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

rearview. Margo nods in response, returning her gaze to the terrain ahead. She’s filled me with a sense of peace. Amazing. Indescribable. Tears burn my eyes and a couple spill out, streaking my face.

Granger slaps the side of my helmet. “Breathe, dammit!”

They’ve clamped it back into place and activated the breather now that it’s housed inside. I gulp down the air, inhaling oxygen deep into my lungs, coughing until my breathing settles into a steady rhythm.

“Thanks,” I rasp, glancing at each of them in turn. “I owe you.” I squeeze Granger’s shoulder.

“Hey, we’ve gotta keep our fearless leader in one piece, don’t we?”

“Are the hostiles in pursuit?”

“They are not following us, Sergeant,” Margo reports. “For the moment, they don’t appear to know where we are.”

“They’ll find our tracks in no time,” Harris grumbles, always the optimist.

“Don’t think so, Doc.” Granger glances outside and jerks a thumb back toward the ground behind us. “That guy’s covering our trail.”

I swivel to look out the rear window. Sure enough, Milton is sweeping side to side through the air, whipping up the sand in our wake.

“That’ll buy us some time,” I allow. “But you still haven’t told us where we’re going.”

Margo nods. “We’re here.”

The Hummer skids to an abrupt halt, throwing its passengers forward. I strain to see where we are, but thick clouds of dust hover outside, obscuring my view.

Harris gives the voice command “Life signs,” and instantly his face shield lights up with a thermal image of a lone figure standing stock-still twenty meters ahead of us, out of the headlights’ range. “Who the hell is that?”

I watch Margo. She sits as if in a trance, her hands loose on the steering wheel as she stares straight ahead. The engine idles.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Harris mutters. “It’s another one of them—dressed just like those superhumans we’re trying to escape!”

“Our numbers keep growing, don’t they Doc?” Granger smirks at him. “Sure you don’t want to come over to the winning team? The air’s great.” He inhales deeply.

“Cut the chatter.” I watch as Milton touches down in the glow of our headlights. Removing his dust-covered goggles, he glances over his shoulder at Margo behind the windshield and nods with some sort of unspoken understanding between them.

“Now what’s he doing?” Harris demands. “You had better do something about this, Sergeant. The situation is gravely out of hand.”

Milton approaches the stranger with hands out to the sides in an unthreatening posture, taking slow, deliberate steps.

“He’s armed.” Harris’s HUD has already cataloged the stranger’s array of weapons, similar in variety to the hostiles we encountered earlier.

“So what? Our guy’s faster than a bullet, right?” Granger grins.

The stranger stumbles backward, away from Milton, smaller in frame and nearly overcome with exhaustion by the looks of him. His hands don’t go to his weapons. He doesn’t appear to feel threatened by the situation, just wary.

“What are they saying?” There must be a setting on a functional helmet that can pinpoint and receive distant audio signatures.

“He’s young, maybe twenty. Milton is doing his best to convince him we are his friends, that we’re here to help him.” Harris pauses, glancing at the silent woman in the driver’s seat. “I cannot be certain, but it appears that Margo may be speaking through Milton. He’s telling the young man we’ve been sent by someone named Victoria, that we’re here to help him, that he can trust us. But this is not our mission.” Harris struggles against the pile of weapons, turning around to kick against the rear hatch. “Get that damned door open! If you won’t put a stop to this, Sergeant, then I—”

“Stand down,” I order. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re through giving me orders, Bishop. It’s clear that you’re unfit for duty, so as ranking medical officer, I hereby relieve you of command!”

Margo glances into the rearview. She focuses her gaze on the emotional man writhing like a toddler in the throes of a mean temper tantrum. “Dr. Harris, I can see you’re concerned. You don’t understand what’s going on—”

“Damned right! I demand an explanation.”

She pauses before continuing, “This young man has been exiled by his people—the same people we’re doing our best to avoid. He has no one to help him out here, and without us, he is sure to die.”

“He’s not our concern!”

“We need every ally we can get,” I argue.

“The enemy of our enemy is our friend?” Sinclair suggests.

Something like that.

“They’re shaking hands,” Granger observes as Milton and the youth step into the headlights’ glare. “That’s gotta be good, right?”

Judging by the young guy’s body language, he doesn’t fully trust Milton or the idling vehicle full of strangers, spewing exhaust into the frosty moonlight. But his options are limited. Unafraid, he carries himself with the confidence of a man who’s won his share of fights.

Milton faces the windshield, squinting and raising a hand to shield his eyes. He gives Margo a thumbs-up.

“He should be disarmed immediately,” Harris grabs one of the assault rifles beside him and holds it ready.

While his attention is elsewhere, I reach over nonchalantly and flip on the weapon’s safety. The last thing we need is the good doctor killing one of us by accident. Or intentionally.

Margo hits the release lever on her door and steps outside. “Lemuel?” Her tone is friendly, inviting.

The fellow perks up at the sound of his name. How’d she know it? He’s got a tall, solid frame he’ll grow into someday. I can’t help but think of my own Emmanuel and the man he will grow up to be. I hope I’m there to see it.

I hope we’re not wasting precious time here.

“Will you come with us?” Margo extends a hand toward him. “Victoria sent us to find you.”

“If he blows her head off, we’re screwed, Sergeant,” Harris says on comms. “I don’t know about you, but I have no idea how to drive one of these old gas guzzlers.”

“Cool it, Doc. That’s your final warning.”

“Victoria?” Lemuel says in a guarded tone.

“Yes,” Margo answers. “She is worried. She…does