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

by Milo James Fowler

  “The children,” I repeat.

  “The UW is on their way here,” Bishop says. “But they won’t arrive before Cain’s bunch.”

  “Cain?” Willard looks mildly interested.

  “You haven’t met him yet,” I reply. “He’s from the coast, and he has a couple dozen well-trained warriors as fast as I am. He’s coming here to take the children from you.”

  “Not exactly,” Bishop says. “He…wants them dead.”

  “Oh?” Willard glances at Perch.

  “First I’ve heard of it,” Perch growls. “Making up this stuff isn’t gonna help you any.”

  “You’ll find out for yourselves soon enough,” Bishop returns.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  Bishop looks uncomfortable all of a sudden. He lowers his voice. “I had a little help getting here.”

  I nod slowly. That explains how he arrived ahead of Luther and Cain’s people. “The spirits?”

  “Right.” Bishop bites his lip.

  Willard throws his hands into the air. “Could we be more specific, please? Unless you’re both speaking in code, which I will not abide.”

  “The spirits of the earth.” The Julia-spirit was right: there is something special about this UW marine. “They brought you here?”

  “Yeah. In a…dust devil or something.” Bishop avoids eye contact.

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s new.”

  Willard curses. “So the sand freaks have their own religion now? Isn’t the God of the universe good enough for you people?”

  “Not the one you believe in,” I reply. “You’ve molded him into your own image.” I sound like Luther. He must be rubbing off on me.

  “Move the dogs into position,” Willard orders Perch. “All of them! Now!”

  Without a word, Perch holsters the spare semiautomatic and retrieves the remote control. He makes a show of pressing three buttons in sequence. “They’ll hold the perimeter.”

  “Now you’re protecting the babies?” I shake my head. Hard to keep up.

  “Safeguarding my investment.” Willard stands and starts pacing, stroking his narrow mustache. “My deal with Chancellor Hawthorne will be null and void if there are no fetuses for the UW when they arrive.”

  “The UW is right here.” Bishop holds out his hands. “Let’s discuss terms before things get—”

  Willard laughs harshly, looking the sergeant up and down in his sweat-stained bodysuit. “I don’t think so. The only reason you’re still alive is to keep Milton in his place.” He casts me a disgusted look. “He seems to think your life’s worth something.”

  “Mr. Willard—”

  “Captain!” Perch roars.

  Bishop doesn’t blink. “Captain Willard, I understand that you’ve been in communication with Chancellor Hawthorne. You have to understand that the people—sand freaks, as you refer to them—on their way here intend to destroy your investment.” He glances at me. “The ones leading the pack, anyway. I don’t know what Milton was planning to do, but allow me to offer a word of advice from one military man to another.”

  Yeah right. Willard doesn’t qualify. But Bishop has his attention.

  “Go on.”

  “You need to lock down this place until the UW arrives, sir. You need to release your men from their quarters and get them ready for battle. Because from what I’ve seen of Cain and his warriors, they are very good at what they do.”

  I half-expected Luther and Cain’s people to fight their way into Eden and barricade themselves against the UW troops. But now that Cain appears to be more of a threat than Willard, I find myself rethinking the entire situation. Maybe Bishop’s right.

  “What do you have to say?” Willard stares at me.

  “The sergeant makes a good point. I’ll have to defer to him on this.”

  Perch snickers, but Willard shoots him a look that quiets him down. “For the moment, I would say that keeping those incubation pods in working order is in our combined best interest. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes sir,” Bishop replies in military fashion.

  I nod, even as my insides twist in revulsion at the thought of teaming up with Arthur Willard. But Eden has to be protected from the impending onslaught where Luther, Daiyna, Samson, Shechara, and all the others, ignorant of Cain’s ultimate plans, will fight alongside him and his warriors.

  Will the spirits aid them? Hinder them? Will Jackson appear as Gaia, soaking up the adoration of Cain and his people, leading them to slaughter at the claws and fangs of Willard’s collared daemons?

  It’s all too horrifying to imagine.

