Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Milo James Fowler

  "This way."

  I follow as he steps past me and to the left. I don't know why, but I glance back at Luther and Samson. They don't say anything or make any gesture of farewell, not that I expected them to. They just watch me go. I can't help but feel a little sorry for them. But I can't help them. I'd only disappoint everybody if I stuck around.

  Strangely enough, I wish I could see her one more time. Daiyna. Even though she gave me this bloody nose.

  I follow Plato's dark silhouette as we make our way through the silent cavern, the green light bobbing in front of him. For a good ten minutes or so, he doesn't say anything, and I wonder if he's given up trying to convince me to stay. Fine by me. As soon as I've got my suit, my nourishment packs, and my bedroll, I'll be back on my way to see what's on the other side of these mountains. I'll put all this craziness behind me and continue my climb. It'll take some work, but maybe I can put my new superspeed to good use.

  "Luther is a spiritual man," Plato breaks the silence. "I don't fault him for it."

  "Some people are, I guess." Small talk? Give me a break.

  "His faith kept us unified for years. Many of the men have adopted his belief in the Creator. They found peace in his religion. It helped them survive."

  "But not you?" Why am I encouraging this?

  "Careful here," he warns. "The drop is twelve meters, straight down."

  I do my best to follow in his footsteps.

  "You're right, Milton. It wasn't for me. There may be a spiritual world that coexists alongside our own, a world of ideal forms and such, but I tend to find more comfort in reason than the supernatural. And when survival is on the line, I lean toward a more pragmatic line of thought."

  "So you don't agree with Luther about the ghosts?"

  "He believes the spirits are those of all the animals wiped out on D-Day."

  I can't help but laugh. My voice echoes like a madman's.

  Plato's silhouette shrugs in front of me as we duck under a low outcropping of rock. "As I said, Luther is a spiritual man. He believes every form of life has a God-given essence, and that the animal spirits were left behind, since there was no afterlife for their kind. Unable to reincarnate as was their way, they remain as some kind of metaphysical residue that over the years, in our absence, coalesced into a dichotomized—"

  "He mentioned that." I don't want to hear any more about this. It's insane.

  "Right. Well, Daiyna's experiences helped confirm his beliefs, and he's managed to convince most of the others. I agree with him in theory, that it's a possibility, and that it explains some things." He makes a spitting noise, followed by a self-deriding chuckle. "But I think we have more pressing matters."

  I smirk. "The mutant problem?"

  "You already know about that?"

  "He mentioned it. But he was more into talking about spirits than anything else."

  "Well, that's Luther. I, on the other hand, would have told you about the hostiles. It's where you and your gift would come in—how you'd be an invaluable help to us all." He turns, and his light shines on the base of a ladder made of plastic pipes. "Straight up from here."

  A wave of relief pours over me. Looks like I'll be getting out of here after all. I couldn't be sure that he was leading me in the right direction, but now I know my doubts were unfounded. He starts up the ladder, and I'm right behind him.

  "So how's that, exactly? You need my speed?"

  "We need you to disarm the daemons the next time they attack."

  "Uh—demons?" Are they bad ghosts?

  Plato chuckles without humor. "That's what Daiyna and the women called them when we met. The name suited these monsters, so it stuck. We don't know who they are or where they came from, but they have weapons and vehicles, oddly enough. And they're savage flesh-eaters. They devour both the living and the dead."

  Cannibals. I knew it.

  Plato falls quiet. The only sounds are our hands and feet making contact with each rung of the ladder as it creaks beneath our weight.

  "They attacked us twice before we reached these caves," he says at length. "We lost half our men to them. The women suffered losses as well. For now we hide in relative safety, but we can't live this way forever. In fear." He clears his throat. "If you were to help us, we could disarm them and start fighting back. We could protect ourselves—our future. Don't you see how important you are to us, Milton? How much good you could do?"

