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

by Milo James Fowler

  "Milton is, however, currently possessed by a spirit of the earth," I continue. "It's the only way such a being could possibly enter Eurasia. Via a willing host, acting as its vessel."

  "Mostly willing," Milton mutters.

  "It was communicating with you as someone from your past, I take it?" I raise an eyebrow at the Chancellor.

  She glares at Emmanuel and stands. "We're leaving. Right now."

  He leans forward, about to get to his feet.

  "Sit down." For the first time, James speaks to Hawthorne, and it's like he is giving orders to a subordinate. "Hear us out. At the end of it, if you're not interested in what we're offering, then nobody will stop you from leaving."

  "But until then, I'm your prisoner."

  "Until then, I don't much care what you have to say." He folds his arms and stares her down.

  She fidgets for a moment. Then she sinks onto the edge of the bed, staring daggers at me instead of James. Because he intimidates her. And why shouldn't he? Sergeant James Bishop was responsible for bringing the Twenty to Eurasia, reversing their infertility problem and ensuring a future for the Ten Domes. Without him, they would have died out as a species after the Terminal Age—Mara and Emmanuel's generation, the last to be naturally born to Eurasian citizens more than thirty years ago.

  Sergeant Bishop was a famous hero and a martyr for the cause; the people adored him. But that was before the Chancellor started erasing history. She and the Governors of the Ten Domes decided it did their people no good to remember the past, that only now and forever forward mattered. So the citizens' neural implants were tweaked to keep them from remembering past events or even learning about them. In so doing, the people of Eurasia forgot a man named James Bishop, as well as a horrific event known as D-Day. And they had no reason to believe their immaculate city of glass has not always existed.

  Thanks to Samson and Shechara's research during their fifteen-year undercover mission, we have learned enough to be well-versed in Eurasian ways. We know never to go under a laser-knife to receive neural implants. As fascinating as augmented reality and virtual reality may sound, we have agreed that we don't want to lose any part of ourselves. Memories of the past make us who we are, and the present must be lived—not ignored with glazed-over eyes while we're online.

  The spirit is speaking through Milton again, and I focus on what he's saying. This is the closest I've ever come to hearing a spirit of the earth communicate.

  "That enhanced hearing ability you experience upon snorting a pinch or two of dust—it never lasts, does it, Persephone?" he asks.

  Her face has gone white, her voice hoarse. "How can you possibly know…?"

  I tap my temple. "The spirits know our thoughts. Somehow, they are able to slip into our minds and learn everything about us. But only those of us who, like you, have inhaled the dust of the earth. They communicate directly with a very select few." I regard the Chancellor for a moment as she sits there looking like she's witnessed a ghost. "Whose voice did you hear?"

  Color gradually returns to her cheeks. The flush of rage held on a tight leash. "It's just a trick. In very poor taste, I must say."

  Mara rests a hand on her father's shoulder. "Do you…?" She frowns, not sure how to phrase the question.

  He nods, his voice quiet. "The spirits appeared to me as your mother."

  Mara withdraws her hand quickly, as if she's been burned.

  He meets her wary gaze. "They saved my life. Kept me on mission. Led me where I needed to go in order to ensure the retrieval and delivery of the Twenty." Even after all these years, he still speaks like a military man. "These spirits, they're... incredible."

  Mara does not look convinced. Instead, she seems concerned that the years her father spent outside Eurasia may have affected his mind in detrimental ways.

  Milton keeps his eyes locked on the Chancellor, his speech patterns continuing to sound like someone else's. "What if I told you that ability, instead of only lasting a minute or few, could be permanent? Available whenever you need it?"

  Hawthorne's jaw muscles twitch as she grinds her teeth. "How would such a thing be possible?" she finally manages, grating out the words.

  It's clear that we have her attention. We are offering something she desperately wants. Now to leverage that desire in our favor.

  "It is indeed possible," Milton replies. "All I would have to do is—" He flinches suddenly, grimacing as though he's tasted something terrible. "Kiss her? What the hell? You never said anything about—!"

