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

by Milo James Fowler

  It never was the UW, as we assumed at the time. With good reason. They had a track record of wiping out what they considered to be mutant settlements. But no, it was this lunatic. And judging from what we witnessed in Stack, his thirst for destruction is still going strong.

  "She is alive." Cain nods. "Gaia has told me so. Victoria survived the attack on Luther's Homeplace, and I must find her. I need to see what she sees."

  I drum my metal fingers across the Uzi. "Can't help you with that."

  "Then where is Luther hiding?" He looks at the circle of Wastelanders. "You must realize this is the only reason you are still alive. You killed one of us. You should die for that. But if you tell me what I need to know, I will allow you to go free...and take one of the women with you."

  Shechara. I would of course choose my wife. Except I won't have to choose. Because Cain is a devil, and I don't make deals with his type.

  I can't fight them. There are too many. And I won't put Shechara or Daiyna in danger like this. We're surrounded. It would be suicide. So what's the alternative?

  "We go together." I can feel Shechara's eyes on me, staring in disbelief. Daiyna curses under her breath.

  "You will lead us to him?" Cain looks ready to laugh. "Like Judas. Betraying your friends?"

  I keep my expression stone-cold. "There's a reason we parted company with Luther and the others. But that's none of your business." I give him a nod. "You want to know where they are, we'll take you there. That's the deal."

  Cain watches me like he's trying to read my mind. Not sure what sort of abilities he was gifted with, but I don't think telepathy is one of them. As long as he can't sift through my thoughts, this should work.

  "We ride together." He nods, liking the sound of it now. "How long until your battery charges fully?"

  I defer to Shechara. "Noon," she says.

  "Until then, we ride slow." Cain winks at her. "Two people with mechanical parts, and…" He focuses on Daiyna. "Luther's woman."

  Oh boy. Not good.

  She stands up and levels her semiautomatic with Cain's raw meat-head.

  "How did you get to be the leader of this little wolf pack?" Her fearless voice holds the moment. I'd wager she isn't scared of anything this world might throw at her.

  Cain's smile is a tight grimace as he raises his chin proudly. "I defeated their former leader in combat."

  "Alright." She nods. "New deal: I beat you, and your merry men do whatever the hell I say."

  Shechara grabs her arm. "Daiyna…"

  "No woman has ever led us!" one of the bikers shouts, incensed. "Women are only good for two things: food and—"

  "Let me stop you right there." Daiyna keeps her gun and goggles on Cain but points with her other hand at the loudmouthed Wastelander. "My first act as your leader will be to institute new dietary restrictions."

  Shechara rests her hand on mine. "Samson, you can't let her do this," she whispers.

  I'd offer to fight Cain instead, but I doubt he would have it. Human versus cyborg isn't what anybody would call a fair fight.

  "C'mon Cain, what are you afraid of?" Daiyna laughs.

  There's no turning back now. Cain has to save face in front of his clan. He'll kill Daiyna before our eyes, and then he'll expect me to lead him to Luther.

  It didn't have to go down this way.

  "It's what she wants," I tell Shechara.

  "What is?"

  "Death."

  She freezes.

  "You challenge me for leadership!" Cain bellows as if he's issuing an official decree. "Very well. This should not take long at all. Then we will be on our way."

  He hands his missile-launcher to the biker beside him and steps in front of our jeep. As he beckons for Daiyna to join him, the Wastelanders rev their motors and raise their fists into the air with a chorus of tribal screams.

  Daiyna hands Shechara her gun. Followed by her flask. "I'll be wanting these back."

  "Why are you doing this?" Shechara's voice is choked with emotion.

  "Buying us some time." Daiyna launches herself out of the jeep, leaping five meters up into the air and landing with a puff of dust as her boots hit the ground. The Wastelanders lose most of their fervor at the sight of her superhuman agility. "Is this it?" She gestures at the ring of bikers as she faces Cain, keeping at least three meters between them. "The whole tribe?"

  He tilts his head to one side. "You wish there were more to watch you die?"

  "A step down for you, isn't it? There were close to a hundred living in your rusty old boats, from what I recall."

