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

The time came for us to seek out our female counterparts, to find the survivors from Sector 50. Samson, Plato, Rip, and twenty others joined me, and we set a time to start our trek toward the mountains. We packed the maps (many of them useless) and nourishment packs, and we checked our jumpsuits to make certain the waste recycling functioned properly. Samson was the most eager for us to get on the move. He mentioned more than once a certain illustrated text from ancient India he'd found on the database, and he couldn't wait to meet his wives and tell them all about it. I suppose each of us was excited in his own way.

But Holmes and his men refused to join us. Perhaps he wished only to spite me. He said they were fine in the village we had built and that we should send word if we found the Sector 50 women. He emphasized the word if. I wondered if he planned to take the men with him farther east to find shelter in the wasted ruins of a city instead of the barren wilderness.

The mountains were closer. They were our logical destination.

Holmes was motivated by fear, which can cause one to toss logic to the wind. On the database, the government scientists left us information about certain dangers we'd likely face after All-Clear. Areas to avoid included city ruins due to the potential for airborne toxins to still be viable in enclosed spaces, despite the years that had passed. It was all speculation, of course.

Perhaps Holmes assumed the scientists were wrong. They didn't know everything. They couldn't have.

But Holmes never had a chance to find out.

We were less than five kilometers out when we heard the distant hum of engines and the short reports of firearms. We reeled and looked back, stunned to see an all-out assault on our village, on our brothers.

We took off running as fast as we could, back to a scene that became more horrific the closer we approached. We could do nothing but watch. It was immediately clear we weren't outnumbered, but that was little consolation.

Three solar-powered jeeps stirred up the dust and ash as they circled our shelters. In each vehicle, men with guns fired at our brothers, shooting them in the legs, the abdomen, the back, downing them as they scattered, desperate for cover.

We had no weapons. We never thought we'd need them.

Who were these men? Where did they hail from? Our brothers cried out in fear and pain, but by the time we reached them, they were screaming in agony.

The shots had ceased. The jeeps sat idling and empty. Our brothers lay sprawled out across the ground, face up or face down, wounded and bleeding, immobile...or being eaten.

Their attackers—strange-looking men with exposed, sun-charred leather skin and wild, unkempt hair, wearing only rags—roved quickly from one fallen victim to the next in a starved frenzy, gleaming blades drawn as they cut into our brothers and ate their flesh, pulling out wet organs and fighting among themselves over every piece.

Our shock at the sight lasted only a moment. In its place erupted white hot fury. Screaming, the muscles in his neck straining against the jumpsuit's collar, Samson led the charge. We rushed the cannibals just as they became aware of us. Their attention had been completely consumed by their gruesome feast, but no longer. They turned with eyes bulging from deformed faces, fresh blood dripping from twisted mouths. Sharpened fangs flashed gruesomely.

Two figures rose up from a ravaged body as Samson came upon them. Both his large gloved hands shot out and grabbed their heads, smashing them together with a burst of blood and brains. Their ragged bodies fell limply in his wake. I'd never seen such a brutal display of strength.

I followed close behind, leaping over one of my fallen brothers as I flexed the sharp claws from my fingers. They extended through holes in my gloves as I descended upon one of the monsters. He raised his knife and cried in a garbled voice, but I raked my talons across his face and chest, and he staggered back. Then I plunged my hand into his throat and ripped out his trachea. He fell writhing, incapacitated, and I moved on, fueled by a wild ferocity I'd never known before. I lashed out without thinking, as if driven by animal instinct, and even though I'd never killed anything before in my life, I knew how to destroy these creatures.

I'd seen it happen in a dream.

Something crashed to my left. One of the hostiles had broken the face shield of my brother with a knife, then forced the blade out the back of his skull. The attacker moved on, but my brother swayed unsteadily on his feet, his head twitching strangely before he collapsed and lay still.

Rage boiled within me. I charged after the monster as he ran to one of the waiting jeeps. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three other savages fleeing toward their vehicles. I looked ahead. The stock of a rifle sat next to the driver's seat. Were they running in retreat? Or merely to fetch more weapons?

Indecision gripped me as I weighed my chances of dodging a bullet. But I didn't alter my course, and as the creature reached the jeep and lunged into the seat, I took a flying leap. I hit the ground hard, nearly knocking the wind out of me. The jeep tore off at full speed, spewing sand and dust against my face shield. The other two vehicles followed, headed in the same direction: east.

Samson found me as I got to my feet, staring after them.

"We got eight of 'em. The other four escaped." His broad chest heaved as he caught his breath. His jumpsuit and face shield were splattered with blood. "One of them left this...in Reagan's face." He wiped the knife across his sleeve and handed it to me. "Military. Government issue."

I took the hilt of