Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (reading comprehension books TXT) 📗

vehicles rushing in both directions. As long as it heads east, I'll keep it nearby; but if it decides to change direction, it'll be on its own. We've traveled together for a long stretch, linking each other to a past when life was good and gas cost seven bucks a gallon.

"We should've seen the end coming," Jackson would often say. "There were signs. Good God, there were signs."

He was a big man, and the way he told it, his father had been a professional ball player back in the day. I didn't doubt it. Jackson carried the genes of a bull. Years in the bunker had dulled his features, and his beard covered most of his face, but you could still see it in the way he carried himself. He was made to be a leader.

He would have killed us all.

I whirl around at a sudden noise behind me. A rock, tumbling down the hillside. Maybe I disturbed it as I passed by. It eventually finds a resting place and lies still.

Well, that's the most action I've seen in weeks. I almost smile.

I resume my trek. The mountains look as far away as they did when I woke up. I fight off the weight of defeat that's always lurking for an opportune moment to strike.

"There's no better direction to go." My voice is loud, hollow-sounding against the face shield. It's pretty clear what's on this side of these mountains—the spawn of Mars and the Sahara. It can't be like this everywhere. Somewhere out there, a tree is still growing. Grass, green and lush. A cool stream of fresh water. And people.

I just have to find them.

Defeat sulks back to the sidelines to wait. It will have another chance to play in this game. If I counted my nourishment packs right, this is only the first quarter.

Another rock moves on its own, skidding down the slope at my right. It falls against a boulder and lies flat.

I stop and face it. Stare at it.

Hope is a funny thing. I've been longing for months to find another living soul—human, animal, or otherwise. Hell, even a cactus would have sufficed. Every morning, I awake with that hope burning in my gut.

But now I stand staring at the second rock that's moved in as many minutes, and I'm feeling a bit disquieted, I have to admit.

"Hello?" I call out. I should take off my face shield if I really want to be heard. I look up to my right, then turn and check behind me.

It's only logical to assume I'm not alone. Before the end, there were more than nine billion people on the earth. Figure a few billion were lost on the surface thanks to the bombs and toxins and nuclear winter that followed. And a few billion more probably didn't make it underground, couldn't hack it. Lost their minds and killed each other in the bunkers. Or their airlocks malfunctioned, infecting everyone inside. Worst case scenarios. But that would still leave a whole lot of survivors to make the breach after All-Clear.

And what about animals? Any left on the surface couldn't have made it, obviously, and most of the ones taken below were eaten. But some could have survived. And hadn't those government geniuses collected two of every species, male and female, up in the Preserve? They were looking ahead. Planning, always planning.

"Hello?" My boots shift, scraping across the dusty hardpan.

Maybe it's a dog. Starving, most likely. Nothing out here to eat, not even weeds. Bare as the moon. I wouldn't mind sharing a protein pack or two. The company would be worth it. I'd have someone to talk to, and he'd listen to me, and I wouldn't have to consider the prospect of losing my mind anymore. We'd be in this together, the two of us.

I shake my head. Not thinking clearly. The scientists didn't design doggy jumpsuits, as far as I know. There can't be a dog out here—or any kind of animal. Unprotected under the sun, the poor fur ball wouldn't last a minute before it was charred head to toe. Dog burger.

Yum.

The longer I stand in the silence, the more certain I become that it was just another rock deciding to migrate on its own. Bored with its life halfway up the hill, hoping to start over at a lower altitude. Or maybe it wanted to come with me.

Join the half-crazy human, see what's left of the world!

Deriding my own foolishness, yet unable to stop myself, I clamber up to where the rock landed and retrieve it, hefting it in my hand.

"I shall dub thee...Rocky." I hold it in front of my face shield and turn it over, noting how well it fits into the palm of my glove. I won't be able to touch it, run my fingertips along its smooth edges, not until sundown. Or until I find some shade. "Thou shalt be my pet, Rocky."

I unzip a pocket in my pant leg and drop it inside.

Then I jump out of my skin as another rock—much bigger this time—clatters down the hill, bounding and spiraling toward me. I have to lunge sideways to keep from getting hit by the thing.

"What the—?" My voice sounds like it's coming from someone else.

Rocks tumble toward me from all sides. Innumerable, they roll and leap, catapulting themselves in a sudden avalanche. The ground shifts at my feet. Dust rushes out from under me, sucked by an invisible vacuum.

Earthquake? Shouldn't the ground be shaking?

A basic survival instinct kicks in, and I run. Faster than I've ever run in my life. I leap over the mid-size boulders tumbling across my path. My feet are swift, my boots barely making contact. The ashen world around me melts away as my jumpsuit presses flat against me. I should be gasping, fighting for breath, but I'm not. I'm in good enough shape, but not for a long-distance sprint like this.

I run faster, carried by a strength that's not my own. I look down at my