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

"Is that blood?"

She stops and looks at her suit. "We-uh might've run into some...creatures."

"Animals?" I didn't think there were any left.

She shakes her head, shrugging out of the upper portion of her jumpsuit. Her bare skin is flecked with dust.

The suits are a useless defense against it. I will never set foot outside.

"Not animals." She gives me a direct look.

"What then?" My mouth is dry. "Mutants?" I scoff.

Survivors from another sector? Infected by the dust as she is, but changed to a greater extent? Creatures?

"I wouldn't know. But they came out of nowhere—a dozen or more. Armed to the teeth." She drops the suit to her ankles and pulls her legs free, one at a time. "Guns, believe it or not, and plenty of them. They wanted the jeep, and they took it."

I toss her a limp hydropack and lob three more at the others. They tear them open and begin to wash themselves, pouring the synthetic water across their bare skin and rubbing the stuff around.

"You let them take it." I can't believe I'm hearing this.

"We were otherwise occupied." She closes her eyes as she cleans her face. "Managed to kill half of them, but the other ones piled into the jeep and took off."

"Kill them? How?" Did she manage to wrestle away their guns?

"Funny thing, Willard. It didn't really matter that we were unarmed. Those creatures were too slow for us. I don't know what it is exactly, but this planet isn't the same Earth we used to know and love. We feel different out here now. Can't really describe it." She chuckles, cracking one eye open. "We killed them with our bare hands."

Wonderful. They've tasted blood. Now it's only a matter of time before they turn on us.

"But I almost forgot. We brought you back some souvenirs, just in case those creatures decide to head this way, and you need to defend the homestead." She turns to the other women. "Ladies."

They reach into the pockets of their crumpled jumpsuits and retrieve a small arsenal of handguns and knives. I can only stare.

"Picked 'em off the ones we put down. Military-issue, by the looks of it." She points out the insignia on the grip of one of the guns. "Genuine United World merchandise. Only the best for our Willard."

She moves to hand me the booty, and the others follow her.

"No." They're not clean yet. "Toss them to me."

"Whatever, Mr. OCD." She lobs the gun at my feet and gestures for the others do the same. The weapons clatter across the concrete on my side of the threshold. "You're really gonna have to get over yourself if you want to go into town with us."

I shoot her a glance as I bend down to retrieve one of the four guns—a semi-automatic. I check the clip. Five rounds left. "Town?"

She grins, obviously pleased with herself. She pours some of the hydropack fluid across her chest and rubs it around. "We hit the jackpot. A trade sector city—what's left of it, anyway. Fifty kilometers southwest. It's got everything we'll ever need to start over, just sitting there. All we've got to do is ride in and take it."

I turn the gun over, weighing it in my hand. Twenty long years since I've held one of these. It feels good. Familiar. I squeeze the grip.

"And the creatures? They won't be a problem for us?" I don't look up.

"Not for us," one of the women remarks, and they all chuckle.

"Of course. You can kill them with your bare hands. How could I forget that?"

My tone isn't lost on her. She stops scrubbing herself. "I thought you'd be happy, Willard. It's what we've been looking for."

"Oh I'm sure it is. You can make a wonderful life for yourselves and your mutant friends out there." I slide a round into the chamber and let the bolt snap back with a clink.

"We can't live in the bunker indefinitely, Willard. The O2 won't last, no matter how much you fiddle around with it. We're just prolonging the inevitable."

She's right. I am. I have been for far too long.

I bring up the gun and pull the trigger in a single movement. The round burrows between her startled eyes with a crimson patch of blood. She goes back like a felled tree.

I've forgotten how loud a gunshot can be. But the smell—absolutely delicious.

The other women don't take long to get over their shock. Their movements are impressively quick and catlike as they spring at me, launching themselves through the air with fingernails extended like claws and teeth like fangs, bared in a wild-eyed rage. Somehow, they've taken the form of savage panther-creatures.

Good thing I've been expecting this—not exactly, but something equally bizarre—or I'd be freezing up right now. I've known all along something hasn't been right with them. This display confirms it.

They're mutant freaks.

I drop one of them with two shots to the chest, and she falls against the other two. That slows them down long enough for me to hit the door release lever and back away. They clamber over her dead body, lunging inside as the steel door slides shut. I stumble backwards, firing the last two rounds as the women cross the threshold. The bullets hit their mark, downing the first one who falls in the path of the bone-crushing door. But the last one leaps over her as the steel door seals itself shut and locks automatically, trapping us inside the hallway together.

She stalks me on all fours, grinning. She knows I'm empty.

I point the gun at her anyway. "Stay back!"

She laughs. "You should've taken one with more ammo, Willard." The other guns and knives lie behind her at the threshold, near the bloody splintered remains of her friend. "You want to come back and pick out another?"

I keep the muzzle aimed at her head. I didn't plan this very well. I didn't plan it at all, really. I can admit that. It