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

in the dark. Probably serves me right. How many wounds are healing underneath the salve? Enough to even the score between me and Daiyna? A man can hope.

Heavy clunking sounds head toward me through the darkness. I strain my head forward but can barely lift it.

“Good. You’re awake,” a deep voice rumbles, reaching the side of my cot. “Now maybe we can get some answers out of you.”

I recognize the voice along with the steel arms and legs of the massive man looming over me. “I remember you.” I fight to swallow what feels like a wad of sandpaper lodged in my throat.

The big man’s broad, bearded face drops closer to me and grins. “I’m not an easy one to forget.”

I cough, rasping, “You’re Samson—Luther’s—”

“Cyborg. Right.” He rises, returning to the shadows. “That’s me.”

I would have said friend. “How did I—?”

“There are plenty of questions going around right now, believe me. Enough to sink a battleship. Namely, what the hell were you doing with a couple of babies? And where’d they even come from?”

“Are they all right?”

“They’re fine. Lucky for you, our numbers have increased a bit since the last time our paths crossed. We happened to pick up a couple folks with medical training along the way. Here.” He fishes a hydropack from the satchel he wears slung across his chest and tears it open with a rough tug. One of his metal hands lifts the back of my head while the other squeezes some of the H2O substitute past my parched lips. “Take it easy. Last thing we need is that invisible belly of yours exploding.”

I blink to indicate I understand the warning and down half the pack before coming up for air. “Thanks. Much better now.” I can already feel the fluid healing the insides of my throat the same way the salve is working to fix my outsides.

Samson keeps the hydropack nearby, withdrawing his hand from my head as his gaze wanders across my wounds. Oddly enough, he seems to be looking right at me.

“Are you able to—I mean—” I sniff awkwardly. “Can you see me?”

“Afraid so,” Samson mutters without pause. “Those daemons sure gave you the business. Don’t know how the hell you lived long enough for Milton to find you.”

That’s who it was—the Whirlwind Man. I remember Milton and his incredible speed. There was even talk that he could fly like a superhero or something. “So I’m not invisible anymore?” Do I dare to hope?

“Sorry, pal. That hasn’t changed.” Samson blows out a sigh. “Seems like the spirits have their own way of doing things. They gave me superhuman strength, but your people decided to hack off my arms and legs. These robo-limbs are something else, don’t get me wrong, but they’re nothing like the set I had before.” He pauses. “Here’s the thing, though: the spirits weren’t thrilled with what happened, so they blessed me with this night-vision ability—I don’t know what else to call it. So yeah, I can see you just fine where our medics smeared your injuries with healing gel. It gives off a heat signature I can pick up, clear as day.” He chuckles, low thunder deep in his chest.

Blessed? What the hell is he talking about?

“You’ve been checking up on me, I take it.”

Samson shrugs large shoulders of flesh and bone. “Luther’s orders. He’s had me guarding you from the moment you arrived. You don’t need me to tell you: Eden and its people aren’t the most popular among our ranks.”

“Daiyna...” My voice trails off. I don’t know what more to say.

Samson frowns in the light of the glowsticks. “Yeah.” He clears his throat, half-turning away. “Luther will want to know you’re awake. So you just stay put for now. I’ll be back.”

I nod—glad my neck decides to cooperate. Maybe the rest of my muscles will soon follow suit. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Samson clunks away on his robot legs. He’s much better at walking than he was the last time I saw him in Eden, wobbly and nearly tipping over with every step.

I close my eyes. Of course these people would hate Eden. Anyone hurt by Perch and Willard in their sadistic experiments is bound to hold a grudge. But will their tune change once they realize whose children are in those incubation pods? Their own kids—Luther and Daiyna, Samson and that other girl, the one whose eyes were taken out. Sure, they weren’t given a whole lot of say in the matter, but those two babies are theirs.

Not to mention the whole batch back in Eden.

If she still harbors ill feelings toward me, Daiyna won’t believe a word I say. I betrayed her trust once upon a time, and she didn’t strike me as the forgiving kind. Can I blame her? At the time, I’d been looking out for myself for so long, it hadn’t even crossed my mind to be concerned about somebody else.

Yet here I am, risking my life for a couple of unborns floating around in tanks. Why have I made this journey? To save humankind? From what I’ve heard second or third-hand from Margo, that’s pretty much the shape of things.

Over twenty years ago, when the United World government put down the Sector Rebellion, they used high-yield nuclear weapons that changed the face of the entire North American continent. The rebels had already done their part by releasing all manner of illegal biochemical and neurochemical weapons. Apparently, the twain should have never met.

The aftermath? All you’ve got to do is look around this godforsaken continent. Not a single living thing in sight. Those of us still alive only survived because of the bunkers the UW prepared for the best and brightest or those with the best genes—the engineers, the trade workers, the medical experts, the breeders.

The UW crushed the rebellion, but at what cost?

According to Margo (via Willard, via the Chancellor of the UW herself—a woman named Persephone-something), while the bunkers held their precious human cargo secure for decades, things on the surface