  “A ceasefire, then.” Willard extends his right hand. “We work together to fortify Eden, and we set aside our disagreements for the time being. After the UW troops arrive, we’ll take another look at where we stand. Agreed?”

  I glance from Willard to Bishop, who’s rocking a steely-eyed gaze. Perch grins like a lunatic, enjoying the awkward silence way too much.

  “Agreed.” Gun literally to his head, Bishop shakes with Willard.

  “Alright.” I’m next to clasp Willard’s clammy hand, and I feel an instant wave of regret wash over me.

  “Excellent.” Willard frowns at Perch, who withdraws his gun from Bishop’s skull. “Get these men proper uniforms. If they’re going to protect Eden from the powers of unholy darkness, then they need to look like God-fearing Eden Guardsmen!”

  Perch nods. But he seems reluctant to leave. “I’ll inform the men. They should know these two are on our side now.” He winks at me.

  I give him the finger.

  “Of course,” Willard says. “We wouldn’t want to see our new allies downed by friendly fire, would we?”

  Bishop gives me a crisp nod, and I have only a split-second to wonder what it means. Then he spins on one heel, bringing his elbow back to strike Perch full in the face. The gun discharges, blowing a hole into the ceiling. Bishop pummels Perch with close-contact blows, showing no mercy to his face and ribs, plowing elbow-knee-uppercut combinations in a well-coordinated attack pattern. Perch struggles in vain to defend himself before going down face-first with an unconscious groan. I snatch the remote from his belt.

  Willard stares in wide-eyed dismay. Then he dives for Jamison’s weapon.

  Only he’s too slow.

  “Déjà vu?” I wink behind the cocked semiautomatic, aimed at Willard’s left eye.

  He dry-swallows, appearing out of sorts for a moment. “Same plan?” he manages.

  Regardless of how much I hate him, I have to admit: the guy has some nerve.

  “Same plan.” Bishop nods, disarming Perch. “But we’re calling the shots.” He glances at me and the remote in my hand. “Time to release the hounds.”

  Via the dome-wide intercom in Willard’s quarters, Bishop explains who he is and that Willard is alive and well. He’ll remain that way as long as every man in Eden does his part to fortify their underground refuge from attack and safeguard the lives of the unborn children in the nursery below. Bishop makes matters abundantly clear: If a single incubation chamber is damaged by one of Willard’s crew, that man’s life will be forfeit.

  Giving them just a second to think things over, I press the remote, releasing the Eden Guard from their quarters.

  “We must hold Eden until the UW troops arrive. They are on our side in this conflict,” Willard’s voice echoes throughout the dome. “As is Sergeant Bishop, their representative, sent ahead to aid us during this time of crisis. And the man called Milton, whom many of you may remember.” Willard raises his voice for the next part, “The traitors Tucker and Jamison are dead. I know you all may have some difficulty taking orders from a sand freak like Milton, but I assure you, he is here to help—”

  I shut off the intercom and finish tugging on one of the spare uniforms from Willard’s closet. It’s a little tight, but it’ll do the job. I keep an eye on the monitor, watching the men’s reactions on the main floor. They don’t look happy.

  “Let’s go.”
I grab Willard by the arm and hoist him to his feet. “They need to see their commander-in-chief.”

  “Let go of me,” Willard protests.

  “Good idea.” Clad in Perch’s uniform, Bishop unbolts Willard’s door and heaves it open. Gun at the ready, he steps out onto the catwalk.

  Shouts erupt from the main floor below, curses and insults hurled along with fists in the air. I shove Willard ahead of me as a human shield of sorts.

  “Get your house in order,” I say in a low tone.

  Squinting under the glare of Eden’s lights, Willard holds up both hands to quiet the mob of thirty-odd men. “Guardsman, hear me!” He almost resembles Luther, speaking to us in the Homeplace, except he’s a warped mirror image. “If we are to survive this day, we must work together. You, me, Sergeant Bishop, even Milton.”

  “He locks us all up, Captain, and you’re gonna let him join us?” shouts a fellow in back. “We say cast ‘im out!”