  He's arguing with the spirit he carries, that much is clear. All eyes are fixed on him. None of us have ever witnessed anything like the spectacle playing out before us, as uncanny as it is humorous.

  His voice returns to its earlier cadence as he explains to Hawthorne, "If we maintain a tight seal, mouth to mouth, I would be able to enter your body and, via the particulate matter already ensconced in your lungs, activate your gift. Permanently." Then he cringes, avoiding eye contact with the Chancellor as he turns toward me to whisper, "I never signed up for this!"

  I give him a shrug. Whatever we have to do.

  That was the agreement we made days ago. At the time, when I learned from Milton what the spirits intended, I balked at the idea of someone as despicable as Persephone Hawthorne receiving a superhuman gift. But then I recalled that Cain, vile as he was, had also been gifted by the spirits of the earth. It is true, at least in a metaphorical sense, that the Creator causes rain to fall upon the just and the unjust.

  "What would you want from me in return?" She doesn't seem turned off by the prospect of kissing Milton.

  Victoria would obviously have something to say about it, but she is with Daiyna and the others hiding out in Dome 10, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. Captain Mutegi waits aboard the Argonaus, docked nearby, and Samson and Shechara should be headed that way from Dome 6. But if all goes according to plan, then everyone will meet us here in Dome 1.

  "You tell us where you've taken the Twenty," James says.

  She smirks at him as only a self-satisfied, lifelong politician can. The most powerful woman in the world. "What makes you think I've taken them anywhere?"

  "We have it on good authority that your security clones are rounding them up and escorting them to a safe location." I hold her gaze. "We would like to know where that is."

  She shakes her head at me. "And what makes you think I would share that information with a group of terrorists—" She glances at Mara and Emmanuel. "—and traitors?"

  "We're not terrorists. As I told you, we're from the North American Sectors—"

  "Impossible." It's as though she has turned a sharp corner in her mind, convincing herself that nothing she's seen or heard is true. "There's no way in hell you could have entered the Domes undetected. We have strict measures in place, analysts in each dome who track the movements of every citizen, day and night. The only people without implants reside in Dome 6, and very few are allowed transit privileges outside that dome. Every other citizen is traceable every moment of their lives."

  "Until a massive EMP burst disabled every system in your building, including the neural implants of every citizen inside." Milton shrugs, again sounding like someone else. "While your law enforcers scrambled to contain that situation—and while a few citizens on the fringes of society took it upon themselves to create disturbances in the streets, seeming to think the attack was instigated by the people you call terrorists—Luther and his friends entered Dome 10 and made their way here, right before martial law went into effect. It timed out perfectly."

  She narrows her eyes at him, baring her teeth, but not in a smile. "So you're saying it was not the terrorists who attacked my tower?"

  "A well-organized group of so-called freedom fighters intent on disrupting Eurasian society in an effort to bring down the rule of law and destroy the rigid class structure currently in place?" Milton shakes his head. "Not this time."

  I lean forward. "Those people exist, of course. They call themselv
es patriots, resurrecting the same moniker used by the dangerous radicals who released bioweapons onto North America four decades ago. But the current incarnation had nothing to do with the EMP strike on Hawthorne Tower." I pause. "That was us."

  She laughs bitterly. "You really should get your story straight. Didn't you just say you entered Dome 10 after the EMP attack?"

  "That's right," Milton says, sounding like himself, "but I snuck in early." He holds up the snuff box he stole from her in a blur of speed. "I'm fast like that."

  "You must have had some help." Mara studies Milton like the law enforcer she is. "I don't care how fast you are. You couldn't have smuggled in the equipment necessary to knock out Hawthorne Tower without being detected."

  "We have had a contact in Eurasia for many years," I reply. "He procured what we needed, and Milton set it up inside your building. The equipment was masked as upgraded Linkstream relays, and Milton's superspeed registered as a momentary glitch on your surveillance cameras."

