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

deteriorated rapidly. The desolation of North America somehow spread through weather systems, killing all life on the surface of the earth. Eurasia, a domed city on the banks of the Mediterranean Sea, became the last bastion for humankind to escape the toxic air, ash, and nuclear winter. Millions stormed the gates for protection but were turned back. Eurasia hadn’t been built to sustain more than three million citizens and was already straining at the seams.

Those inside the glass walls watched while millions on the outside froze to death. But all was not well for the Eurasians. Thousands inside the dome became ill, having ingested biotoxins unawares, and sicknesses the likes of which they’d never seen before spread among the populace like wildfire. Thousands died in the first month. Then tens of thousands. The population was decimated. The dead were ejected from the dome into the sea with the rest of the city’s waste. Citizens avoided Eurasia’s transparent walls, unable to bear the horrors lying outside.

Years passed. The nuclear winter eventually ended, and ash cleared from the atmosphere. The sun came out to shine upon a scarred, lifeless world. And the remaining citizens of the United World found themselves just as barren, unable to conceive their next generation. A lingering effect of some toxin released by the rebels? Nobody knew for sure.

Their only hope of survival as a species: the breeders from the North American Sectors, huddled deep in their bunkers with no contact from the outside world—or what remained of it. The bunker doors would open automatically at All-Clear, set twenty years after D-Day. Destruction Day, I’ve heard it called—a little on-the-nose.

But the UW grew impatient.

Tests confirmed the air was fine, so they sent in swarms of recovery teams early, troops that landed on the continent en masse to check each bunker and see if there was some way they could rig the steel doors to open sooner than scheduled. The male and female breeders were the priority; their bunkers were separate, and they had to be brought together as soon as possible. They had to get busy if humankind was going to have a chance at being fruitful and repopulating this wasted earth.

The rest is history. All of it is, I guess.

The UW had no idea what they were sending their troops into. Hundreds and hundreds of them turned into the mutant freaks that still roam around in their government-issued jeeps with their government-issued weapons and seemingly inexhaustible supply of government-issued ammunition. Months passed, and the UW made contact with good ol’ Captain Willard of the Eden Guard via that shortwave radio I found in the ruins above Eden. Willard clued-in the Eurasians that their so-called saviors, the breeders from Sectors 50 and 51, weren’t exactly human anymore. They’d become freaks of nature with abnormal abilities—definitely not the all-natural children of God the UW was hoping would spawn the next generation of humankind.

But all was not lost, Willard assured them. And so began his plan to harvest eggs and sperm from his captive sand freaks—Luther and company. In a controlled environment beneath the surface, free of any contaminants from the outside air, he would join them together, ushering in a new generation on this broken planet. Or Margo would, actually. She was the brains behind the whole operation.

All very humanitarian, right? Wrong. This was Captain Arthur Willard, after all. He taught me firsthand what it means to look out for numero uno when he locked me outside the bunker and left me to die.

Willard was always paranoid about the air on the surface, convinced there had to be something unnatural in the dust. Everybody else in the bunker was skeptical until a few of the scouts came back and turned into fanged, clawed freaks. They would have torn him limb from limb if he hadn’t put them down like the rabid animals they were.

Sand freaks. Mutants. The same kind of folks who now have me in their cave. Not monsters like the flesh-eating mutos outside, but just as un-human. And I’m one of them.

Back to the question that took me down memory lane in the first place: why did I risk everything to come all the way out here? Easy answer: more than anything else in my sorry excuse for a life, I want to spite Arthur Willard. Finding the folks who hate that bastard as much as I do, getting them riled up about their young, maybe inspiring them to return to Eden and give Willard his comeuppance—well, that sounds like the best revenge to me.

Besides, us freaks gotta stick together.

I know better than to think Margo or I will be included in Eden’s direct flight to Eurasia. Of course Perch and Willard will leave us behind to rot—and to take care of the collared mutos. Can’t forget about them.

“Be sure to feed the dogs now, Tucker,” Willard will say. “They can get mighty ornery when they’re hungry!”

“You still awake?” Samson’s voice returns with the sound of his mechanical legs.

“If I wasn’t, I would be now.” I sniff, arching my head forward.

“They’re on their way—Luther and Daiyna,” Samson says. “Might want to brace yourself.”

I don’t know what to make of that. I try to push against the cot with my arms, but they’re still too numb to respond. “Got a blanket or something? I’m feeling a bit exposed here.”

“Can’t give you anything to wear yet. It’ll mess up the healing salve.”

Right. Wouldn’t want that. “How’s...that girl with the eyes?”

“Shechara’s keeping watch over the babies. I’m looking forward to hearing all about them, by the way.” He crosses his arms and shakes his massive head in either wonder or consternation.

Hushed tones echo along the earthen chamber with sure-footed strides and the soft rustle of clothing. I haven’t heard much of Luther’s voice before, but I recognize Daiyna’s right away. No chance I’d ever forget it.

“How is our patient faring?” Luther steps into the green glow and surveys the cot before him, his eyes unfocused. He looks older than the