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

Samson curses. "They sure did bomb the hell out of this place."

"Indeed they did," Luther muses. Not referring to the daemons but rather the United World government that unleashed nuclear hellfire on D-Day.

"All because of those stupid rebels."

"Misguided, perhaps," Luther corrects him. "But far from stupid. They thought they were patriots, but their homeland was a figment of their collective imagination."

"Exactly. Stupid idiots. What were they thinking?" Samson curses again and moves ahead.

"I heard they wanted to drive out the UW and unite the sectors." I frown, trying to remember history that wasn't included in the bunker database. "The United Sectors of America, they wanted to call it. Their posters and graffiti were all over the place when I was a kid."

Luther nods. "No one took them seriously. Until the end."

"How many sectors did they infect?"

"At first? Merely a handful. There were no symptoms for weeks. They targeted sectors with a large UW presence. Then they started shifting to global targets, and they made their demands known once the symptoms emerged. It didn't take long for the plagues to spread worldwide."

He remembers more details than I do. I guess he would have been a little older at the time.

"That's why the bombs fell."

"A teacher in one of my secondary courses taught us ancient world history." He pauses. "He told us that the original nations of the UW, back in the twenty-first century, held in their possession enough nuclear weapons to destroy the earth a hundred times over. And he found that peculiar, since destroying the planet once would probably be bad enough."

"And here we are." I sum up the devastation of the world in a trite statement.

"Yes. Here we are."

We stop at the rim of the crater, the toes of our dust-covered boots sending small cascades of gravel down the side. The drop is fifty meters down from here, and it's a kilometer or more before another fifty-meter climb up the opposite side. I could make the leap downward with ease, but the climb will take some doing with the shifting sand and ash.

"What do you think?" A hot breeze ripples Samson's garments as he stands with arms crossed and the rifle slung over his shoulder. "Across or around?"

Luther tilts his head to one side. "Which would be faster?"

"The drop's easy enough. We can slide down. But I don't know about the other side." Samson shuffles his large boot and sends another ashen trickle off the rim.

Luther moves toward the left. "Then around it is."

I turn to Shechara. "Where did they drop out of sight?"

She points straight ahead at the opposite rim. We're close. Is she afraid?

"If they're hiding in a depression over the other side, we'll be too exposed if we go around." I point down. "We should go across."

Samson shakes his head. "That will give them the higher ground while we're climbing out."

"Only if they're expecting us."

"You don't think they are?"

"They never looked back," Shechara says.

Luther watches her. "We split up. I'll look out for you as you cross the crater. Shechara can come with me. If you reach the opposite rim before we do, you can let us know how to proceed."

I'd rather go with Shechara, but it makes sense for her to go around with her far-sight unobstructed and for me to go across with my agility at climbing. There's no time to argue, anyway. It won't be long before the daemons meet up with others of their kind and come back for us.

"Let's go." I leap from the rim and fall quickly, the side of the crater rushing behind me as the bottom rises up to meet my boots. I land in a crouched position, then spring to my feet.

Luther pats Samson on the back and jogs around the side with Shechara. The big oaf is left alone, looking like a small child standing at the deep end during his first swimming lesson. Will he decide to follow Luther instead? I can hope.

Before I know it, he's on his backside, sliding feet-first with a plume of dust flying upward in his wake, gravel flinging from his boots as he makes his way down to the bottom of the crater. He holds the rifle out in front like a kayak paddle and shifts his weight awkwardly as he hits larger rocks. I can only imagine what his rear end will feel like once he touches down. Will there be any material left to cover it? A scary thought. An image of a hairy gorilla passes through my mind as he lands on both feet and stumbles toward me, righting himself after almost pitching forward face-first.

"Impressive," I offer, then turn and break into a run.

Surprisingly, he's able to keep up. "Thought you'd like that."

"Sore?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he mutters.

As we cross the level ground, I glance over my shoulder to check on Shechara and Luther's progress. They're making good time, but we'll reach the opposite side long before they do.

"Can you climb?" I face Samson mid-stride as we pass the center of the crater. "Gravity won't be working in your favor."

His goggles glance my way. "Are you asking if I can get up?" He waits for his lame double entendre to sink in. Then he chuckles. "Not a problem."

If he can't make it, I won't be able to help him. He's too heavy. And I won't wait for him. Get a vehicle and get out—that's our priority. If he ends up stuck in this crater, we'll tow him out later. Might take his arrogance down a few pegs. Not a bad idea at all.

Within minutes, we reach the steep, sloping wall of sand and gravel at the other side, and without a word to him, I take a running leap, launching myself upward and clearing the first ten meters. My boots sink instantly into the shifting, cascading mix. I hurl myself forward and upward, pausing long enough between lunges only to take a breath until I reach the rim and crouch down