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

in front as I make my mad dash. I glance over my shoulder, and by the light of Samson's spear I see them move to pursue me. But their movements are so sluggish...like they're in slow motion...

Or is it because I'm moving so much faster?

The cavern wall slams into me full-force, and I groan out loud. That's what I get for not looking where I'm going. I almost lose the glowstick as I sprawl sideways, but I manage to right myself, and I tighten my grip on it. My feet barely skim the surface of the cavern floor as I run, and I feel that strange awareness again, the sense that this speed is not my own. A powerful energy courses through me, wild but contained, harnessed like a fuel source.

Have I been changed? Obviously. But I'll figure it out on my own. I'm not staying here with this bunch. I've got to get out.

A sudden blow to the face stuns me. I curse at the blinding pain and fall backward. The glowstick clatters beyond my grasp as I land flat on my back. Then a chorus of cracks fills the air, and the cavern is illuminated by twenty more glowsticks, each held by a bald woman garbed in loose, sand-colored garments. They stand on a wide ledge a couple meters above the cavern floor, the green light reflecting in their eyes as they watch me impassively. Creepy, to say the least.

One of them stands over me with a spear made from PVC pipe and scrap metal.

"You?" I wipe at the blood issuing from my nose.

It's her: the bald beauty, the first living person I'd seen in months. Only now I wish I never laid eyes on her.

"I have him," she calls to the men behind me, the point of her spear held at my throat. She looks me in the eye.

I meet her gaze, not even trying to rise. "Where have you been?"

"Miss me?"

Samson and Luther's footfalls pound toward us.

"Not really." I grab the spear below its head and jump to my feet in a single move, whipping the weapon free from her grasp as I step behind her and shove the sharp point flat against her throat. She's too slow to resist. "Stay back!"

Samson and Luther stand rooted, as do the twenty-odd men behind them who've come out of the dark corners, their eyes glowing in the sickly light.

"Did you see that, Luther? How quick he can move?" one of them stage-whispers loudly.

Luther nods, watching me. "He's embracing his gift."

What are they talking about? Can't they see what I'm doing?

"You too! Keep back," I shout at the women above me. Murmuring among themselves, they hold their position and keep their eyes focused on me. "Everybody stay back! I'm getting out of here, okay? No one's going to stop me." I press my lips against the bald beauty's ear. "Which way?"

"I can't help you escape," she says without fear. "I won't."

"You will, or this spear starts impaling." I tighten my grip on her. "Which way?"

"We need you, Milton," Luther says quietly. "Our survival may very well depend on what you can do."

More crazy talk. I look around at them all, and I don't know if it's the eerie light or the bald women or the eager looks in their eyes, but they're really giving me a bad case of the heebie-jeebies.

"Listen, I really don't want to be part of your cave cult, okay? I just want out of here."

A younger man behind Luther steps forward.

"Plato," Luther cautions him.

Plato holds up his hands in response and faces me. "How will you survive out there, Milton? It's midday. The sun is out in full strength. You'll roast."

He's right. "Give me my suit."

Plato shakes his head.

"I'll kill her!" I swivel the spear tip, and it punctures her skin, drawing a narrow bead of blood. She stiffens.

"Please." Plato takes another step forward, his hands hovering. "You're a reasonable man, Milton. You're not a killer."

That's kind of funny. Ironic would be a better word for it.

"You don't know anything about me, man. So stay back!"

He lunges forward and spits at me, right in the face. Thick mucus slaps against my eyes, but my disgust lasts only a moment. The next thing I know, I'm doubled over and screaming, scrubbing at my burning eye sockets as they're devoured by acid.

Voices converge on me all at once:

"Daiyna, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"We should tie him up."

"I'm sure that would really earn his confidence."

"Nice shot, Plato."

"Nasty, but effective."

"He spit at me? What the hell?" I scream.

"Milton, hold still."

"Stop rubbing. You'll make it worse."

"Flush it out."

Strong hands clamp my head and jerk it back. My arms are held down against their will. Cool liquid from a hydropack pours across my eyelids. They continue to burn, and I continue to scream. I've never felt anything so intense. It's like a raging fire behind my pupils. I can't see a thing. Incapacitated, I'm completely at their mercy.

"Relax, Milton. You'll be fine. Plato's gift doesn't incur any permanent damage," Luther says at my side. His hand squeezes my shoulder.

"As far as we know," says an unfamiliar voice.

I struggle to form words, and when I manage to do so, they erupt in a string of curses.

"Yeah, he'll be all right." Samson chuckles behind me, holding my head back.

"Open your eyes. We need to flush them out." It's Plato. Why is he helping? He's the freak who spat at me! "Pinch his eyelids open."

I struggle, but they overpower me yet again. I scream as they open my eyes and pour the fluid in. After the initial shock, the burning starts to subside; the hydropack seems to have a neutralizing effect. I blink and sputter as they help me sit down on one of the rocks nearby.

"We should tie him up," someone says.

"No." Luther remains by my side. "Can you see, my friend?"

Friend? What's this guy smoking? Didn't I have one of his cult members at spear-point? But I nod, blinking away the fluid