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

by Milo James Fowler

  Half a smile creeps up the side of my face. Good ol' Tucker. But I have to catch myself. He's not Tucker, not anymore. He's an abomination. Only a means to an end.

  We watch the screen as Tucker finds the sublevels and makes his way with obvious familiarity. Down another flight of steps, then through a long hallway where at the end three mutos stand staring at a fixed point between them.

  "Our loyal hounds," Perch mutters. "On standby."

  They look like they're asleep on their feet, swaying as they stare at the shortwave radio. Tucker slows his approach.

  "Yours?" he makes sure, coming to a standstill.

  "They won't hurt you," Jamison assures him.

  "Move 'em," Tucker says.

  Perch glances back at me and I nod. "Bring 'em home," I say. "They need their beauty sleep."

  Perch chuckles as his hands glide over the controls. The three dogs stir, jerking awkwardly, stepping away from the radio and reeling to face Tucker. Their bulging eyes focus on him as they stagger his way.

  "Hey now..." Tucker backs up.

  "There's only one way in and out. Stand still, and they won't notice you." Jamison releases the pad and faces Perch. "Right?"

  He shrugs. "They're awful hungry."

  "He's invisible," I retort. "They won't even know he's there."

  "Might be able to sniff 'im out. Invisible or not, he smells like food to them."

  "You just make sure they don't try anything."

  We watch the screen from Tucker's point of view as the three mutos approach one step at a time, grunting and drooling. The stuff of nightmares, really—even more horrific in the night vision's negative light. Their glowing white eyes seem to stare straight at Tucker, even though they can't see him.

  Or can they? Like Mathis, are they able to see what we can't? Regardless, I'm sure they reek in that confined space. All that foul mucus oozing out of them. Nasty. I almost feel sorry for Tucker.

  They come upon him and brush past. One turns and snorts suddenly, fangs flashing hungrily—but Perch is right on it, sending a jolt of electricity through its collar. It falls backward, flailing, then scrambles away. The other two stagger on, oblivious.

  Without a word, Tucker heaves a deep breath and turns toward the radio. The screen focuses on the blinking light—that incoming transmission.

  "Well, what d'you know," he muses, cursing softly. "Looks like we've got something."

  "We need you to bring it back to us," Jamison tells him, in case it isn't obvious.

  "How about I see who's calling first?" Tucker reaches forward, his hand emerging from the bottom of the screen.

  "No." Jamison glances back at me. "Just bring it back, Tucker. Be careful. We need it in one piece."

  I nod. Only one person's going to answer that transmission. Me.

  "Bring it back the way you came…and Perch won't have to hurt you again." Jamison swallows, staring at the screen.

  Tucker's hand remains poised in mid-air. He sniffs. "Didn't hurt all that much."

  He flips the switch on the receiver. Instantly the blinking light dims, and a deep voice speaks loud and clear in the Common language of the UW, but with a thick Eurasian accent:

  "—physical mutations. Consider them hostile, armed and dangerous. Repeat: What remains of the North American Sectors is a forbidden zone. Off limits entirely. Do not venture within fifty nautical miles of the coastline. Proceed, and you will be fired upon. Search and rescue teams have not returned. It is believed they were infected and have suffered severe physical mutations. Consider them hostile, armed and dangerous. Repeat: What remains of the North American Sectors is a forbidden zone..."

  "They're on a loop." Jamison frowns. "A recorded message?"

  "Then nobody will hear 'im scream." Perch spins the dial under his left hand and the voice on the radio is drowned out by Tucker's sudden shriek. The image on the screen goes berserk. "Didn't hurt that much, huh?" Perch grins. "How about this?" He twists the dial 360 degrees, and our speakers crackle with a guttural roar.

  "He's no good to us dead." Jamison scowls.

  "Just showing 'im who's boss."

  That would be me. I'm the boss. "Stop it."

  Perch doesn't look back. He's enjoying this too much. The sadist.

  "I said stop!" I clench my fists.

  He shrugs with a curse and dials down the settings. The screams subside to groans, then weak whimpers, the kind no man would want anybody to hear. I lean forward and press the audio pad on the console.