  “Cast him out! Cast him out!” the chant erupts.

  “No, no!” shouts another man. “We can’t. He’ll go and tell his kind we’re expecting them.”

  “Better to have him on our side,” says another.

  “How do we know he’s really on our side?”

  Willard glances over his shoulder at me. “Want to say anything?”

  Nope. But I speak up anyway, “You’ve got every reason to hate me. Twice now, I’ve gotten the better of you—thanks to this freakish ability I have.” Some of them chuckle. Maybe they’re not all bad apples. “The only reason I’m here right now…is to help you.”

  “What do you care?” Multiple shouts echo a similar sentiment.

  “You’ve got some unborn children downstairs. Believe it or not, you’re sitting on the whole world’s future. I don’t know how much your captain has told you, but the United World government is very interested in receiving the incubation pods intact. While the warriors on their way here have every intention of killing those defenseless babies.”

  That seems to sober the men.

  “Captain?” one calls up. “Is what he’s saying true?”

  Willard seems unwilling to respond, but Sergeant Bishop claps him on the back like they’re old war buddies.

  “Yes, soldier. I’m afraid so,” Willard says. “We have something the UW wants very much. And we aim to hand over each fetus in one piece.”

  On the floor behind us, Perch moans as he starts to come to. He’ll be trouble. There’s no chance he’ll welcome either Bishop or me into the fold. Launching myself from the catwalk railing, I glide down to the main floor. The men of Eden stumble backward, giving me a wide berth and staring wide-eyed.

  “Any of you consider Perch to be a close friend?” I scan the crowd. They glance at one another with uncertainty. “I for one think he’s a dangerous hothead, and I’d like to keep him locked in his quarters until this situation blows over. That alright with you?”

  A few of the men frown, but no one objects. From the catwalk above, Willard calls out the names of two guardsmen and orders them to escort Perch to his quarters—and to keep him sedated. That last part raises a few eyebrows, but I saw it was Sergeant Bishop who leaned over to give Willard quiet directions.

  Eden’s dictator is serving as a suitable mouthpiece.

  Whether the Eden Guardsmen are all on board remains to be seen, but for now, they put their backs into sealing the hatches at each of the three tunnels leading outward from Eden’s central dome. Willard leads us down to the control station where multiple monitors show the collard daemons—hundreds of them—gathering at the edge of the city where crumbling, ashen asphalt disappears into desert sands.

  “You don’t have to watch this,” Bishop tells me. “I know they’re your friends.”

  I look past him at Willard, seated before the control panel with his hands moving over multiple keyboards and toggles, bringing various cameras into focus.

  “They’ve fought these creatures before.” I shake my head. “The daemons won’t be much of a deterrent.”

  “Ah, but that was before our recent modifications,” Willard says with a knowing wink. “These dogs are a new breed—faster, stronger, injected with metabolic steroids and muscle-enhancing growth hormones. Your friends won’t stand a chance this time, I’m afraid.” He grins, quick to add, “But the babies will be quite safe, don’t you fret. We’ve all got to have our priorities straight.”

  Ignoring the anxiety squeezing my abdomen, I step out of the control room. “I should check on them, make sure everything’s all right down there.”

  Sergeant Bishop nods, folding his arms as he surveys the bank of monitors on the wall.

  I break into a jog. More than anything right now, I want to run as fast as I can, to fly out of Eden and warn Luther that they’re heading straight into a trap. With the genetically modified daemons on one side and the advancing UW troops on the other, it would take a miracle for my friends to survive.

  A miracle—or supernatural intervention.

  I curse myself for telling Julia I didn’t need her. And I curse myself for Tucker’s death, for Jamison’s. Death follows me wherever I go.

  I’m already cursed.

  As I reach the nursery in the sublevel below Eden’s main floor, I slow to a halt. I didn’t know what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. There are so many of them—incubation pods with blinking lights showing healthy vitals, lined up row upon row, sitting in an almost-holy quiet.

  Overwhelmed by what’s at stake here, with only the hum of the equipment around me, I close my eyes and pray. For the first time in my life.

