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

by Milo James Fowler

  “Bring them.” Luther’s attention shifts to a pair of sentries standing in a corridor at the edge of the gathering.

  With nods to Luther, they disappear for a few seconds. When they return, they carry the two canisters I brought out of Eden. I don’t recognize either sentry as being a member of my welcoming committee, but none of that really matters right now. The babies are safe, and by all appearances, the pods are still sealed shut. They continue to blink, indicating that all of the incubation systems are operating and the life signs are at healthy levels—everything Margo told me to look out for. I find myself releasing a sigh of relief I didn’t know I’ve been holding, and inadvertently my gaze shifts toward Daiyna.

  Her eyes are fixed on the two pods like they’re bombs about to go off without warning. She doesn’t blink. Shechara, seated beside her, places a hand on Daiyna’s forearm, and she seems to break from her reverie.

  “This is why they have come.” Luther opens his hands toward the two unborn children before him. “The United World is dying. They cannot reproduce. The devastation they wrought upon this continent was not limited to our lands. Airborne toxins spread across the globe, rendering them sterile. Even now as they hide, sealed off within the walls of their great city, they know they are doomed.” He drops his hands to his sides. “Willard hopes to use these children—”

  “How many are there?” someone pipes up, and others follow suit.

  “Why are they in those chambers?”

  “What did Eden do to them?”

  Luther holds up his hands, and the outspoken members of the audience simmer down. “We do not have an exact count, not yet. But Mr. Tucker has told us...there are more than a dozen.” Audible gasps course through the assembly. Samson shifts for the first time, his metallic legs scraping against the rock beneath him. Daiyna clenches her jaw, the muscle twitching as her fierce gaze burns at Luther. “If these two are any indication of the others’ condition, then we must assume they all are healthy and nearly ready to enter our world. The question is, however, which world will they be born into?” Luther pauses, and silence holds the moment. “They have never breathed our air, and as far as we know, the spirits cannot pass through steel and plexicon barriers. Like Willard and his men, deep in the bowels of Eden, these young ones are as human as we once were.” Luther glances at his fingers, where Perch tore out his claws one by one with a pair of pliers. “Ungifted.”

  Murmurs ripple through the audience.

  “But their genes are yours,” a pensive voice speaks up, belonging to a grey-haired woman standing in the back of the assembly. “Your DNA was changed by the dust of the earth. By the spirits, that is.” She glances at Luther as she corrects herself, changing her phrasing to align with his belief system. “Your offspring will have inherited those mutated genes.”

  She sounds like a scientist. How many different Sectors does this remnant represent?

  “It is my belief that the spirits bless us with our gifts only once we have breathed the air. The dust, as you say. That was how the abilities appeared in my Sector, when we came up out of the bunker, and I have heard a similar origin story from virtually every one of you. Willard and his men avoided these physiological changes by remaining hidden deep underground. They have never breathed our air on the surface.” Luther pauses. “We do not know whether these children will eventually exhibit our gifts—or mutations. I’m sure that is how the United World scientists would view them. Willard has offered these children—our children—to the UW in exchange for safe passage off this quarantined continent. He has promised the UW that the children are not infected. That’s his term for our gifts from the spirits: infection.”

  “Always thought of it as a handy little curse, myself,” I mutter under my breath.

  Samson nudges me with a heavy mechatronic elbow to keep quiet.

  “These children are exactly what the UW needs to survive. So they have sent a team to meet with Willard to discuss terms and to see for themselves if the children are as healthy as Willard says. Unfortunately, the daemons found the UW representatives first, and then Cain’s warriors came upon them. A little worse for wear, as would be expected, the four remaining members of the UW team are now on their way here. Two of them have already been exposed to the dust of the earth. It will not be long before they begin to exhibit their gifts from the spirits. As for the other two, their protective suits remain intact.”

  “Are we going to set them free?” Quiet laughter follows the heckler’s remark.

  Luther almost smiles. “It will be their choice, of course, whether they decide to join us. Perhaps seeing what becomes of their comrades will change their minds. They have nothing to fear—not from us, and not from their gifts.”

  “What about Cain’s warriors?” someone else speaks up, starting another onslaught of questions.

  “Why are they here?”

  “Where are they now?”

  Luther nods. “While Cain’s people and ours have never resorted to violence against one another, the same cannot be said for their interaction with the UW team. I don’t know all of the details, but I can tell you that Cain desires to repay them for attacking his people.”

  “Bullcrap,” Samson rumbles. Similar murmurs sweep through the audience.

  “He sees their encroachment on this land as an act of war,” Luther continues. “And he has come to believe it is in our mutual interest to join forces, in case we cannot convince the UW team to hear us out regarding the children. Cain’s people are staying in a separate chamber of the Homeplace, well-fed and well-supervised. Cain himself is on the way with the remainder of his warriors, and they should arrive this afternoon.”

  Luther approaches the incubation canisters. Standing between them, he rests one hand on each. “The UW doctor will test them when he arrives. If they are one hundred percent human, uninfected, their genes clear of any mutation, then he will contact his people off-shore. If, however, these two display any trace of genetic abnormality, it will be a sure sign that the others in Eden may not be what Willard is advertising. “

  “Will he kill them?” someone asks, her voice echoing in the cavern.

