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

by Milo James Fowler

  “Shut it.” I glare at Willard. It nauseates me just to be back in the same room with this guy. The last thing I need is to hear him whine and complain. “And keep it shut.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” Willard snickers. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Go ahead. Try something. If Jamison doesn’t shoot you, I’ll break your nose.”

  Willard curses, shaking his head. “You honestly think you hold the upper hand here?”

  “Let me see.” I count my fingers. “All of your crew’s locked in their quarters, and we’ve got the Big Cheese of Eden at gunpoint. Yeah, I’d say so.”

  Willard laughs, a short explosive burst. “After that escape you pulled off a few months ago, we’ve drilled for contingencies such as this. Just you wait.”

  “He’s bluffing.” Jamison glances at me. “We never trained—”

  “As far as you know.” Willard’s beady-eyed gaze narrows. “I could tell from the start you didn’t have the guts necessary for what needed to be done.”

  “Killing those infants won’t get you any closer to Eurasia.” Jamison’s neck muscles strain, his face flushing. “They’re the future, dammit! Why can’t you see that?”

  “We’ll see what Chancellor Hawthorne decides.” Willard crosses his arms. “She’ll give me what I want, or I’ll start taking away what she wants. One incubation chamber at a time. You know as well as I do, sometimes the electricity can really fluctuate around here—unexpectedly.”

  I shake my head. “You won’t be going anywhere near that nursery, trust me.”

  “Who said my proximity matters?” Something in Willard’s wild gaze makes me uneasy. Is he only bluffing?

  On the screen, the tunnel’s hatch closes on its own—or appears to do so, thanks to Tucker. A tense minute or two follows. Then the vehicle’s rear door floats upward, and a man in a bulky environmental suit with a tinted helmet steps out. Sergeant Bishop. He survived Cain’s surprise attack on the Homeplace, but how’d he manage to get here so fast? Are Cain’s warriors right behind him?

  The vehicle’s front doors drift open next, allowing Perch and the driver to exit. Each man has his sidearm at the ready. Perch’s is trained on Bishop while the driver swings his side to side and upward, scoping out the scene.

  “Turn up the volume.” Willard kicks back, propping his boots on a plush corduroy ottoman. A tight smile stretches his gaunt face. “I don’t want to miss any of this.”

  I humor him, pressing the button on the side of the monitor.

  “Take off that helmet,” Perch barks from Eden’s main floor. “And stay right there in front of me. That’s right. My own personal human shield—UW marine edition.” He chuckles without any real humor in his tone. “You see anybody?”

  “No one,” says the driver.

  Perch curses before shouting, “Where you at, Tucker boy?”

  No response. Bishop releases the clamps at his collar and removes his helmet, along with the breather covering his face. His short dark hair is plastered against his scalp with perspiration, and beads of sweat stand out across his brow.

  “I’m sure he’s enjoying Eden’s cool 22 degrees Celsius,” Willard says with a snicker.

  “Where is everyone?” the sergeant demands. “And why are you pointing that gun—?”

  Perch grabs him by the back of his collar—a rigid metal ring where the helmet docks—and gives him a rough shake. “I’m thinking you were the distraction, marine. While we were up there fetching you, some of your cohorts snuck inside via alternate routes. So how ‘bout you call them out, and we see how this goes down?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The driver lurches forward with a sudden cry, his sidearm disappearing into thin air as he stumbles. Blood gushes from his broken nose. “What the hell was that?”

  “Tucker!” Perch roars, jamming his pistol against Bishop’s temple. “Drop that weapon or I swear, this guy’s muto meat!”

  “Shoot him, and you’re next,” Tucker responds in his slow drawl.

  Perch whips his gun toward the voice and fires. The shot explodes like a bomb going off in the expansive concrete dome. Bishop swings his helmet upward and clocks Perch right between the eyes. The big man staggers back but maintains his hold on Bishop’s collar, dragging him along with him. Bishop stumbles awkwardly in the cumbersome suit, struggling to keep his feet beneath him. He trips over Perch as both men hit the concrete floor. Perch’s weapon discharges two more rounds, the sound carrying through Willard’s thick steel door as well as the monitor’s speakers.

