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

I stare him down. This mission is the only thing standing between me and seeing my wife and kids again. There’s nothing in my orders about bringing back every member of my team in one piece. Just make contact with Eden. That’s it.

Do the job and get out alive.

“Got him,” Granger says.

“Captain Mutegi.” I face the holographic projection on Granger’s face shield and do my best to salute, despite the cumbersome hazard suit.

“Sergeant Bishop. We were about to contact your team.” The captain’s features are drawn tight. On edge.

“Sir?”

“There’s been a…situation. You’d best clear out of there as fast as you can. We’ve tracked movement headed your way—and judging by the heat signatures, they’re moving at some godawful speeds.”

Harris has already started backpedaling. “What did I tell you?” he hisses as if he already knows what’s coming.

I glance westward. I’ve got a feeling that’s where any trouble will originate. “How many, sir?”

“Two dozen, at least. Armed and dangerous, covering ground like nobody’s business. You get back to your vehicle and get the hell out of there. Do your damnedest to stay ahead of them.”

“And our man?”

Mutegi pauses. “Sergeant, your man is dead. I’m sorry. That’s a whole other issue we’re contending with on this end. But rest assured, I’m pushing hard against my superiors for permission to allocate the help you need. For now, Eden is sending a transport to pick you up. You get that jeep of yours to run on fumes if you have to, but you head north by northeast. That’s where you’ll meet them. Argonaus out.”

The hologram dims, revealing Granger’s wide-eyed expression behind it, pale in the moonlight.

“Move out,” I order.

The debate is over. It’s back to lumbering along as fast as our bulky suits will allow. The only plus side: movement keeps me warm. Somewhat.

“We should’ve asked about that hovercraft,” Granger huffs.

“Why would they take our man only to kill him?” Harris sounds honestly perplexed. “It makes no sense at all. Wouldn’t they have made a demand of some kind? Ransom, perhaps?”

“If these hostiles are the same as those creatures we came upon earlier,” Sinclair says, not sounding winded in the least as she strides ahead of us, leading the way. “They could have taken him to feast upon.”

“And now that they know how good we taste...” Granger coughs.

I nod. “They’ve scrambled a full-on hunting party.”

At the same instant, all three of my team members’ helmets chime a warning signal.

“Movement detected.” Sinclair half-turns toward me. The upper right quadrant of her face shield shows thermal images of our pursuers. “Five kilometers out and closing, Sergeant.”

“Mutegi wasn’t kidding.” Granger struggles to keep up despite his short legs. “They’ve got to be on hovercrafts or something—they’re moving so fast!”

“Five minutes, at this rate. That’s all we have until they overtake us.” Harris curses, always the optimist. “We can’t outrun them.”

“How many?” I keep my tone level.

“More than twenty distinct heat signatures, sir,” Sinclair says evenly.

“Some of that heat’s gotta be from their hovercrafts, right?” Granger sounds hopeful.

“The heat readings are organic,” Sinclair says. “No vehicles detected.”

No one responds. As unlikely as it sounds, this is reality: people moving at superhuman speeds.

“So we’re outnumbered five to one.” Granger curses. “We could’ve handled better odds—say, three to one. But five? I don’t know, Captain. What do you think?”

I almost grin at the half-sized engineer’s bravado. “I think we need to get back to that jeep.”

“We’re on a mission that will change the world—save the world—and the Argonaus can’t be bothered with providing us any air support?” Harris complains.

“Mutegi’s working on it. You heard him,” Granger says.

“Two kilometers and closing,” Sinclair reports for my benefit. I appreciate the gesture, if not the news itself. “One kilometer to the jeep.”

“Damn it!” Harris shrieks, stomping his boots. “We’re not going to make it!”

“Don’t you quit on me, Doc.” I tug his arm with a rough jerk. “Think of all those little babies waiting for you. All those medical journals with your bio and image in 3D. C’mon, you owe it to your readers to keep moving.”

“They’re going to kill us, just like they—!”

“Pull yourself together.” I would slug him a hard right hook if his helmet wasn’t in the way. “Stay on mission. You’re alive, I’m alive. You can fall apart later, but right now you’re running as fast as you can. Got it?”

Breathing heavily, Harris nods with a stolid air of defeat. Yet he keeps moving.

“Hey, don’t you think these suits should’ve been rigged with a turbo mode or something?” Granger breaks the tension.

“Turbo?” Sinclair eyes him with disdain as he struggles to keep pace beside her. “Yes, that would be quite convenient, now wouldn’t it?”

“Hell yeah!” He clears his throat. “Turbo,” he says, using that solemn tone he reserves for voice commands.

“You can’t be serious,” she says.

“Why not? Has anybody else even tried?”

“It was not in the operations manual.”

“Like you read the whole thing.” His sidelong glance becomes an open stare. “No kidding. You did?”

“There is no high-speed mode, I can assure you.”

Granger frowns. “Well, what if it’s a hidden feature?”

“You’ve lost me,” she says.

“Turbo. Turbo! Turbo.” He alters his inflection slightly, but always with the same result: nothing. “Jetpack! Rocket launcher!” Still nothing.

“Can’t fault him for trying,” I tell the doctor as we press forward.

Harris nods and then stops abruptly, planting his boots into the sand. “I can see them,” he whispers, rotating on his heel until the HUD rearview becomes a full frontal view of the west. He stares at the approaching figures moving in a convergent blur of speed, and he curses hoarsely in disbelief.

Reaching the jeep is out of the question. We’re just not fast enough.

“Ready weapons,” I order, raising the only one I have—the handgun I took from Morley. It’s like waving a twig at an advancing herd of angry beasts. I have to fight against the overwhelming sense of futility. “This is it, folks.”

Granger and Sinclair halt and do an about-face, fumbling with their assault rifles.

“Conserve