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

She is important.

"Right." I wince. This time the voice brought a little friend: a splitting headache. "I won't leave her behind. Happy now?"

Samson shoves me aside as he passes by. "Talking to yourself?" He joins the others above the concrete ramp that once served as an entrance to this garage.

Resisting the urge to kill him, I follow.

"We can look elsewhere," Luther suggests, offering an alternative in light of everyone's uneasiness.

Daiyna shakes her head. "It won't be any different anywhere else. The only vehicles left intact would be parked in the lower levels. This structure or the next, it doesn't matter."

"Daiyna and I can go ahead," the smaller one adds quietly.

"You're not going without us, Small Fry," Samson rumbles. "I don't care if I'm blind as a bat. I'm not waiting around out here."

"Agreed." Luther nods. "We go together."

Daiyna seems a bit reluctant. She glances at me, then turns to lead the way. The other girl follows her with Samson close behind. Luther beckons me to join him at the rear, and we descend the cracked incline. No one speaks as we enter the garage.

It's more like an auto morgue with all the wreckage in assigned parking spots. These vehicles were people's prized possessions at one point in time. I'm sure they were either sleek and fuel-efficient or solar-powered. Difficult to tell one from the other now. They all look the same: frozen puddles of plastic and steel.

The sunlight quickly dissipates, and we're covered in shadow. Goggles come off and head wrappings drop to their shoulders. I remove my face shield and toss back my hood. It smells bad in here, like tires were cooked in motor oil, then baked into the concrete. Instinctively, I cover my nose. Hope we don't plan on staying long.

Daiyna gestures this way and points out a stairwell on the opposite side of the sublevel. It should lead us down into the depths of this place, where I'm sure it'll smell even better.

The tension among the others is palpable as we move forward. Even with their special abilities and weapons, they still fear the unknown—though none of them would admit it. Strangely enough, it doesn't affect me. I don't feel the least bit nervous.

Shouldn't I? Just a little? Yet I'm completely at ease, and it's exhilarating.

The shadows loom darker as we reach the doorway at the foot of the stairs. Our boots scuff across the floor and echo against the concrete walls. The smaller girl shoots furtive glances to and fro. Luther and Daiyna are more guarded in their expressions, but they don't fool me. They're just as nervous as she is. Samson's focus is set straight ahead. His eyes flick from side to side as he holds his weapons at the ready and does his best to cushion his oversized footfalls. I don't see the point. If anybody's down here, they would have heard us already.

Images from a zombie film I saw as a kid pass through my mind. It was made in one of those Eurasian countries, centuries before my time. Four people were riding in a little car, and they ran out of gas under a long overpass. Or it was some kind of tunnel. No, the car had a flat tire, and the people had to change it as fast as they could. The zombies were coming, running full-tilt, not staggering stupidly like in older films. They ran like the devil was chasing them. The infected.

Wouldn't it be funny if that's what we find down here? Forget about mutant cannibals armed to the teeth. We've got a new monster in town, folks: your friendly garage-dwelling zombie! Be afraid.

I almost laugh out loud.

What is fear, really? Where does it come from? Is it rooted in our mortality? What if we could live forever—would we fear anything?

This sense of total freedom flooding through me is enough to make me giddy. I have nothing to fear. It's amazing.

No, there's still one thing I'm afraid of: That the voice will speak to me again.

"Watch your step," Luther whispers over his shoulder as we enter the stairwell and head down. "Try to feel your way along."

That's about all I can do. Unlike the two women, I can't see my own glove in front of my face right now. Reminds me of when Daiyna first found me and we tried some informal spelunking together. I had to feel my way down a ladder in the dark. She could see fine, but I was completely blind.

She sure is keeping her distance. It's like she doesn't want to be anywhere near me. I'm trying not to take it personally. Probably just the smell of my suit.

You are not alone.

I brace myself against the wall as my knees go weak.

"What do you mean?" Are there really zombies down here?

Kill them. Before you are discovered.

I can't even see them. How am I supposed to kill them? If I start moving around at the speed of sound, what will keep me from planting my face in a wall?

Kill them!

A searing pain knifes through my skull. A wimpy cry escapes me as I collapse, cradling my head. Whispers assault me, jumbled, too loud. Hands grasp at my arms, but I pull back, retreating up the steps one at a time.

What's happening to me? What are they doing to me?

"Milton." Luther's voice comes through clearly, and I stop moving. "Milton, you're not alone."

I know. The voice told me the same thing. But what does it mean?

"Milton. Focus on my voice." Luther crouches down beside me. "I know you're in pain. You feel alone. But we're right here. We won't leave you."

I grunt. It's all I can manage. I cower, cringing against the wall. Make it stop!

Kill them.

Why? Haven't I killed enough people already?

Then a few more should not matter.

Luther is whispering. What's he saying? He's not talking to me or Samson or anyone else here. He's praying. For me. I don't know if I should