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

"How's that?"

"Since All-Clear, you've been on the surface. Isn't that right?" His eyes bulge, unblinking, through his mask.

I nod slowly, unable to discern the course of this conversation. "And you?"

"Our bunker opened into these old tunnels. We think they were for diverting groundwater to subterranean reservoirs. We've never been out of the city, never needed to leave. Everything we could possibly want is right here." He catches himself. "Well, almost everything." He nods at Shechara.

"Sector 31?" I try to distract him.

Willard shrugs. "Probably. A trade sector would make sense, what with all the leftovers. But really, those old titles don't mean much anymore, do they? Sector 50, Sector 51, Sector 31. Who the hell cares?" He pats his own uniform. "The Eden Guard is starting everything over from scratch, Luther. We've hit the reset button. We're forging a new life for ourselves, a new nation, making things the way they ought to be."

There are no markings on his uniform for any sort of rank. The pale light reflected from the headlights is little help, bounced around the sides of the tunnel. A UW insignia could have been on Willard's shoulder at one point, but it's been ripped off.

"How much longer until—"

"Till we reach paradise?" he interrupts me with a grin. "Shouldn't be long now. Lieutenant Jamison up there, our trusty navigator, he knows these tunnels better than his own balls, and that's a fact. I'd be lost without him. He's got a mind like a steel trap, that one. Knows every crazy turn down here."

The truth of the matter is easily inferred: It will take some doing for us to leave on our own, when we're eventually allowed to do so.

My stomach sinks.

The caves. If any of our brothers or sisters survived the attack and are still clinging to life, how will we reach them in time? And what about Daiyna? Is she all right? The spirits told her we had nothing to fear on this journey, but now that I cannot feel their presence, does it mean they no longer go with us? Have we been abandoned to our fate?

Regardless, we've achieved our primary objective, as unlikely as that seems at the moment. We have succeeded in finding a vehicle that can take us back to the caves.

We're in it.

"Procreation," Willard muses. "How's that for a life purpose? Be fruitful and multiply. Get busy! Am I right?" He punches me in the arm lightly, but there's no mirth in his eyes. "How's it feel to be alive just because of your genes? Isn't that how you all were selected? The best and brightest?"

I think back to the rigorous tests we underwent, locked in those rooms with computers and no windows. "It wasn't our choice. Many of us were taken against our will."

Willard dismisses the fact with a wave of his hand. "What I'm getting at is how most of us were selected because of our skill sets. Abilities that would be necessary, y'know, in a brave new world. They knew we'd have to rebuild from ashes, pretty much. But you folks, you have nothing to do with any of that. Know what I mean? It didn't matter what skills or education you had. God made you the way you are, and because of that, you were chosen. All because of your genes."

Once again, I feel the need to change the subject. "Have you met any other—?"

"You'd be the first!" Another grin pulls his face taut. "Besides the mutos, you're the only other survivors we've met since All-Clear. So you'll be putting our hospitality to its very first test!"

Samson starts to reply, but he thinks better of it and remains silent. I assume he was about to comment on the hospitality shown to us thus far.

"There was no one else here when you entered the city?"

Willard shakes his head, staring out through the windshield now. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"And...how many of you are there?" I watch him. He seems mesmerized by the white-washed concrete whipping by on all sides.

His eyes twitch to meet mine. "You'll see. You're outnumbered, don't forget that." He winks, then drops his gaze. "What happened to your gloves?"

I look down at my hands. I should have kept my fists clenched.

"Been doing some climbing, huh?"

I wiggle my fingers, each tip visible through the holes my claws made months ago. "In the caves—"

He reaches forward and grabs my wrist, pulling it closer. "Are these blood stains?"

"Yes." I nod and hold my breath.

He stares at me, eye to eye. Then he glances back at my gloved hand. "I'll get you a new pair." He shakes his head and chuckles as he releases my wrist. "Luther, you folks are entering the land of plenty!"

As if on cue, the tunnel ends, opening into an enormous subterranean dome lit as bright as day. Willard counts off the dimensions for us: fifty meters high, half a kilometer in diameter, more than five stories below ground. Steel structures elevated on solid supports around the perimeter are living quarters; they look like apartments. I lean forward to gaze up at the high arched ceiling and the lights mounted at intervals, evenly spaced. Everything here is so clean and new. It's as if we've entered another world.

"Jamison, get the windows," Willard tells the driver, who hits a pad on his console. Instantly the dark-tinted windows slide down. Willard removes his mask and takes a deep breath. "Nothing quite like purified air. Better than nature intended, and that's a fact." He sighs. "Oh yeah. Delicious."

I inhale, hesitantly at first, then deeply. He's right. The air is...pure. As fresh as it was at the lake house when I was a boy. Perhaps even fresher.

"How?" is all I can manage.

Willard chuckles heartily. "All in good time, buddy. For now, you just enjoy it."

What's in the air we've been breathing outside? I shudder to think. The contrast is tangible.

Samson reaches across Shechara to nudge me. "Look." He points off