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

What about my world: Emma, Mara, Emmanuel? They'll be all right. Better than. Seeing how I died a war hero, my family will join one of the upper Eurasian castes—with Hawthorne herself looking out for them. I couldn't ask for a better way to leave them in my absence.

Only I'm not absent. I'm right here, alive and breathing.

"There's one thing I don't understand."

Mutegi nods. He's no idiot, either. He lowers his voice, "Why you were officially declared KIA." He holds my gaze. "Makes me wonder if we're all living on borrowed time, James."

"Because of what we know."

He squeezes my shoulder. "I'd be surprised if any of us make it back inside the Domes."

Leaving me to chew on that, he steps away and salutes. I give a return salute my best effort, considering the armored suit I'm in. One silver lining: I won't have to wear it much longer. I'll be trading it for a glass cage. A locked observation room with a complete array of electrodes. Won't that be nice.

"Escort Sergeant Bishop to the Zodiac," Mutegi tells the guards. "He won't be joining us on our voyage to Eurasia."

He looks back at me one last time, like he wants to say something but can't, due to his rank. So he dips his head and leaves, his long strides thumping across the deck.

"Give me a hand here," I tell the guards, gesturing at my suit. Not something I can remove on my own. They glance at each other, unsure whether they're allowed inside my little infected space. "C'mon, I obviously don't need this thing anymore. Right? The damage is already done."

I give them a sheepish grin, and they shrug at each other. Why not humor the dead man? They each take a heavy sleeve and pull, prying me out of the bulky thing.

"Thanks. I've got it from here." I sit on the floor and set about freeing my legs. Underneath, all I've got on is a sweat-stained bodysuit. Enough to protect most of me from the sun outside. "I'll need gloves and shoes. Something to protect my head and face."

Their face shields are clear now that they're inside the decon room. They glance at each other again, almost like they're telepathic. But no, they're just wet behind the ears. They've never had to deal with a mutant-in-the-making before.

My throat catches as I remember Granger's fear at the prospect of changing into something inhuman, followed by his amped-up, devil-may-care attitude. I miss that guy.

"We can get you something like this," one of the guards offers, gesturing at his protective suit. The lite version of mine.

"That'll work." I give him a nod of approval.

While he scurries off, the other guard resumes his post at the doorway. I remain seated on the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest.

The thing about your worst fear being realized? Once you push down the grief, squeezing it into some dark corner of your mind where it will resurface later on when you least expect it, and after you wade through the numbness toward the light of acceptance at the end of that dark tunnel, you find you're completely invulnerable.

Nothing can hurt you now. Not their lies to your family or their lab tests. Not even the prospect of turning into something superhuman and superweird. In a way, you're not even you anymore. Your former self really is dead.

So why do anything they want you to?

The guard returns with my new suit, creased from where it's been sitting on a shelf in storage. I pull it on and zip it up, lace up the boots, tug on the gloves, adjust the hood and face shield so I have the widest field of vision possible.

Then I follow the lead guard toward the rigid inflatable boat while the rear guard follows me step by step. Both of them have their rifles at rest. Standard procedure, of course. They don't expect the hero Sergeant James Bishop to give them any trouble.

And I don't. Not until we're on the water halfway between the Argonaus and the Integrity. That's when I make my move.

I pretend to choke, giving the universal sign for an O2 malfunction. The guard who isn't steering the Zodiac doesn't think twice before rushing over to assist me. He doesn't wonder why I'd be having an O2 malfunction when my suit isn't outfitted with a breather. Nobody has to worry about me breathing contaminated air anymore. But he's young, and he acts on instinct a few seconds too soon, before he can think it through.

I hit him in the solar plexus with my elbow, doubling him over while I pivot on one heel. Then I throw him over my shoulder and into the water. He's far behind our wake by the time the other guard turns away from the helm to find me holding his partner's rifle.

"Dive in," I tell him, assuming he'll take me up on the offer. Beats getting shot.

But he's still got one hand on the wheel, so he gives it a savage spin, sending the Zodiac veering sharply off-course. I topple backward, nearly falling overboard myself.

"Drop it, Sergeant!" the guard shouts, powering down the boat. We're rocking in the water now with more than a few hundred meters between us and the nearest ship. "Do it now!" He takes a step toward me, his rifle aimed at my head.

I toss his partner's weapon across the boat and raise my hands. "Now what? You plan on shooting me, marine?"

The dark face shield hides his confusion. He tightens his grip on the rifle. Probably never trained for a situation like this. He knows how to hold his gun and how to fire it, most likely. But at a fellow marine? He's not so sure about that.

"Don't give me a reason to, sir!" He struggles to keep his footing as the boat throws him off balance. There's plenty of chop on the water.

I take my chances