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

hold onto him forever. I cared for him deeply, more than any man I've ever known. And I still do. I can admit that now.

Luther, I'm so sorry for leaving…

Not because I could have changed how things went down. Cain still would have fired that missile at the Homeplace. Our people still would have died. But I would've been there. Maybe there would have been a wall between me and Luther after what I did to Willard and the bloodbath that followed. Maybe we could have worked past it. I'll never know. But I shouldn't have left him. That was selfish.

I can't change anything by dwelling on the past. Just learn from the mistakes and move on. Make tomorrow better than yesterday. Something worth hoping for.

A week of identical days and nights later, with only our dwindling rations and fuel revealing the passage of time, we spot the first sign of civilization. Shechara sees it first, of course. Samson and I squint and strain our eyes but can't see any of the details she can make out in the distance.

We power down the dirt bikes and lay them on their sides at the bottom of a steep grade. Then we climb toward the edge of a plateau that drops away in a steep cliff. The land below stretches twenty klicks or more, straight to the ocean with no geographical formations along the way. Just the same vacant, cratered moonscape we've seen for the past five thousand kilometers.

A mass of indistinguishable shapes line the shore, both on land and in the water. Trucks, ships, and UW raiders, Shechara tells us.

"Half a dozen freighters holding their position out at sea, along with a couple warships," she says, keeping her voice low. For the same reason we shut off the bikes: just in case anybody's listening. "One of them is the Argonaus."

"Bishop said they wouldn't let Captain Mutegi back into Eurasia because he knew too much." Samson lies prone, propped up on his elbows. He keeps his metal arms covered to avoid reflecting sunlight. "Makes sense they'd reassign him to the east coast, in case he had anything to do with Bishop going AWOL."

Shechara shakes her head. "We don't know if he's still captain of the Argonaus."

"True," Samson concedes. He glances at me. "Any new orders from your spirit-friends?"

Nothing. Sometimes I miss the good old days, when they would speak to me directly without appearing as people from my past. They'd tell me what we had to do, where we had to go. No, on second thought, I'd rather be the one calling the shots.

"We'll wait until nightfall. Leave the bikes here and approach on foot." I squeeze Shechara's arm. "You won't have to be our eyes."

One thing we all have in common: the ability to see in the dark. The UW raiders with their HUD-enabled face shields have night vision as well, so it will put us on equal footing with the enemy. Their advantage will be sheer numbers. I've never seen so many of them all together.

Over the past few years, it's usually been just a squad of raiders at a time, always with a tractor-trailer to hold everything they scavenged. One crew would show up, take what they wanted, and then leave. A few hours later, the next bunch would pick up where they left off. One city ruin after another. They've been a well-oiled operation ever since the daemon threat was neutralized.

Does Luther blame himself for the depletion of our resources? I doubt he had any idea the UW would start pillaging once the daemons were gone.

"What do they want with it all?" Shechara murmurs, staring without blinking into the distance. Watching the raiders load loot onto skiffs that tear across the rolling breakers toward the freighters. "Don't they have enough already?"

"You know what they say about people who have everything." Samson curses under his breath. "They always want more."

"Maybe life in Eurasia isn't as perfect as we'd like to imagine," I offer.

Shechara nods. "Sergeant Bishop said there's a class system. That those in the central dome live like royalty, while the ones who work in the outer domes live more like laborers used to here in the Sectors."

"Repeating the past," Samson mutters. "Hope it bites 'em in the ass."

If what Bishop told them is true, then it shouldn't take long for discontent among the lower classes to boil over into open rebellion. But I have to assume the UW Governors learned something from our history. Twenty-five years ago, the North American Sectors provided everything the rest of the world needed in order to live like kings and queens. But after decades of being treated like commodities ourselves, a segment of our population retaliated. They called themselves patriots after reading ancient historical records of colonies in the northeast rebelling against a powerful Eurasian king and winning their independence.

Pretty sure there weren't any bioweapons used in that rebellion.

What did these terrorists expect to happen? Unleashing dangerous toxins was a sadistic move that hurt our own people in the process. Maybe they wanted the UW to see what it would be like to lose the workforce of North America. Regardless, the end result was not independence. The UW's retaliation was swift and severe.

In order to live cooped-up inside self-sustaining biospheres, I assume the Eurasian Governors have to maintain some sort of tight-fisted fascist control. Relentless suppression of any potential opposition and forceful regimentation of society as a whole. A harsh rule of law with police on the streets at all times. Maybe in the air as well, watching every citizen's every move. No freedom whatsoever.

The thought of it makes me appreciate what we have here. Sure, it's a lifeless wasteland, but at least we're free. There's a big grey sky stretching from one horizon to the other, boundless open space, and plenty of air to breathe. For now, anyway.

We stare eastward. Samson and I take turns asking about the indistinct shapes in the distance, and Shechara describes them in detail. In