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

I curse as my gloved hand slips, but I catch myself before plummeting to the gravel below. I take a moment to collect myself, let my pulse slow down a bit. This suit wasn’t made for climbing. My recent extracurricular activities have more than likely voided the warranty.

“You will not always be able to wear it.” She is very serious now. “No one else here wears one.”

“C’mon, Sarge!” the sentries resume their catcalls. “You move like an old man!”

As troublesome as it is, there’s no chance I’ll be taking off my suit—even if I have to breathe shallow. Seeing my family again is contingent upon remaining contamination-free.

“You assume too much of your superiors,” she says. “You think they will be true to their word.”

Apparently, my mind is now an open book to her.

“How do you know they are not prepared to wipe out every living thing on this continent, once and for all—you included?”

I shake my head. It’s not possible. Captain Mutegi would have warned us. He’s a good man, and I trust him. You know something I don’t?

She smiles slightly. “All will become clear to you in time. But I must caution you: Do not hold too tightly to your hope of returning home. Such a dream could easily be shattered.”

True enough. A single round from one of these high-powered rifles aimed at me and my cracked helmet will be done for. Say goodbye to any chance of seeing my wife and kids again. They’ll become wards of the state, subject to manual labor without my government paycheck.

No way in hell I’m ever allowing that to happen. I’m finishing this mission, and I’m not getting infected. My superiors will allow me to return home. Life will be the way it’s supposed to be. Nothing else matters.

“That’s where you’re wrong, James,” the specter says in my wife’s voice. “There is so much more at stake here. The future of the world depends on what happens in the next twenty-four hours. Speak to Luther. Listen to him. He only wants humankind to survive. Unified.”

Humankind? From what I’ve seen, my team is the only group of humans on this messed-up continent. The rest of these people aren’t members of the same species.

I grunt as I haul myself up over the ledge in front of my wife’s bare toes. Except she’s no longer there. Not that she ever was.

“Sergeant, how are you feeling?” Margo leans over me where I lie on my back, struggling to catch my breath.

I nod and give her a thumbs-up while doing my best to keep my mind clear. The less she can read, the better.

Heavy metallic clanking sounds echo from inside the cave. As I roll slowly onto my hands and knees, I catch sight of a large, muscular man lumbering toward us with mechatronic arms and legs of riveted steel. The joints and hydraulics allow for almost lifelike motion.

“Samson.” Margo looks relieved at the appearance of the monstrous cyborg.

“These idiots giving you any trouble?” Samson glares at the sentries. They’ve lost some of their swagger in the presence of the mechanized man—clearly top dog. Luther’s second-in-command?

“Tucker has been injured—” She presses past him.

“He’ll be all right. We’re taking good care of him.” Samson’s metal hand clamps her upper arm and holds her in place. She doesn’t resist or wince at the pressure. Either the cyborg has incredible control of his extremities, or the woman is accustomed to pain.

“I must see him.” She stares up into Samson’s eyes. Reading his thoughts?

“You will. Soon as Luther has a chance to talk to you and—” He frowns, sizing me up in an instant. “You’re the UW envoy?”

“Sergeant James Bishop,” Margo introduces me. “The rest of the team is below. Due to his damaged helmet, I’ll be acting as interpreter.”

I step forward with one hand outstretched.

“And who the hell are you?” Samson leaves me hanging, instead turning all of his attention to Lemuel. The youth hangs back with his arms folded, boots near the edge of the cliff as if keeping an exit strategy open.

“This is Lemuel,” Margo says.

“I’ve heard of you. Luther’s cyborg.” Somehow, both contempt and respect leak out of Lemuel’s tone. “How many goblyns have you pulverized with those arms?”

“Is he with you?” Samson glances first at me. Then, thinking better of it, he rests his world-weary gaze on Margo. “Some kind of stray cat you’ve picked up?”

“He’s been exiled from his people,” she explains.

“Then a reunion’s in order. Cain’s bunch is here, the same crew who tried to take you out.” Samson gives me a hard look. “But don’t worry. I won’t let them bite you.” He smirks. “Wouldn’t want that pretty suit of yours to get scratched or anything. That could turn your life into a real tragedy. Hell, you might end up stuck on this continent with the rest of us freaks.”

“Speak for yourself.” Lemuel stares openly at the cyborg’s legs. “How do you hope to bed a woman with all that cold metal?”

Silence holds the moment—after a sharp intake of breath from a couple of the sentries.

“What’s your gift, kid?” Samson rumbles, deep in his chest.

Lemuel frowns, looking away. “None of your business.”

“Hasn’t Gaia blessed you yet? Is that why you’ve been kicked out of Shiptown? Little Boy Blue’s not special enough to be one of Cain’s warriors?”

Lemuel curses under his breath, but that’s the extent of his retaliation. Impressive, not to give in to the cyborg’s goading. But was it true, what Samson said? In a land of genetic mutations, could the one abnormality among them be an all-natural, one-hundred-percent human? Was that the real reason for his exile?

“Take us to Luther.” Margo glances over her shoulder at the dust drifting upward in the west. “Cain will arrive soon.”

The sentries set their stoic faces in that direction, resembling statues now without another word or even a glance in my direction. I like the effect Samson’s presence has on them.

Samson nods, gracing