.

  “They’re shaking hands,” Granger observes as Milton and the youth step into the headlights’ glare. “That’s gotta be good, right?”

  Judging by the young guy’s body language, he doesn’t fully trust Milton or the idling vehicle full of strangers, spewing exhaust into the frosty moonlight. But his options are limited. Unafraid, he carries himself with the confidence of a man who’s won his share of fights.

  Milton faces the windshield, squinting and raising a hand to shield his eyes. He gives Margo a thumbs-up.

  “He should be disarmed immediately,” Harris gra
bs one of the assault rifles beside him and holds it ready.

  While his attention is elsewhere, I reach over nonchalantly and flip on the weapon’s safety. The last thing we need is the good doctor killing one of us by accident. Or intentionally.

  Margo hits the release lever on her door and steps outside. “Lemuel?” Her tone is friendly, inviting.

  The fellow perks up at the sound of his name. How’d she know it? He’s got a tall, solid frame he’ll grow into someday. I can’t help but think of my own Emmanuel and the man he will grow up to be. I hope I’m there to see it.

  I hope we’re not wasting precious time here.

  “Will you come with us?” Margo extends a hand toward him. “Victoria sent us to find you.”

  “If he blows her head off, we’re screwed, Sergeant,” Harris says on comms. “I don’t know about you, but I have no idea how to drive one of these old gas guzzlers.”

  “Cool it, Doc. That’s your final warning.”

  “Victoria?” Lemuel says in a guarded tone.

  “Yes,” Margo answers. “She is worried. She…does not approve of how your Lord Cain treated you.”

  “He’s not my lord.” The youth draws himself up to his fullest height. “I’m my own man.”

  Granger chuckles to himself. “I think I like this kid.”

  “He certainly is sure of himself,” Sinclair allows.

  “You’re welcome to join us, but the choice is yours, of course,” Margo says.

  He thinks for a moment. “You got any food?”

  “If you like protein packs, we’ve got plenty where we’re headed,” Milton says.

  “Hallelujah!” Granger can’t contain his excitement. His stomach growls as if on cue.

  Lemuel’s bony shoulders shift upward and drop. “I could probably eat a goblyn, I’m so hungry.” He packed every weapon he could carry, but he didn’t bring anything to eat? He must have left in a real hurry.

  Margo resumes her position at the wheel as Lemuel tentatively climbs in beside her. Milton lingers at her door.

  “If you’ve got everything under control here, I’ll go ahead and let them know you’re on your way.” He looks eastward. “Another hour or so until dawn. You’ll make it by first light.”

  Margo nods, revving the engine as Milton steps back and waves. Then with the greatest of ease, he takes to the sky. I won’t be getting over that trick anytime soon. Lemuel cranes his neck to watch as Milton disappears into the night.

  “Gaia has indeed blessed him,” he murmurs, awestruck.

  “Tell me about Gaia,” Margo says. “Is she a member of your bunker?”

  Lemuel frowns. “You don’t know Gaia? How can that be?”

  Harris looks ready to interrupt with something irate or belligerent, but I seize his weapon and pin him against the rear hatch, staring him down. The vehicle crosses a rough patch of terrain, rocking and lurching. No one seems to notice our commotion.

  “We need to learn all that we can here, Doc,” I tell him. “We’re still on mission, make no mistake. But we’re not running the show right now. We’ll leave that to the folks busy saving our asses. So why don’t you do your profession a service and start taking notes. Seems to me you’ve sure as hell forgotten what you were preaching earlier.”

  “That was before I knew they wanted to kill us!” Harris’s eyes bulge.

  “Observe now, report later. As soon as the opportunity arises, I’ll let Mutegi know what’s going on. Until then, we sit tight. Got it?”

  Harris nods reluctantly. “Glad to see you back on track, Sergeant. I had my doubts.”

  I would have rather knocked him out cold. But the way things stand, I can only hope Harris will take it down a notch and pay close attention to what’s going on.

  “You’re the United World scouts from the Argonaus.” Lemuel turns in his seat to face Sinclair and Granger. “Cain said you would be coming.”

  “Tell us about him—your leader?” Margo focuses his attention on what we need to know. She’s good about it, keeping that friendly, curious tone intact, the kind that inflates a young man’s pride and makes him eager to share.

  Her telepathic abilities might also be in play.

  “Cain thinks he’s Gaia’s chosen one, just because he’s the only person she speaks to,” Lemuel says. “He’s the biggest and the strongest, and he throws his weight around all the time.”

  “He’s a bully,” Margo observes.

  “And he’s got more wives than anybody—four. Can you believe that?”

  “No, I—” She appears flustered for the first time during their interchange.

  “He’s got them all with child, even Victoria—his fourth wife. She isn’t much older than me. Hell, we grew up together in the bunker!”