  He reaches the top of the ladder and pulls himself onto the ledge above, moving to the right. I follow, hand over hand, and he takes hold of my forearm as I come within reach, helping me up. He looks me in the eye as if he's waiting for my answer.

  "That way?" I gesture to the left.

  He drops his gaze and releases his grip on me. "No. Follow me." His shadow leads off to the right along the cave wall. "Careful. A deep crevice runs beside this path for the next hundred meters." He falls silent again.

  Is he finished trying to convince me to join them in their mighty battle against the demon hordes of hell? So a bunch of his bunker buddies were killed—sorry to hear it, but that doesn't mean I should go toe to toe against the degenerates who did it. I know what it's like to have death take your friends, but this isn't my fight. I don't have to get involved.

  Who am I kidding? I'm already involved. I have a gift like the rest of them. I can't doubt that. And there's something to be said for us humans sticking together. Hell, I might not even be alive if it wasn't for that bald woman.

  "Wait a minute." I stop in my tracks, and he turns to face me. "Before, when Luther said she saved my life. How exactly did she do that?"

  "Do you really want to know? It involves the spirits."

  "Just tell me."

  "She saw you in a dream, months ago. Saw the spirits of the earth attacking you. She told them she could see them, and they vanished. The rocks and dust stopped chasing you. Just like that."

  "And then...she did it for real?"

  "You tell me." He shrugs. "You were there."

  She saved my life, and I threatened to take hers. What kind of gratitude is that? I have to make it right. For all their sakes, for all the lives that have been lost.

  For Julia.

  I have to help. I'll do whatever I can, and then I'll be on my way. I owe them that much.

  No. I owe her.

  "Her name's Daiyna, right?"

  He smiles and frowns slightly. "What is it, Milton? Having a change of heart?"

  Maybe.

  "So...she told the bad spirits she could see them." I ponder that for a moment. "Doesn't that seem kind of dangerous? For her, I mean." I don't know what I'm talking about. Just a few seconds ago, I was looking forward to being on my own again, leaving all this freakishness behind. But now I'm actually leaning toward helping these people.

  "She did it for you, Milton. I think she knew the risks involved."

  "What'll happen to her?" I don't want to ask any more. It'll mean I've taken a turn in a direction I can't come back from. But I have to know. "What will they...do to her?"

  He raises an eyebrow in the green light. "Honestly, Milton? She thinks you're in greater danger than she is. That's why she led you inside these caves. She's never seen anyone pursued as you were. That must mean something." He points at me. "You've been given a very special gift that can be used for good. But there are forces at work on this planet that don't want you to succeed." He lets that sink in. "It's your choice, Milton. We won't force you to join us, not that we even could. But know this: if you leave on your own, you'll be completely alone. Daiyna won't be there to see what only she can, and if you're attacked again, you won't be able to outrun their fury."

  He turns away, and we resume our careful navigation through the darkness.

  I'm having trouble thinking straight. Maybe I should stop trying. The faces from Sector 43... Will they haunt me forever? I was doing a good job keeping my head clear for a while there. As I wandered through all that desolation, my one desire besides finding other survivors wa
s to leave these memories behind. And I did, sort of.

  But now they're back. Why?

  Alone for so long, it seemed at first like I was in some kind of purgatory. I deserved it. But I hoped there would be others like me. In the deafening silence, I clung to the hope that I would hear another voice at some point.

  And I was right. There are other survivors, just like me—only different. They've been changed. But so have I. Doesn't that make us all the same?

  Why would I want to be alone again? The loneliness was bad enough, but now I have to factor in mutant cannibals and evil spirits. What a nightmare. But then again, wasn't I out there for nine months without any supernatural attacks?

  I have to switch over to autopilot until we reach the cave entrance. Clear my head, focus on the bobbing green light and Plato's silhouette in front of me. I won't allow any of these thoughts to resurface. When we get there, if Plato takes me all the way to the end, and if Samson catches up with us and has my suit, then I'll know I can trust them. They won't be liars like Jackson.

