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

by Milo James Fowler

  “Speak for yourself.” Lemuel stares openly at the cyborg’s legs. “How do you hope to bed a woman with all that cold metal?”

  Silence holds the moment—after a sharp intake of breath from a couple of the sentries.

  “What’s your gift, kid?” Samson rumbles, deep in his chest.

  Lemuel frowns, looking away. “None of your business.”

  “Hasn’t Gaia blessed you yet? Is that why you’ve been kicked out of Shiptown? Little Boy Blue’s not special enough to be one of Cain’s warriors?”

  Lemuel curses under his breath, but that’s the extent of his retaliation. Impressive, not to give in to the cyborg’s goading. But was it true, what Samson said? In a land of genetic mutations, could the one abnormality among them be an all-natural, one-hundred-percent human? Was that the real reason for his exile?

  “Take us to Luther.” Margo glances over her shoulder at the dust drifting upward in the west. “Cain will arrive soon.”

  The sentries set their stoic faces in that direction, resembling statues now without another word or even a glance in my direction. I like the effect Samson’s presence has on them.

  Samson nods, gracing Lemuel with a withering look before stomping back toward the cave. “This way. The kid stays out here.”

  Lemuel looks ready to protest, but he remains silent.

  “Or you can surrender your weapons.” Samson shrugs his shoulders of flesh. “Your choice.”

  The youth shakes his head and faces west, watching the dust with an expression of doomed resignation on his face.

  “Luther’s just finished a town hall meeting.” Samson’s voice echoes in the cave as Margo and I follow. “Your friend Tucker was a big hit.”

  “He is healing well,” she seems to echo his thoughts ahead of time.

  “Yeah. He’ll be good as new in a week or two.”

  “If he lives that long,” she murmurs.

  Samson pauses. “I’d appreciate it if you kept out of my head,” he rumbles with half a smile. “But yeah, things are getting a little tense around here.”

  “Daiyna and some of the others—they want nothing short of revenge on Eden for what was done to you.”

  “Can you blame them?” He holds out his steel hands.

  “You don’t count yourself among that faction.” She gazes up at the cyborg as we pass through an earthen passageway lit only by mounted glowsticks.

  Samson curses under his breath. “Daiyna and Shechara are the only ones in that bunch who were actually in Eden. The rest of them…” He shakes his head. “Some people seem to need hatred as fuel. They pour all that hate on Eden and Willard’s bunch, and that faceless enemy gives them the drive they need to live.”

  I listen closely, gathering as much information as I can. The benefit of having Samson as our guide: he doesn’t move any faster than I do. Yet again, I wish my audio relay was functioning, that I could speak directly to these people. But having Margo along will have to suffice.

  No idea how long this visit is going to take, but we’ve got to get back on the road—assuming Luther’s people allow me to leave. I should have told Granger to get going as soon as he’s able to operate that vehicle. With or without me, they need to reach Eden.

  I feel a twinge of guilt at leaving them alone—a science officer, a doctor, and an engineer. Without Morley, they’re at the mercy of their limited weapons training. But the good news: the back of that Hummer is packed with firepower.

  “That many?” Samson says to Margo. I’ve lost track of the conversation between them. “Tucker mentioned a dozen, but I had no idea. And you—” He frowns down at her as he searches for the right words. “You were in charge of the...”

  “I inseminated the eggs from Shechara and Daiyna with the sperm samples from you and Luther. So yes, I am as much to blame as Willard. Without me, we would not be in this situation. Willard could never have created the children on his own.”

  “He would’ve killed you, if you’d refused. Nobody blames you,” the cyborg replies.

  “There is no need to spare my feelings. I’m prepared for whatever the consequence will be. I ask only that I be allowed to check on Tucker and the incubation pods before Luther casts judgment and assigns my punishment. I will accept whatever he decides.”

