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

I kneel in the shifting sand and take her hand, pressing its cool flesh to my brow. “They are otherwise occupied, Mother.”

“Are they not your concern?”

I have greater concerns now. I know she will be pleased. “We have one of the United World scouts. Two of my strongest warriors are bringing him here as we speak.”

“Is that so?”

I cannot read her expression. Does she already know what happens before it occurs? Of course she does. Gaia knows all things.

“You will need every one of your warriors when the United World accepts your invitation to battle. You do not intend to fight their armies alone, I trust.” She withdraws her hand from my grasp and places it on the back of my head.

“Once there is war, my people will rally to my side, as they have in many a battle against the goblyns.” For a moment, I recall Lemuel and the thirty-odd heads he has added to the compound wall, staked in plain sight to rot under the sun. Only his fighting skills will be missed.

“You do not wish them to see the war instigated. You wish to spare them from this.” She speaks as if I am a misled child in need of correction. “Your concern is a noble one.”

Is it? I do not know; I cannot figure out my motives right now. But as I take a moment, it becomes clear that I am acting out of self-interest. When war comes to our continent, I do not want the tribes and their battle-weary chieftains to know it was my doing. In case things go horribly awry—

But that is fear rearing its ugly head. Not faith.

“I trust you with all that I am. When the UW soldier arrives, I will do as you ask. When the sun rises, his body will be the first thing the crew of the Argonaus sees in the light of day.”

She nods, caressing the back of my head with the tenderness of a doting mother. “You must draw them ashore. For it is only here, on your home soil, that you will be able to defeat them. They will never leave you alone, otherwise.” She inhales a deep breath of the cool sea breeze. “Imagine, my son: the coast cleared entirely of their ships.”

I can imagine it. I want it more than anything.

“Yes, Mother.” My voice is hoarse with emotion.

Men approach, climbing the dune’s leeward side from the east, heading straight for the compound. I recognize them instantly and rise to stand as they approach, passing through the space where Gaia stood only a moment before.

“Lord Cain!” Markus attempts to salute, nearly dropping the unconscious body of the UW scout in the process.

“You made good time.” I narrow my gaze.

“Gaia be praised,” Vincent says, saluting as well.

“Drop him,” I order. They do so without question. “Round up a dozen more of our best warriors and go back for the other UW scouts. Leave now.”

They nod and follow my orders without question, sprinting toward the compound with their Gaia-given speed, vanishing from my sight in an instant. I make sure they are gone before I grab hold of the unconscious soldier’s ankle and drag him through the sand toward shore. There I find two three-meter lengths of rebar, sharpened to cruel points at each end. I frown, wondering where they came from. But then I nod to myself.

Gaia provides all that we ever need, does she not?

“She’s thought of everything,” I muse, impaling the soldier through the chest.

His eyes open wide as a ragged wheeze escapes his lungs. I lean toward him, watching the shock, rage, and confusion fade while his life slips away.

Pounding the rebar through flesh and crunching bone, straight into the damp sand beneath, I mount the man’s body on the two iron bars. I cross them to form an X and drive the rebar deep into the earth to withstand the push and pull of the tides.

Then I step back to survey my bloody handiwork.

“Gaia be praised,” I breathe.

Part III

Rescue

10 Margo18 months after All-Clear

The Hummer rocks, lurching as it climbs another series of rock-strewn hills. I cling to the steering wheel, grateful for the automatic transmission. I wouldn’t want to stall while shifting between gears on such a steep grade. The collared mutant beside me groans and digs its sharp fingernails—claws, really—into the padded dashboard to counter the violent motion of the vehicle. The creature reeks like death warmed over, and constant waves of nausea swim through my insides.

“Let’s hope we’re getting close.” I grimace and gun the accelerator. Rocks spit upward in the vehicle’s wake.

The mutant doesn’t respond. I am fairly certain these creatures no longer comprehend human speech. But it does turn toward me at the sound of my voice and stare. The bulbous yellow eyes ooze the same fluid that drips from its other facial orifices—a gaping skull’s nose without any cartilage and a slack-jawed mouth, lips chapped beyond recognition, teeth sharpened to fangs—all the better for tearing into human carcasses. The fluid reeks worse than bile, and it has taken me more than a day to barely tolerate the foul stench in these close quarters.

“I’ve got to be sure nothing happens to you while you’re out there, my fair lady,” Willard said before I left Eden. “I’d escort you myself…but you know how it is. I don’t make a habit of going topside.”

We were sitting in Willard’s quarters, with Perch and Jamison reclining on the couches and the captain of Eden leaning against the mantle on the fireplace like a 19th-century gentleman. All he lacked was a pipe and smoking jacket—anything would have been an improvement over his blue camouflage.

Unlike before, when we discussed the unborn children incubating in Eden’s lowest levels, I wasn’t their welcome guest this time. I was their prisoner, collared like one of the mutants and shackled hand and foot. Guards flanked me on either side.

“She’s in no condition to travel,” Jamison argued