  No more thinking.

  Minutes pass, maybe an hour. Seems longer than last time, with her. Maybe I appreciated the company more then, and the time flew by. Our footfalls, slapping against the bare rock, echo around us. Plato's glowstick shines as bright as ever, lighting our path. We seem to have started up a gradual incline, and the air tastes different. Drier. The darkness fades by a shade or two. I see movement now when I pass my hand in front of my face. It shouldn't be much longer until we reach the mouth of the cave.

  Light up ahead—faint, not green. It comes from the sun. Seems like forever since I've seen sunlight. Funny how relative time can be. The same amount will disappear when you're enjoying yourself but drag on for an eternity when you're lost in a dark network of caves. Or when you're blindly following someone who's supposedly leading you out.

  "Here we are." Plato pockets the glowstick, no longer needed in the ambient light. He points at the bright patch of white that enlarges as we approach.

  Squinting into the glare, I see the dark silhouette of a large man.

  "Took you long enough." Samson chuckles and holds up my folded jumpsuit.

  "How'd he get here before us?"

  Before Plato can answer, Samson replies, "He took you the long way."

  "We had a few things to discuss." Plato glances back at me.

  "Did he come around?" Samson sounds hopeful.

  No more thinking about it. They were both true to their word. "I think I might," I admit.

  Plato mounts a few rocky steps to join Samson, and I follow. But soon I become acutely aware of something, and my stomach drops.

  This is not the same way I came in.

  "Where are we?" I frown and step away from them, out toward the sunlight. "Where have you taken me?"

  Plato watches me, a confused look on his face. "Milton, what's wrong?"

  "This is wrong! Answer me," I demand. "Where are we?"

  He is a liar.

  Why ask him anything? He won't tell me the truth.

  "We're at the mouth of the cave."

  I step out just long enough to check the sun's location in the sky. Not overhead. Not leaning toward the horizon where it should be if this is late afternoon.

  I step farther out onto the ledge, shielded from sunlight by an outcropping of rock above the upper lip of the cave. I can't see the sun. It's on its way down to dusk, on the other side of the mountains.

  Where I should be. Where I would have been, if Plato had taken me the right way.

  "You took me through to the other side."

  "You were headed in this direction when Daiyna found you. It only seemed logical—"

  "You didn't ask me."

  Plato looks at Samson, who shrugs.

  They cannot be trusted. They are up to something.

  I take another step away. "You didn't tell me."

  Samson holds my suit out to me. "Don't you want this?"

  Do not go near him. He will take you back into the caves.

  "Milton, be careful. You're standing close to the edge."

  "Stay back!"

  I glance behind me. My heels are centimeters from a fifty-meter drop. The dust stirs between my feet. But there is no wind.

  The jagged rocks below look so inviting.

  "You just want to use me. My gift." My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else. "I'd be a big help to you."

  So they say.

  I can leave all of this behind. There will be no more faces to haunt me, no more awful loneliness, no more freaks of nature. I can be completely free of it all. I can fly away forever.

  I've always wanted to fly…

  Is someone shouting my name? Calling to me?

  The world revolves slowly as I turn to face the open sky, my arms outstretched like wings, my toes curled over the ledge, sand between my toes and swirling all around me now, enveloping my legs and spiraling upward, rushing against me.

  Jump.

  Fly.

  Voices shout, but they don't matter. They don't come from the rocks below, the sharp edges that offer me all the freedom I could ever want. Why are they shouting? Who are they?

  "Milton!"

  Hands grope, tugging at my sleeves. But they're too late.

  A sharp pain pierces my chest, and with it comes a blow like someone kicking me full-force. I'm thrown backward. What sounds like a rifle reports in the distance, cracking from far below. I fall for one long moment, wondering why I'm moving so slowly, until my head meets the unyielding surface of the ledge.

  The sunlight turns black.

