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

Are Samson and Shechara in rooms like this one? Has the time finally come for us to fulfill our life's purpose of repopulating the earth—against our will? I close my eyes, unable to look at this man's hideous grin without wanting to tear it off his face. What am I going to do? What can I? I'm completely at his mercy.

"It's a lot to wrap your head around, I'm sure. But believe me, you're doing a good thing here. The survival of the human race—"

"How do you know," I manage in a whisper, "that this generation you plan on creating will not exhibit the same physiological transformations you seem to despise so much?"

"Now that's using the ol' noggin. I knew you had it in you." He nods, grinning. "Of course, you're right. We don't know yet. This is the first major step we've been able to take in months. We tried with the mutos, but they're all messed up. You wouldn't believe it. No chance they'll ever be able to reproduce anything but snot. You're the first virile specimens we've come across, so you have the distinction of being our guinea pigs, if you know what I mean." He winks and leans in. "That's what all these tests are for. We're checking every cell to make sure none of 'em are infected."

Is that how he perceives our gifts? "And you, your men… How have you been able to avoid this infection?"

He leans back. "Easy. Just stay off the surface, that's the ticket. The demon-dust can't get us down here. We've got the air filtered and purified, pumping throughout all of Eden, and we never need to go topside. The dogs bring down everything we need from the ruins." He catches himself. "Though now we've got a hundred less of 'em, thanks to you and your buddies."

"Dogs?" Does he mean the collared daemons we encountered in the tunnel?

"That's what we call 'em. Because they fetch what we need from any storehouses still intact."

"How have you managed to collar so many?"

"I've got a very special helper."

"Like Margo?"

His expression hardens. "That's not who she is anymore."

Have I struck a nerve? "It's her name."

"No. It's not. It hasn't been for a long time now."

I glance at the shadows. "She's infected?"

He clenches his jaw, and a large vein in his temple twitches. For once, he has nothing to say.

"You were unable to reverse her physiological—"

He stands. "Let's hope you're a success, Luther. I don't think you'd much like the alternative."

"You control her...and you abuse her." Is there any humanity left in this man? "Her name is Margo, and she's one of your own. A child of God."

"She's an animal." His eyes bulge, the muscles in his neck expanding as he screams, "Nothing more!"

He leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. But before it closes, exterior light invades the darkness for a fraction of a second, illuminating the far corner. She crouches on the floor, licking the wrapper of a devoured protein pack, oblivious as shadows consume her.

There's something about her history with Willard, something in their past that caused him to lose control of himself just now. It may be a weakness I can exploit in the future. A very trivial victory in the grand scheme of things, but lying paralyzed in this bed, I can't help but find some measure of satisfaction in getting under his skin for the first time.

Does he feel guilt for what he's done to this woman? If there remains any good in him at all, he would have to. Some part of him must know his treatment of her is demented and wrong. She's no animal.

Or is she? Are we all—those who've been changed by the spirits—more like animals than not? We're more than merely human; that can't be denied.

I glance at my mutilated fingers. What will the tests show? Have I become as I once was, as Willard and his men are: humans left untouched by the spirits? Or will I remain changed on a cellular level and be exterminated because of it? Or worse: will I be collared as one of Willard's dogs, forced to do his bidding?

How I wish we'd never come here, that Daiyna had never heard from the spirits in the first place. Why did they lead us to Eden? What was their purpose in all of this?

"You haven't asked how long you've been here."

I look up sharply to find Margo standing over me. I didn't hear her approach.

"Does it matter?" my voice croaks.

Her frail shoulders lift and fall. "They usually ask that, when they come to."

"They?"

"The other subjects. The big man did. And the two women."

Only Shechara was with Samson. "Two women?" My heart races. Did they find Daiyna?

She leans forward, adjusting the tubes and hoses attached to me.

"Are they all right?"

She gives me a direct look and touches her collar. "I can't tell you anything. I need to check your samples." Then she mouths silently: They're alive. She turns away and faces the machines beside me, her hands moving across each apparatus with familiarity.

What about Milton? Was he too fast for Willard's men? Did he abandon us, or is he even now planning a rescue? A foolish thought. From the moment I first met him, I saw that he cared only for himself. More than likely, he's brushed the dust of the city ruins from the soles of his boots and is racing across the scorched earth on his own, come what may. Very little could possibly harm him, due to his gift.

Daiyna said the spirits of the earth wanted him. For what exactly, she didn't know. Those who spoke to her simply told her she must save him, and they showed her how to do so in a dream.

I too dreamt of Milton. While Perch performed his sadistic extractions, my mind escaped from that violent reality, returning to my family's lake house in the Preserve. I was running along one of the forest roads through the rain,