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

by Milo James Fowler

  “We have our orders,” Sinclair’s voice interjects.

  “Everybody spread out.” I nudge Morley. “You’re with me. I want to hear everything you’re seeing as you see it.” I crouch beside the jeep’s grill, grimacing as I force the hazard suit to comply with my movements. “Start talking.”

  Morley drops heavily onto one knee. “How about some firepower, sir?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “What sort of weapons officer am I unarmed?”

  I glance at him. “Prove you can keep a level head, then you can take your pick from our limited arsenal.”

  Morley’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “Yes, sir.” He blinks, focusing on the HUD frame tracking the two incoming figures. “They’re armed, both of them. Same UW-issued assault rifles we found on those hostiles—dead soldiers.”

  Why on foot? There were two other jeeps when that freak sandstorm ripped across the hillside. Are they still out there, keeping their distance? If so, Morley’s HUD should be picking them up. What kind of range does it have? It can’t be more than five kilometers, or he would have registered these intruders sooner.

  “Based on their current velocity, they should reach us in less than thirty minutes.” Morley faces me. “But why should we wait? I say we bring the battle to them!”

  “That sort of talk will keep your holster empty, soldier.”

  “We outnumber them two to one—”

  “Try again.” I give him a sidelong glance. “I doubt our doctor or science officer practice much on the firing range.”

  “If we surround them—”

  “We have no idea who they are or what they want. As far as we know, they could be advance scouts sent from Eden to tail us.” Unlikely, but the point is that we’re situationally in the dark here. “We stay put for now.”

  Granger clears his throat. “Understood, Captain. We’re digging in.”

  I turn to check their position and at first can’t locate the half-sized engineer or the other two members of my team. Then I catch a glint of moonlight against one of their helmets, bobbing slightly. They’re hiding behind the rocks, jagged like dinosaur teeth in stark relief against the black sky.

  “Keep your heads down over there,” I warn. One well-aimed round, and triple-polymer or not, those helmets will crack, exposing them to the contaminated air. Or they’ll end up in the same situation as me, without a HUD.

  “They’re not in hazard suits,” Harris notes, staring west. “They’re moving much too fast for that.”

  “Rules out Eden. They would know better than to come out here unprotected,” Morley says.

  “Look at what they’re wearing instead,” the doctor continues. “They appear much better-dressed than those sun-charred souls we found earlier. Such cloaks would shield them well.”

  “A separate tribe, perhaps?” Sinclair suggests.

  “Cut the chatter,” I order. They can discuss the continent’s de-evolved sociology at a later date. Right now, I need the channel clear to hear everything Morley is seeing. “Have they altered course?”

  “Still heading straight for us, following the trail we left,” Morley says. “No night vision equipment, no breathing apparatuses.”

  Fully exposed to the elements, the contaminants—these infected strangers are fearless.

  “Three kilometers and closing,” Morley adds, facing me. “Orders?”

  “Unchanged.”

  I ignore the impatient look on my weapons officer’s face. While I’d never admit it to anyone, part of me wonders if that strange, other-worldly presence will make another appearance—the spirit of the earth that manifested itself as my daughter, then as my wife. I’m sure it was responsible for killing off those three hostiles. The way their corpses were scattered across the ground and broken to pieces—no human force could manage something like that.

  Will that spirit intervene again? And if it doesn’t, could that mean the two unidentified figures closing in are not a threat?

  You are here for a purpose, James Bishop. We cannot allow you to come to harm, the spirit told me. No idea what it means, but I like the sound of it. Always good to have backup.

  So I wait. Am I putting my entire team in danger, trusting the word of an entity I can’t comprehend? Should I tell the others about it?

  They’ll think I landed on my head when I fell out of that chopper.

  “Hold on.” Morley adjusts his position, frowning through the red frame glowing on his face shield. He blinks. “It looks like... They’re making camp.”

  Granger’s incredulous voice comes through: “What the hell?” He steps out from cover. “They’re calling it a night?”

