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

"Usually does." He shrugs and grins, the blond stubble on his tanned cheeks folding back in creases. "They're nothing if not predictable."

I stare at him, too furious to say more. His grip on me is firm as he guides us behind a mound of broken concrete from which we'll hold a vantage point in the shadows. I could pull free of his grasp, but I don't.

Can I see him now because he's touching me? Is he visible now, or am I invisible like he is?

The scurrying feet of the daemon horde become pronounced footfalls as the creatures emerge from all sides, stumbling blindly in the dark. Quickly they come upon the one Tucker shot, and they crowd around it, grunting loudly, shoving against one another. Dozens of them...and more on the way. They pass by us without any sign of noticing our presence. But all it will take is one to alert the others.

I glance at Tucker's face. Grim, jaw set, staring hard at the creatures. Did he know there were so many? Does he have a death wish?

The grunting and shoving among the daemons subsides as they turn their attention to their surroundings, arching their backs and craning their necks at odd angles, their arms dangling limply at their sides. Looking, listening.

For us.

One of them snorts loudly. Then another one does the same, sniffing the air. Smelling us out.

We can't stay here. I pull against Tucker's grip, but he locks his icy blue eyes on me and shakes his head. His meaning is clear: we stay put.

Please help us, I pray to the spirits. Where are they now?

The daemons—fifty of them, maybe more—snort with their heads tilted back, their oozing nasal cavities directed skyward. They stumble away from the fallen member of their clan and spread outward. Six of them come within a few meters of us. Two face us. I hold my breath as they stagger closer.

Every nerve in me is ready to spring upward and make a run for it. I've seen them move. I would have the advantage.

Tucker raises his gun, keeping it level with the skull of the daemon closest to us. As the creature steps ever closer, snorting intermittently, Tucker tightens his grip, finger curled around the trigger.

Now it's my turn to shake my head. Unless he has enough rounds to take them all out, this would be suicide.

I tug against his hold on me, trying to get his attention. But he ignores me, his eyes fixed on the daemon now close enough to touch us if it swings one of those misshapen arms our way. The stench of rotten flesh is strong, the fluid dripping from every facial orifice defying description, it's so foul. I fight the gag reflex forcing its way up my throat.

The daemon is close enough to lose its head if Tucker pulls the trigger. The mutant stands oblivious, twitching its eyes as it halts its approach. The others have done the same. They sway slightly on their feet, holding their position. Silently.

Then one of them farthest from us grunts and turns away. The others do the same, one after another, staggering into the darkness. Within a minute, they've all disappeared, back into the sublevels they came from. All except the one near us. It hasn't moved.

It stands rooted, swaying strangely, head cocked to the side onto its large, deformed shoulder. The yellow eyes stare straight at us, unblinking.

What's it waiting for? If it knows we're here, why doesn't it do something? I look at Tucker. If he shoots it, we'll be right back where we started, with all its friends climbing out of the woodwork.

Why's Tucker grinning?

He lowers his weapon, tucking it into the belt of his jumpsuit. He stifles a chuckle at my reaction and gestures to the daemon, then pretends to nod off. I turn back to the daemon in disbelief. It's asleep?

"They gotta have their beauty winks," he whispers, letting go of me and vanishing in an instant.

The daemon disappears as well, blinking out of existence. But after the sharp crack of a bone breaking and the thump a body collapsing, it reappears, lying on the ground like a rag doll with its head twisted violently to one side.

"Probably should've done the first one that way." Tucker becomes visible again as he grasps my arm.

"I'm invisible when you touch me."

He nods.

Fear and anger squirm within me. When he let go of me to break that daemon's neck, I was exposed. For that brief instant, he allowed me to become visible while he committed that brutal act.

No. Killing any daemon, awake or asleep, armed or unarmed, is never a brutal act. It's necessary.

"We should keep moving," I mutter.

"You mind?" He squeezes my arm slightly.

"As long as they can't see me, hold on."

He grins. "Those scientists are geniuses, I'm telling you. I don't know how they pulled it off, but I ain't complaining. Everything I touch—poof! Like a magical cloak."

He guides me around the heap of rubble, and we resume our trek through the city. I move with more caution now, avoiding anything that will crunch under foot. Even if we are invisible to the daemons, I don't want to go up against that many of them again anytime soon—not without enough fire power to put them all down.

I glance at Tucker's hand on my arm, just above my elbow. No man has touched me like this before, as though he's escorting me to some fancy party. Samson has touched me, or tried to. He jerked me around a few times yesterday when we were attacked, and he might have saved my life in the process. The big oaf. I hate to admit it, but I miss him.

Only yesterday? It seems like so long ago.

We walk in silence for a kilometer or two. My gaze roams from one blown-out structure to the next, keeping an eye out for any