  "Tucker, you there?" I listen to him gulp and sniff. The image on the screen continues to quake. "Let me know you can hear me."

  "Yeah," he manages in a hoarse whisper. "I'm still here."

  Good. "Listen, Tucker. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But you're going to bring that radio back here, regardless. And you're going to do it now. No more fooling around. You hear me?"

  Another sniff. "Yes sir."

  "Good." I turn to Jamison as I release the pad. "Get him back here on the double. Undamaged."

  "We'll contact you as soon as he returns, Captain. As soon as we've got the radio." Jamison salutes as I leave.

  I shut the door behind me and stand there a moment, sucking down a deep breath. Too many thoughts crowd my mind. Chiefly: Where's this UW transmission coming from? How long has it been on the air? Is it even current? If so, that would mean the rebels weren't successful in demolishing the United World as we knew it. It would mean there's still a government out there, beyond our forbidden shores. A world without demon-dust, ash freaks, and mutos.

  A world we could rejoin, eventually.

  My pulse quickens at the thought of it. This is the best news we could have gotten. What a morale booster for the Eden Guard, to know exactly what we're fighting for now.

  There's still a whole lot to be confirmed, and that'll have to wait until we've got the radio and can make contact with the outside world. But to think... The outside world. It's still there. The whole planet isn't an ash-covered wasteland!

  Images fly through my mind of UW helicopters landing with rescue teams ready to take us away, the rotors stirring up demon-dust and infecting the crews as they land—

  No. No, I can't. The glass if half-full here, half-full. Our salvation is near. I know it, I can feel it. It's no time for pessimism. We will be saved.

  "A credit for your thoughts."

  Margo smiles as she steps close for a brief embrace. She retreats a step and salutes. "Ready for my rounds, Captain." She's wearing her white medical coat, the one our dogs found for her. Makes her look so official.

  "Right." I nod as if remembering something from a lifetime ago. "And I'm riding along."

  "That you are, sir. As a man true to his word."

  I've got to stop making her so many promises. She slips her arm around mine and guides me toward the ladder at the other end of the main floor. Might look like I'm the one escorting her, but it's the other way around. She's in charge right now. Just like Perch said.

  "They're really starting to make progress. I think you'll be impressed by what you see. It shouldn't be long until we're able to start acclimating them back to life as we know it—as they used to know it."

  Not an option. Keeping them in the recovery rooms is one thing. Sedated. Away from us. Out of mind, out of sight. We never agreed on them joining the Eden Guard.

  We walk a ways before she hugs my arm. "You're awful quiet."

  "Sorry. Got a lot on my mind is all."

  "Tell me about it."

  Should I? Is it too soon to share the hope welling up inside me? "We found a shortwave radio on the surface. The dogs are bringing it down now."

  "Does it work? Too early to tell?" She starts up the ladder as soon as we reach it.

  I can't stop myself. I tell her about the transmission, what it could mean for us. For the all-natural children of God who survived the end of the world. I tell her everything, and it spills out of me like an oil gusher.

  "Willard, that's incredible!
" She stares at me as we stand on the catwalk beside the row of recovery rooms. "I never expected..." She shakes her head and smiles. "I've always thought we were on our own down here. All alone. I never considered that there could be survivors on other continents. It makes sense, though. If they just bombed our sectors, where the rebel uprising began, there would've been no need for the rest of the world to share our fate."

  "From the sound of things, they're more than just survivors. Sounds like the UW is strong as ever out there, patrolling our shores to keep anybody from joining us."

  "Do you think they'll allow us off the continent?"

  "We're still the way God made us." Except for our missing gonads. "No genetic abnormalities rearing their ugly heads. I'll make 'em understand. Soon as we get the radio, we'll transmit our own message, tell 'em where we are. They'll figure out some way to rescue us, I guarantee it."

  I look across Eden, taking in all the progress we've made in the past months. But this was never meant to be our home. There is a bigger world waiting for us.

  "We'll figure it out. That's what we do." I wink at her, but she doesn't respond.