  Samson shakes his head. “I don’t make a habit of it, but in this case, I think I can speak for Luther. He doesn’t blame you for any of it. There won’t be any punishment, not for you.” He clears his throat and glances back at me before lowering his voice. “Can’t say the same for the Eden-haters, though. I’m supposed to watch out for you and Tucker, so don’t stray off.”

  “Who’s watching him now?”

  “People you can trust.” He holds her gaze, and she seems to believe him. The tension in her shoulders relaxes slightly.

  I can’t help feeling like I’m walking into a bear’s den. There are so many factions on this continent, more than I would have thought possible. At first, it was enough of a shock to find anyone alive in these barren Wastes. But now, seeing how they’re divided—not even taking into consideration the bizarre, supernatural element—I’ve got to wonder if humankind is doomed to repeat history.

  Haven’t we suffered enough death and destruction already?

  Samson halts at the end of the downward-sloping passage. It branches into three corridors, each lit with the same green glowsticks mounted at intervals, staked into the walls.

  “Luther’s waiting for you.” The cyborg’s deep voice resonates as he sweeps out a steel arm to usher us into the dark alcove beyond. Farther in, the faint light of a single glowstick emanates. “I’ll hang with Tucker. Find us when you’re through here,” he says to Margo. Then he faces me. “I don’t know what your intentions are, but I’ve got a feeling your government didn’t tell you half of what’s been going on since All-Clear.”

  I don’t respond.

  Samson gives me a hard look. “What I’m saying is, keep your mind open. Luther’s not your enemy. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of questions, whether or not your bosses want you asking them. Ask Luther. Ask him anything.” He pauses. “You’ve stepped into another world, soldier.”

  Margo rests a hand on the arm of my suit. “Let’s go, Sergeant.” Nodding in deference to Samson, she steps into the dark.

  I move to follow, the earthen opening barely wide enough for me to enter. The cyborg’s eyes don’t leave me.

  I raise an eyebrow. Anything else? is the expression I’m going for.

  Samson almost chuckles. “He might not admit it, but Luther could really use your help. We’re...sort of in a situation here. Your team’s presence has heightened the tension, if you know what I mean.”

  I can put some of the pieces together without all the details. It’s old habit to spot an incendiary situation when I see one. I hold Samson’s gaze as he towers head and shoulders above me. “I’ve got a mission to complete, and this detour is not going to stop me from doing what I came here to do.”

  “He’s a man on a mission,” Margo translates. Close enough.

  “Understood.” Samson regards me silently. “Sergeant.” With a full metal salute, the cyborg turns about-face and clanks off down the corridor.

  I follow the sound of Margo’s footsteps into the dark until the confined space opens into an alcove the size of my laundry room back home. There we find a man seated at a makeshift desk—a pair of crates, one larger and one smaller. A glowstick lies atop the bigger crate, along with torn and wrinkled computer printouts from an outdated data system.

  “Welcome.” He stands, enfolding Margo in a warm embrace. She stiffly allows it. “You must be Sergeant Bishop.” He reaches out his hand with a smile despite the sorrow that festers in his eyes. His fingers are badly scarred. “I’ve been told that your external comms are on the fritz.”

  I nod, meeting the man’s solid grip with my gloved hand.

  “Sergeant Bishop says he’s heard of you,” Margo relays.

  “Likewise.” The bear
ded, grey-haired Luther is almost the desert leader I envisioned, only more fatigued and gaunt in appearance. For the first time since I’ve arrived on this hellish continent, I find myself wondering what these people eat. Probably because my own stomach is growling. “I apologize, Sergeant. I have nowhere for you to sit.”

  “He doesn’t mind standing. In his suit, it’s easier that way,” Margo says.

  I knock on my chest plate and glance at her. She’s doing a good job of sorting through my thoughts.

  Luther stares absently at the hazard suit as if he hasn’t seen anything like it in a very long time. His smile dims as he meets my gaze through the face shield. “We have much to discuss.”

