Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Milo Fowler (different e readers TXT) 📖

Silence. Is she monitoring one of her patients? She was already on her shift when I woke up this morning. Thought she'd be back by now. Doesn't matter. I'll drop off the books and head down—

Muffled footfalls thump across the carpet on the other side of the door. Then it slides aside.

"I come bearing gifts." I give her a wink.

"Books?" Margo steps back as I pass her, wet from a shower. The scent of extinct flowers drifts from her soggy hair.

"Dogs found 'em today. Thought we might see a few we like." I set them down in the middle of the living room floor, right in front of our two couches.

"Do we have time for reading?" She slides the front door shut and adjusts the thin towel that clings to her curves, barely covering her slick body. Beads of water trickle down her chest, between her breasts.

"We'll make time." I take off my beret and sling it across the room. I charge straight for her as she whips off the towel and tosses it into my face with a laugh. Blinded momentarily, I pull it aside and catch hold of her by the bare midsection. She twists away, laughing as I lose my hold on her.

"Slippery when wet!" She runs off down the hallway, her ripe buttocks jiggling. But I'm hot on her tail, and when she ducks into the first bedroom on the left, I dive and land on top of her on the bed. The mattress springs give beneath us, squeaking as our laughter quickly turns to passionate gasps.

We kiss wildly, like animals in heat—if animals kissed, that is. My uniform's torn off, tossed aside. She climbs on top of me, her dark eyes intense, hungry. How long has it been since our last rendezvous? Maybe twelve hours. We both want it now. So we let nature take its course, and as I watch her ride me, I find that the only thing passing through my mind is…

I can't believe I thought she was one of them.

Couldn't be too careful, not when all our lives depended on it. As things turned out, we ended up losing nearly half our numbers. But now we know without a doubt that the fifty-two of us left are all-natural children of God. No demon-dust passing through any of our lungs, no signs of any mutation for almost four months now.

We're safe, finally safe.

She falls beside me, landing on her back and gasping. "Wow..."

Must've been good for her. "I aim to please." I turn onto my side and face her, tracing her smooth flank with my finger.

"And you succeed," she breathes heavily, "every time." There's a smile on her lips as she recovers. "Being sterile certainly has its benefits."

"Really?" No. It's a curse.

"Nothing to fear."

I wouldn't fear it—impregnating her. I would welcome it, a true miracle. But to bring new life to Eden would take an act of God. As it is, we'll eventually die out here after we've lived the rest of our days. No future generations. The end of the line.

Damn those government scientists. What the hell were they thinking?

"Do you think they made it? The breeders?" My voice sounds preoccupied, vulnerable. No one else ever sees me like this, laid bare, inside out.

Only Margo. Her eyelashes flutter like the butterflies I've seen in my dreams, and her large pupils focus on me. "You're worrying again."

The breeders from Sectors 50 and 51 are our only hope for the future. Our species won't survive without them. Humankind, gone forever. Never to be seen again on the planet.

But I nod. I made a deal with her just a couple days ago: I was going to give up worrying and enjoy all that God's blessed us with.

Easier promised than done.

"Right. Stop worrying and love the bomb," I mutter.

"What's that?" She rolls onto her side and brushes my nose with hers. She runs her fingers down through the thick hair on my chest and torso.

"A book. One of the treasures the dogs brought down today."

"I wish you wouldn't call them that."

"What else should we call 'em?"

"Servants, maybe?"

"They're not people. You checked them out yourself."

"The tests were limited, inconclusive. We don't know more than we do." She shakes her head. "I'm not a doctor, you know."

"You're the best one we've got."

"I'm all we've got."

That's what I meant.

She blows out a sigh. "I think they were human at one point, but something went horribly wrong. They were exposed to something toxic or radioactive, maybe both. Something turned them into what they are now. But deep down, they're still human. I'm sure of it."

"They're animals." I take her hand in mine and interlace our fingers. She meets my gaze. "There's nothing human about them, Margo. Even if there was, once upon a long time ago, it's not what they are anymore. And if we didn't collar 'em, they'd be trying to eat every last one of us. Don't you remember?"

Of course she does. It haunts us all—the first time we encountered them. They poured into Eden from every tunnel, all four sides, like a plague hell-bent on our total destruction. But it wasn't God's will for us to be annihilated by these monsters. Instead, he wanted them to serve us.

"I know..." She shakes her head and bites her lip. "But I wish it didn't have to be this way." Does she feel compassion for them?

It's misplaced, but I can't really fault her for it. I'm sure a few of the Egyptians felt sorry for the minions under the whip who built their pyramids. And on our own continent, before the cold wars and everything in between, there were probably folks who felt compassion for the ones who did all the work nobody else wanted to do: the laborers from Sector 43.

The work had to be done regardless, just like it has to be done now. We can't go topside and risk infection, but we won't survive long without having what we need brought down to