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

by Milo James Fowler

  “You can’t be serious!” says the woman at his side.

  “Of course he is,” I reply. “He has no other choice. Can’t you see? His dream has come true, but it will not be what he has envisioned. I will be the one leading our merry expedition to Eden.”

  “Like hell you will,” she growls.

  I raise my voice, echoing with authority, “Lay down your weapons. Markus, Vincent—escort Luther’s people down here. They are to take nothing with them but the clothes on their backs. Collect whatever you find inside the caves—weapons, food, water. We have a long journey ahead.”

  “What about the cyborg?” Vincent calls down.

  “Send him to me,” I reply. Samson’s arms are weapons that cannot be removed. Or can they?

  Luther’s people resist as my warriors move roughly among them.

  “Tell them to cooperate, Luther, and no one will be harmed.”

  “You’re a liar!” the woman beside Luther shouts, standing her ground. He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shakes him off. Feisty.

  “You see my men standing among you? Every one of them has been blessed with supernatural speed, which only one of your people possesses—that flying man who takes to the skies.” I make a deliberate show of scanning the grey heavens above. “Where is he now, by the way? Not much of a hero, if you ask me. Forsaking you like this.”

  “If it is your desire to join us on our journey, then why demand that we lay down arms?” Luther holds out his gloved hands. “We face a common enemy. Why disarm us when we could join you as allies?”

  Instead of answering him, I address all of his people. “You will cooperate. Resist, and my warriors will overpower you—faster than you can blink.” I nod to Markus. “They won’t be returning to this place. Take anything of value that you find.”

  “Yes, Lord Cain.” He vanishes in a blur of speed.

  My people shove Luther’s into a single file line to descend from the ridge where others will guide them down.

  “What do you hope to achieve here?” demands the UW scout’s translator.

  I glance up at him, then her. “Don’t you know?”

  “There’s no place to hide in these Wastes. The UW will find you and exterminate you.”

  Gaia would never allow such a thing; I know this with all my heart. She will go before us and behind, clearing the way to Eden while covering our tracks, keeping us hidden from the United World’s advancing troops.

  But I won’t waste my breath sharing this with an infidel. Such faith can only be understood by a true believer—like Luther. Unfortunately, he has chosen to place his belief in an ancient god who turned his back on creation long ago, allowing the powers of the world to destroy every last plant and animal species that once thrived on the earth’s surface, not to mention the majority of its human population.

  “We want the same thing.” I turn toward the empty vehicle. “To save the world!”

  I have to get out of this heat. Stepping over the lifeless bodies of the three UW scouts, I reach the driver’s door and try the handle. After a brief whirring sound from the mechanism inside, the door drifts upward with a blast of hot air. A vehicle such as this should be capable of cooling its interior if it has enough fuel, and if the engine is running. I tap the screen beside the steering wheel, but it remains dark. No way to tell how much fuel is in the tank.

  I curse under my breath and look out the windshield. Asaph holds a ready position, weapon aimed at Luther’s people as they descend from the ridge, grumbling and complaining along the way.

  I beckon to the youth.

  “Lord Cain!” Asaph approaches the vehicle without his aim faltering.

  “Put that down.” I push the rifle muzzle aside. “Vincent has things under control.”

  “I don’t trust these people.”

  I slap the vehicle’s roof with my gloved hand. “I need you to take a look at this machine. See if you can get it running.”

  Asaph nods quickly, slinging his rifle over one shoulder. He’s always been good with machines. Some say it is his gift from Gaia, to understand the components of a mechanical thing by looking at the whole.

  “What type of ignition?” He peeks in the open door, stepping over the bodies yet to be disposed of. “Key or voice print? Thumbprint, perhaps?”

  I grit my teeth against a spasm of pain and apply more pressure against my wound. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me.”

  “You should have someone look at that.” He frowns at my bloody hand. “Perhaps one of Luther’s people—”

  “Focus, Asaph.”