  “Must have no idea we’re watching them,” Morley says.

  “Keeping their distance.” I nod, sizing up the situation. “They know we’re here, but we’re not going anywhere. Not until morning.”

  Harris and Sinclair follow Granger, the three of them converging on the jeep.

  “So now what?” Granger slings his rifle over one shoulder by the strap and spreads his boots in an overconfident stance. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but if they start cooking up some grub, I just might have to go over and make their acquaintance.”

  “And if they decide to cook you?” Morley says.

  “Not enough meat on him,” Sinclair dismisses the idea.

  “Only muscle. You like muscle?” Granger starts toward her.

  I hold up a hand, and they quiet down. Granger is right about one thing: food’s a scarce commodity. All of our ration packs went down in flames with the chopper. If these two strangers have food with them, and if they’re not the cannibals Morley thinks they are, then digging in for the night and going hungry might not be the best course of action. I can go without eating; I was trained for it. But the other members of my team are a different breed. Soon their appetites and survival instincts will be at odds, and I can only imagine the recklessness that may ensue.

  “Either they don’t see us as a threat, or they can’t see us at all,” Morley remarks, gazing into the distance. “Making camp out in the open like that. It’s brazen, that’s what it is.”

  What are they waiting for? Are they under orders to observe but not interfere?

  “Report,” I remind Morley.

  “Looks like they’ve got a full spread of standard-issue protein and hydro-packs. No meat. Guess we can forget about them being cannibal freaks.” His boots shuffle forward a step, stirring up dust.

  “How about you send me in for a little recon, Cap?” Granger says. “My belly would sure be in your debt.”

  Harris chuckles sympathetically. Sinclair remains stoic and silent.

  “What’s the plan, boss?” Morley says, fingering his empty holster.

  “We’ve got time,” I tell him. “We’re not going anywhere until sunrise. For the moment, it appears our friends are doing the same. Granger and I will take first watch. If we decide to backtrack and make their acquaintance, you’ll know about it. But for now, get some rest if you can.” I can’t imagine anybody sleeping in these suits with the clock on our O2 supply running down, but they might as well try. “Shift change in two hours.”

  Harris and Sinclair nod, returning to the outcropping of rock where they drop awkwardly into seated positions and lean back, rifles across their laps. Still sulky over his unarmed status, Morley is reluctant to join them. But he follows eventually. I already have him in mind for the next shift.

  I’ll rotate them to join me one at a time until sunup. Sinclair will be last. Maybe by then, I’ll be able to nod off a little. I can’t imagine spending five minutes alone with her, let alone a two-hour night watch.

  “We’ll use the jeep as cover,” I tell Granger. We move into position, fighting our suits into submission as we crouch in front of the jeep’s grill. “In case our stalkers decide it’s time for a little target practice.”

  “Don’t see how they can be carrying Stingers hidden in the stuff they’re wearing, but I guess it’s poss
ible.”

  “Any weapons out in plain sight?”

  Granger gazes unblinking through the glowing heads-up display. “If I had to guess, judging by the bulges, I’d say automatic rifles. Can’t really tell—” He curses abruptly, muttering to himself, “Stupid.” Then he clears his throat. “Identify weapons,” he says in the authoritative tone he reserves for HUD voice commands.

  A full display spreads across the face shield of his helmet as an assortment of daggers, short swords, handguns, rifles, and an array of small explosives are recognized by the HUD system and tagged, each delineated from its point of origin on the two figures: a hip, shoulder, or leg holster, a makeshift scabbard across the back. Granger releases a low whistle at the sight.

  “Well now...” He clears his throat. “You want the good news first or the bad?”

  “They’re armed to the teeth.”

  “You could say that. But on the bright side, I don’t see any RPG’s. And I’d be willing to bet we’re well out of range. Ain’t nobody I’ve ever heard of who could chuck a grenade over fifty meters.”

