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

big boy. I still don't know if I can trust you. Believe me, I'd like to. You're the only natural children of God we've met since All-Clear! But I can't take that to mean we're on the same side here, no matter how much I want to. We've learned to be careful over the past few months. It's kept us alive."

I watch him closely. He's a talker, and I'm uncertain whether his words are crafted out of honesty or deception. "How might we gain your trust, Captain?"

"All in good time, Luther my man. All in good time. I just want to get to know you a little better, for starters. You seem kinda tight-lipped."

"Perhaps we'd be more at ease without your men aiming their weapons at us."

Willard raises an eyebrow and nods slowly. "Maybe so." He taps his mask all of a sudden. "And maybe where the air's a little better, eh?" He steps away from the vehicle and gestures for us to get inside. "Go on. Hop in."

"I'm not going anywhere." Samson snorts, crossing his arms.

"Where will you take us?" I ask Willard.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "C'mon now, it's not like we're going to eat you! What have you got to be afraid of?" With a petulant sigh, he turns to his men. "Lower your weapons, boys. You're making our new friends agitated." He glances at me and shrugs. "Don't tell me you like it down here."

I turn to Samson and Shechara. I see in their eyes that they don't like our current situation any better than I do. But I also see their courage. They have faith in me to lead them.

Will I lead them to their deaths? What do these soldiers want with us? Who are they, really? What's worth guarding in the rubble of this city?

Shechara nods. With resignation, Samson does the same. I turn back to Willard.

"Very well. We'll go with you."

"Fantastic." Another broad smile stretches his gaunt face, but his eyes remain steely. He orders one of his men to take the driver's seat and another to ride shotgun. He then gestures for us to climb into the back seats. "After you."

We do as we're told, sliding in side by side across the wide cushioned bench. Willard climbs in behind us, as do two of his men. The driver revs the engine, and the doors slowly swing shut on their own, locking automatically. Samson glances around the interior and mutters something about a hummer, whatever that means.

The tires squeal against the concrete and we lurch forward, heading toward the ramp at the end of the garage. But instead of returning to the surface, we veer down to the level below, leaving Willard's other men spread out among the rows of abandoned vehicles. The lights mounted on their rifles sweep to and fro in search of Daiyna and Milton.

I pray they're all right, someplace safe. I pray that Milton didn't hurt her, that she was somehow able to exorcise the spirit from him. I struggle to control the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through me, my hands clenched into fists, my claws piercing into my palms. I have to control myself. We don't know if Willard and his men have been gifted by the spirits. If not, then they may not react kindly to seeing our changes.

Willard's first response at seeing someone vanish wasn't that it was a special ability, but that it was some kind of unknown technology—an invisibility cloak. And his talk of natural children of God has filled me with apprehension.

We must not use our gifts in front of these men until we know for sure. Or unless they leave us no other choice.

Outside the vehicle, there lies only darkness, but the path before us is washed white in the headlights' glare. The driver navigates our course at high speeds, careening through the lowest level of the garage around another gathering of abandoned vehicles. Then he floors the gas pedal as the opening to a large concrete tunnel presents itself in the far wall. I'm thrown back against my seat at the sudden acceleration. I glance at Samson, who appears to be appreciating the ride, his eyes kindled with interest. I'm sure he'd prefer being behind the wheel of this powerful vehicle.

Behind us, Willard leans on the back of our seat, his head between Shechara's and my own. "So, Sectors 50 and 51, huh. Together at last?" He chuckles. "How's that going for you? Any buns in the oven yet?" He winks at Shechara, but she ignores him, her gaze still set straight ahead.

I choose my words carefully. "The mutant threat has been our primary concern. We made our journey this far in hopes of locating their...origin."

"Good luck with that." His smile fades. "We haven't been able to figure out where they hail from. Plenty of them out there, though, and that's a fact. Tracked 'em here, you say? The ones that blew up your jeep?"

I nod. I already explained as much.

"Well, you can forget all about them for the time being. They never venture where we're headed." Another chuckle. "I've got a feeling you're really gonna like Eden, Luther."

"Do we have a choice?" Samson mutters.

Willard grins, unaffected by my brother's grim demeanor. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but once you see where we're going, I truly doubt you'll want to go anywhere else. We've managed to make quite a life for ourselves. At the risk of sounding a bit conceited, I'd have to say it's the closest thing imaginable to the way life used to be." He clears his throat suddenly. "That's not to say cave-dwelling is without its charms..." He winks again, this time at me. "You'll be surprised by how many conveniences we've managed to resurrect."

Should I trust him, believe what he says? As we hurtle through this tunnel with no room to spare on either side, I find that I can no longer sense the life force of the spirits. Where have they gone?

"So, you were