  “They’re able to reproduce,” Harris whispers on comms, gripping my arm.

  “You guys get in trouble or something?” Lemuel looks at me.

  “They were in a hurry,” Sinclair explains. “They didn’t have time to find a seat.”

  Lemuel nods, assessing my threat level.

  “That’s our team leader and our doctor.” Granger points at each of us in turn. “I’m the engineer on this expedition, and she’s our science officer. We had one more, but we lost—”

  “Do you have a designation, Lemuel?” Sinclair interjects. Best not to mention our weapons officer’s demise.

  “A rank or something, you mean?” He frowns. “No. We’re not military.”

  “Yet they’re armed to the teeth,” Harris says on internal comms. “And notice he said we—he still identifies with the group that exiled him. That could pose a problem later on, should we cross paths with that hunting party.”

  “I’m a warrior. Staked thirty-four goblyns all by myself.” Lemuel’s chin rises with pride as he speaks. “I would’ve gotten my own wife next year, but Cain would have taken her for himself first. He does that, you know. He’s the only one with any seed to sow.”

  “The alpha male,” Harris comments.

  “You and Victoria are close,” Margo continues. “Will she leave Cain to join you?”

  The youth shakes his head, eyes downcast. “Cain won’t let her live, once she’s had his baby.” He faces Margo with sudden hope in his voice. “But he does need her, you know. She’s his eyes and ears out here. She can send her mind long-distance. That’s how she contacted you, right?” He watches Margo nod. “So you’re like her, then. You have the gift of far-thought?”

  Margo glances at me in the rearview before she replies, “I was able to hear her thoughts as if they were my own. She guided us to you.”

  Lemuel nods, his eyes distant. “Yeah, that’s what she said.” He gestures at the vehicle, changing the topic. “Somehow I don’t think you’re part of Luther’s nomads. They don’t have a single set of wheels to their name.”

  First Cain, now Luther—tribal leaders of some kind? And who is this Gaia the kid mentioned? Some sort of queen over them all?

  “Where do you think I’m from?” Margo almost smiles.

  He shrugs. “Eden, probably.” He stares hard at the terrain ahead.

  “Good guess. What do you know about Eden?”

  “Not much. Only that you still live under the ground. You didn’t come up to the surface with the rest of us after All-Clear.” He pauses. “Cain says you rejected Gaia’s blessing and have been cursed because of it, that you can never leave your bunker. But that can’t be right. You’ve obviously been blessed, so that makes him dead wrong.”

  Harris nudges me. “They see their mutations as part of a religious blessing from some higher power.”

  I flash back to when I crash-landed out of the chopper. Hearing the voice of my daughter, followed by the voice of my wife. Gale-force winds thrashing those mutant creatures to death. Was that the intervention of a powerful spirit-being? Is that who this Gaia is?

  “Only two of us remain.” Margo again makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, confirming that I’m listening. “There were
more in Eden, many others, but our leader had them all exterminated—anyone who showed signs of being different. My friend and I, we are the last of them.”

  “Your leader sounds like a real monster,” Lemuel says. “What’s his name?”

  Again, Margo’s eyes focus on me. “Arthur Willard.”

  Harris squeezes my arm but says nothing. Of course I recognize the name.

  “Your friend—you don’t mean the flying man. He’s from Luther’s tribe, I think.”

  She nods. “My friend’s name is Tucker. He is already there, where we’re headed.”

  “Luther’s cave?” Disdain runs thick in Lemuel’s tone.

  “Milton said you would be welcome—”

  “I don’t doubt it.” A derisive laugh. “Luther has been trying to get our people to join him for months now. If I’m going there, I must truly be in exile.”

  “You don’t like the guy,” Granger observes.

  Lemuel turns to face him. “Luther and his people are infidels. They’re blessed with the same gifts and abilities as my people, yet they refuse to worship Gaia for all she’s done. Instead, they choose to follow a false god who doesn’t even show his face to his followers.”

  “This is incredible,” Harris whispers, “to see this sort of religious fervor resurrect itself after a century of post-religious advancements throughout society worldwide. It’s as if they have gone back to the Dark Ages!”

  I nod absently, tuning out the doctor well enough.

  “You’ve seen this Gaia then?” Margo glances at Lemuel.

  He pauses. “She appears only to Cain. Our chieftain among chieftains.” The phrase sounds bitter on his tongue. “He’s the mediator between us mortals and our divine mother.”

  “Then how do you know she’s even real?” Granger voices the obvious question. “I mean, if your head honcho is the only guy seeing her, couldn’t he just be…I don’t know. Making her up to keep himself in charge?”

  The kid frowns at his ignorance. “Gaia has blessed us with all that we have. We would not be able to live as we do without her. Besides, Victoria has told me that she senses our mother’s presence hovering over the earth. She knows Gaia’s light.”