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

You are here for a purpose, James Bishop. We cannot allow you to come to harm, the spirit told me. No idea what it means, but I like the sound of it. Always good to have backup.

So I wait. Am I putting my entire team in danger, trusting the word of an entity I can’t comprehend? Should I tell the others about it?

They’ll think I landed on my head when I fell out of that chopper.

“Hold on.” Morley adjusts his position, frowning through the red frame glowing on his face shield. He blinks. “It looks like... They’re making camp.”

Granger’s incredulous voice comes through: “What the hell?” He steps out from cover. “They’re calling it a night?”

“Must have no idea we’re watching them,” Morley says.

“Keeping their distance.” I nod, sizing up the situation. “They know we’re here, but we’re not going anywhere. Not until morning.”

Harris and Sinclair follow Granger, the three of them converging on the jeep.

“So now what?” Granger slings his rifle over one shoulder by the strap and spreads his boots in an overconfident stance. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but if they start cooking up some grub, I just might have to go over and make their acquaintance.”

“And if they decide to cook you?” Morley says.

“Not enough meat on him,” Sinclair dismisses the idea.

“Only muscle. You like muscle?” Granger starts toward her.

I hold up a hand, and they quiet down. Granger is right about one thing: food’s a scarce commodity. All of our ration packs went down in flames with the chopper. If these two strangers have food with them, and if they’re not the cannibals Morley thinks they are, then digging in for the night and going hungry might not be the best course of action. I can go without eating; I was trained for it. But the other members of my team are a different breed. Soon their appetites and survival instincts will be at odds, and I can only imagine the recklessness that may ensue.

“Either they don’t see us as a threat, or they can’t see us at all,” Morley remarks, gazing into the distance. “Making camp out in the open like that. It’s brazen, that’s what it is.”

What are they waiting for? Are they under orders to observe but not interfere?

“Report,” I remind Morley.

“Looks like they’ve got a full spread of standard-issue protein and hydro-packs. No meat. Guess we can forget about them being cannibal freaks.” His boots shuffle forward a step, stirring up dust.

“How about you send me in for a little recon, Cap?” Granger says. “My belly would sure be in your debt.”

Harris chuckles sympathetically. Sinclair remains stoic and silent.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Morley says, fingering his empty holster.

“We’ve got time,” I tell him. “We’re not going anywhere until sunrise. For the moment, it appears our friends are doing the same. Granger and I will take first watch. If we decide to backtrack and make their acquaintance, you’ll know about it. But for now, get some rest if you can.” I can’t imagine anybody sleeping in these suits with the clock on our O2 supply running down, but they might as well try. “Shift change in two hours.”

Harris and Sinclair nod, returning to the outcropping of rock where they drop awkwardly into seated positions and lean back, rifles across their laps. Still sulky over his unarmed status, Morley is reluctant to join them. But he follows eventually. I already have him in mind for the next shift.

I’ll rotate them to join me one at a time until sunup. Sinclair will be last. Maybe by then, I’ll be able to nod off a little. I can’t imagine spending five minutes alone with her, let alone a two-hour night watch.

“We’ll use the jeep as cover,” I tell Granger. We move into position, fighting our suits into submission as we crouch in front of the jeep’s grill. “In case our stalkers decide it’s time for a little target practice.”

“Don’t see how they can be carrying Stingers hidden in the stuff they’re wearing, but I guess it’s possible.”

“Any weapons out in plain sight?”

Granger gazes unblinking through the glowing heads-up display. “If I had to guess, judging by the bulges, I’d say automatic rifles. Can’t really tell—” He curses abruptly, muttering to himself, “Stupid.” Then he clears his throat. “Identify weapons,” he says in the authoritative tone he reserves for HUD voice commands.

A full display spreads across the face shield of his helmet as an assortment of daggers, short swords, handguns, rifles, and an array of small explosives are recognized by the HUD system and tagged, each delineated from its point of origin on the two figures: a hip, shoulder, or leg holster, a makeshift scabbard across the back. Granger releases a low whistle at the sight.

“Well now...” He clears his throat. “You want the good news first or the bad?”

“They’re armed to the teeth.”

“You could say that. But on the bright side, I don’t see any RPG’s. And I’d be willing to bet we’re well out of range. Ain’t nobody I’ve ever heard of who could chuck a grenade over fifty meters.”

“Rethinking your plans for making first contact?”

Granger grunts. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He shakes his head and glances over at me. “But I don’t get it. They could wipe us out easy. Toss a few grenades on approach and take out our jeep, then one lays down cover fire while the other advances. Trade off until they’ve got us flanked. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good thing you’re on our side.” I squint into the distance. “They must be under orders to stay put.” That’s the only explanation. Otherwise, Granger’s description of events would have already occurred.

“Like us.” Granger smirks. “Orders is orders.”

Harris and Sinclair come on the channel then, both with abrupt cries of alarm. I jerk against my suit, forcing it to turn back toward the outcropping of rock so I can see what’s happening, just as Morley lumbers off with a