  “Rethinking your plans for making first contact?”

  Granger grunts. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He shakes his head and glances over at me. “But I don’t get it. They could wipe us out easy. Toss a few grenades on approach and take out our jeep, then one lays down cover fire while the other advances. Trade off until they’ve got us flanked. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Good thing you’re on our side.” I squint into the distance. “They must be under orders to stay put.” That’s the only explanation. Otherwise, Granger’s description of events would have already occurred.

  “Like us.” Granger smirks. “Orders is orders.”

  Harris and Sinclair come on the channel then, both with abrupt cries of alarm. I jerk against my suit, forcing it to turn back toward the outcropping of rock so I can see what’s happening, just as Morley lumbers off with a rifle.

  The one he snatched from Harris.

  “Wait here to be slaughtered in your sleep!” Morley growls, charging as fast as the hazard suit will allow, heading west. “I’m taking the fight to them. If you’ve got any backbone left, you’re welcome to join me.”

  I struggle to my feet. “Stand down, soldier,” I order, keeping my voice even. “Make an about-face before you do something you’ll regret.”

  Morley doesn’t look back. “Go to hell!”

  8 Tucker

  17 months after All-Clear

  Carrying the incubation pods through the intense heat of day and bone-aching cold of night hasn’t been the hardest part of my journey across this scorched earth. Fussing over the pods’ settings and hoping the little ones are getting enough nutrients is worrisome but not intolerable. Neither is watching my shadow during the day, hoping no band of marauding mutos catches sight of it.

  Nope, for me, the worst part is the silence. The loneliness. Endless days with no one to talk to. Nights I curl up in a cave or behind some sizeable rocks, unable to share anyone’s warmth. Not that I ever had much to share back in Eden, but that isn’t the point. Out here, I’m always alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company—whether I want them or not.

  It reminds me of a time I’d rather forget. Locked out of the Sector 30 bunker.

  For the good of the many…

  Sometimes I speak to the little female strapped across my chest in her canister or the male slung over my shoulder. But I know better than to think they will—or even can—talk back to me. They’re not even born yet, after all.

  So it’s with a great deal of excitement jittering through my nerves that I call out to the first human being I’ve seen in weeks.

  “Hello there!” I wave broadly. My shadow mirrors my movements, elongated and distorted like a dark spirit mocking me. For the moment, I don’t care that I’m an invisible freak, just a shadow scurrying across the sand with a voice but no body to go along with it. The figure above me on the hillside, half-hidden in a makeshift outpost constructed of shale, is obviously no muto. That makes my heart glad. “Hello! Boy, am I glad to see—”

  “Hold it right there!” The figure snatches up his rifle and brings the stock to his cheek, pointing the muzzle in my general vicinity. “Identify yourself!”

  I keep both hands in the air. My shadow mimics me. “Hey now, no reason to get—”

  “Identify yourself. Now!” The fellow looks agitated. Clutching his rifle and readjusting his hold on it, cowering behind the barricade where he commands a good view of the surrounding area, he seems either new on the job or inexperienced with first contact. Or, more likely, he’s never met an invisible man before. I can’t fault him for that. Far as I know, I’m one of a kind. “Don’t you take another step!”

  I sniff and shuffle my feet. “Hey-uh, is Luther around? Maybe Milton or Daiyna?”

  “Who are you?”

  I could ask him the same thing. Under all that sand-colored fabric he’s wearing, it’s impossible to see what the fellow looks like. But I’m positive he wasn’t with Luther and company when they were in Eden, back when Willard and Perch tried to reverse their mutations and make them human again.

  The first-edition variety of human, that is.

  “How about you tell Luther I’m here? My name’s Tucker. He’ll remember me.”

  “Why can’t I see you?”

  I shrug. So does my shadow. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked.”

  “I could shoot you down right where you stand. So you’d better answer me!”

