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

I could end it all right now with a bullet to the brainpan. Refuse to be Willard’s remote-controlled limo driver. How long does he plan to keep me alive, anyway? Until the infants are delivered to the UW?

Over my dead body.

They belong with their rightful parents. Tucker has found Luther and his people, I’m sure of it. So it’s only a matter of time before they mobilize and move on Eden to reclaim what belongs to them.

But will they? I haven’t considered that possibility.

If only I could pry off this damned collar, I would know exactly where the little male and female ended up. I could communicate with them, tell them I’m on my way.

Instead, I follow the course set for me by Jamison, always here in spirit when I briefly lose my way. “Three degrees west by southwest,” he says.

I correct the steering wheel and settle back in the seat for a long drive, shoving my thoughts far from my mind. Night falls abruptly, and the Hummer’s high beams knife through the dark. I stare unblinking at the whitewashed terrain before me, instead seeing the host of incubation chambers housed deep in Eden’s concrete sublevels. Dozens of them with no hope of survival if not for my medical expertise. None of the men in Eden have a clue how to care for them. I am their only hope, and Willard knows it.

So much for pushing my thoughts aside.

For the moment, I table the idea of blowing my own head off, robbing Perch of the satisfaction of pressing the button himself. I set my mind on autopilot as the ambient temperature drops significantly and the internal environmental system starts filling the vehicle with warm air. I focus on not focusing on anything at all. Jamison will guide me true. I am just their remote-controlled chauffeur, after all. No mental strain required.

“You’ll need to pick up the pace, Margo,” Jamison says at length, his voice clipped.

I have no idea how much time has passed. It can’t have been long; I haven’t planted the next relay rod yet. “Trouble?”

“You could say that. The UW team is under attack.”

11 Bishop18 months after All-Clear

The tracks beside Morley’s discarded hazard suit make no sense. Morley’s boot prints simply end—as do those of the two hostiles that took him.

“You said they disappeared…but this is insane.” I shiver inside my suit. The temperature plunged as soon as the sun went down, but up to now, the insulation has done a decent job of containing my body heat.

“Guess they really did vanish. I thought it was just a glitch in my HUD.” Granger surveys the bloodstained ground beside me. “Speaking of which, how’re you holding up in there, Captain? Your O2 still good?”

The oxygen levels are fine, as far as I can tell, but we’re all getting low. It’s the cold that worries me. I clench my teeth to keep from chattering. “How far will the temp drop?”

Harris steps forward with the ambient readings displayed on his helmet’s face shield. “I’m afraid this is the warmest it’ll be until sunrise. Thermal energy readings are declining as residual heat loss increases. Give it an hour, and it’ll be close to freezing out here.”

“Way to cheer him up,” Granger mutters.

“He is merely stating facts,” Sinclair interjects, her face expressionless in the moonlight. “Allow me to follow up with an observation: We have no way of knowing where our weapons officer was taken. There are no tracks to speak of. It would make the most sense to proceed—”

“We don’t leave anybody behind.” I turn away from her to scan the ground the old-fashioned way: with my eyes.

“Even insubordinates?” Harris raises an eyebrow.

“Them too.” I trace the last set of boot prints to a pair of twin streaks across the sand, as if the hostiles’ feet suddenly became runners on a sled of some kind. But that can’t be. Nobody said anything about seeing a sledge. I follow the streaks across the ground until they, too, end, dissolving into untouched terrain.

“What can possibly be gained by staring at the ground, Sergeant?”

I glance at Sinclair. “Head back to the jeep if you want. I’m not going anywhere until I figure out what happened here.”

“According to my HUD, they disappeared completely: on radar one second, off the next. You think maybe they’ve got some kind of matter transportation device?” Granger looks dead serious. “You know, like maybe they were able to…beam themselves out of here? And they took our guy with them?”

“Ridiculous,” Sinclair says. “That technology does not exist even in Eurasia, the most advanced city in human history. How would these hostiles manage such a thing?”

“We’ve got tracks that vanish into thin air. What else could explain it?” Granger faces her with his chin jutting upward.

She releases a weary sigh. “Have you considered a hovercraft of some sort? One with runners built for travel across the sand?” She points at the streaks on the ground where I stand. “Which are then retracted once the vehicle reaches full escape velocity.”

I nod. It makes sense—except for the fact that nobody mentioned seeing any kind of hovering vehicle on their heads-up displays.

“Hovercraft. Huh.” Granger sounds like he’s intrigued by the thought. “Maybe outfitted with cloaking tech?”

“Possible,” Sinclair allows.

“Regardless, we have a mission to complete, do we not?” Harris holds out empty gloved hands. Morley took his rifle, and it’s nowhere in sight. “I say we go back to the jeep, get a little sleep, and prepare to—”

“Nobody’s stopping you.” I face west, the desolation glowing under frosty moonlight.

“You’re not seriously considering going after him?” Sinclair steps forward.

I turn to Granger. “Get the Argonaus on comms. See if Mutegi will send in support now.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Harris sounds incredulous as Granger brings up the communications module on his HUD. “You would sacrifice our mission for the sake of one man? When the future of humankind is at stake here? We must go to Eden and see those fetuses! Nothing