  Instead, she slides open the first door she comes to—one I've already visited today. Inside, Mathis lies dead to the world. Good to see Perch got him back into his bed where he belongs. Otherwise, I would've had some explaining to do.

  "Mathis, right?" She likes it when I use their names.

  She glances at me and nods, concern arching her brow. She checks the monitors beside the bed, examines each of the hoses connecting him to the machines that feed him while they feed on our power supply. She stares at him like something's wrong.

  "What is it?"

  "He's been over-sedated." She turns her gaze to me. "He's in a coma."

  "That can't be right. You're the only one authorized to be up here, and you'd never make a mistake like that."

  "I know." Her dark eyes remain on me. "I wouldn't."

  "Who then?"

  "You tell me."

  "How would I know?" Why are her eyes boring into me like this? Is she trying to read my mind?

  A ridiculous thought.

  "Have any of the men expressed an interest in pulling the plug on my patients?"

  "No." I frown, shaking my head. "None of 'em. They know what you're doing here is important."

  If it wasn't for her, I'd pull the plug myself.

  "What about Perch?"

  What about him? Yes, he hates your guts, thinks you're a muto-lover and probably one yourself. Yes, he over-sedated this patient because he didn't know what the hell he was doing. And yes, it's my fault for having him do it. So blame me, if you're looking to blame somebody.

  "You think he did this?"

  "He's never supported my efforts here."

  "He just has a crush on you is all, and he doesn't know how to express himself." I squeeze her shoulders and whisper into her ear, "There's not enough of you to go around." I nibble on her ear lobe until the hint of a smile breaks across her lips. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

  She pulls away from me, concentrating on her patient now.

  "Anything you can do?" I lean on the railing at the foot of the bed and glance down. The muscle stimulator is where we left it...but it's not how we found it. The cartridge is almost empty. I turn, blocking her view of the device.

  "Not much at this point." She touches Mathis's brow tenderly. Her gaze roves along the blinking lights on the machines beside her. "He's stable for now, but this could be a major setback in the progress we've made."

  "He'll pull through. He's strong. Always has been." The platitudes just roll off my tongue. But she didn't see him earlier, flailing around like a fish with too much air in its gills.

  She clenches her jaw, the muscle twitching as her eyes lose focus. Then she looks up at me with a forced smile. "On to the next?"

  Of course. The rounds. We have eleven more recovering ash freaks to visit. With a slight bow, I slide open the door and hold it for her. "After you, Doc."

  In the next room, we find Catherine looking more fragile than I remember, plugged into more of the same medical machines. But unlike Mathis, she's wide awake, paralyzed from the neck down. If only we could paralyze her mouth. Permanently.

  "Hey Catherine." Margo comes around the side of her bed to kiss her forehead like she would an ailing sister. "How are you feeling today?"

  "Brought Captain Prick, I see." The freak fixes me with a withering look. "Figure you'd finally stop by and finish me off, eh Willard?"

  "Didn't even cross my mind." I fold my arms.

  "I'll be the judge of that." She closes her eyes, squeezing them tight and scowling. The muscles in her neck tighten. Her face flushes like she's constipated. Then she relaxes all of a sudden, sighing with a curse. "Can't...not anymore. Thanks to you." She glares at me. "The new world gives us these special abilities, and you can't stand to see us with 'em. The good Lord gives, and Willard takes away. God damn you!"

  "Your telepathy didn't come from God. It was an abomination."

  "You're the abomination!" she screams, eyes wild with rage.

  Margo tries to calm her down.

  "Go to hell, Willard!" Catherine shrieks. "You bastard!"

  I glance at Margo as I turn away. "I'll wait outside."

  The door slides shut behind me—but not before I hear Catherine whisper hoarsely to Margo between coughs, "He doesn't know about you, does he? He has no idea!"

  Only a steel door separates us now, yet I suddenly feel a thousand kilometers away. I could go back inside, demand to know what she meant by that. But I don't. I don't need to.

  A part of me always knew, I suppose.