  Luther’s eyes are as somber as ever. “I would put nothing past him. Arthur Willard is a man devoid of conscience. But rest assured, we will go to Eden. We will take what is ours, every single child. This is why it’s in our best interest to combine forces.”

  “Down with Eden!” Numerous members of the audience take up the shout, raising their fists.

  I’m glad I’m invisible.

  One of the multitude steps forward. “We have heard you, Luther. We respect you, and we know you have nothing but love in your heart for us. Now hear what we have to say.”

  The formality makes me wonder if this is standard procedure in the Homeplace when a dissenter wants to offer a counterargument.

  “Speak, Xavier.” Luther nods and steps to the side. “We will listen.”

  “You say we all don’t share your beliefs, and you’re right. There are many of us who don’t believe in your creator, and even more of us who don’t believe in your spirits. These mutations—” Xavier pauses to flex one arm. Bony spines jerk outward from his bicep without any signs of tissue damage. “They’re not gifts in our eyes. And we’re mighty interested in having them removed. Permanently.”

  Luther clenches his jaw a moment before answering, calm as ever. “The procedure I underwent...was not by choice. Nor was it for Shechara, or for Samson.”

  “They sawed off my damned arms and legs!” Samson bellows.

  Xavier nods. He ducks his head a little, seeming to know his place before the cyborg. “We can only imagine how difficult it has been for you, and we sympathize. But because of you, because of your harrowing experience, we know these mutations are curable. In Eden there are men of science who would be able to—”

  “They’re butchers.” Samson rises to his mechanical feet. “Look at me! You really want this to happen to you?”

  Luther raises a h
and. “Peace, brother. All are welcome to have their say. You will have your turn.”

  “Already said all I care to.” Samson drops back onto his rock with a resounding clang.

  Xavier pauses before continuing, “All we’re saying is, can’t some of us who are interested...leave the Homeplace ahead of you, before this whole thing with your babies comes to a head? We can see what the people of Eden are able to do about our mutations.”

  Luther winces at the word. “You want your gifts—your abilities—taken away, when even now, the United World may be preparing to land troops on our shores? When we may need to fight for our very survival?”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said I would try my best to reason with the UW team, hoping they will hear us out. I have hope. I believe the spirits will be on our side, that the Creator wants what is best for us. He wants us to live.” Luther’s gaze drifts across those gathered. “We are stronger together than we ever were apart. When Daiyna, Shechara, Samson, Milton, and I escaped from Eden, we were told by the spirits that we would find others like us as we traveled west. And we have. So many of you!” He holds out his arms as if to embrace them all. Many of them have tears in their eyes, maybe at the memory of those early days, struggling to survive on their own. I sure as hell know what that was like. “We must stay together,” Luther exhorts them. “We must remain strong. And if the Creator has allowed the spirits of the earth to change us, then who are we to argue with His divine will?”

  “But Luther,” Xavier persists amid the murmurs all around him, “isn’t it just as likely that what’s happened to us can be explained scientifically? And if so, if there is a medical solution, then we could be fixed—”

  “You call this being fixed?” Samson bangs his arms together, and the clang brings the assembly to attention with startled gasps.

  “Brother,” Luther chides him like they’re siblings.

  “Sorry,” the big man rumbles.

  “They don’t know about Margo,” I mutter.

  Samson shoots me a glance.

  “What’s that?” Xavier steps toward where I sit, his face awash with genuine interest. “What did you say, Mr. Tucker?”

  “He has no voice here,” Daiyna speaks up for the first time. “He’s an outsider.”

  “He is our guest,” Luther corrects her gently. For a moment, it looks as though she won’t back down. But after a glance across the way at Samson, she drops her gaze. “And if he has something to add to this discussion...”

  I swallow. The moment I feared is finally here. Luther expects me to say something, and he’s not the only one. All of them do, their eyes directed my way, some with curiosity, but most with disdain. All because I was stupid enough to mention Margo.

  I clear my throat.

  “Careful now,” Samson advises.

  I don’t need to be told twice. I can feel the stares of the Eden-haters just as hot as those who want their special abilities taken away.

  “Uh, well, what Samson said is true,” I begin, rising to my feet regardless of whether anybody can see me. I rub my nose and sniff out of nervous habit, smelling only that healing salve. “Willard and his crew, sure, they’re engineers from Sector 30, but only one of them knew anything about human genetics and cybernetic transplants.” I glance at the cyborg beside me. “After what Willard’s man Perch did, she kind of put Samson back together again. But that wouldn’t work for everybody. I mean, look at me.” I shrug. “The only reason those of you with night-vision can see me right now is because of this goop all over me. It’s supposed to heal my wounds, but I’m thinking it’s to let you know where I am at all times.”

  Chuckles circulate. Emboldened, I feel a few of my jitters subside.

  “She?” Xavier frowns with curiosity, staring in my general direction. “I thought the engineers in Eden were all men.”