  Then Perch vanishes for a second. When he reappears, his gun hand is empty.

  “Get the hell off me!” Perch bellows, straining against Bishop’s weight.

  I look back at Willard on the sofa. “Some contingency plan you’ve got.”

  “Be patient.” He grins. Not creepy at all.

  “All right, Sergeant, you can get up now. I’ve got a bead on ‘im,” Tucker says, invisible to the naked eye as well as the cameras mounted in Eden’s ceiling. “More than one, actually.” He sniffs. “Call me Two-Gun Tucker.”

  Bishop looks perplexed by the whole situation as he strains to rise.

  “You’re gonna pay for this, you damn freak!” Perch roars.

  “Want me to shoot you in the leg or something?” Tucker offers. “Will that shut you up?” Then to Bishop, he says, “Sergeant, you might want to take off that thing. You won’t be able to climb, otherwise.”

  “Climb?” Bishop’s eyes dart toward the nearest cubicle suspended from the side of the dome. “Up there.”

  “Right,” Tucker says. “Willard’s waiting for you, along with Milton and a new friend we’ve made. Well, kind of an old friend, I guess. He’s joined the cause.”

  “Milton? What the hell’s going on?” Perch demands. “Some kind of sand freak reunion?” Even with two guns trained on him, he remains as contemptuous as ever.

  Bishop frowns, looking down at his environmental suit. “I’ll need a little help with this.”

  “Give the man a hand,” Tucker orders the driver.

  Scowling and wiping his bloody nose across one sleeve, the man moves to obey without a word. Seems like he’s used to people bossing him around. I remember what that was like, back in the bunker.

  “So, what’s your endgame here, Milton?” Willard’s oily voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “Already told you.” My gaze doesn’t leave the monitor. The question is, will Sergeant Bishop agree with it? “We’re taking those babies to the Homeplace.”

  “Don’t you think they’d be safer here? With the proper facilities?”

  “With you? Not a chance.”

  “You misunderstand.” Willard sighs.

  “Just what are you getting at?” Jamison demands.

  “Look around you. Eden is a subterranean fortress. Impenetrable.”

  “I beg to differ.” Jamison nods toward me.

  Willard grins again, hideous as ever. “He and his invisible friend were allowed entry. As was the United World sergeant down there. Didn’t you find it odd that our dogs left you alone? That no one got in your way?”

  I half-turn to face him. “Easy to say now that we’re here. I’ve got a feeling you had no idea what we were up to until it was too late. You’ve grown complacent here in your fortress.”

  “Perhaps,” Willard acknowledges. “But then again, this could be the perfect trap. For you. For your friends. For the UW troops when they arrive.”

  “You’re saying you planned this?” I shake my head and return my attention to the screen. “Unbelievable.” The man has grown even more delusional over the past months.

  “What I’m saying is…you would be making a grave mistake to transport the incubation chambers out west. It would make much more sense to take over Eden and make it your new Homeplace. Is that Luther’s name for it or yours? Sounds very…tribal.”

  I scowl at him. “What game are you playing, Willard?”

&
nbsp; “Oh, you’ll see. Patience is a virtue, Milton. Everything will soon become very clear.”

  Is he just trying to get into our heads? If so, it’s working. Even Jamison looks unsure of himself, adjusting his grip on the handgun. I reach for the radio at my belt, something I borrowed off Ayers before locking him in his quarters.

  “Tucker, let’s get moving,” I tell him. “Lock up those two and bring the sergeant up here.”

  On the monitor, Bishop glances toward the empty space where Tucker stands. “Milton, what’s going on?” he demands. The driver has freed him from the upper portion of the bulky suit, and now his thick-muscled arms are out, clad in a white thermal bodysuit. He waves the driver off and sets about pulling his legs free himself.

  “I could ask you the same thing, Sergeant. Climb up here as soon as you can.” I return the radio to my belt and watch as Perch gets to his feet reluctantly, scowling like a Neanderthal under his massive brow.

  “That’s right,” Tucker says. “You heard the man. Head on over to your quarters so I can lock you inside.”

  The driver moves to obey, but Perch remains rooted. “I think you’ve forgotten something, Tucker ol’ pal.”