  I watch the men hauling pallets of supplies to and fro on the main floor. I listen to the steady hum of the air purifiers, feel the constant vibration in the catwalk from the nuclear reactor far below us. Across the floor, I notice Perch. He's carrying the shortwave radio into the monitoring station.

  Things around here are about to change in a big way.

  14 Daiyna

  Ten Months after All-Clear

  I can't feel anything. My body is numb, curled inward on itself like a fetus, twitching involuntarily. What did they hit me with? All of them, all at once. Some kind of electric shock rounds. Enough to drop me convulsing to the floor.

  I'm going to be sick.

  "Fall back." A voice of authority from far away. Boots shuffle back from me, all but one pair. "You'll have to forgive my men." The same voice. A face with a thin mustache and a tight-lipped grin makes eye contact. "We don't get many visitors down here."

  Someone sniffs. "So what do you say, Captain?"

  Tucker. He betrayed me. I never should have trusted him.

  "We'll have to see about that. From what I recall, you've still got plenty left on your to-do list." A pause. "So quit standing around and get back at it!"

  Someone starts up the ladder. I hear the contact against each rung as it's made to disappear by invisible hands and feet.

  "All of you—back at it!" Boots scurry away. In their absence, I hear the machines humming nearby, a throbbing between my ears. A chill spreads down my side. The slick concrete floor is cold beneath me. "Can you stand?" A hand touches my shoulder tentatively.

  "Who—?" My lungs shudder.

  "Plenty of time to get ourselves acquainted. You just try and relax now. I'm real sorry about my men—they can get a little trigger-happy from time to time, and that's a fact. But the effects will pass. No permanent damage done." Something clicks, hisses static. "Jamison. Meet me in the east tunnel, out by the air processors." Another click. "Deep breaths, if you can," he tells me. "Try and steady your nerves. I'm sure they're going haywire right now." His fingers gently tug at my head covering. "Let's get this out of the way a bit so you can breathe easier."

  I let him uncover my face.

  "Well now." He sits back on his haunches. "Ain't you a sight for sore eyes." He grins again, but his eyes stare at me hard.

  I try to move,
to uncurl myself as my muscles tremble.

  "Captain?" Boots approach, striking the pavement in an easy jog.

  "Help me get her to her feet."

  "Who's—?"

  "Guest quarters. We'll give her some time to get over the shock."

  They haul me up off the floor and carry me between them like so much dead weight. My head swims crazily at the sudden altitude, and I fight to stay conscious. But it's futile. My head drops forward, and darkness swallows my senses.

  The night doesn't last long. My eyes open wide, and my head jerks upward.

  I'm sitting in a large bed, enveloped by a mound of plush blankets. A small bedroom with painted walls—mustard-colored. Artwork mounted in rustic frames. Soft ambient light.

  Is this a dream?

  Milton sits at my bedside.

  I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of him.

  "Hello Daiyna." He smiles sheepishly. The layer of grime on his face cracks at the corners of his mouth.

  "What are you doing here?" I gasp, clutching at my covers. Underneath, I'm naked.

  He still wears his filthy urine suit, and it reeks. The scarred face shield dangles idly from his fingers, swaying to and fro, as he reclines in an overstuffed armchair. He parts his lips, takes a breath to answer me, but shrugs instead.

  "I'm going to rescue you," he says.

  What's that mean? The last time I saw him... My hand drifts to my throat.

  "Yeah. About that." He leans forward, biting his lip with a sudden frown. "I'm sorry." He meets my gaze, his eyes clear and earnest. "I think I might've been possessed or something."

  I nod slowly. "Right..." I remember seeing the evil spirit inside him, fighting against his will. "Not anymore?"

  "I don't think so. Some weird stuff's been going on, but I feel like myself again—more or less." Another shrug.

  I don't sense the spirit of the earth in him, but I don't sense anything in myself, either. The voice of the spirits remains silent.

  I glance quickly around the room. "How did you—?" I was going to ask how he found me, how he got in here, but I'm not even sure where here is.

  "I found a way in." He watches me. "They don't know I'm here yet. So far, I've managed to stay under their radar. I think."