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

his men are listening in, perhaps through the collar itself. Why have they fitted her with one? She's no daemon, no threat at all by the looks of her.

She shuffles away, into shadows beyond the reach of the fluorescent light above me. I attempt to clear my throat, to release a word or two into the silence. Another moan is the best I'm able to manage. It sounds pitiful. I close my eyes and try to move my arms, my legs. Nothing, not even a tingle of energy through the muscles. My body's useless. How long will these drugs maintain their hold on me?

My gaze wanders past the shackle scars on my wrist to my ravaged fingers. Am I returning to the way I was before, a normal human again—a natural child of God? I didn't ask to be gifted by the spirits of the earth, and at first my claws filled me with a certain degree of horror. It took some time to come to accept them, but I did. They became a part of me as I embraced my gift.

A flash of recent memory tears through my mind: Perch with pliers in hand, removing pieces of me against my will, ripping them away and sending them to the floor. They were supernatural, beyond comprehension, a sign of intervention by a higher power on our behalf. Cast aside like so much garbage.

Seething with anger, I stare at the ceiling and take a breath to steady myself, to shut out any thoughts of vengeance. The Creator would not be pleased. Vengeance is Mine... As difficult as it is to believe right now, He has extended the same second chance at life to Willard's people as He has to the rest of us. There must be a way for us to coexist. Otherwise, we'll destroy each other. And that can't be His will.

How have they avoided the physiological transformations bestowed upon us by the spirits? If Willard's people have never been in contact with the new earth, that could explain it. And it could also explain why I haven't been able to sense the spirits' presence since we entered this underground city. Perhaps their influence doesn't extend this far beneath so much concrete and steel.

I stare into the shadows beyond the foot of my bed. Why has this woman been collared? The only female I've seen among these Eden Guards, and she's obviously been beaten, starved, controlled remotely—to what end? What did she try to tell me before she was cut short?

A door creaks open from off to the left, behind my line of sight. White light washes inside before the door slides shut with a solid thud. But in that moment, the shadows beyond the foot of my bed are illuminated, and I see Margo cowering in the corner, her face hidden behind a curtain of matted hair.

"How's our favorite patient?" Willard drags a stool toward my bedside and grins, glancing at the hose between my legs. "Yikes. Be glad you can't feel that one." He chuckles and swivels toward the shadows. "Get up," he barks. "Get over here. I want him to be able to talk some—not a lot, mind you. Just enough for us to have a little conversation."

Her feet shuffle out of the dark as she moves toward the steel cart. She keeps her head down as she removes a hand-held instrument and inserts a cartridge of some kind into its base. Willard watches her closely, his small eyes full of contempt, tracking her every move. She hesitates, standing frozen.

"Give it to 'im already!" he startles her.

She comes around the other side of the bed and applies her instrument to my throat. I feel nothing. Willard fishes a protein pack from his pocket and tosses it into the shadows.

"Eat," he tells her. She drops the instrument onto the cart and dives after her meal. She tears it open and chews noisily, gasping between each bite. "Try to talk a little," he tells me. "Start with a whisper. Your vocal cords have been asleep most of the day now. Don't stress 'em out too much."

I swallow, then attempt, "Where are my friends?" Relief pours through me as a voice similar to my own hoarsely emerges.

Willard shakes his head. "You've got a one-track mind, I'll give you that. Didn't I tell you not to worry about them? You have more than enough going on right here, Luther."

"Who is she?" I turn my eyes to the shadows.

"None of your concern." His expression hardens. "For now she's your doctor, and she's going to fix you up. That's all you need to know."

"What have you done to her?"

"You name it. She's a real animal in the sack, and that's a fact." He chuckles but seems to catch himself, sobering instantly. "We're taking your seed, Luther. Your sperm cells."

I stare at him.

"Figured you'd want to know what that's for." He shrugs and gestures at my groin. "The others are for blood work, making sure everything checks out. We don't want you to have a relapse or anything." He winks. "Then we'd have to put you down for good."

I swallow again. "Why...my sperm cells?"

"C'mon now. Use that staggering intellect God gave you. Can't you put the pieces together here?" He sighs, squeezing between his eyes. "All right, all right. You've been through a lot today, so I'll go easy on you. Here's the situation: we're fresh out of seed around here. The government bigwigs made sure of it before they sent us below. We're all out of eggs, to boot, so we're stocking up on those as well. We've got all the facilities we need for cold storage, and with her expertise—" He jerks a thumb toward the dark corner. "—we should be able to whip up a batch or two of test-tube babies in no time." He laughs out loud at my expression. "Pretty neat, huh?"

I'm going to be sick.

"So what do you think, Luther my man? Up for becoming Father Abraham to