  He clenches his jaw. She's struck a nerve. "That was another life. I have been reborn—"

  "In fire. Yeah, you look like a new man." She laughs. "Only the best for Gaia's servant, right?"

  "I am her son," he growls. "And you will soon learn your place, woman!"

  He advances on her with his fists raised to eyebrow level—if they hadn't been burned off. Daiyna keeps her hands hovering at her sides, sidestepping to avoid being backed into the jeep. Beside me, Shechara grips a gun in each hand and watches, motionless.

  "It should be you," she says.

  "If only," I mutter. Cain wouldn't stand a chance against my blade-arms. "Keep an eye on his crew. Anybody interferes, we shoot 'em."

  She nods. "I like the way you think."

  Cain swings out one fist, telegraphing the punch from a kilometer away. Daiyna jerks back, allowing his momentum to carry him forward. Then she leaps into the air, vaulting over him and pushing off his shoulders, back-flipping prior to landing solid on her feet. Shechara looks like she wants to cheer, but she holds herself in check. Maybe Daiyna doesn't want to die, after all. Not right now, anyway.

  Impossible to see her expression behind the head covering and goggles, but there's a smile in her tone as she goads him. "Your reborn body is too slow, Cain. I'd ask Gaia for another one, if I were you."

  He reels to face her. "I just need to land a single blow, and you will not get up again. I will crush your skull while you lie on the ground. Then my friends will cut you up and roast you over an open fire tonight."

  "Disgusting." She shakes her head. "But you'll need to hit me first. And I don't see that happening."

  He shuffles forward like he's going to attempt another swing, but then he charges headfirst like a bull. She hits the ground and leans to the side with one leg extended. Anybody light on their feet would be able to avoid tripping, and maybe Cain used to be that agile. Not anymore.

  He stumbles into one of the Wastelanders' bikes, and both somehow manage to remain upright. The biker reaches out to help him, but Cain smacks the guy's hands away.

  "The former leader you defeated..." Daiyna springs to her feet and backs away. "Did he happen to be eighty years old?"

  Hard to tell if Cain's face is crimson with rage. That's his natural flesh tone now. "Enjoy this moment, woman. For it will be your last." He steps toward her but doesn't swing, doesn't charge. He keeps his fists clenched and one foot in front of the other, like a kickboxer.

  "Maybe he died of old age, waiting for you to hit him," Daiyna offers. "Is that how it happened?" She glances at the ring of bikers.

  Their skull-masks stare back at her. They're not revving or screaming anymore. Uncanny how quiet and still they are.

  Cain advances step by step, and Daiyna maintains the distance between them by alternating a step backward with a step sideways. But she can't keep this up indefinitely. Cain's stride is longer; he's twice her size. In the next few seconds, she'll need to leap over him to keep from being pinned against a pair of dirt bikes.

  He knows this. And he's ready for it when she does.

  As she vaults over him, he reaches up over his head nonchalantly like he's taking something down from a top shelf. He grabs hold of her leg with one hand and twists on his heel, hurling his arm downward as he throws her to the ground. She lands flat on her back with a groan and a loud exhalation of air, her limbs and head flipping upward on impact.

&nb
sp; "Daiyna!" Shechara cries.

  The Wastelanders turn their assault rifles on her. All thirteen of them. The two holding rocket-launchers aim them at me.

  So this is it.

  Cain stands over Daiyna, watching her. Then, as she struggles to rise and catch her breath, he plants his boot on her diaphragm and leans forward, resting an arm on his knee as he holds her down. He smiles at her and shakes his head with disappointment.

  "Foolish woman. I hoped you would have more fight in you." He chuckles hoarsely. "Is there anything you would like me to tell Luther when I see him?"

  She nods, struggling to take a breath under his weight. "Tell him…" Her voice is barely audible.

  He moves his head closer to hers, crushing her beneath him. "What's that? Speak up now. Let everyone hear you."

  "Tell him...I knocked you down."

