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

The pain subsides instead of increasing in intensity. My eyes open, but all I see is black. I take a deep breath, and my body relaxes. My chest wound stings like multiple bees are having their way with me, but it's nothing compared to that barrage of cranial agony I've just endured.

Luther squeezes my shoulder. "Are you going to be all right?"

Is there something living inside me? If it wants me to kill these people...will it hit me with killer headaches until I do it?

It should take over my body and be done with it. No, this is crazy. I don't want them to die—most of them, anyway. I just want to be left alone. But I don't want to be alone. I want this voice out of my head. That's what I really want. It scares the living hell out of me.

This is what it's like to lose your mind. Weird.

"I'm fine." I get to my feet and keep my hand on the wall for support. "Thanks."

"We need to keep moving," Samson half-whispers.

Does he know what's coming? I bet he does, the bastard. He's probably in league with them. In league? Who talks that way? I'm thinking, not talking. Does he know what I'm thinking? Does he know I want to kill him?

I could kill him. I killed Jackson. Same size.

"We can wait here, if you need to," Luther suggests.

I shake my head. I don't want to be alone with him. He might pray again or do something else equally bizarre. "Let's go."

We follow the sound of the footsteps from our seeing-eye women. I almost laugh at that. Why don't we light a glowstick or two so the rest of us can see where we're going? It's not like we're making a silent approach here. Not now. Our clomping boots echo throughout this level of the parking structure despite our best attempts to quiet them.

The zombies are waiting for us. They're probably watching us right now. They can tell that three of us are blind. What are they waiting for? Jump us already! Get it over with!

The footsteps ahead of us have stopped. Luther and I approach the whispers and Samson's blundering attempts at keeping his voice down. I bump against the smooth steel body of a vehicle. We've found one. So now what?

"Talk us through it," Daiyna says.

Samson grunts negatively. "I've got to see what I'm doing. We need some light."

"Well, unless you brought a glowstick—"

"I've got one." I reach into the leg pocket of my suit and retrieve it. I hesitate before cracking the light. "Shall I?"

Silence holds the moment as indecision weighs heavily on them. Then Luther says, "Do it."

So much for the element of surprise—or what little we have left. I snap the stick across the middle, and instantly we're washed in its green glow. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust after the initial blast of light, but when they do, blinking overtime, I can read the bold lettering stenciled on a nearby support pillar. We're on the garage's third sublevel. There are enough parking spaces down here for hundreds of vehicles, but the only one left intact stands alone in front of us. It looks like a utility truck. The others are skeletons, stripped for parts long ago.

"What do you think, my friend?" Luther asks.

Samson doesn't look optimistic. "This one will need fuel just to get it started. And to keep it running." He surveys the remains of the other vehicles. "Solar panels and battery cells are missing on those. Somebody's already been through here. And they knew what they were doing."

"So what are you saying?" Daiyna stands on the other side of the vehicle with a hand on its hood. "We need to find gasoline? Or look for another one?"

He shrugs and tries the handle on the driver's door. Unlocked. He reaches under the steering column, and the hood pops up slightly with a thud that echoes like a gunshot. Daiyna backs away. He steps around the front of the truck and releases a latch behind the grill, then lifts the hood with ease, propping it up with one hand. He looks over the engine with the focused intensity of a medic gauging injuries, touching things here and there.

"A little light." He gestures for me to move closer with the glowstick. I toss it to him instead, and he catches it in one hand with quick reflexes. "Thanks," he mutters. The hood remains steady in his grip as he leans close to the engine. An ancient circus performer sticking his head into a lion's gaping mouth. "Yeah, it'll run if we get some gas," he says at length.

Luther nods. "We should find enough in these other vehicles."

Samson shakes his head. "They're all solar-electric. Or they were, before the vultures got to them."

"Daemons?" the small girl asks in a whisper.

"Doubt it. Like I said, whoever did this had skill. What we need are earlier models—hybrids, anything that ran on fuel. We can siphon it out of their tanks. They would've been air-tight to prevent the gasoline from oxidizing. Most were, back then." He looks at Daiyna. "We should try the next level down."

None of them want to admit their fear at the idea of going deeper into this crypt, but I know they feel it. I can almost see it emanating from them like an aura. But their faces are brave. Impressive how they're able to keep it together.

So I encourage them with: "Anybody else feel like we're not alone?"

Daiyna turns away. The girl next to her stares at me. Samson mutters something under his breath and drops the truck's hood, shutting it as quietly as possible. Luther turns to me with an uncertain look in his eyes.

"Have you heard anything, Daiyna?" he asks calmly.

She doesn't turn around. "No."

"We have nothing to fear," he says half to himself, like he's said it before. His mantra.

"Just trying to lighten things up a bit," I offer with