  He taps the screen on the console just as I did. No response. He shakes his head. “No key slot. It must be configured for one driver in particular.”

  I scowl at the bodies.

  “If it was a voice print…” Asaph turns to stare through his expressionless goggles.

  “Try their thumbs.” I lean back against the vehicle and prepare to watch the grizzly task.

  Asaph retrieves a sharp knife from beneath his cloak and sets about dismembering the limp digits. Then he tries each of them, pressing the flesh flat against various points on the console, but to no avail.

  “I’m sorry, Lord Cain.” Asaph discards the last thumb, and it plops into the dust.

  A wasted effort anyway. I’m not thinking clearly. The UW scouts never drove this vehicle. It came upon the scene as Markus and Vincent—

  “What the hell are you playing at?” an angry voice booms like low thunder, and the sound of clanking metal approaches. “Is desecrating the dead part of your idiot religion now?”

  Escorted by two of my warriors, Samson stomps toward the vehicle on his mechanical legs, implants grafted to his flesh and wired to his nervous system. Head, face, and torso are covered from the sun’s rays by the same loose cloth all of Luther’s people wear, but Samson’s limbs gleam out in the open like polished steel.

  The word Excalibur emerges unbidden in my mind. How sharp does the cyborg keep the digits on his metal hands? Could he, on a whim, decapitate the men on either side of him in a flash of movement?

  I dismiss the warriors. Only Asaph remains behind, staring at the massive cyborg.

  “Could’ve saved you the trouble, if you’d asked.” Samson swings a hand toward the discarded thumbs. “They weren’t the ones driving this thing. It’s not even their vehicle.”

  “Whose then?” I fold my brawny arms and stand to my fullest height. Even so, this half-human machine is nearly a head taller. Not something I am accustomed to.

  What sounds like a grunt resonates in the cyborg’s chest. “You really think I’m going to volunteer that kind of information? I still can’t get over this stunt you’re pulling. Suddenly you want to join forces—but only if you’re the one calling the shots? And this after killing four of our people, not to mention these UW folks under Luther’s protection.” Samson curses. “You declare war on the United World, then you decide to enlist us against our will. You’ve got to be out of your freaking mind, Cain.”

  Asaph lunges forward, rifle at the ready. “How dare you speak to Lord Cain like that?”

  “Call off your Chihuahua,” Samson growls.

  I can’t help smirking under my hood. “Tell me how to start this vehicle.”

  Samson’s goggles remain focused on Asaph’s gun muzzle. “Why should I help you? Give me one good reason.”

  “Luther is not looking well.”

  “He’s fine. But having you betray his trust—”

  “We have a long trip ahead, hundreds of kilometers across open terrain. We’ll have to brave the elements along with any roving bands of goblyns we come across. I expect to travel in this vehicle, in comfort, and I should expect you’d like to do the same. Walking cannot possibly be the most enjoyable experience for you. Not with legs like those.”

  “They don’t bother me. I’m stronger than you are.” He nods toward my injury. “Especially now.”

  “Thanks to your modifications, of course you are. But
can you say the same about your leader? How far do you think Luther will be able to go before his legs give out on him?”

  The cyborg doesn’t respond.

  I hold out my hands. “I am not your enemy. I am your ally now—”

  “Whether we want you or not.”

  “Luther has desired this union for months. You have accompanied him on every visit to my settlement. Or have you forgotten?”

  “You haven’t wanted anything to do with us. Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Where Gaia leads, we follow.”

  “And she’s leading you to Eden.”

  I nod. “There might be enough room for both you and Luther in this vehicle, if we can get it running.”

  “Have you asked it nicely?”

  I glance at Asaph, who adjusts his grip on the rifle. The youth looks nervous in the face of this half-man, and his heart is racing. “I’ll ask you one more time, Samson. Who was driving? One of your people?”

  Samson shakes his head. “It was their escort. A woman from Eden. My guess, the whole ignition system was keyed to her voice before she headed west. You won’t get that thing to move farther than a centimeter without her.”

