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

steps out and strides around the front of the vehicle. He holds his hand in the air as if he's expecting a handshake. Then he disappears. Samson curses softly to himself at the sight. I can't hear what Luther and Tucker say to each other. Moments later, Luther reappears and climbs into the driver's seat, leaving the door to shut automatically behind him.

"You're sure you don't want to give it a try," he asks Samson, nodding toward the steering wheel.

"Tempting." Samson shakes his massive head. "You go ahead. I'd probably kill us all with these things." He wobbles one arm.

"Where's Milton?" I ask.

Luther glances back with half a smile, then leans forward, squinting through the windshield. He points up at the sky. "There he is."

"Flying again?" Samson mutters. "Yeah, I won't be getting used to that anytime soon."

Milton can fly?

"He wants us to follow him." Tentative—but trying not to look it—Luther shifts the vehicle into drive and steps on the gas pedal. "Let's hope we have enough fuel to reach wherever he leads us."

Aren't we going back to the caves?

"We've got a few reserve tanks and some solar panels in back. We can install them if we need to." Samson chuckles and rotates his left wrist. Instantly, his fingers flip out of socket and spin to transform into various tools—screwdrivers, crescent wrenches and the like. "A dream come true."

Shechara giggles—something I haven't heard her do since we were down in the bunker years ago, playing practical jokes on our sisters. I catch her eye and reach up toward the dark stubble on her head, almost a centimeter long now. I run my fingers through it.

"You need a haircut," I tease.

"So do you!"

I glance into the rear-view mirror. "I'm thinking of growing it out."

She giggles again. "Me too."

"I don't know, Luther," Samson cautions. "We won't know what to do with two beautiful women."

Luther looks at me in the mirror. "They've always been beautiful, my friend."

I smile and look away, out the window. That's when I see it. We're going the wrong way—north instead of southeast.

"Where's Milton taking us?" I frown.

"He's been fairly enigmatic about it." Luther shakes his head.

"What about the caves?"

Luther glances at me in the mirror. "He said…no one's left."

"But that was before, when he was possessed—"

"When he came for us in Eden, he said he'd gone back there already. To see…" Luther shakes his head again, resolutely, his voice grim. "No one survived."

Why would Milton have gone back there alone?

We ride on in silence, crossing kilometer after kilometer of desolation, rocking through ditches, plunging down craters only to climb up the other sides and tear across the cracked hardpan beyond. Luther is a capable driver. Not as fast or as reckless as Samson, but we'll get there in one piece—wherever there is.

It's past noon, the sun high in the sky, when Luther slows to a stop on a flat plateau of hard-packed earth, hot beneath the scorching rays of the sun. He reaches back to hand us jumpsuits, boots, gloves, and face shields in neat stacks.

I wrinkle my nose at the sight. Urine suits.

"It's all we could find," he apologizes.

Outside, maybe thirty or more meters beyond the front of our vehicle, Milton has touched down and now stands with two other figures wearing the same suits and face shields. Who are they? Where have they come from? One of them hugs him close, and he returns the embrace. The other one stands off with arms crossed and chin raised. I watch them through the windshield as I pull the jumpsuit on over my clothes.

"Who are they?" I ask Luther.

He pauses, hesitating before he meets my gaze. "Milton said you'd be able to see them."

What does he mean? "You don't?"

He shakes his head.

"I'll stay put if it's alright with you," Samson growls. "I'd probably destroy any jumpsuit I tried climbing into." He wobbles both his arms and chuckles.

Luther reaches over to squeeze his bulky shoulder with obvious affection and steps out, snapping his face shield into place as the doors swing open. Shechara and I follow. The sun's heat is a strong presence, beating down on us and baking everything it touches. Luther steps toward Milton, and they confer quietly. Shechara walks toward the end of the plateau, probably to test the range of her new eyes. I hang back, feeling awkward and out of place as the two strangers stare at me, their face shields glinting in the sunlight.

Who the hell are they?

Suddenly a wall of sand flies up on one side, then the other, rushing into the sky. I whirl around as sand behind me does the same, trapping me where I stand. I turn to face the two strangers. I know better than to break through the rushing sand. I remember what happened to Rehana when she did, so long ago. It ripped her skin off.

One of the strangers moves toward me, cutting the distance between us in half as the sand arches over us now, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow across the ground. As the stranger approaches, the sand encircles us both, whirling around, shooting up into the sky where it creates a rushing canopy in motion. The other stranger stands just inside this perimeter of thrashing sand, rooted with arms crossed. Watching me.

Just the three of us. Luther and the others—will they try to break through and pull me out? Should I call to them, warn them to stay back? Would they even hear me?

The closer of the two strangers stands a few meters away. My hands have curled into fists, muscles tight. I'll fight them if I have to.

The stranger takes a step toward me and stops. The opaque polymer of the face shield holds no expression. Slowly, both of the stranger's gloved hands reach up. The clasp snaps open, and the face shield comes off.

"Hello, Daiyna." Rehana grins.

It can't be.

I stumble backward, muscles suddenly loose, my lips parting without sound. I stare, but I know she can't possibly be