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

heel, bringing his elbow back to strike Perch full in the face. The gun discharges, blowing a hole into the ceiling. Bishop pummels Perch with close-contact blows, showing no mercy to his face and ribs, plowing elbow-knee-uppercut combinations in a well-coordinated attack pattern. Perch struggles in vain to defend himself before going down face-first with an unconscious groan. I snatch the remote from his belt.

Willard stares in wide-eyed dismay. Then he dives for Jamison’s weapon.

Only he’s too slow.

“Déjà vu?” I wink behind the cocked semiautomatic, aimed at Willard’s left eye.

He dry-swallows, appearing out of sorts for a moment. “Same plan?” he manages.

Regardless of how much I hate him, I have to admit: the guy has some nerve.

“Same plan.” Bishop nods, disarming Perch. “But we’re calling the shots.” He glances at me and the remote in my hand. “Time to release the hounds.”

Via the dome-wide intercom in Willard’s quarters, Bishop explains who he is and that Willard is alive and well. He’ll remain that way as long as every man in Eden does his part to fortify their underground refuge from attack and safeguard the lives of the unborn children in the nursery below. Bishop makes matters abundantly clear: If a single incubation chamber is damaged by one of Willard’s crew, that man’s life will be forfeit.

Giving them just a second to think things over, I press the remote, releasing the Eden Guard from their quarters.

“We must hold Eden until the UW troops arrive. They are on our side in this conflict,” Willard’s voice echoes throughout the dome. “As is Sergeant Bishop, their representative, sent ahead to aid us during this time of crisis. And the man called Milton, whom many of you may remember.” Willard raises his voice for the next part, “The traitors Tucker and Jamison are dead. I know you all may have some difficulty taking orders from a sand freak like Milton, but I assure you, he is here to help—”

I shut off the intercom and finish tugging on one of the spare uniforms from Willard’s closet. It’s a little tight, but it’ll do the job. I keep an eye on the monitor, watching the men’s reactions on the main floor. They don’t look happy.

“Let’s go.” I grab Willard by the arm and hoist him to his feet. “They need to see their commander-in-chief.”

“Let go of me,” Willard protests.

“Good idea.” Clad in Perch’s uniform, Bishop unbolts Willard’s door and heaves it open. Gun at the ready, he steps out onto the catwalk.

Shouts erupt from the main floor below, curses and insults hurled along with fists in the air. I shove Willard ahead of me as a human shield of sorts.

“Get your house in order,” I say in a low tone.

Squinting under the glare of Eden’s lights, Willard holds up both hands to quiet the mob of thirty-odd men. “Guardsman, hear me!” He almost resembles Luther, speaking to us in the Homeplace, except he’s a warped mirror image. “If we are to survive this day, we must work together. You, me, Sergeant Bishop, even Milton.”

“He locks us all up, Captain, and you’re gonna let him join us?” shouts a fellow in back. “We say cast ‘im out!”

“Cast him out! Cast him out!” the chant erupts.

“No, no!” shouts another man. “We can’t. He’ll go and tell his kind we’re expecting them.”

“Better to have him on our side,” says another.

“How do we know he’s really on our side?”

Willard glances over his shoulder at me. “Want to say anything?”

Nope. But I speak up anyway, “You’ve got every reason to hate me. Twice now, I’ve gotten the better of you—thanks to this freakish ability I have.” Some of them chuckle. Maybe they’re not all bad apples. “The only reason I’m here right now…is to help you.”

“What do you care?” Multiple shouts echo a similar sentiment.

“You’ve got some unborn children downstairs. Believe it or not, you’re sitting on the whole world’s future. I don’t know how much your captain has told you, but the United World government is very interested in receiving the incubation pods intact. While the warriors on their way here have every intention of killing those defenseless babies.”

That seems to sober the men.

“Captain?” one calls up. “Is what he’s saying true?”

Willard seems unwilling to respond, but Sergeant Bishop claps him on the back like they’re old war buddies.

“Yes, soldier. I’m afraid so,” Willard says. “We have something the UW wants very much. And we aim to hand over each fetus in one piece.”

On the floor behind us, Perch moans as he starts to come to. He’ll be trouble. There’s no chance he’ll welcome either Bishop or me into the fold. Launching myself from the catwalk railing, I glide down to the main floor. The men of Eden stumble backward, giving me a wide berth and staring wide-eyed.

“Any of you consider Perch to be a close friend?” I scan the crowd. They glance at one another with uncertainty. “I for one think he’s a dangerous hothead, and I’d like to keep him locked in his quarters until this situation blows over. That alright with you?”

A few of the men frown, but no one objects. From the catwalk above, Willard calls out the names of two guardsmen and orders them to escort Perch to his quarters—and to keep him sedated. That last part raises a few eyebrows, but I saw it was Sergeant Bishop who leaned over to give Willard quiet directions.

Eden’s dictator is serving as a suitable mouthpiece.

Whether the Eden Guardsmen are all on board remains to be seen, but for now, they put their backs into sealing the hatches at each of the three tunnels leading outward from Eden’s central dome. Willard leads us down to the control station where multiple monitors show the collard daemons—hundreds of them—gathering at the edge of the city where crumbling, ashen asphalt disappears into desert sands.

“You don’t have to watch this,” Bishop tells me. “I know they’re your friends.”

I look past him at Willard, seated before the control panel with his hands moving over