  “Now, sure. But we had men and women in equal numbers, back in the day. Willard went nuts and didn’t trust the women. Killed most of them—all but Margo. She was our doctor, geneticist, you name it. Without her, none of these babies would even be alive.” I gesture at the incubation pods. “She’s the one who sent me away with them, and I’m pretty sure once Willard finds out it was her doing, he’ll kill her too.” My eyes sting unexpectedly at the thought of Margo dead. I shuffle my feet. “So if you think there’s anybody back in Eden who can help you, think again. There are plenty who’d be itching to take you apart and see how you work. If you decide to head out that way, ask for Perch. He’s a real friendly son-of-a-bitch.”

  I glance around the cavern at the blank faces. No more chuckles to be had. Feeling like I might’ve said too much, I drop my gaze and take my seat while murmurs roll through the assembly in waves.

  Samson grunts something that might be, “Nicely done.”

  “Do you have anything more you’d like to share with us, Xavier?” Luther says.

  Xavier glances back at his supporters. All of them look deflated, fervor lost. Xavier shakes his head and sits down.

  “Very well.” Luther clasps his hands together. “For now, we will table the topic of returning to Eden for the children—or for any other reason. The UW team should arrive within the hour, and with them, someone I believe Mr. Tucker will be very happy to see.”

  I look up again to find Luther’s gaze aimed in my vicinity.

  “Our friend Margo appears to be acting as their chauffeur.” Luther smiles.

  I can’t quite believe what I just heard, even as my whole body melts with relief.

  18 Bishop

  18 Months After All-Clear

  The Hummer eases to a halt at the base of a sheer cliff. High above, a cave’s mouth yawns in the early morning light.

  “We’re here.” Margo quietly breaks the silence that’s fallen on her passengers.

  “Don’t see anybody,” Granger remarks.

  “Perhaps they do not wish to be seen,” Sinclair says.

  “Aren’t they expecting us?” Harris pipes up, his eyes wide behind the transparent polymer of his face shield. “That’s what the flying man said—”

  “Where is he?” Lemuel strains to peer at the sky through the windshield.

  “He said he’d follow us, right?” Granger glances back at me in the cargo compartment. “I don’t like the looks of this, Captain. It’s got ambush written all over it.”

  I glance at the rearview mirror to find Margo’s dark eyes on me.

  They are afraid, Sergeant. You need to say something.

  She’s giving me orders now? What makes it worse is the delivery system, something I really can’t wrap my mind around. She seems to have no difficulty entering my head whenever she wishes.

  Stay calm. I focus on the sound of the air passing through my breather as I scan the mountainside’s crags. I always know when I’m being watched—the short hairs on the back of my neck have a way of standing at attention. Like they’re doing right now. “More than likely, they’re waiting for us to make the first move.”

  “So they can shoot us.” Harris curses under his breath.

  I turn toward him, our helmets millimeters apart. “How about making first contact, Doc?”

  “You cannot be serious,” he replies. “I am obviously the least expendable member of this team. You need me to verify the health of the fetuses once we reach Eden.”

  “If need be, I could take over that duty,” Sinclair offers.

  Harris blusters unintelligibly, aghast.

  I almost smile at that. Sinclair isn’t just a well-trained scientist. She’s a stolid soldier, handling her injury with the dignity of a battle-weary marine.

  “She’s right,” I agree. “Push comes to shove, I’m sure she could tell us all we need to know about the infants.”

  “You guys deciding our next move?” Granger says.

  “The good doctor has volunteered to step outside and announce our arrival,” Sinclair says.

  “I beg your pardon!” Harris sputters.

  “We’ll be r
ight behind you.” I tug the rifle free from the doctor’s death grip and set it down beside my own. “We’ll do this unarmed, as a sign of good faith.”

  “In whom, exactly? Superhumans fast enough to kill us before we can get off a shot?”

  “Get out, Doc.” I stare him down. “That’s an order.”

  Margo releases the cargo compartment door, and it drifts upward automatically. Lemuel opens his door and steps outside, boots crunching across the gravel.

  “Anybody home?” his youthful voice echoes against the massive cliff face.

  “That kid will be the death of us!” Harris mutters.

  “After you.” I give him a shove that sends him sprawling awkwardly out of the vehicle.

  “Looks like we’re on the move, folks,” Granger says. “Keep your eyes sharp.”

  Margo opens the side door and helps Sinclair and Granger out, one at a time. Both lean on the vehicle, showing signs of weakness from their recent blood loss—but covering it up with extra helpings of bravado.

  “Anybody?” Lemuel calls, emphasizing each syllable of the word.

  “Hey kid, what’s your superpower?” Granger asks.

  Lemuel pauses, uncertain. “My what?”

  I face the ridge above, wishing yet again that my helmet was functional. But I have to work with what I’ve got. So I nudge Harris. “Go on. Introduce us.”

  While he scowls and clears his throat, probably thinking up something eloquent to say, I keep an eye on his face shield. No life signs lighting up the HUD. So either the mutant lookouts are able to cloak their body temperature and heart rate, or there’s no one up there at all.

  But that can’t be. Those hairs on the back of my neck are on high alert.

  “My name is Dr. Jefferson Harris. This is Sergeant James Bishop. We represent the interests of the United World government. Milton said you would be expecting us.”