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

few moments, Harris gathers his thoughts. “What we’re doing here is of the utmost importance. The future of our species may very well depend on it. You do realize the weight of the matter, Sergeant.”

“The sergeant sees himself as our escort, not as the savior of humankind,” Sinclair interjects.

“You’re inside my head now?” Sitting between the two of them is getting to be a bit much. “We’ve got a job to do—”

“But that’s all it is to you: a mission,” Harris says. “I don’t get the feeling you are fully invested in it, now that we know more of the details. Speaking for myself, I am completely awestruck by this turn of events. Meeting the remaining survivors on this continent would have been momentous enough, but to learn that these people actually have...children. It’s far beyond anything I could have imagined.”

I nod, but the gesture goes unnoticed behind the black tinted polymer of my helmet. Rivulets of perspiration stream down my face.

“Perhaps it is different for you,” Harris says. “Having children of your own. Being one of the last couples to conceive. How old are they now?”

“Young.” Was the doctor given access to my personal file?

“Of course. You are very fortunate.”

I am. I’m out here in the fresh air. Meanwhile my wife, daughter, and son are distinguished guests of the Eurasian prison system.

“We count our blessings,” I return with a helping of irony in my tone.

Harris chuckles, trying unnecessarily to smooth things over between us. “As should we all, Sergeant. I know that more than anything, you wish to return safe and sound to your family when this mission is over. But I want to invite you to look at the bigger picture here—”

“I get it, Doc.” I have to cut short the incessant patronizing. I’m still the team leader, despite my visual setback. “Our mission is important. What we’re doing here—meeting an enclave of survivors who are still able to reproduce. It’s going to change the world as we know it. None of that is lost on me.”

“By no means did I intend any—” Harris sounds taken aback. A nice act.

“But the tactics have changed,” I continue. “We’re up against armed hostiles, and we’re out in the middle of a foreign land, completely on our own. So forgive me if saving the world is no longer my top priority. I’m too busy planning how the hell we’re going to make it out of here alive.”

Neither Harris nor Sinclair has a cute comeback to that. Only Granger chuckles in the silence.

“Still no sign of ’em,” he announces, surveying our surroundings.

“They’re out there,” Morley says under his breath. “I can feel it.”

“Yeah?” Granger says. “More voodoo mumbo-jumbo?”

“If they were anywhere in range, their life signs would be registering on our heads-up displays,” Sinclair says irritably.

“Well, look who’s read the owner’s manual cover to cover,” Granger quips.

“There was no cover. It was digital.”

I smirk at that. The woman’s sense of humor is about as robust as a chemistry book. I have a hard time imagining what kind of family is waiting for her back home, if any. Are they also being held by the government to ensure her wholehearted commitment to orders? Somehow I doubt it. The UW must have found some other incentive to keep her on board for this suicide mission.

During the remaining hours of daylight, Morley takes us as far as the solar-powered jeep will carry us, running well after sundown on reserve power. According to Granger, the headlights cut a wide swath of white out of the pitch black up to a hundred meters ahead of us. Plenty to see by. But eventually Morley starts to slow down. The power drain on the solar cells has reached substantial levels, and as the hours creep toward midnight, the jeep decelerates to a crawl, the headlights dimming, flickering, then going out completely.

“Describe the terrain,” I order as Morley squeezes every drop of juice out of the batteries.

“A whole lot of black,” Granger says.

“There is a large outcropping of rock forty-five degrees to the southwest,” Sinclair says. “I suggest we find cover there for the night.”

I nod, my face now visible—as are the faces of my team. My helmet tinting decided all of a sudden to clear automatically like everybody else’s. And the flashing OFFLINE message is gone, along with the blinding static. So finally, I can see again. Night means a welcome twenty-degree drop in my suit’s internal temperature. As far as my O2 is concerned, I can’t detect any change in the quality of my air; but rationing it remains a priority, right behind Don’t lose it in front of your team.

“We’ll stop here.” I reach forward to tap Morley on the shoulder, but it’s more of a heavy slap in this unwieldy suit.

“How’re you doing in there, Captain?” A frown of what appears to be genuine concern creases Granger’s brow. “Still got enough air?”

I nod, pointing toward the rocks. “Everybody out. We’ll make camp there. Granger, you’ve got first watch.”

“Thanks, Captain.” That look of concern is quickly replaced by one of sullen exhaustion.

I clap him on the back as I stand, fighting the hazard suit for every centimeter of movement. “Better than a court-martial, you’ve got to agree.”

Granger glances up with sudden recollection. He did disobey a direct order after our chopper crashed. “Yes, sir.”

I half-smile. “Don’t plan on it being a solo mission. I’m staying up with you.” Can’t imagine sleeping here, anyway. “Four eyes are better than two.”

Sinclair places a hand on my arm. “Do you think that’s wise, Sergeant?” she says. “Your life support system could fail at any moment. If you were asleep, immobile, you would consume far less oxygen than—”

“I’m fine. My HUD is offline, that’s all. Everything else appears to be functioning normally. I’ll run out of O2 the same time as the rest of you.” I give her a wink. “Get some sleep. That’s an order. We’ve got another long stretch ahead of us tomorrow.”

She turns away without another word, climbing