  The Chancellor scowls at Emmanuel. "How can this be possible?" she hisses. "Don't we have analysts plugged into the Link, constantly monitoring every corner of the building?"

  He nods, perplexed. "I should have been informed of any anomalies..."

  "You're both fired." She glares at Mara. "You'll be reassigned to waste management in Dome 10. Enjoy the demotion."

  "Assuming you still have any power when you leave this room," James says.

  "Is that a threat?" Seething, Hawthorne turns her full attention on him.

  "The situation as I see it."

  She curses under her breath. "I believe we are through here, Sergeant. Am I free to leave?"

  "As soon as you tell us where the Twenty have been taken."

  "Why do you care?"

  "I know what it's like to lose your family. Your kids." He clenches his jaw. "Half of the Twenty are Luther's children."

  Hawthorne raises her chin, pivoting slowly to face me. "So that's what this is all about." Her voice is low, as if none of us are sitting here with her. She's gone back in time to relive a memory. "He said the embryos were from willing donors. I assumed he meant his own people in Eden. But Arthur Willard was a self-serving bastard. Of course I saw that right away." She blinks, focusing on me now. "You've waited a long time to come looking for them."

  "Yes," I acknowledge, nodding to Bishop. "We have."

  Years passed as we waited for the right moment. Dissent in the outlying domes had to reach high enough levels for there to be a credible threat, and for the attack on Hawthorne tower to be the obvious culmination. Samson and Shechara had to make contact with Erik Paine, and he had to do his own research to validate the information he'd been given. Being tech savvy, that did not take him long. Then we waited while he dealt with his criminal contacts in Dome 10, obtaining the EMP grenades and other devices he would need to deactivate the neural implants of each member of the Twenty so they would be in tune with their gifts.

  According to Samson and Shechara, their biological son was not only telepathic but could leap higher than humanly possible. Whether his nine siblings or Daiyna and my offspring were similarly blessed remained to be seen, but one thing was clear: Erik had never breathed in the dust of the earth prior to exhibiting his abilities. The spirits' blessing had been passed to him through his parents' DNA.

  Erik managed to locate each member of the Twenty via DNA samples from Samson, Shechara, Daiyna, and myself, utilizing secret Linkstream backchannels. He narrowed down the list and decided on the first one to contact: a law enforcer who worked the night shift, maintaining the curfew. An officer with an impressive record, but who had a tendency to be strong-willed at times and grate on the patience of her commander: Mara Bishop.

  "If we do not find the Twenty," I tell the chancellor, "then all of this will be for nothing."

  Hawthorne tilts her head to one side, seeming to view me in a new light. "You must realize they are adults now, living their own lives. They have been very well cared for, adopted by loving parents, received the best education. They serve Eurasia throughout the Ten Domes, contributing to their communities." She pauses. "They will turn twenty this month, and we have a celebration planned in their honor. A Revelation Banquet. They will be honored for their contributions to society. Most importantly, safeguarding our future for generations to come."

  I know full well how important they are to Eurasia. Their sex cells have been harvested for years, and their genetically modified offspring have been farmed out to suitable upper-class couples across the Domes—all without their knowledge. Samson and Shechara learned this during their sojourn in Dome 6, prior to meeting Erik. It was all Samson could do to keep himself from marching on the Chancellor's tower then and there, a mechanized army of one.

  I lock eyes with Hawthorne. "No more lies. From this day forward, truth will reign in your glass city."

  "Or shatter it," Milton quips, as himself. "Once the spirits get loose, nobody's going to be paying for dust anymore. They won't need to."

  "Your secret drug empire will crumble," James says, relishing every word.

  She sneers at Milton. "What are you going to do? Kiss every dust freak in Eurasia?"

  "If I have to." He doesn't look happy about it. Then, as the spirit possessing him decides to take the wheel again, he sits up straight and stares at the Chancellor. "Should I tell them who I am, Persephone? Do you think they would like to know that you are not only an addict yourself but also a murderer? That you killed your own husband to usurp his role as leader of the United World?"

