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

with thick clouds of vapor. Tough to see through, but I manage, flipping my other hand into a multitool and using it to rearrange the inner door's locking mechanism.

"Shoot him, dammit!" the raider yells.

"Hold your fire," says the rig driver. She doesn't seem too worried about her associate. "Let's see what the cyborg can do."

"You're a dead man! You hear me? I'll tear off your arms and legs myself—!"

"Good luck with that," I mutter.

My work on the wiring is done, the short already producing a nice little electrical fire. I whip my hand back into the anthropomorphic variety and plant my metal palm on the interior door, fingers splayed. Locking my mechanical elbow and planting my mechatronic legs, I push.

Perch is silent on the intercom as the door caves inward with a resistant creak, the hinges straining, the airtight seal weakening. I maintain my role as an unstoppable force, pressing forward incrementally. As I feel the door give, I continue to apply pressure, until the seal pops with a rush of cool, filtered air. The best Eden has to offer.

But that's not all that leaks out. A barrage of automatic weapons fire pounds the door from the other side, and I can't help cringing against the sudden salvo. Since it appears the liquid nitrogen has run out, I drop the raider onto his feet and grab the airlock's interior door with both hands.

"Get ready," I tell him.

His entire back side is covered in frosty white, and his gloved hands are clenched into fists down at his sides. For a moment, he looks like he's going to take a swing at me. But then he realizes what I'm planning to do, and he orders his team to prepare to fire. They advance, one of them handing him his rifle.

They take aim, right at me.

"Samson!" Shechara cries.

Not sure what's going to happen next, I grit my teeth and put everything I have into pushing that airlock door open. But not just open. Off its hinges, tearing it free with a steel shriek. Then I'm charging into Eden, shielding my fleshy parts with the door as I storm the gates. The raiders are right behind me, crouching and returning fire as the Edenites pound my massive shield with relentless barrages, rounds thudding and deflecting on impact, hitting my mechanical legs when I fail to keep them covered.

The Wastelanders race after us without any weapons or body armor. Or much in the way of brains. They launch themselves at the Eden Guards like wild maniacs, and the guards stare wide-eyed like they've never seen anything so bizarre. Their aim falters as they stumble backward, their training forgotten for the moment. But that's all the raiders need. They step out from the cover of my shield and fire headshot after headshot, taking down the men of Eden with practiced ease, not wasting any ammo.

The Edenites retreat to a rally point, hiding behind empty crates scattered across the floor of Eden's expansive subterranean dome, lit up as bright as day. I remember when this area was covered in pallets stacked two meters high with hydropacks, standard rations, and canned goods—actual food. Not anymore. And the Edenites I've glimpsed don't look much better than that guy we encountered in the parking structure. Just as hungry, but no yellow eyes among them.

Five of the raiders stand out in the open now, pointing their weapons either at the crates on the floor or the catwalk above, where apartment units hang suspended from the dome's interior. The first two raiders who encountered the liquid nitrogen lie dead; Edenite rounds shattered their fractured face shields. One of the Wastelanders lies among four dead Eden guards, and the other two bikers sit nearby, heads bowed as if in mourning.

Silence holds the moment.

Until Daiyna walks out of the airlock with a firm hold on her Edenite, staggering in front of her.

"Well, Perch," her voice echoes, filling the entire dome. She takes a look around. Unimpressed. "I'm here."

It's still unclear whether she's out for revenge. But I know I'm not. For all I care, Perch and his people can starve to death in their compromised refuge. I'm not about to help them along.

And I'm through with these UW raiders.

I hurl the airlock door at the five of them, and they go down like dominoes. Next, I slug the Edenite Daiyna's holding, and he collapses to the floor.

"We're leaving." I jerk my head for her to follow as I charge straight for the open airlock.

She looks confused for a second, like things aren't going according to plan. But the expression doesn't last long. Something seems to click behind her eyes. Purpose, maybe. With a nod, she runs after me.

Shechara is alone with Cain inside the tunnel. She's got a rifle aimed at him, and he's groaning, favoring his broken ankle. She brightens at the sight of Daiyna and me but winces at the roar of weapons fire emanating from inside Eden, reignited with a gusto. Reinforcements led by Perch himself, who's screaming Daiyna's name.

I pull Shechara into a gentle squeeze. "Ready to hit the road?"

She nods eagerly. "What about him?"

Cain. He grunts at us with a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Leave him," Daiyna says.

Good idea.

The three of us sprint up the tunnel and out of the parking garage as fast as we can, my legs making enough racket to let every raider, Edenite, and Wastelander know our exact location. Fortunately, they have enough to keep them busy at the moment: trying to kill each other.

Outside the parking structure, the big rig sits right where we left it. I can't help grinning at Shechara.

Looks like we're hijacking another one.

16 Milton2 Years After All-Clear

I watch as eighty daemons scramble up the cliff like the rabid beasts they are and crawl into the Homeplace, squeezing between fallen rocks on their way inside the collapsed entrance. At the same time, Sergeant Bishop and Samson lead the ground assault on the twenty daemons left behind—sitting in their jeeps