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

fetuses are abnormal in any way, you’ll have saved us a trip to Eden. My superiors won’t be interested in Willard’s bargain. The guy sounds like a real nutjob anyway.”

If he only knew the extent of Willard’s insanity.

A sudden concern crops up in my mind: Why haven’t I been able to sense the mind of the young female for the past few hours?

Are you still there? I reach out into the unknown. You are not alone. I am here. We are together again.

No response.

Is she sleeping? She has always been more receptive to my telepathy—from that first moment in the nursery when she opened her eyes and projected her thoughts into my mind. But now, there is not even an inkling that the two fetuses are here in these caves.

I am not going anywhere, I press my thoughts outward. I will never leave you again. You can trust me.

Will Bishop detect any genetic abnormalities in the young ones? Doubtful. He is no doctor. Luther believes that only people who breathe the dust in the air are changed by spirits, altering their genetic makeup and gifting them with supernatural abilities. Willard sees the ashen dust on the earth as a contaminant and believes all who let the particulate matter into their lungs are allowing themselves to be turned into mutant freaks of nature. That’s why, as far as I know, not one of Willard’s men in Eden have become infected. But these fetuses are different. They are from parents whose genes have already been affected by their contact with the surface—either blessed with supernatural gifts from spirits of the extinct animal kingdom, or infected by rapid-acting mutagens. Judging by the UW team’s environmental suits, I’m inclined to believe they will side with Willard’s point of view.

As the fetuses grew and developed in the nursery, deep beneath Eden, I didn’t notice a single abnormality in their genetic makeup. From my work with Luther and Daiyna, Samson and Shechara—under Willard’s iron-fisted supervision—including my own blood samples, I noticed certain genetic markers: decidedly mammalian, but not quite human. That much would support Luther’s claims. But there were no such markers in the DNA taken from the fetuses—not in any of the twenty young ones. At the time, I saw no reason to think that would change. They would be born, I assumed, as all-natural human beings.

But then the young one’s telepathy manifested itself. Would having such a superhuman ability alter her genetic makeup—or be the result of mutant genes? There is no way to tell. My tests returned inconclusive: no change whatsoever in the genetic markers.

As Luther leads us through these quiet caves, I have to wonder if any abnormalities will reveal themselves now that the fetuses’ telepathic link with me is apparently broken. And if not, will my presence reactivate our shared ability?

If Willard finds out the nursery full of incubation pods is useless in his bargain with the UW, he will destroy them. All he wants is to save his own skin. Nothing will stand in his way.

But if those children could be saved…

I can’t imagine returning to Eden and facing Willard, the man who nearly destroyed my life. But I know Luther’s mind; he wants to rescue all of the fetuses from Eden’s depths, and I will do anything I can to help him. Even if it means lying about those inconclusive test results from weeks ago.

I can make those results sound as solid as granite. As long as it means Luther will receive the UW military support he needs in order to invade Eden.

“Please leave us, my brothers.” Luther nods to the pair of armed sentries standing watch in an alcove beside the two incubation pods. No one else is nearby.

Bishop’s thoughts crowd my mind with questions: How extensive are these caves? Where do the rest of Luther’s people hide themselves? Where are Cain’s warriors? I try to send him a sense of peace, but my attention is divided, my focus on the young ones.

“Thank you,” Luther says as the sentries leave, unable to keep their curious glances from the UW sergeant in his bulky environmental suit.

“We’ll be right outside,” one of them says.

Bishop hesitantly approaches the two stasis chambers. He looks like one of the ancient faithful on pilgrimage to a holy temple, presented with a golden altar to his god—known until now as only legend, but at this moment so very real.

Luther looks at me, catching my gaze.

Bishop will help us. He is a good man.

I nod, agreeing with him, hoping my telepathic intuition is right. But at the moment, I can’t discern Luther’s thoughts from my own. Somehow, they have become tangled together. Perhaps because we both hope for the same thing.

Bishop is staring at the incubation pods. “It’s been so long…” He clears his throat. I sense his surging emotions. “We haven’t seen newborns in Eurasia for years—well over a decade. These two—they’re not even born yet, and they look so…They’re perfect.”

I face Bishop across the two canisters. “They are healthy.” My gaze travels across the holographic display in the clear pane of plasticon providing a view of each sleeping fetus. “Nearly to term.”

Bishop looks up from the chambers. “So they’re ready. They could be—” He nods once in military fashion at the look on my face. “They’re ready,” he repeats, doing his best to sound like everything is business as usual. “Are you planning to release them soon? Allow them to be…born?” He doesn’t know what other word to use. Neither do I, as I translate.

“I would have to say that depends on you.” Luther gestures toward the pods with an open hand. “Contact your doctor, Sergeant. See what he says.”

“Right.” Bishop looks over the readouts projected on each stasis chamber. “Alright Doc, tell me what I’m looking for,” he says on internal comms.

Harris replies instantly, and the two of them begin conversing, the doctor instructing the sergeant on how to monitor the vital signs of each unborn child.

Without warning, the female’s eyes open, focusing