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

“Guess they realized that’s no way to go. Unless they figure out a way for the clones to reproduce themselves naturally, they’d just be making copies of copies in a couple generations. Talk about weakening the ol’ gene pool, right?”

“They should’ve thought of that before they nuked the hell out of us.”

“No doubt. But I don’t think they knew what the side effects would be. They just wanted all the terrorists’ germ-bombs destroyed.” They took care of those, all right—incinerating any living thing the government hadn’t already rounded up and sent down into a bunker.

“There they are.” Milton sounds…nervous?

I crack an eye open against the rushing wind and peek below. Milton has every right to be worried. One flying man and one invisible man against that crew? There’s got to be over two dozen of them, each zipping across the ground nearly as fast as Milton’s flying over it. Kicking up a thick cloud of dust in their wake, Cain’s speedy warriors race east, cloaks flailing behind them, blades gleaming in the sun.

Time for me to share my idea: “Hey, how about we forget this bunch and go straight to Eden instead? You know, head ’em off? Maybe talk some reason into Willard and—”

“That guy’s nuts. You really think he’d listen to us?”

“We could take over Eden. Lock up Willard and his cronies and defend the nursery against those bloodthirsty savages down there. Keep ’em from getting inside.”

Milton’s quiet. Will he adjust his trajectory to intercept Cain’s warriors? Or is he actually considering my idea?

He surges forward through the air. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Tucker. A crazy plan, but it just might work.”

“Call me Tucker. My dad was Mr. Tucker.”

What sounds like a laugh erupts from Milton—the first sign of any personality I’ve seen to date. The guy seems like one of those tortured souls you always read about in old works of literature, like he’s trying to get out from under his past’s dark shadow.

“Long as they haven’t sealed ’em up, I should have a few ways for us to get inside,” I shout.

Willard didn’t take kindly to my surprise visits back in the day. I’d located multiple entry points into Eden from the surface streets in the city above. Most of them involved manhole covers and underground sewage pipes, which was why Willard sometimes smelled me before I made my presence known.

“Never thought I’d be happy to see them,” Milton says.

We’ve slowed to a standstill in the middle of the air. Milton can do that?

“Who? Where?” I risk a quick peek.

“There.” Milton points back toward Cain’s warriors, far below. “Hard to make out with all the dust they’re stirring up.”

A dizzying surge of vertigo overcomes me for a moment, and I have some difficulty focusing. But once I’m able to, I see the battle lines clearly drawn. On the west side are Cain’s warriors, moving with flashes of light as the sun strikes their unsheathed blades in violent arcs. On the east side are two vehicles, jeeps by the looks of them, wheeling about in wild figure-eights with heavy weapons fire blasting willy-nilly.

“Mutos?”

Milton nods. “They should keep Cain’s bunch busy.”

“You don’t think…” I adjust my grip on Milton’s torso. “Another bunch of mutos might’ve gone after the slower-moving group?”

Milton shifts direction. “We should go back.”

“Risky. One of those trigger-happy sons of bitches wings you, and those babies in Eden can kiss their rescue goodbye.”

“You think we should keep moving.”

I pause. “I think you should let Luther’s spirits do their thing. If it’s true what he says about them, then maybe they’ll intervene in a pillar of dust or something. You know, blind the mutos in their tracks.”

That elicits a half-hearted chuckle from the flying man. “After seeing those shells landing on the beach, the daemons don’t seem half as intimidating as they used to.”

“Compared to something that can blow you into a thousand pieces? Yeah. A freak that wants to eat your face off isn’t really a big deal!”

“With these daemons slowing down Cain’s fastest warriors, we’ll have plenty of time to take over Eden and prepare for their arrival...” He shakes his head. “But I can’t leave Luther to face those things alone.”

“He’s not alone. Have you seen Cain’s people? They’re like post-apocalyptic gladiators. If there’s anybody who can keep your friends alive, it’s them. Feel sorry for the mutos. They’ve scoped out the wrong prey this time.”

Milton seems reluctant to turn east and resume our flight. “If I find Sergeant Bishop and have him radio his ship, then those people on the coast—”

“The babies are all that matter right now. If they’re lost, then all of this’ll be for nothing. Willard and his bunch just want to use ’em to buy their way off this dead continent. Cain’s people want to kill ’em all to screw over the UW. You and me? We want ’em to live. Ain’t that right?”

“We’re the heroes,” Milton says flatly. His expressionless goggles look west, back the way we’ve flown. “I just...don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”

He seems lost, like a weather vane with no wind to blow him in the right direction.

“Don’t those spirits talk to you?” I don’t necessarily believe the spirits of the earth are what Luther’s people believe them to be—ghosts of every animal blown up on D-Day—but I know there’s something supernatural at work on this continent. And it stands to reason Milton would be the closest to whatever spiritual entity it is, what with him being able to fly like a bird and all. “Can’t you ask them what they think you should do?”

“Doesn’t work that way. They show up when they have something to tell me.”

I nod, adjusting my hold on him. It’s more than a little uncanny hanging here in midair; I’ll never get used to it, not in a million years. “When did they show up last?”

Milton turns to gaze east, toward Eden, still out of sight from this distance. We have hundreds of kilometers left to