  Is he really as trigger-happy as he looks? I sure hope not. “Okay. By all appearances, I can see you’re not one of those muto-types. You know what I mean. Nasty-smelling, flesh-eating—”

  “I’m no daemon.”

  “Right. One of those. And neither am I, obviously. So that makes us both on the same team here, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not invisible.” The sentry clears his throat—an abrupt, nervous tic. “So I’m pretty sure we’re not on the same team.” He pauses, staring through his black goggles at my shadow. “Are you a UW scout, sent inland to spy on us? Wearing some kind of invisibility cloak with light-refracting technology? Government-issued, I’ll bet.”

  I laugh out loud.

  “Something funny?” demands the sentry.

  “It’s just—I mean, think about it. If this was UW-issued, don’t you think they would have eliminated the shadow glitch?” I wave my arms around to make my point. “Isn’t it more believable that I’m like you? Maybe just a bit more on the extreme end of things?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll lay it all out on the table for you, son. This ain’t some sort of high-tech gizmo that’s making me unseen by the naked eye. Not even close. I got like this from breathing the air out here, getting all this godawful dust into my lungs. It changed me.” I pause. “And seeing how you’re not wearing some sort of O2 apparatus, I’d wager it’s changed you, too.” I take a gamble and shuffle forward.

  “I said not another step!”

  I throw down my arms with impatience. “If you had any idea how many kilometers I’ve walked or what I’m carrying here, just to find myself graced by your warm welcome—”

  “How do you know Luther?”

  Now we’re getting someplace. I almost smile, but the expression is lost in translation. “How many of you are there now?” Enough to have a sentry posted at the perimeter of their camp. Are there others stationed nearby? Are they aiming their guns at me, too?

  “I’m asking the questions here.” He readjusts his aim for the umpteenth time.

  “There were only five when I last saw them: Luther, Daiyna, Milton, and two others, both augmented with mechanical implants and limbs, courtesy of our doctor.”

  “You’re from Eden...” The sentry can’t hide the awe in his voice.

  I shrug. “Afraid so.” Willard’s underground refuge wouldn’t have the best reputation among these folks, I imagine.

  �
��Why have you traveled out here, disguised like that?”

  “Honestly? To meet you folks and—” I turn to glance over my shoulder. Two other sentries have crept up behind me, uncanny in their ability to move with absolute silence. Must be their gift.

  They’ve got me surrounded. And I’m not liking it.

  “What’s he got there?” one of them barks, gesturing toward my shadow on the ground. My profile makes it clear that I’m carrying something bulky across my chest and my back.

  “Howdy,” I greet the newcomers with a friendly salute.

  “Get on your knees. Do it now!”

  I hold out my hands. “Hey, you don’t understand. I’m unarmed. These—” I reach for the incubation pod strapped across my shoulders.

  “Don’t even think about it.” The sentry at my eight o’clock steps forward, the muzzle of his assault rifle trained on the area where he thinks my head might be. Good guess. “I said kneel! Hands up, where we can see them.” He catches himself. “Put your hands behind your damn head!”

  “Alright, it’s all right,” I mutter. “Just calm down.”

  “We’re calm, pal. Dead calm. You wouldn’t want to see us when we’re not calm. It’s you who should watch yourself.”

  I drop first to one knee, then both, careful not to jostle the little ones I’m carrying. I keep my hands up in the air, their respective shadows clear to see. The last thing I want is to set off one of these self-important trigger fingers. All it would take is a single round, and either of the incubation canisters could be irreparably damaged. Not to mention myself in the process.

  “She always said they’d come after us,” says the hillside sentry, now descending with cascades of sand. Did he summon the others, somehow? Maybe they share a form of telepathy, like Margo.

  “How many from Eden are with you?” The eight o’clock sentry advances another step. It won’t be long before he tries poking me in the back, clinking his rifle against the young male’s pod. “C’mon, speak up!”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you, because it sure seems like you’re itching for trouble.” I shrug again. “But I’m it. There’s nobody else.”