  Tucker sniffs. “I doubt it.”

  “Oh no, I’m sure of it.” Slowly, Perch raises his left hand. It holds a remote control.

  I grab my radio. “Tucker—”

  “See what I’ve got here? Yeah? You know what this does?” Perch taunts.

  “Don’t let him—” I start.

  “Sure.” Tucker hasn’t answered his radio—probably tough with both hands holding semiautomatics. But his voice is clear through the monitor. “That’s what you use to call the dogs.”

  Perch grins and nods. “I’ve added a couple new features. Including power to the nursery...”

  Willard chuckles on the sofa.

  “With the press of a button, life support will fail down there. Oh, and this one? It controls all the locks around here.” Perch gazes across the dome’s interior. “Every one of those doors.”

  Willard is laughing out loud. Jamison looks pale.

  “Shoot him, Tucker!” I shout into the radio.

  “Just think how many angry Eden Guardsmen will come running. Oh, and like you said, I can also call the dogs in from the surface. As you already know, Tucker-boy, we keep them mighty hungry for occasions such as this.”

  Willard howls like a maniac, kicking his feet in the air.

  “Why are you tellin’ me this?” Tucker’s voice is surprisingly even. “You tryin’ to scare me or something?”

  Perch shrugs his massive shoulders. “Just thought you’d want it. Can’t keep it with me if you’re planning to lock me up, right? I could make all manner of hell break loose!” He holds out the remote in the palm of his hand. “You want it or not?”

  I face Jamison. “Can it do everything he said?”

  His head pivots slowly. “I honestly don’t know. If he’s bluffing—”

  “Oh, he’s not,” Willard wheezes hysterically. “I can assure you of that!”

  “Tucker, take it,” I say. “Shoot him first if you have to.”

  Perch laughs out loud, tossing his head back. “That’s right, you go ahead and shoot an unarmed man, Tucker-boy. I’m sure that won’t weigh on your conscience any.”

  “Stand still,” Tucker says.

  I grit my teeth. Part of me wants to fly down there and take the remote in a blur of speed, but another part knows better than to leave Willard alone with Jamison. Willard’s not a man to be underestimated, and I don’t know that I trust Jamison completely. If push comes to shove, will he keep wearing his traitor’s hat? Sure, he wants what’s best for the babies, but that could change when his own life’s on the line.

  “Careful, Tucker,” I caution him—and instantly regret it.

  My voice through the radio betrays Tucker’s position, and Perch moves lightning-quick, disappearing as soon as he lunges at Tucker. At the sound of the invisible scuffle, the driver charges Bishop full-tilt, knocking him down just as he frees himself entirely from the hazard suit. The two go sprawling against the vehicle, but the smaller man is no match for Bishop. A solid right hook sends him slumping to the pavement. Bishop crouches at the ready, but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself, listening blindly as Tucker and Perch duke it out.

  “Take him down, Perch!” Willard shrieks, leaning forward and watching the monitor like he can actually see what’s happening. “Break his neck!”

  Something cracks. A sickening crunch. Bone, if I had to guess. Silence follows.

  Perch staggers back into view, his face a bloody mess. In each hand he holds a gun—his own and the driver’s. The remote is tucked into his belt.

  “You came here to see Captain Willard.” Catching his breath, he points one weapon at Bishop. “Alright then. Get moving.”

  “Tucker!” I shout into the radio. My voice echoes on the monitor, coming from the floor behind Perch.

  “Long live the invisible man,” Perch mutters. He motions impatiently for Bishop to climb the ladder leading up to the nearest catwalk. “Move!”

  My chest tightens. This is my fault. Tucker’s death is on my hands.

  The room sways.

  “One down, two to go.” Willard stretches his back.

  “He was one of your men!” Jamison shouts.

  Willard shakes his head. “Tucker hasn’t been a man for a long time—or one of ours. Just a sand freak, that’s all. Good riddance.”

  I face him. “He was a good man, you son-of-a-bitch. The only freak in this room is you.”