  He frowns as if he didn't quite hear her. But she's already brought up both legs, one boot plowing upward into his groin. His eyes widen, and he groans, frozen in agony. At the same time, she grabs hold of his boot planted on top of her and wrenches it viciously with both hands, sending him toppling sideways with a garbled cry. Dust plumes as his body hits the ground like dead weight.

  The Wastelanders don't know where to look. Their skulls twitch from Cain to Daiyna to us in the jeep.

  "That's our cue." I nudge Shechara.

  She stands up with her arms extended, both guns cocked and ready to take as many headshots as she can before the return fire sends her ducking for cover. At the same time, I throw open my door and raise the Uzi in my left hand. My right gleams in the sunlight as it transforms into a broadsword.

  "Let them finish this," I shout. "Nobody interferes."

  "You heard the man." Daiyna stands just out of Cain's reach, hands on her knees as she catches her breath, watching him. "Had enough?"

  Teeth clenched, he rises to a sitting position, glaring bloody murder at her. Then he somehow manages to get to his feet, favoring the ankle she twisted. He staggers backward a couple steps, never taking his eyes from her.

  "Oh, we're just getting started," he rasps with a broad grin.

  The Wastelanders cheer, fists in the air.

  Daiyna nods once. Then she stands upright, her hands relaxed at her sides, her weight on the balls of her feet. Cain juts out his chin and rises to his full height, fists framing his gruesome face. His knuckles crack as he takes a step toward her.

  Then he frowns, confused. He lurches forward with a grunt, staring at her. All is not well below his belt. "What did you…do to me?"

  "It's a pain that will linger. I'm surprised you're back on your feet so soon." She tilts her head to one side. "Ready to call it quits?"

  He shakes his head. "I haven't killed you yet."

  The bikers hoot and holler at that. But then Daiyna rushes Cain and kicks his injured foot out from under him, ducking as he swings his fists at her but not moving fast enough to avoid a blow to the temple. She spins sideways from the aftershock as he crumples into the dust, howling in both rage and pain. Daiyna looks rattled, shaking her head sharply and struggling to keep her footing.

  "Finish her! Finish her!" the Wastelanders chant, building momentum.

  Cain scrambles forward on hands and knees, grimacing in the churning dust. Once he's within range, Daiyna drops back and twists her body, driving her boot heel into his oncoming nose. The burst of blood doesn't slow him down any. He roars as he lunges for her with both arms.

  I've seen some ugly fights over the years, but this one might be the worst. No sense of decorum at all. Just two people grappling on the ground like animals: thrashing, kicking, head-butting, biting, and screaming. It's clear Cain thinks he'll be able to crush her just by wrapping his arms around her and squeezing. But it's a poor strategy. And Daiyna is making him pay dearly for it. The back of her head has already pounded his nose into mush. He's bleeding all over the place, and she's managed to land a couple more kicks to his nether region. A sane man would have let go of her by now. But he's not sane, and he's holding on with a death grip, his hands interlocked over her chest. Waiting her out.

  It starts to work—once he focuses his grip on her wounded shoulder. She wilts in his grasp, crumpling inward.

  "That's...better…" he gasps, teeth bared in victory as her head drops forward. "You had some fight...in you...after all."

  "Daiyna!" Shechara screams, the guns trembling in her hands.

  "This is a good death," Cain says in Daiyna's ear, blood drooling from his mouth. "You have nothing...to be ashamed of. You will feed us...for many nights." He smiles at me. "Thanks be to Gaia."

  She whips her head back with such unexpected force—cracking his eye socket—that he pitches over and releases his grip on her. Daiyna scrambles away from him, heaving as she struggles to breathe. Cain lies flat on his back, cradling his face and moaning, cursing her again and again.

  The bikers glance at each other, unsure of the situation. Their leader has actually been bested by this woman. As she gets to her feet and he doesn't, it's clear to anybody with a fully functioning brain who's won this fight.

  Except it's supposed to be to the death.

  "Finish him!" I shout. Not because I'm a fan of blood sports. Because these skull-faced idiots were shouting Finish her! moments ago, and turnabout is fair play. I glance at Shechara, and we shout it together: "Finish him!"