  Maybe it’s to the Julia-spirit. Maybe to the Creator of the universe.

  All I say is, “Please. Help us.”

  25 Daiyna

  18 Months After All-Clear

  The daemons appeared without warning, riding in solar-powered vehicles and stirring up the dust in great plumes behind them. They fired their rifles at Cain’s warriors in the front of the pack, and we ducked, defenseless. I’ve never felt more vulnerable, crowded alongside Shechara and the others, herded out from the Homeplace without a single weapon. My adrenaline surges as instinctively I feel the need to fight back.

  But with empty hands, I would be running to my own death.

  “How many?” I shout at Shechara.

  We’re side by side, but amid the weapons fire and screams of agony, it’s difficult to hear anything else.

  Shechara’s mechatronic eyes rotate, the split orbs overlapping as they zoom to focus on the battle before us.

  “Three jeeps.” That seems to be standard procedure; the daemon hunting parties always ride in groups of three vehicles, each carrying four well-armed creatures. “And three more.”

  Over twenty daemons? And all of my people unarmed? How can we trust our lives to the fighting skills of Cain’s warriors who don’t care whether we live or die?

  “Where’s Luther?”

  “He hasn’t left that Hummer.”

  At least he’ll be safe inside. From what I’ve seen, those vehicles from Eden are bulletproof. Will Cain remain with him? Or will he venture out into the fray?

  The daemon jeeps rip side to side in a frenzy, engines roaring as their guns pump endless rounds into Cain’s frontline. But the dust they kick up is thickening, and I have to wonder how accurate their shots are in this murk. No one else has Shechara’s eyes that can see through the most blinding of sandstorms.

  I glance back over my shoulder and curse, tightening the head covering around my nose and mouth. I can’t see more than a few meters back. Both Samson and the UW sergeant are out of sight. The dust whirls about us with a life all its own.

  “Daiyna.” Shechara puts a hand on my arm. She senses something.

  “I know.” I feel it too.

  And then I see the figure of my old friend Rehana, dead and gone for over a year now, stepping out of the wall of swirling dust before me.

  “Good to see you, sister,” Rehana says with a broad smile on her da
rk face. She wears no head covering, no protection.

  I know it isn’t really her, that it’s just a manifestation generated by the spirits of the earth. But even so, it warms my heart to see Rehana like this again.

  “You picked an odd time to visit.”

  When did I see her last? Months ago—after Milton helped us escape from Eden. The spirits appeared, telling us to travel west and find other survivors. The results spoke for themselves: instead of five, there are now over fifty of us marching to Eden.

  Surrounded by Cain’s fighters, led like sheep to the slaughter. Once the daemons break through the frontlines, they will fall upon us. Easy prey.

  “You must not march on Eden.” Rehana’s smile has faded. Her eyes shine in earnest. “You will meet only death there.”

  I motion toward the perimeter. “We don’t have much choice. Cain’s people are the ones in charge right now.”

  “They are otherwise occupied,” Rehana replies with a flicker of a smile. “And they have left you a rear exit as they’ve rushed to meet their adversaries. Your friend Samson is realizing this as we speak. You both must lead your people away from here.”

  I shake my head. “We need our weapons. We’re not leaving without them.” I pause. “And some of us want to go to Eden.”

  Rehana flickers before me like a holo-image losing cohesion.

  “What’s wrong?” I reach for her.

  “It’s been a while. You’ve changed,” Rehana replies. “Hatred burns in your heart. The darkness there has grown—”

  “If we retreat, will you cover us?”

  Rehana nods. “Cain will not follow. He will have enough to keep him busy once he reaches Eden. Willard’s broken souls are waiting, hundreds of them.”

  Broken souls—the collared daemons? I clench my fists. “What about Luther?”

  “You will need to free him from that vehicle.” Rehana fades from my sight, but her voice lingers for a moment. “Do not be devoured by your thirst for vengeance, Daiyna.”

  I grab Shechara’s arm. “We have to escape—while Cain’s people are fighting the daemons.”

  “Have the spirits spoken to you?”