  19 Margo

  18 Months After All-Clear

  He has aged. That’s my first thought, seeing Luther for the first time after so many months. But as he embraces me, I feel his strength, despite how thin he has become—all muscle with no fat to spare. I slip into his mind before I can stop myself, and I find something I have never sensed in him before: a dark fear gnawing away like a rat burrowing in his brain.

  It is something he shares with the UW sergeant. Bishop wants to see his wife and children again, but his reunion with them is contingent upon the successful completion of this mission. For Luther, the future has even more at stake. His children are in Eden, and as much as he’s worked to unite the various factions of his Homeplace, they are rife with division. Add to this the arrival of Cain’s people, along with Cain himself in a matter of hours, as well as the UW team’s sudden appearance on the scene, and it is no wonder Luther has been unable to eat or sleep for days.

  Yet he smiles as warmly as ever as he says to Sergeant Bishop, “I hope you don’t mind that I get straight to the point.”

  “He would prefer it,” I translate Bishop’s thoughts, careful not to reveal anything unseemly.

  “The warriors who attacked you—their leader is on his way here,” Luther says.

  “Cain.” I nod, remembering what Lemuel said about the man. “He doesn’t seem to believe the UW representatives have come in peace.”

  I sense that Bishop doesn’t believe it either. He knows his superiors have held back certain details when a full disclosure would have been more beneficial.

  “Yes. Even if you were to tell Cain yourself, I doubt he would believe you. He sees your presence on this continent as an act of war.”

  Bishop nods. This isn’t news to him. He’s already lost one of his men to Cain’s warriors.

  “This Gaia he worships—according to him, she used those flesh-eaters to shoot us down,” Bishop says within the soundproof confines of his helmet, and I repeat his words.

  Luther looks mildly surprised. “I see you’ve been studying up on the local culture.”

  “He’s a quick study. And we came across one of Cain’s young people on the way here,” I add.

  “It was a little out of our way,” Bishop says. “As is this detour. But I hear you’ve got something to say to me. So let’s have it.”

  Luther hesitates, glancing from me to Bishop. “I would prefer that you first tell me about your mission.”

  “Can’t do that.” Bishop moves his arms as if he wants to cross them, then realizes he won’t be able to do so in the hazard suit. “Classified.”

  “Then allow me to fill in a few details I’m sure your superiors left out. You were sent to meet with a man named Arthur Willard who lives underground, sealed off from the surface. Willard told your government that he has fetuses in incubation pods, nearly to term.”

  Bishop says nothing.

  “Sergeant, have you stopped to consider where those children came from? Or have you been so focused on your mission…that nothing else has mattered?”

  Bishop frowns slightly. “I’ve lost one of my men. Two of my team are infected. And the things I’ve seen here…” He shakes his head. “My superiors don’t have a clue what’s going on.”

  “There would be no way for them to know that these children you’ve been sent to recover …were stolen from their parents.”

  Bishop fights to keep the surprise from showing on his face, but I see past his stoic façade. The man has a father’s heart.

  “There were four of us—two men, two women—captured by Willard’s engineers when we stumbled upon Eden early last year. They harvested our sperm and eggs against our will.”

  “Willard forced me to combine the gametes, creating the test tube babies he has offered your government in return for safe passage off the continent,” I explain. “Before I left Eden, Willard made it clear that he will use the children as leverage to get what he wants. If that doesn’t work, he will not think twice about killing the UW team.”

  “We have a vested interest in what becomes of those children in Eden.” Luther pauses. “For they are our children.”

  Bishop sizes up Luther for a moment. “What’s to keep me from radioing my ship and telling them the fetuses are no good? That they carry contaminated genes.”

  “We do not know if that is the case. The children have not been exposed to the dust in the air. That is how the spirits bestow their gifts—” Luther stops himself, his eyes earnest. “But I suppose you must first be told about the spirits. Then everything else will become clear.”

  “If that’s possible. I’ve seen some things that…defy all manner of reason.”