  Markus and Vincent have lined up Luther’s people in an orderly fashion at the base of the cliff. The cave cult members don’t look happy, but they take their cue from Luther. When he nods, they set down their weapons without a word. Impressive, the influence he has over them.

  “Point her out to me,” I say. “Which one is this woman from Eden?”

  Samson turns to look over the crowd. There are fifty-two of them, all shapes and sizes, male and female, aged between mid-twenties to late fifties—judging by the health of their hearts.

  “Don’t see her,” the cyborg says. “She must’ve found another way out.”

  I bristle at the suggestion and beckon to Markus. He appears before me in a blur of speed and burst of disturbed dust, crossing thirty meters in a split-second.

  “All accounted for?” I demand.

  “Yes, m’lord.” Markus nods. “The caverns above are vacant.”

  “What about an alternate exit?”

  “On the east-facing ridge—yes. But no one was there. All we found was another vehicle like this one, parked halfway down the grade.” He lowers his voice and steps closer to me. “Two may have eluded us—a man and woman, both from Eden. Word is, they carried a pair of infants. But there is no sign of them now.”

  I grind my teeth. “They will not have gotten far. Take two others and track them down.”

  With a nod, Markus whirls into motion, kicking up the dust behind him.

  “Lose somebody?” The sound of Samson’s smirk is unmistakable behind his face covering.

  “Perhaps.” My tone is cold. “Tell me about your other visitor from Eden—and about these two…infants.”

  21 Milton

  18 Months After All-Clear

  My ears aren’t working so good right now. I know there have to be sounds—violent earth-quaking explosions as the beach is shelled relentlessly by the Argonaus—but I’m hearing only low, muffled whumps. The wizened old-timer leading the way through these narrow passages of an overturned ocean liner beckons repeatedly as I jog after him. Together, we cross what was once the ceiling of an upper deck.

  “You don’t want to die alone!” he shouted at me after the first blast.

  The United World is finally breaking its silent standoff with the inhabitants of this quarantined continent. I don’t have to wonder why. I just finished burying the UW soldier that Cain staked into the earth.

  Come and get us, the gruesome murder seemed to say. Is Cain out of his mind?

  This way, the old fellow gestures, pressing himself flat against the wall in a spread-eagle position and urging me to do likewise beside him. I’m not sure what’s going on until an incredible wave of vertigo sweeps over me. The ship rolls sideways, nearly righting itself in the sand where it took root decades ago. Judging from the violent tremors coursing through the wall, the latest blast must have taken out a sizeable chunk of the hull on the ship’s west-facing side.

  “How many of you are there?” I shout, hoping the older man’s ears aren’t shot to hell like mine.

  My guide shakes his head as if to say there’s no time for idle chatter. Is he one of Cain’s minions left behind or some kind of squatter who moved in after Cain’s people vacated the place?

  More than once amidst the barrage of explosions, I’ve felt the overwhelming urge to take to the skies. But the thought of being downed by a short-range missile has kept me grounded. I can imagine myself plummeting to the sand, rolling like a limp-winged bird shot in flight. But on the other hand, at least I wouldn’t be trapped like this, crushed inside a derelict vessel.

  With a quick burst of speed, I overtake the old man and grip his arm firmly. “Where are we going?” I demand.

  You’re him, aren’t you? say the chapped lips on the man’s wrinkled face. The flying man? Not a bird, not a plane— He breaks off into what appears to be maniacal laughter. As if there’s time for such lunacy.

  “We’re not safe in here!” I shake him.

  We have to hurry. He pulls at me. You’ve got to get them out!

  “Them who? Who are you?”

  I am Justus, one of the elder chieftains. The others—

  So he is from Cain’s crew. But didn’t they all head east toward the Homeplace? Or did Cain leave the older generation behind to fend for themselves—after posting that soldier’s corpse outside? That was like pronouncing a death sentence on anyone who remained here.

