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

me toward the mouth of the cave, and I try to resist, but it just looks like my feet aren't cooperating.

"They came without warning, dozens of them. We're outnumbered and outgunned. We need you." He turns and the light falls on his face, splattered in blood. Some of it looks like his own. "We need your help. Your speed, Milton. Disarm as many of them as you can, and bring us their weapons."

A scream, wild and hoarse, tears through the din. Plato barely seems to notice.

"They've scaled the cliff. We can't hold them back much longer. If they get inside, it'll be a massacre."

Why can't we escape farther into the mountains, back to the west side where they found me? "What about the passages that lead—?"

"Caved in," Rip cuts me off. "All at once, like it was planned. Right when the daemons showed up. Some of the ladies are sayin' it happened to them before, that evil spirits caused it."

Spirits? Right. Those. Like I believe in spooks. Regardless, we're trapped here.

No. They are. They're not going to make it without the weapons they need to even the score. They're all going to die.

Not me.

"Will you do it?" Plato takes me by the shoulders, his eyes fierce with intensity. "We don't have much time."

Get out.

I catch my breath at the sudden voice inside my head. The back of my neck prickles.

They are already dead. There is nothing you can do.

The sensation is so bizarre, like someone else is thinking through me. Surreal, yet strangely familiar. Without a word, I move toward the mouth of the cave.

"You will, then," Plato's voice echoes behind me. He sounds hopeful. He thinks I'm going to save them.

Let them kill each other. We will see who survives.

No. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. It's obvious who will survive if I do nothing. I'll be the only one the cannibals don't kill. I'm too fast for them. Everyone else here will die.

Who are they to you? The only one who matters is not here. These can perish.

I open my eyes and move ahead, quicker now, one foot in front of the other. As I do, something weird happens: everything around me slows down.

I can't help but stare. They're all running in slow motion now, their voices moaning, garbled. I step closer to the light and see each of the rounds fired by the mutants below. The casings glint under the sun as they float by. I dodge them easily.

My forearm tingles and starts to burn. Even at this speed, my skin isn't safe from the sun. I retreat out of the light, ducking back into the caves to retrieve my jumpsuit. Quickly pulling it on, I make sure the gloves are zipped to my sleeves—a compulsive little habit.

Leave. Now.

I pull up the hood and attach the cracked face shield. Instantly, my view of the mayhem is tinted. I become detached. A couple of glowsticks and nourishment packs sit in my pockets. Maybe I should bring more.

There is plenty of food where you are going.

"If you say so." Whoever you are. Guess I shouldn't worry. Everything appears to be in order.

I step aside as a half dozen of the ugly mutants appear, climbing over the ledge with gleaming military-issue daggers in hand. They're really hideous creatures. Eyes bulging wide, jagged teeth drooling, they charge into the cave to wreak havoc. My boot just happens to catch one of them in the shin as it passes, causing it to pitch forward and fall headlong. Plato plunges a spear into its back as it hits the dusty floor of the cave. Score one for the good guys.

Then Rip lets out a shriek. Two of the cannibals have converged on him, tearing him apart in a slo-mo feeding frenzy.

I can't save him now. It's too late. But I could avenge him.

What good would that do? These people are outnumbered. Survival of the fittest.

Leave. Now.

I hesitate for one last indecisive moment. Then I take flight, moving with a speed and strength that's not my own. A wild energy floods through me. Without glancing back, I plunge down the cliff, my boots barely making contact as I cross over rock and crevice, leaving a cloud of dust in my wake.

The mutants turn, distracted momentarily as I pass. There are so many of them, more than Plato estimated. Could this be all of them? Some kind of final assault on their prey? I count at least twenty solar-powered jeeps and easily more than a hundred of the rifle and rocket launcher toting freaks. They seem to be moving in ranks, yet there's no form of communication that I can see—only grunting and drooling. They're running on instinct, like animals.

They are not animals.

The voice inside me is sharp, like a slap in the face. I slow reflexively, but I don't stop.

"Who are you?" My own voice sounds weak and hollow in comparison. What's happening? Have I finally lost my mind?

Go northeast. She is there. She is all that matters.

"She?" The climber—Daiyna, they called her—is the first person who comes to mind. "Is that who you mean?" Why is she so important?

An explosion rocks the earth behind me, and I reel around to see large chunks of the cliff face shoot outward in all directions. Three of the mutants kneel, rocket launchers on their shoulders, aimed up at the cave. They're reloading.

I have to do something.

Leave. Now!

I will. But first...

Before the next barrage of rockets can be fired, I run to intercept. With a push here and a well-placed nudge there, I turn the slow-moving mutants on their own ranks. Then I run as fast as I can to avoid the blasts to follow. The makings of a grin tug at my face as the rockets find their new targets. Solar-powered jeeps fly into the air above fiery billows of smoke, and mutants by the dozen are scorched out of existence.

That should even things out some. I wish I could do more. I