  I try not to interfere with their discussion, to be merely a conduit for Sergeant Bishop’s side of the conversation. But I know his mind, and I want to tell Luther, He has seen the spirits. They have come to him in the guise of his wife.

  “Milton should really be the one to tell you about them. He is the only one among us that they communicate with anymore. They spoke to Daiyna for a time, but…” Luther trails off.

  I know what he was about to say: that Daiyna has surrendered to hate while planning revenge upon Eden. Darkness consumes her heart now.

  “Where is Milton?” Luther asks. “Didn’t he return with you?”

  Bishop shakes his head and glances at me.

  “He said he would join us.” I can’t sense Milton’s thoughts anywhere nearby. “I don’t know where he is.”

  Luther nods pensively. “He goes where the spirits lead him. We must assume they had need of him elsewhere.”

  He stares into empty space, and I cannot discern any thoughts; it’s as if his mind has been put on pause. He is under so much pressure, and the majority of it is self-induced. More than anything, he wants to keep his people unified, even as divisions threaten to rip them apart. Is he beginning to crack beneath the strain of his burden?

  Bishop clears his throat. “Seeing him fly—even now, saying that out loud. I guess I don’t know what to think, how any kind of genetic mutation could cause something like that. I have no frame of reference.”

  Luther locks eyes with him, listening to my translation, his mind flaring to life as neurons fire and thoughts spring forth in words, “There is much more than natural law at work here, my friend. Supernatural—that’s as good a way to describe it as any. The spirits of the earth have blessed us with amazing gifts. Some of us can run faster than any normal human could ever dream of. Others can leap from great heights or see through the dark as if it were bright as day—or see great distances, far beyond the boundaries of natural human sight.”

  “How about you?” Bishop watches as Luther absently strokes the fingers of one hand with the other. “What can you do?” There’s no sarcasm in the sergeant’s voice, only a guarded curiosity, which I relay.

  “Before Willard’s henchman mutilated my hands?” There is nothing wrong with the hands Luther holds out before him—not at first glance. But each finger is terribly scarred. “When we first came up from the ground and breathed the dust of this earth, I was blessed with a gift I couldn’t understand.” He turns his hands over. “I was a man of peace, yet I was given claws as long and sharp as an eagle’s talons. When I’d flex my fingers, like this, they would spring outward as strong as steel, as sharp
as blades. I took down many daemons...” His eyes lose focus.

  Bishop frowns at the scars. “Why haven’t they grown back?”

  I sense that he immediately regrets asking the question. But Luther does not take offense once I share it.

  “When Willard captured us in Eden, he took more from us than our sex cells. He took our gifts, as well. He wielded the power of science against the supernatural, all in the name of restoring us to our all-natural selves, created in the image of God.” He pauses. “You have met Samson.”

  Bishop nods.

  “The spirits gifted him with incredible strength. But Willard’s man, Perch, amputated Samson’s arms and legs to take his power from him. Shechara had her eyes taken from her. She had been the most gifted among us with far-sight. As for me, Perch tore out each of my claws by the root, one by one, with a pair of pliers. Simple but effective, as you can imagine.” Luther crosses his arms, hiding both his hands for now. “But as to why they have not grown back, I honestly can’t say. I wish I knew. It could be that my claws are no longer needed, and the Creator in His infinite wisdom decided to return me to the man of peace I was before. Or perhaps the spirits’ gifts are given only once, and it is up to us to keep them and use them well.”

  “How many of you live in these caves?”

  Luther smiles for the first time since he welcomed us. “We are more than fifty strong now. Every few days, another survivor or two stumbles across the Homeplace, and we welcome them into the fold.”

  “And everyone else here…has these abilities?”

  “The spirits have been kind to us.”

  “And Cain’s people—the ones who attacked my team. They’ve been changed as well, after leaving their bunker at All-Clear? They have the same variety of abilities?”

  “As far as we know, yes. But they worship that being called Gaia, which we have reason to believe is one of the evil spirits, masquerading as a god.”