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

on the ground than he did standing up. He can't seem to bend his knees, so they stick out in front of him. He's got both of his gloved hands pressed down on his left thigh—apparently, the only part of his suit I was able to puncture after firing all those shots at him. That's what happens when I split my focus.

"It's-it's been compromised," he manages, sounding both terrified and furious. A dangerous combo, if he was still armed.

"That's right." I squint after his buddy's vehicle, tough to see behind that plume of dust it's kicking up. "So now we wait."

He groans, sounding like he just might cry. Because he knows the inevitable is on its way like some kind of faceless predator. All part of this quarantined continent's charm. The mythos, that is.

For Edenites, it's cut and dry. You breathe in the dust, and you get infected by a fast-acting mutagen. It turns you into a messed-up freak of nature, most likely a cannibal. For the natives, those of us who left our bunkers after All-Clear and embraced the survivalist lifestyle, it's less scientific and more supernatural. The spirits of the earth will look into your soul and decide what sort of gift to bless you with. An ability from the animal kingdom, like superhuman speed and agility, or long-distance sight, or underwater breathing—as if that's useful in these parts. Can't remember the last time I saw a body of water. The Pacific isn't too far away, but I've steered clear. Too many raiders crawling all over those shores, loading their loot onto freighters bound for Eurasia.

I shoulder the rifle by its strap and step over to the identical weapon I shot out of the driver's hand. Loose grips sink ships. The barrel's dinged up, thanks to my .44 round, but it'll still shoot fine. It just won't look as glamorous. The mag is almost full. I sling it onto my other shoulder and head toward my jeep.

"You're not leaving me, are you?" Sounds like it's his greatest fear, to be abandoned out here in the Wastes. Until now, it was probably second-place to his fear of becoming infected. Now he's afraid of what he'll become.

The unknown. I'll admit, it's scary. That's why I stick to what I know.

"Pay attention, genius." I nod toward the solar panels on the roof. "They need to charge up, and I need to figure out why the batteries died on me. So we're stuck here for a while, you and me. Might as well settle in."

I drop one of the assault rifles into the cargo area in back of my jeep, and it clinks against shards of plastiglass from the broken rear window. I keep the other rifle handy, swaying from its strap, brushing against my side as I take a breather in what little shade the jeep provides.

"You're bleeding," he says. Nice of him to notice.

"You nicked me. Feel good about that." I apply pressure, one hand squeezing my shoulder. I'll check it out later. Judging from experience, it's just a superficial wound, unworthy of too much attention.

"You're…" He weighs his words. "Daiyna."

"What gave it away?" My lack of an environmental suit. My head covering that wraps around my face, its tail flapping in the breeze. My superhuman ability to fire two guns at once.

"How long did it take...for you?"

"Until I knew I was a sand freak?" I shrug my uninjured shoulder. "Not long."

"How did you know? I mean, what could you do?"

"Nothing you can do about it." Once you're infected, you're infected. Or gifted. Same difference. But after a few seconds of silence, I realize what he's really asking. "I could see in the dark. Night vision without the gear."

"No joke."

"Do I look funny to you?"

He doesn't answer. Smart—for an idiot.

"How long do you plan to keep that suit on?" As long as the air's flowing inside, I'm sure he'll be comfortable sitting in the sun. But once it runs out of coolant and O2, he'll be roasting alive in there. "Not like it's keeping you safe anymore."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he looks like he wants to get to his feet. He's given up plugging the hole and instead presses his gloved hands against the ground, like he's ready to launch.

"Nope." I've got my new rifle pointed at him before he can blink. "You're staying put."

He curses. But he follows orders like a good little Eden Guard. "My people will be back. They'll pile into an armored car and bring more guns than you can handle."

"I'm handling yours just fine," I remind him.

"You might want to get this jeep running again, if he's right," Rehana calls from her seat. "Better to keep moving, out here in the wild."

"Nobody asked you," I snap at her, but she's right. She usually is. I need to check the wiring, see where the battery connection failed. But I also need to keep my eye on this bounty hunter. Too bad I can't be in two places at the same time. "Get out here and watch him."

"I'm good." She stretches, perfectly content right where she is.

"I see how it is," I mutter.

The Edenite is watching me. Real still, like he thinks I might bite him. Or I might have something that's catching.

"Not exactly sane, are you?" he observes.

Well, that was uncalled for. Makes me think I've been too hospitable. No more Ms. Nice Girl.

"Take off your suit. Do it now." I advance on him, aiming my rifle at his head. "You've got ten seconds. Then I start punching holes in that helmet."

"It takes ten minutes to get this thing off—" he complains.

"Then you'd better get started." He doesn't move, so I scream, "NOW!"

He stutters backward on his rear end and starts fumbling around, detaching the helmet from the collar first, then unzipping the torso. When he gets up and climbs out of the suit, I see a clean-shaven man in thermal underwear who looks like he hasn't been eating regularly as of late. I suppose an