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

to be holding—only they’re not filling the tires with air. Instead, it’s some kind of expanding foam from a large aerosol can that seals punctures from the inside and turns into a gas after a few seconds, filling each tire completely.

“Don’t know why the Edenites didn’t use this stuff to begin with.” Milton grunts, working with the sergeant to remove a deflated rear tire. “As long as this goo-gas is inside, any additional punctures will be resealed immediately. Just in case those trigger-happy goons decide to have another go at it.”

Bishop knocks a gloved fist against the vehicle’s scarred black hull to show that the armor plating is holding up fine.

I can’t tell how much air remains in his O2 reserves, but his helmet is close to shattering. So far, it has not been completely compromised, but it won’t take much to break what remains of the cracked polymer, fragile as a damaged eggshell.

Harris and Granger each carry an armload of weapons to the vehicle. The stocky fellow’s injury is already on the mend.

My mind wanders as we wait for Milton and the sergeant to finish their work. Small talk is attempted, then abandoned to the cold silence of the night. No one brings up the most important question: Where will we go once the vehicle is up and running?

I doubt that Milton intervened just so we could head back to Eden. If my plan was carried out successfully, then Luther’s people know their children are to be used as bargaining chips to get Willard and his pals off this continent. Luther would have sent Milton to intercept the UW team and bring them to him, to convince them that these children are as special as their parents.

They will not be welcome in a world where such differences are not tolerated.

But are the little ones special? I have to assume so. How else have I been able to communicate with them telepathically? The female, in particular, seems to have an ability that will no doubt rival my own someday.

“How soon will I know?” Elaine asks me quietly. Unlike Granger, she opted to keep her helmet on until the battery runs out—perhaps to stay in communication with Sergeant Bishop on internal comms. But without her suit, she is breathing our air. “That I’ve been…changed?”

“It depends on how much of the dust has been absorbed into your system.” I pause. “Before it became clear that my neurological pathways were altered, I’d been out on the surface multiple times with scouting parties, breathing in the air. Our bunker commander, Arthur Willard, made us promise to wear oxygen masks. He was paranoid that there was some kind of toxin in the dust and ash, residue from the blast zones. He ended up being right about that.”

The woman nods. “So it will happen…whenever it happens.”

There’s no point in sugarcoating the matter. “It could be days—weeks even, before you notice anything out of the ordinary.” I glance back at the vehicle to find only one rear tire in need of repair. They are making good time.

“Was he correct about you?” The woman keeps her voice low. “The doctor?”

“A lucky guess,” I admit. It’s good to have my ability back, thanks to Milton snapping that shock collar off my neck.

Elaine stares at me in unguarded amazement. “Then you know what I’m thinking before—”

“—you even put it into words? Yes.” I don’t feel comfortable under this woman’s microscope. There are more important matters at hand.

Harris notices the two of us speaking in hushed tones. “So, tell me about the fetuses down in that Eden of yours. I assume you’re the one in charge of monitoring their growth and development?” He ignores Elaine, turning his full attention on me. “How are they progressing?”

I face him as Milton and the sergeant fill the last tire. Unfortunately, this is the only time during the repair work when Milton can’t use his high-speed abilities; he has to wait for the foam to work its magic. It’s unclear how much of the substance remains in that can.

“They are developing within expected parameters,” I answer.

He laughs at that. “Details, you must give me details. We’re talking about the last best hope for humankind here. I’ve been in the dark until just recently, and I still have no idea how many there are, what the gender ratio is, how close to term they are, what sort of arrangements have been made to facilitate their artificial births…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes briefly, holding up a hand. “Forgive me. I sound like a frantic mother.”

“It’s understandable, Dr. Harris. It seems that one thing after another is keeping you from your mission.”

“You’re damned right. First those deformed hostiles who blew us out of the sky, then that second variety who wanted to remove our suits and drag us to their leader—some Lord Cain person...”

I frown at the name. I have never heard it before, and yet instantly, an awareness grips me that I am being watched—all of us are. Somehow, I recognize the disembodied sentience as the same that was watching over that solitary figure languishing eastward through the night.

Cain is coming for you.

The words resonate in my mind. Someone is projecting thoughts into my consciousness that are not my own. It’s not like the two-way communication I share with the little female; this is one-sided, from a completely unknown source. Whether benevolent or malevolent, I cannot tell. As Dr. Harris continues to ramble, half the time making demands, half the time apologizing for himself, I turn inward to focus on these thoughts and their source:

Cain will destroy you. It is the will of Gaia, Mother of the Earth, whom he serves with his whole heart. She has blessed us with all manner of supernatural gifts, and she demands only our love and obedience in return. A brief pause. Cain loves her more than he loves me. He despises me now, even as I bear his child.

I blink, unable to believe what I’m hearing.