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

to our right as we drive past a transport vehicle lifting stacks of provisions on pallets, wrapped in plastic. "Is that food? Real food?"

Willard eyes him with an upraised eyebrow. "What do you mean by real? If you're referring to a good meal instead of a flavorless protein pack, then yes indeed, we have real food. We also have running water. And electricity, obviously." He gestures toward the lights and smiles broadly at our expressions. "I told you, folks. It's paradise!"

Unable to respond appropriately, I turn back to stare out the window at my side. There's so much movement in this place; every corner is alive with activity. Willard wasn't exaggerating: we are definitely outnumbered. I count at least fifty men moving about, conferring with one another, driving small electric vehicles carrying pallets of supplies, working with tools on large machines. Everyone wears the same blue camouflage uniforms, and everyone keeps busy. It reminds me of a bee hive made of concrete and steel, filled with soldiers. When we entered the city ruins above, I never could have imagined a place like this existed beneath its surface.

"Right here's good, Jamison." As the driver slows to a stop and exits the vehicle, Willard nudges my shoulder and points above us at one of the apartments. "Home sweet home."

"That's where you live?" I crane my neck to look up. The structure is suspended by steel supports from the side of the dome, seven or eight meters in the air. A ladder leads from the floor beside us to a wide catwalk above.

"Nope. It's where you get to live. Eden's guest quarters." He slaps me on the back with a chuckle. "Let's go!"

Samson fixes me with a wary look. Shechara bites her lip briefly as she stares outside. They wait for me to make the first move.

"Very well." I step out of the vehicle as the door automatically swings open. The driver stands with his short-barreled rifle across his chest. He doesn't bear the hardened demeanor of a soldier. He seems ill at ease.

"This way, folks." Willard gestures to the ladder and starts climbing up, leading the way with a quick familiarity.

Samson glances at me and follows, pulling himself up easily. Shechara is next, and I follow. Two soldiers bring up the rear with assault rifles slung across their backs. Despite Willard's congeniality, the inescapable reality is we're their prisoners. They found us in their city. What they do with us next is anyone's guess.

Captain Willard waits for us to reach him on the catwalk before he takes a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocks the solid steel door, sliding it aside.

"Welcome, welcome," he sings, beckoning us to enter. "Hot showers await!"

Samson stares him down at the doorway before taking a look inside. Shechara peers around his formidable frame. Her jaw drops slightly.

"Like what you see?" Willard winks at her. A familiar tic by this point. "Go on in."

"Do we have a choice?" Samson rumbles, his boots rooted to the catwalk.

Willard's smile drops from his face.

"A hot shower sounds fine to me," I attempt to diffuse the situation, squeezing past my brother as I step into the unit. I make it to the middle of the room before I stop, unable to believe that what I'm seeing is real.

There are two large, chocolate-colored couches with plush pillows and thick, rust-toned carpet. There's a fireplace with flames flickering within a stone hearth. Recessed lighting glows from the ceiling, illuminating artwork circa two decades ago hanging framed on earth-toned walls. To the left is a bar and a small kitchen; to the right is a short hallway with doors to other rooms and other wonders. Straight ahead, beyond the hallway, is a bathroom.

A hand grips my shoulder, and I turn to see Willard's gaunt grin. "What do you say?"

I don't know what to say. "It's...wonderful. How—?"

"Q and A time's later. For now, you just get settled in. Take a shower. Take two! No offense, but judging by the smell, you folks decided on going back to nature months ago." He beckons impatiently to Samson and Shechara who remain on the catwalk outside. "C'mon, you two. Look at what you're missing!" He chuckles benignly. "Get in here already!"

Samson turns to glare at the two soldiers behind him. Did they just try to crowd him? Not a wise choice. He looks down at Shechara and raises an eyebrow. She nods reluctantly, and they move to join me.

"Good, good. This way." Willard leads us down the hallway and points out the two adjoining rooms. "Two bedrooms, closets with clean clothes. Make use of anything you find." He turns toward the bathroom. "Just one shower, so try not to fight over it. Though I'm sure you could double up." He winks at Shechara and chuckles again.

Samson clenches his fists. Shechara avoids Willard's gaze.

"Thank you. We look forward to—" I begin.

"Make yourselves at home, and I'll be back in an hour or so to check up on you." Willard clasps his hands behind his back and ducks his chin, heading toward the front door with quick, long strides. "Carry on!" he barks like a military commander.

Before we have time to register what's happening, he steps outside and his men heave the steel door shut with a solid thud. A heavy bolt slides into place, locking us in.

Samson curses.

"This isn't good," Shechara says.

I nod, scanning our surroundings. Are there cameras in here, as there were in the garage above us? "We must be careful."

"What kind of freak show is this?" Samson bellows, unable to contain himself any longer. "A fireplace? What the hell?"

It's an interesting point for him to focus on, but I know what he means. After struggling to survive for the past months, the extravagance of this place—these comforts from a past life—are now so alien to us. What's their purpose? I find it difficult to believe every unit in this dome would be so luxurious. But what if this is the case? Is this underground community