  Which includes me at the moment.

  Please—you need to get them to safety! Stronger than his years, Justus grabs hold of my wrist and takes off at a dead run down the passage.

  Another blast rocks the massive vessel. Suddenly it gives way on the seaward-facing side, leaning over at a forty-five-degree angle. Justus doesn’t slow down, adjusting his trajectory to make up for the wall becoming a portion of the floor. I shoot forward, my boots barely making contact. Sweeping Justus up into my arms like an ugly damsel in distress, I shout, “Point us in the right direction!”

  Justus nods, jerking his thumb toward the very end of the passage. A split-second later, we arrive at a hatch on the east-facing side of the ship. I drop Justus to his feet, and the old man gestures with both hands, miming pushing the door outward. Working together, we struggle to open it, but gravity is not our ally. Shoving with all our combined might, we eventually get the hatch to budge. Sunlight bursts inside as it falls open the rest of the way with a resounding clank.

  This way! Justus grabs a hooded cloak and goggles from a peg beside the door and tugs them on, ducking his head as he leaps outside.

  I follow, squinting in the sunlight, and slide my goggles into place. Justus appears to be speaking as he forges across the ashen sand. This is a central courtyard of sorts, fenced in by rusted sheet metal with barbed wire along the top and rotten daemon heads mounted on spikes.

  Not very aesthetically pleasing.

  “I can’t hear you!” I yell, coming abreast of the old-timer so I can read his lips.

  Justus grimaces. You don’t have to holler at me. I’m standing right here!

  I glance ahead of us at the hulk of an old armored battleship, capsized next to a triple-deck, barnacle-encrusted fishing boat. The crustaceans have long-since dried out, now only brittle husks of their former selves.

  “Who else is here?” I pull open the head covering around my left ear.

  Instead of answering, Justus leads the way to the armored vessel. Another blast hits the ocean liner behind us, and it caves inward with reverberations I feel through the ground. My exposed ear can make out a muffled version of sheering, wailing vibrations as the enormous ship folds in on itself. Shrapnel launches skyward as Justus and I duck under the overturned deck of the abandoned battleship. Justus spins the hand wheel and heaves the hatch open, gesturing for me to follow him inside.

  My musc
les tighten, ready to burst into super-speed or flight at the first provocation. This quasi-deafness has left me at a severe disadvantage against every unknown waiting in the dark, but I forge ahead anyhow.

  If Justus wanted to ambush me, he could have done so earlier. Why wait?

  The darkness inside is impenetrable at first, the stagnant air stale and smelling like sweat. Blinking, I follow the old man’s shadowy form into what appears to be sleeping quarters on the ceiling of this overturned vessel. I accidentally bump my shin into a mattress and feel a body stir.

  “Who’s in here?” I have no idea how loud my voice is.

  The sudden flame of a butane lighter flares in Justus’s hand. The glow shines upward against the crags and whiskers of his wizened face. He moves his lips. You’ve got to get them out of here.

  “Who—?”

  The light flickers across a bunch of mattresses jammed tightly together, covering the entire ceiling/floor. Lying on a few of these makeshift beds are half a dozen very pregnant women. Exhausted-looking, undernourished, and obviously stressed out, they squint up at me and Justus with fear in their eyes. Dark shadows obscure the corners of the room.

  Cain’s wives. Justus shakes his head and curses. It ain’t right, none of it. What Cain did to that soldier out there, then taking off and leaving us—

  “How many of you are there?”

  You’re looking at it. Justus shrugs.

  He waves the lighter toward the back wall where other men and women close to his age are huddled, cringing with every concussive blast from the Argonaus. Justus turns toward one of the women as she reaches for him. She seems to have urgent news, pointing past me.

  “What?” I bend toward them.

  We’re missing someone. Cain’s fourth wife, Victoria. Justus doesn’t look happy about it.

  “Did she go with him?”

  Justus shakes his head. She’s too far along. If she’s not here, then she’s in her quarters.