  Daiyna shakes her head. "I don't want this guy haunting me."

  Not sure what she means by that, but she sounds dead serious.

  Cain screams unintelligibly as he tries to stand. The busted ankle won't support his weight, so he kneels instead, cupping one hand over his smashed eyeball.

  "Is this who you want leading you?" Daiyna gestures at him as she turns to look at each of the Wastelanders. They stare back at her, their guns drooping toward the ground. "He's not even one of you! He killed your former leader and usurped his role. I say you deserve better."

  No idea where she's going with this, but she has their attention. They're nodding to each other in agreement.

  "Make me your leader, and I'll take you someplace you've never been. But I'm sure you've heard of it." She pauses dramatically. "Eden."

  They nod hungrily, liking the sound of that. Who hasn't heard of Eden? Subterranean refuge, stockpiled with milk and honey. Used to be, anyway. Rumor has it the Edenites are starving these days, thanks to UW raiders taking everything Willard's collared daemons used to scavenge from the city ruins above. But by all appearances, these desert freaks don't pay attention to the local gossip.

  "You'll live like kings!" Daiyna laughs as they cheer, ready to make her their queen.

  Cain shakes his head angrily and tries to get their attention, but his rasping pleas are no match for their volume. They completely ignore him—a bloody, broken mess of a man unable to stand before them.

  "What do you think?" Shechara leans toward me.

  I look at her. "I think we're going to Eden."

  Part III

  Annihilation

  10 Luther

  2 Years After All-Clear

  My scarred finger traces the route, east to west, across a map printed off the bunker database long ago. The paper is dusty and wrinkled, torn at the edges, and the map itself is an inaccurate portrayal of the topographical features surrounding the Homeplace; but it is the best we have. Over the past two years, I have added a black marker overlay that represents the current terrain of this new earth. No lakes, rivers, trees, plant or animal life whatsoever; only sand, dust, rocks, hills, and mountains. The map now shows distinguishable land features—lopsided elevation, massive craters—in order for us to orient ourselves.

  I've added notes on the roving daemons in erasable pen. Eden's collared variety are no longer a concern. The UW saw to that by incinerating them all. But the packs of wild, armed mutants are still an issue for us in these desert wastes. Thus far, they have not attempted to scale the cliffs or tread along the winding path up to our caves, but our sentries continue to
spot them. Jeeps parked in the distance, the daemons stare at the Homeplace for as long as thirty minutes before driving away.

  We know they are able to communicate to one another with grunts and snorts, but it remains unclear how intricate their language is. The sounds could be merely warning signals or ways to announce an attack or retreat. Vestiges of their military training, ingrained in what remains of their minds.

  I tap my finger on the map. "Here."

  Samson leans over my shoulder, squinting in the yellow-green light of the glowstick, and nods. "That would be a good vantage point. Higher ground. Plenty of cover." He glances at Sergeant Bishop.

  The three of us are in my study—the alcove in our warren of caves where I go to think, strategize, and pray. It was here that I first met James Bishop when Margo brought him to the Homeplace. He wore that bulky environmental suit, afraid of contamination. But the whole time, he was already infected, as his superiors saw it. As soon as his helmet was fractured and his air supply was compromised, he was no longer welcome to return to Eurasia.

  "Then we keep moving. South, west, north. Three hunting parties." Bishop points out the locations.

  "Split our forces," I echo.

  "Set up camp at equally solid locations. Gun down the mutants, take their weapons and vehicles. Form a supply chain to provide the teams that follow us with everything they'll need to hold down the forts as we continue to press outward." Bishop shrugs. "Assuming everything goes according to plan."

  Samson smiles fiercely. "I like it."

  We have wanted to eliminate the daemon threat for well over a year. When we followed those daemons into the ruined city above Eden, we hoped to find the creatures' home base. For many of them, it was. But after moving our people to the Homeplace and finding just as many daemons out here, so far away from any nearby ruins, it became clear that they are scattered everywhere. As far as we can tell, they continue to hunt in the same units they were assigned upon arrival—back when the UW sent scores of search and rescue teams to prepare for All-Clear.