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

his weapon. He says he takes orders from Luther, but I’ve got a feeling this warm welcome was all his idea. Maybe his way of getting back at Luther for those triple shifts?”

“Possible,” Margo allows.

“You two sharing secrets?” The sentry pauses. “That’s rude. Maybe we should leave you alone out here, see how you fare next time the daemons attack.”

“So you’re here for our protection?” Margo sounds skeptical.

Smirking, the sentry raises his muzzle toward my fractured face shield. “Better believe it.”

“Sir—is everything all right?” Sinclair calls out from below.

I force a tight grin, my gaze riveted on the hot-headed sentry. Slowly, I raise my hand and give Sinclair a thumbs-up.

“They’re just playing a little King of the Hill.” Granger’s voice echoes from where he sits behind the wheel of the Hummer.

“Perhaps they should focus more on climbing the hill,” Sinclair replies.

I glance down at them. Hot sweat dribbles from my brow. “Halfway there.”

“You’re making steady progress,” Margo says. “As is your engineer.”

“Has he already figured out how to drive that vehicle?”

She pauses. “He has identified the accelerator.”

“Good start.”

“Pick up the pace, Sarge.” The sentry scowls at me. “You’re falling behind.”

“Just planning how to take you out.” I haul myself upward with a grunt. The suit isn’t getting any lighter.

“I see your mouth working, buddy, but I’m not hearing anything.”

“His helmet is damaged,” Margo tries to explain.

“A mute ambassador? Wow, the UW really sent their best and brightest.” The sentry laughs. “Hey, you’re gonna like having us around when Cain gets here. Rumor is he wants you people off this continent ASAP—dead or alive. And I’m pretty sure he prefers dead. What the hell did you do to piss him off, anyway?”

“It’s an act of war, them stepping onto our soil.” Lemuel speaks up for the first time. Not winded in the slightest, he passes the female sentry leading the climb and reaches the level sheet of rock above. Dusting himself off, he adds, “But Cain knows Gaia will protect us. Or so he says.” The youth shrugs.

“You’re not so sure.” Margo watches him as she climbs.

“I think the goblyns do what they want, and nobody has much say about it. They shot down your helicopter because they could, not because Gaia made them do it.” He’s changed his tune. “And because they were hungry.”

“They usually are,” the first sentry mutters, spitting off the side of the cliff.

The female sentry reaches the ledge and pulls herself up and over without accepting Lemuel’s hand held out to her. Is the youth suffering from a new crush? For the hundredth time, I find my thoughts drifting back to my own wife and family.

Get the job done. Get it done and go home!

She stands on the ledge above me. Not the sentry. Not Margo. My wife—Emma. Without a hazard suit, her silken hair caught by a soft breeze, a white gown clinging to the curves of her slender body. Smiling down at me, she holds out both hands, her arms bare but not blistered under the sun’s scorching rays.

“Come,” she says, but her voice isn’t in my ears. It enters my mind. “We have much to do, you and I.”

Who are you? I gasp through the breather, my heart surging in my chest. No one else seems to notice she’s there.

“You know who I am. Come. We must make things right, before it’s too late.”

“You need to take a break, Sarge?” the sentry sneers.

I do my best to pick up the pace. Are you Gaia? I look up at her with that question in the forefront of my mind. She looks like a goddess.

“No.” She smiles sadly. “Gaia is only an illusion.”

Like you. I know she isn’t really there. This isn’t my wife. It’s not even a hallucination. This is something else, supernatural. I recognize her essence from before, when the chopper crashed and those flesh-eaters came after me and my team. Only I wasn’t able to see anything at the time. I wasn’t able to see her. If I had, would I have managed to hold onto my sanity?

“I am no illusion,” she says. “I stand here before you. Waiting for you.”

Nobody else can see you. My body trembles. She looks so real, reaching for me. More than anything, I want to run to her and take her into my arms.

“Their eyes remain closed to the spirit world. They cannot see what they do not believe exists. Unlike you, James Bishop.”

I’ve never thought of myself as a man open to anything supernatural. I’m not religious; most aren’t anymore. D-Day had a way of shaking people free of their superstitions, and the citizens of Eurasia have considered themselves to be post-religious ever since the beginning, when the domes were built. But if they were presented with something like this—a spirit able to take the form of someone they love—would they become true believers in an instant?

Who are you, really? What are you? I have to know.

“Luther will tell you all about us—and what you must do to save the world.”

I decide it’s best to ignore that last part. Luther can see you too?

The spirit seems to hesitate, if that’s possible. The familiar face of my wife chews on her lower lip the way she does when she’s thinking something over. How can this entity do that? Is it pulling strands of memory straight from my subconscious to create this persona?

“Luther believes in our Creator. That is where his faith lies, as it should. Only the Creator is worthy of worship.”

I didn’t ask for a lesson in spirituality. So he can’t see you.

She shakes her head. “As much as he wishes he could, he cannot truly believe in us. He says he does, and he may believe that is so, but it is a guilt-ridden belief. He does not think we should exist, because we do not appear in the holy writings.”

We? There are more of you? What kind of crazy fantasy land is this?

She reaches for me, insistent now. “You must hurry. Luther needs