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

"And that's a good thing?"

He nods slowly. "The offensive we planned—how long would it have taken? How many lives could we have lost in the process?"

"We won't all survive this."

"With every death we suffer, I lose a piece of myself. We all do. But I have faith the Creator will see us through. And once this land is free of the daemon blight, we will be one step closer to seeing our children again."

Feeling the warmth of these pudgy little ones in my arms, it's all I can do to keep my composure. He knows what I want more than anything.

"That's some faith you've got, Luther. Not sure I understand it."

He squeezes my shoulder. "The Creator is greater than our ability to understand."

Without warning, Milton returns with another blast of dust and reaches for the babies. "All aboard the Milton Express."

I adjust his grip on each of the squirming tykes. "Got 'em?"

"Sure." He sounds less than confident. "I mean, they'll probably turn catatonic once we're in the air, right?"

If he's lucky.

"Have a safe flight." Samson gives him two big metal thumbs up.

Another burst of dust, and he's in the air. The babies were on the verge of screaming a moment ago, but as soon as they're airborne, I don't hear a peep out of them. They're probably stunned. Traveling at supersonic speeds will do that, from what I recall.

"Anything, Shechara?" Luther checks.

She's keeping watch, scanning the terrain from left to right with her mechanical eyes roving, rotating, zooming. "Nothing yet."

But I hear the solar-powered engines humming ever louder. Twenty-five distinct vehicles, each potentially carrying four mutants armed with assault rifles, rocket-launchers, and plenty of ammo. They're never in short supply.

Unlike us. We have the jeeps, rifles, and rocket-launcher we took off those mutants in addition to our own small arsenal of rifles and handguns. Not nearly enough.

Luther catches me staring into the distance. "Battle plans, Sergeant?"

"I'm not liking our odds."

Samson grunts. "We shouldn't be concentrated all together like this. Once we start shooting, we'll give away our position, and—" He whistles while one of his metal arms swoops overhead and crashes down at his side. "RPG inferno."

"Agreed." I glance down the hillside toward the jeeps. There's no cover anywhere else nearby, no fallback position. We're trapped here. "We can't engage so many of them." It would be mass suicide. I clench my fists, desperate for a solution. But nothing presents itself—until I look outside the box we've climbed into. "So we don't fight them. Not here."

"Explain," Luther says.

"You're not going to like it." This will go against every vestigial belief from the Old World he still clings to. Respect for the dead being at the very top of the list.

"I don't have to, as long as our people survive and the daemons do not."

I pause, weighing my words. Then I dive in headfirst. "We let the mutants take the Homeplace. They'll sniff out the blood and climb the cliffs to get inside. Once as many as possible are in those caves, we take out any stragglers in the foothills below while simultaneously hitting the front and rear cave entrances with RPGs. I'd assign that responsibility to Milton, since he can fly around the mountain faster than we can set up positions on each side."

Samson glances at Luther. "Seal the daemons up and initiate a cascade collapse throughout the entire cave network."

Luther is silent for a few moments before managing, "We allow them to desecrate our dead...and trap the daemons in the act."

I nod. There's no point in sugarcoating it. War is an ugly mess. But this way, those we lost in the missile strike will have given their lives for a greater purpose: eliminating the mutant threat once and for all.

"They usually prefer live prey." Samson scratches his chin through his head covering.

"According to the spirits, fresh meat is hard to find these days. The mutants weren't too finicky about the bodies in Cain's Shipyard."

"The spirits told you this?" Luther says.

"And they said they'd help us." Not sure what they meant by that, but it's worth mentioning.

"Maybe they'll throw a screen of dust in the air to cover our approach," Samson offers. "They've done it before."

"Yes. They have." Luther is deep in thought, staring into space. Then he seems to reach a grim conclusion. "Very well, Sergeant. We'll do it. And may the Creator have mercy on us for such a despicable act."

The bodies in those caves are just empty shells now, but I don't say that out loud. Instead I think back on the sight of Granger, Sinclair, and Harris after Cain gunned them down. I get Luther's point. If someone suggested using their bodies for mutant bait, I would have decked the bastard.

"So we sit tight and don't make a sound, let them all pass us by," Samson says. "And hope they don't notice those two jeeps we've got parked down there."

Milton returns, gliding out of the sky to land beside us. "The daemons are less than fifteen klicks away, climbing onto this plateau," he reports. "So what's the plan?"

Luther tells him, and he stares mutely, looking first at me, then Samson.

"You're okay with this?" he finally asks.

"His idea." Samson flicks a metal finger in my direction. "It's horrible. But it just might work."

"I see them," Shechara announces, and everyone instinctively crouches as she points westward.

"Victoria and the children are safe?" Luther whispers.

Milton nods. "Not the most comfortable accommodations, but secure. Hilltop sublevel on the edge of some ruins, near a cache of hydropacks and other rations. Might be a good spot for Homeplace 2.0."

"First things first." Luther raises his voice slightly, addressing the entire group: "Stay low and hold your positions. Do not engage the daemons. We are going to let them pass. Once they're five klicks away from the Homeplace, we will follow at a distance." He turns to me. "Sergeant."

I take my cue and fill everyone in on the plan. Most of them don't like it, looking at each other