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

of natural children of God could have been in contrast to the daemons, but now I wonder if he thinks of us as mutos as well. Does he plan to collar us and use our gifts for his own purposes? Is this why the spirits led us here? To become slaves at the hands of a madman? If Daiyna were here, she would know our purpose, what the spirits would have us do. But what if Willard has her already? Would he be able to use her to hear from the spirits himself?

I'm not thinking clearly. I must have faith. The Creator hears my prayers, and if it's His will, there will be answers soon enough for the questions that plague my mind.

"So what do you think he'll do after we pass this test?" Samson mutters, keeping his wary gaze roving along the mound of deformed corpses. For the past thirty seconds, no daemons have attempted to climb over. "Assuming we do, of course."

"I can't hear them." I listen closely. All's quiet on the other side.

"Think we got 'em all?" He grins. "Must be near a hundred piled here."

I never would have thought there were so many. When they attacked us in their jeeps, they always came in small bands of three or four—a dozen at most. Yet stacked before us lie the lifeless bodies of dozens upon dozens.

They look as though they were starving. As they fought us, they didn't exhibit the same strength as others we've met in battle before. Even so, they were a formidable adversary, and without our gifts we would have been no match. But what effect do these collars have on them? Have they been controlled from the start?

"We should take a look." Samson glances at Shechara. "See what's going on, if we can make a run for it. I don't want to be here when Freakshow and company reopen that blast door."

Shechara hesitates, unable to see over the heap of bodies. She moves to the side, straining on tip-toe, and gazes into the darkness of the tunnel beyond, her eyes steady, focused. Eventually, she looks back at me.

"They're gone," she says.

"All of 'em?" Samson raises his eyebrows.

She nods.

"Not bad at all." He grins, wiping blood from his large hands onto his soaked pant legs. A futile effort. "Score one for the good guys." He gestures toward the darkness. "Shall we then?"

We need to return to the surface and put as much distance as possible between us and Willard's Eden. We'll start up one of those vehicles we found in the parking structure and head back to the caves. There may yet be survivors, and they'll need us. But first we have to find Daiyna—and Milton. We won't leave the city without them.

Why do I hesitate? Part of me feels that we should linger here. Is it fear? The daunting prospect of escaping through a pitch-black maze of tunnels with lurking daemons? I don't feel dread. It's more a sense of leaving behind unfinished business. The spirits, through Daiyna, led us here for a reason. If we leave now, will we have failed in our purpose?

They said we had nothing to fear. Does that mean we won't come to harm, whether we stay or leave? Or have we been misled from the start? I would not fault them for seeking to destroy us, after the way our kind mistreated this planet. And if this is the case, then we are decidedly on our own.

I nod to Samson and Shechara. "Let's go."

The speaker crackles. Willard's dry chuckle echoes against the blood-soaked concrete around us. "Well, I must say, you folks put on quite a good show. You're a tribute to your kind. Only three of you up against all those hungry mutos—and you without even a scratch! Wish I could say I'm surprised, but that wouldn't be the honest truth. I knew you had it in you. Impressed, though? Definitely. I didn't think you'd get through them so fast. If I'd known, I would've let more of 'em loose!" He laughs out loud. "So yeah, you've probably figured it out already—"

"What do you want with us?" I demand, but he goes on uninterrupted.

"—a couple cameras in there. Yep, we saw the whole damn thing. Didn't even need those weapons you kept whining about, did you? You did just fine with your bare hands! And boy oh boy, are you vicious. I sure wouldn't want to cross you." A short pause. "So here's the thing. I know that you want to escape and all, and I don't really blame you. It's not like you belong here. You're not like us, obviously. And you want to go back to your own kind."

The locking mechanism groans, releasing the blast door behind us. We turn as it slowly recedes upward. Boots clatter as Willard's men duck inside with weapons trained on us.

"But here's the problem, folks," Willard's voice confides through the speaker. "I just can't find it in my heart to let you go."

The men fire their weapons. A shock of electricity tears through me, exploding like a shivering fire. They hit me again and again, and I fall, unable to control my limbs or the wild sounds escaping me. Shechara screams, and Samson curses, groaning. Then everything goes black as a heavy-soled boot collides with my skull.

Damp from the light rain, I pass through cool sheets of mist that cling to the branches and broad green leaves of trees overhead. My heart keeps a steady rhythm as my rubber-soled shoes strike the forest path beneath me. I run not out of necessity but by choice, inhaling deeply, feeling free here, completely at peace. There's a slight chill in the morning air, but I barely notice it. A woodpecker knocks on an oak's hollow trunk in the distance, and I look for it between the trees. The knock sounds again, breaking the silence, striking in quick succession only to pause at untimed intervals. I can't see it anywhere on