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

A flying man tends to be something you don't forget, as well as a popular topic of conversation among mere mortals.

Has Milton been hiding his gift? Or is he even here?

Daiyna climbs up the net hand over hand without using any of her supernatural agility. To the raiders and sentries watching, she looks like any other person struggling to ascend a cargo net for the first time. Shechara climbs up behind her. Not sure how I'm going to get up there unless those ropes are stronger than they look.

I wait for Shechara and Daiyna to reach the deck before I start my climb. The last thing I want is to tug the net free, sending all three of us into the murky water.

Scratch that. The last thing I want is for this to be a trap. For there to be no friends on board. For us to be captured and subjected to the sort of subhuman treatment we received in Eden.

I keep an eye on Shechara as she pulls herself onto the deck, and the sentries offer her a hand. Unlike Daiyna, she accepts the help up. They're all armed, but they're not pointing their weapons at each other. Nice for a change.

Maybe everything will be all right. Trust the Creator, Luther would say. But people are a different story. Haven't been able to trust many of them for a long while now.

Slinging the Tavor over my shoulder, I grab hold of the net, giving it a tug to test its strength. So far, so good. The ropes sag once I add my full weight to the mix, and I slowly sink toward the water. Climbing quickly, I manage to reach the deck before the whole thing stretches completely out of shape.

The sentries don't bother offering me a hand. They stand frozen like a pair of statues—except for their helmeted heads, black face shields rising as they take in every detail of my mechanical limbs. Their mothers never taught them it's rude to stare.

"Mutegi?" I get them back on track.

"Right. This way." One sentry takes the lead, and we follow. The other one tails us. Smart, but it would have been smarter to take our weapons first. Still not sure why nobody's done that.

The sentries pause outside an unguarded airlock that will take us to the lower decks. They won't be joining us.

We step inside, and the door swings shut behind us, sealing us in. When red lights start flashing along the ceiling, I get the feeling a few contaminants have been detected.

"Please disrobe and set down anything you brought with you," a clinical female voice emanates from an intercom on the airlock's inner door. "Once the door opens, you will enter a decontamination chamber. Do not be alarmed. This is standard procedure for all crewmembers entering the ship from above decks."

Now they'll take our weapons. And our clothes. Should've seen this coming.

We look at each other. Shechara and Daiyna are as pleased as I am about the prospect of leaving this airlock in our birthday suits. Five years ago, I would've given anything to get naked with two gorgeous women. But now one of them's my wife, and so far, she's the only human on the planet who's seen me without a stitch on—where the metal meets the man. Not the most pleasant sight.

I guess Margo saw me in my natural state when she installed my arms and legs, attaching them to the stumps Perch left me with. I have to stuff down a few emotions at the thought of her. She was a good person. Gone too soon.

"Only direction is onward," Daiyna mutters, setting down her rifle and semiautomatic. Giving us a shrug, she unlaces her boots.

"You may not like what you're gonna see." I turn my back, the sound of my mechanical legs twice as loud in this confined space, and pull off my head covering.

"I always do," Shechara says, patting my rear end.

Daiyna curses under her breath. "Here's hoping the decon process includes a shower."

I nod. "Haven't had one of those in…" I almost say since Eden, but can that be right? Three and a half years with no shower?

I suppose we've gotten used to the stink and grime in between finding a few extra hydropacks, on occasion. If the raiders hadn't carried their own air supply, I'm sure they would've passed out after a single whiff of us.

Once we're naked, the inner door opens with a rush of air, and the woman's voice returns: "Please proceed into the decontamination chamber. We will have towels and a change of clothing for you once the process is complete. Captain Mutegi has been notified of your arrival, and he will be waiting for you in the wardroom."

Keeping my eyes set straight ahead, I lead the reluctant procession into the chamber. "Let's do this," I mutter, my voice echoing.

Shechara's behind me, followed by Daiyna.

"Hey, keep in mind we've got metal parts." I gesture at Shechara and myself, hoping the voice can hear us. "We'd prefer not to rust."

"Not to worry." I picture a woman in a white nurse's uniform. "The hydro substitute we use is similar to what you would find in ration packs. But please keep your mouths and eyes closed for the duration."

Not liking the sound of that.

The airlock door shuts behind us, and now we're trapped in what looks like an iron submarine from over a century ago, with just enough room for us to stand without bumping into each other. Not that Shechara seems to mind bumping into me. I'd wager she's doing it on purpose to keep me distracted from a stressful situation.

It's not every day we find ourselves trapped in the dark with a flashing crimson light above us and who-knows-what about to spray all over us. Not comfortable being at anyone's mercy, I clench my metal fists and look for weak points in the chamber's welding. Almost sure I could break us out of here, if necessary.

The blinking red becomes a constant,