  This is news to us. All eyes turn toward Chancellor Hawthorne.

  Her hands are folded in her lap, and they are trembling. She sits with her spine erect and chin held high. Her face set hard as granite, she glares at Milton and the spirit within him.

  "Where did you hear such a vicious rumor?" she demands.

  "We are not your husband," the spirits reply. Apparently, Milton carries more than one. "But we have seen your memories, and we can emulate his bearing, his nature, even his voice to your ears. We know that you poisoned him slowly over the course of many months. You isolated him from his advisors and the Governors, and you forced him to sign his authority over to you. When he died, you did not shed a single tear." Slowly, Milton rises to his feet, his eyes locked with Hawthorne's. She stares back at him. "Even so, despite all the wrong you have done, we would like to give you a gift—if you are willing to receive it."

  The color drains from her face. Milton approaches, and she shudders with a cold terror. Then without warning, she reaches for him, and they kiss.

  As their lips part, her eyes focus on the empty space before her. She convulses, screaming in horror.

  "She sees him," Milton says. "Probably should've told her that's one of the side effects..."

  "I don't know!" Hawthorne shrieks, her eyes wide as she curls inward. "How should I know where they are! I gave no such order!"

  "The manifestation of her husband is interrogating her now," Milton explains. "To me, he looks like that big guy from my bunker—Jackson. He's asking about the Twenty."

  "I don't know why my clones are collecting them." She squeezes her eyes shut and covers her face, screaming curses. "Get away from me!"

  Milton gestures for us to step outside into the hall, leaving Chancellor Hawthorne alone with the ghost from her past.

  "Let's give these two the room."

  23 Milton

  22 Years After All-Clear

  Once the cube door slides shut and we're out in the hallway, it's clear the room is soundproof. So we don't have to worry about neighbors calling up local law enforcement complaining about a woman screaming her guts out.

  Emmanuel looks out of sorts, like someone who's witnessed something awful happen to a loved one. Or his boss. His sister squeezes his arm, wordlessly reassuring him that she's here, that everything will be alright. Then she gets a call and touches her temple, activating her audiolink.

  "I have to take this," she says to Luther.
Her clean-shaven head reminds me of the first time I met Daiyna. "It's one of my law enforcers—a member of the Twenty."

  He nods. "Be careful. I would assume you're being monitored."

  Her expression says of course she is. "If the Chancellor didn't order her security personnel to sequester them, then it appears we have another player on the scene. Someone used your attack on Hawthorne Tower for their own purpose, capitalizing on the disturbance. For some reason, they want the Twenty in one place."

  Any idea who's collecting them? I ask the Julia-spirit I'm carrying around.

  This is my first time here, Milton. I don't have much to go on.

  Right. So she's no help. And the Jackson-spirit is busy tormenting Chancellor Hawthorne at the moment, appearing to her as her murdered husband. But maybe he'll learn something in the process that will point us in the right direction.

  Mara steps away from us, down the hall. "What are you doing in Dome 2, Enforcer Chen?" she demands, speaking to the air in front of her.

  I nudge Bishop. "Proud papa?"

  He catches himself watching her and nods. Then he faces his son. "I know it's a lot all at once."

  "I'm not sure what I saw in there," Emmanuel murmurs, referring to the Chancellor's behavior.

  "Yeah, life these days can be pretty bizarre," I offer. "But you'll get used to it. Eventually."

  He turns his vacant stare in my direction.

  "Three of them are in Dome 2," Mara half-turns from her call. "The security clones haven't caught them yet."

  Luther nods. "We'll have our man tail them. No reason to mount a rescue operation until we know where they are being taken."

  "Why not pick up these three now and the other seventeen later?" I suggest, ever helpful. What's the saying? Better to have a hydropack in the hand than a wellspring of imaginary water. Something like that.

  Luther clasps my shoulder. "I wish it were that simple. But we have a better chance of locating all of them if we follow these three. We must find out where they're being taken and who is behind their capture. Then we will take action"