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

Cain’s wives. Justus shakes his head and curses. It ain’t right, none of it. What Cain did to that soldier out there, then taking off and leaving us—

“How many of you are there?”

You’re looking at it. Justus shrugs.

He waves the lighter toward the back wall where other men and women close to his age are huddled, cringing with every concussive blast from the Argonaus. Justus turns toward one of the women as she reaches for him. She seems to have urgent news, pointing past me.

“What?” I bend toward them.

We’re missing someone. Cain’s fourth wife, Victoria. Justus doesn’t look happy about it.

“Did she go with him?”

Justus shakes his head. She’s too far along. If she’s not here, then she’s in her quarters.

I can see it in his eyes, what he’s about to ask. So I head him off. “Which way?”

I’ll go with you—

“I’m faster alone.”

Justus nods grimly. She’s back in that ocean liner.

Right. The one that caved in on top of itself. There’s little chance anyone would still be alive after the shelling that ship’s taken. It doesn’t even resemble an ocean liner anymore; it looks more like a crumpled soda can, sticking up out of the sand at the port and bow.

Down the north-facing passage from the grand ballroom, Justus says. Fifteenth cabin on the right. He expects Milton the Flying Man to save the day.

But what if Milton doesn’t want to save the day? What if Milton wants to leave these people to their fate and get the hell out of here?

As the thought of abandoning them crosses my mind, a nauseating sense of self-loathing swims through me. Memories of my life in the bunker resurface, of being Jackson’s hangman, leading everyone into the storeroom when their number came up in the lottery. Leaving their bodies to rot on the floor after All-Clear, unable to go back inside and walk past Jackson’s corpse. All that blood—

“You don’t have to go.” Justus has me by the arm. I can hear his voice well enough that I don’t have to read his lips. “I will. Start getting these people out.”

“Where do you expect me to take them?” I stare at the old man, watching as hope dims in his eyes. “Back to the Homeplace? You really think Cain wants to see you again?”

“You think he left us here to die.” Justus doesn’t look convinced.

“You don’t?”

“We’re wasting time—”

“I’ll go. You just…” I glance at the others. “Get them on their feet.”

I heave open the hatch and step outside, leaving it to clang shut behind me. The ground trembles as the Argonaus mercilessly pounds the shoreline. I cover my ears as one of the capsized ships across the sand—the fishing vessel—disintegrates on impact.

It would be so easy to leave these people, to just forget they were ever here. The UW troops will take care of them, one way or another, when they land on shore. After they obliterate Cain’s Shipyard, they’ll poke around for any survivors. Quarantine them. Probably feed them.

They’re not my concern. They’re not even my people.

I can’t help remembering something Margo said before we parted company: that I don’t consider myself to be part of Luther’s people, either. Is that true?

I have no idea. And there’s no time to wonder about it now.

I burst into high speed and enter the ocean liner, tearing down the passageway Justus led me through earlier, whipping around corners and through identical hallways, until I reach the upside-down ballroom where the ceiling/floor has collapsed, crushing the west wall. What remains of the opening to the corridor beyond leaves only enough room for me to scramble forward on hands and knees. It would be comical if there wasn’t a pregnant woman trapped at the other end.

How could Cain leave them here? It makes no sense. The guy must be seriously insane.

I remember what that was like.

Not that I recall every gory detail from when I was possessed by an evil spirit of the earth, and I suppose that’s for the best. Most of those memories are still a stomach-churning blur. But if these days Jackson is impersonating a deity calling itself Gaia, and Cain serves this Gaia with all his heart, then it stands to reason that Cain could be possessed as well.

But didn’t Julia say the evil spirits can’t act directly on us anymore?

Like Jackson would ever be true to his word.

After the fact, Samson told me what I did while under the evil spirit’s influence: that I almost strangled Daiyna. If the same presence is now influencing Cain’s decision-making, then leaving a few of his own people to die is the least of our worries.

Cain has led his warriors straight to the Homeplace. Will he declare war on Luther’s people? If the good spirits don’t intervene on their behalf, there will be a bloodbath. And after the way I dismissed Julia—or the spirit who pretends to be her—it wouldn’t surprise me if they decide to leave us crazy humans alone.

Maybe it would serve us right.

But it wasn’t Luther or Daiyna or Samson or Shechara or any of the others who told the spirit in as many words, “We don’t need you.” That was Milton, the hero. They shouldn’t have to suffer because of my antisocial behavior.

If Cain, possessed by evil, is now on the warpath, then Luther’s people need the spirits’ help more than ever before. And it’ll be up to me to mend matters with the spirit world, crazy as that sounds.

As if I have a clue where to start.

For the moment, there’s Cain’s fourth wife to rescue. And her door is obstructed. As the ruins of the ocean liner moan and screech around me, I push and pull at the barricade. It won’t give. After the last explosion, the doorframe must have caved inward, wedging the debris firmly into place. Maybe if I had Samson’s strength, I might stand a chance against it. But no matter how fast I move in any direction, heaving and shoving, it won’t budge.

I pound my