  5 Luther

  Ten Months after All-Clear

  A bullet from the darkness shatters the rock face above me. I cringe as a shower of gravel rains down. Shielded from the full moon's light by a large boulder, I crouch against it, crossbow gripped in both hands. A rifle reports in the distance, echoing across the desolation.

  We counted three of them. A small hunting party, armed with high-powered firearms, bold in their attack. One of Daiyna's sisters gifted with far-sight saw them approach in their jeep, and it was agreed that tonight we would make our stand. We wouldn't hide from the hostiles this time.

  We've hidden too long.

  Milton can't help us. Yet in a way, he already has. His injury weeks ago at the hands of these daemons galvanized our determination to strike back. His superhuman speed would have indeed been a great asset to us right now, but he must recover from his wound.

  I pray he does soon. I pray the evil spirit within him will depart, and that Milton will emerge from his coma healed both in body and mind. I pray for a miracle.

  Risking a quick glance over the boulder, I check the location of my comrades. Down the grade, crouched low as I am, Samson lurks armed with a spear and knife. He looks like a warrior of old, every muscle in his frame tensed and ready for action. Ten meters to his left is Plato, biting his lip and darting his eyes furtively, clutching his own crossbow. He never studied battles as Samson did all those years in the bunker. It was a curiosity for him among other topics of interest on the database. None of us could ever have imagined that the tactics he filed away would ever prove useful.

  We didn't expect to find a garden paradise when we opened the bunker door after All-Clear. We knew there would be plenty of work involved in making a life for ourselves on this new earth. But we never imagined having to fight for our lives.

  Flashes of memory return of the daemons' first attack.

  They came six days after Plato sealed our bunker door shut with explosive charges. Tensions were running hot among the men. Holmes had succeeded in dividing them, and despite my best efforts at maintaining unity, he and those who sided with him would have nothing of it. Perhaps by agreeing to seal the bunker, I'd earned their distrust. Regardless, we were split down the middle, and as the saying goes, no community divided against itself can stand.

  The time came for us to seek out our female counterparts, to find the survivors from Sector
50. Samson, Plato, Rip, and twenty others joined me, and we set a time to start our trek toward the mountains. We packed the maps (many of them useless) and nourishment packs, and we checked our jumpsuits to make certain the waste recycling functioned properly. Samson was the most eager for us to get on the move. He mentioned more than once a certain illustrated text from ancient India he'd found on the database, and he couldn't wait to meet his wives and tell them all about it. I suppose each of us was excited in his own way.

  But Holmes and his men refused to join us. Perhaps he wished only to spite me. He said they were fine in the village we had built and that we should send word if we found the Sector 50 women. He emphasized the word if. I wondered if he planned to take the men with him farther east to find shelter in the wasted ruins of a city instead of the barren wilderness.

  The mountains were closer. They were our logical destination.

  Holmes was motivated by fear, which can cause one to toss logic to the wind. On the database, the government scientists left us information about certain dangers we'd likely face after All-Clear. Areas to avoid included city ruins due to the potential for airborne toxins to still be viable in enclosed spaces, despite the years that had passed. It was all speculation, of course.

  Perhaps Holmes assumed the scientists were wrong. They didn't know everything. They couldn't have.

  But Holmes never had a chance to find out.

  We were less than five kilometers out when we heard the distant hum of engines and the short reports of firearms. We reeled and looked back, stunned to see an all-out assault on our village, on our brothers.

  We took off running as fast as we could, back to a scene that became more horrific the closer we approached. We could do nothing but watch. It was immediately clear we weren't outnumbered, but that was little consolation.

  Three solar-powered jeeps stirred up the dust and ash as they circled our shelters. In each vehicle, men with guns fired at our brothers, shooting them in the legs, the abdomen, the back, downing them as they scattered, desperate for cover.

  We had no weapons. We never thought we'd need them.

  Who were these men? Where did they hail from? Our brothers cried out in fear and pain, but by the time we reached them, they were screaming in agony.