  Willard shrugs. “Say whatever you need to say, Milton. I’m sure it’ll be some time before you get over the fact that you killed him. You and that stupid radio. Why didn’t you just go down there and take the remote for yourself? Oh, that’s right: because deep down, you’re nothing but a coward. And now that the tables have turned—”

  “They haven’t.” Jamison presses the gun against Willard’s temple. “We still have you.”

  Willard frowns, puzzled. “But it’s not me that you want. It’s the children. Those little blobs of tissue with eyes and ears and noses, gestating down in the nursery. They’ve made you as soft as they are. They’re your weakness.” He clucks his tongue. “Never show your enemy your warm underbelly, Jamison. He just might sink a serrated dagger in there—or let a hungry muto have at it.”

  On the monitor, Bishop climbs the ladder while Perch follows half a dozen rungs behind, gun in hand. What was the sergeant thinking, showing up here unarmed, without any backup? I’ve seriously misjudged him. The guy is a fool.

  A heavy knock clangs against Willard’s door. Bishop and Perch stand outside.

  “It appears that our esteemed UW emissary has finally arrived.” Willard gestures toward the door. “Do let them in, won’t you, Milton?”

  I stand there for a moment, weighing my options. Seething. What choice do I have? Nobody else can die. I won’t let that happen.

  I unbolt the door and slide it back. As soon as it’s open, Perch shoves Bishop inside.

  “Well now, look who’s back. And look who’s gone all turncoat on us.” Perch stands behind Bishop and holds a gun against the base of his skull. “Drop it, pal.” Perch stares Jamison down.

  Jamison falters, glancing at me.

  “Wait.” I hold up a hand.

  “Listen, you super-freak, I’ve got nothing against this marine or anything—I think we’ve actually bonded.” Perch chuckles. “But I’ll blow his brains out all over if you don’t step back. And I’m not gonna tell you again, Jamison!”

  “I would do as he says.” Willard’s smile fades. “He looks angry. You know how unpredictable Perch can be when he loses his temper. I wouldn’t try anything speedy, Milton—unless you truly are faster than a bullet.”

  I won’t risk it. Not after Tucker. “Let the sergeant go.”

  “Why the hell would I do that?” Perch says in disbelief. “He’s the only thing keeping you f
rom going all supersonic on us!”

  The man has a point.

  “Jamison tosses his gun on the floor, and I don’t kill the marine. Got it?”

  There’s fear in Bishop’s eyes. But he isn’t scared of losing his own life. If what the Julia-spirit said was true, he’s scared of losing his family. But those children down in the nursery and the future of the world are at stake here.

  I have to get Perch’s remote, no matter what.

  “Not counting to three!” Perch roars. “This jarhead’s dead!”

  “Drop it,” I tell Jamison. Reluctantly, he tosses his gun onto the carpet.

  Willard reaches out his arms with a sigh of relief. Then he chops Jamison in the throat. “Stupid bastard,” Willard spits as Jamison lurches forward, choking, his eyes wide. “You always were the weakest link.”

  He seizes hold of Jamison’s head and twists it with a violent crack.

  “No!” I lunge forward. Everything around me freezes as I push Willard back against the sofa with one arm and catch Jamison’s limp body in the other.

  “Too slow,” Willard says.

  I stare at Jamison, unable to believe he’s dead. It happened so fast. But I’m supposed to be faster. The fastest. I should have been able to stop this.

  Everything is unraveling. I can’t keep it together.

  “Your allies are quickly dwindling, Milton.” Willard smiles. “You really don’t want our UW sergeant to be next, do you?”

  “The children...” I manage, my voice thick with remorse. How many more people are going to die because of me? “They’re all that matter.” I set Jamison’s body back against the sofa cushions and close the man’s eyelids. “May I have a word with the sergeant?”

  “Of course!” Willard nods to Perch, who prods Bishop forward with the gun muzzle flat against his skull. “This should prove to be quite entertaining.”

  “Talk to your little buddy, jarhead,” Perch sneers.

  Bishop stands like a statue, eyeing me warily.

  “In private,” I clarify.

  Perch laughs out loud.

  Willard frowns. “No, I don’t think so. Whatever you have to say, I want to hear it. Perhaps it will grant me some insight into the grand scheme you were planning to accomplish here.”