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

More explosions echo behind me as this superhuman speed carries me on its own energy, driving me into the unknown. The sandy, ash-colored moonscape is a blur on all sides.

"Where am I going?" I venture to ask. I feel only curiosity, not fear.

I'm invincible. Nothing can hurt me. I'm too fast.

The voice doesn't answer.

Kilometers of desolation pass beneath my feet in a matter of minutes. I glance down and marvel at how fast my legs are pumping, yet I feel no effort or strain, no fatigue. It's almost like I'm flying. Nobody else has ever experienced this, that's for sure. I've been given this gift. I've been chosen.

Me, of all people? I'm not complaining, but there had to be better candidates.

Craters, deep and yawning, suddenly whip by on both sides, and before I know it, I'm headed straight for the broken remains of a city. Is that my destination? After being out in open spaces for so long, it'll be strange to feel the confines of concrete and steel again. What will I find there?

A lone figure garbed in dirty, sand-colored cloth stands next to the sublevels of a ruined building and watches me approach. He or she looks vaguely familiar, even with the head covering and goggles masking any facial features. I feel my pace slow.

Then abruptly I'm no longer moving at superspeed. I'm standing before the lone figure.

"Milton?" It's her voice that comes through the head covering—Daiyna's voice. She takes a step back from me as if I've startled her. Must be the smell of my suit. She never liked it.

The dust I've stirred settles around us. I'm covered in the stuff, my face shield hardly transparent anymore.

"They're dead," I manage. The image of Rip being mutilated and eaten by the gruesome cannibals returns to my mind. "They're all dead."

Her black goggles stare back at me without expression. She stands rooted. There's something familiar about her, a connection we both share. Energy surges within me like a wild dog lurching against its chain, so strong it takes my breath.

"Luther—" she gasps, doubling over with a hand to her midsection as she backs away. Repelled by my presence?

Another figure, dressed as she is, climbs up out of the dark sublevel. "Daiyna." He catches her as she falls against him. "What is it?" Then he sees me. "Milton?"

"Hey, Luther."

"What are you doing here? How?" He's at a loss. I don't blame him.

Two others climb up from the shadows. One of them is bigger than Jackson—Samson, probably. The other one is smaller than Daiyna. Both are armed with what look like high-powered rifles.

"You're...well?" Luther asks me. It's like I'm the last person he expected to see. "Your wound—"

"They're all dead," Daiyna murmurs, pulling away from him and leaning heavily against the charred concrete wall.

Luther keeps a hand on her shoulder. "Dead?" He faces me. "Who?"

"All of them." I shrug. I don't know how else to say it. "There were more than a hundred of those cannibals you mentioned, with jeeps and rifles and rocket-propelled grenades. After the cave-ins, your people were trapped inside the mountain."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Samson growls, starting toward me.

Luther stops him with an upraised hand.

"He's saying they had help." Daiyna's voice is cool. She keeps her distance from me.

"Help?" the big man demands. "From who?"

"The spirits?" Luther turns to Daiyna.

She nods.

I shrug again. "I don't know about any of that, but it sure looked like those freaks meant business."

"How'd you get away?" Samson grates out through clenched teeth. He doesn't come any closer, but he grips his rifle with menace. "How'd you find us?"

I open my mouth, but no words show up. I'm glad the face shield hides my dumb look. What do I say? I don't even understand it myself.

"He had help, too," Daiyna says. Everyone is quiet as her words sink in.

Does she know about the weird voice in my head? How could she?

"You mean he's still..." Samson's loud whisper trails off, and he backs away a couple steps.

Luther and Daiyna confer quietly. He stands with his back to me, blocking my view of her. Samson shifts his weight awkwardly. The small one remains silent with her rifle slung over her shoulder, but her goggles watch me. I wish I could read their thoughts. Now that would be a real gift.

The memory of those screams in the cave is fresh in my mind. Raw. I really should have done more to help Plato and the rest. I could have saved them all.

Daiyna pushes past Luther, ignoring his words of caution. She points straight at me.

"Spirit of the earth, I see you!" she cries.

Luther restrains her. "Daiyna, not like this." His hands grip her shoulders. Then he whispers something I can't make out, and she pulls free from his grasp, turning away and crossing her arms.

She is the only one who matters. Kill the others.

Overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness, I stagger backward, unable to breathe. The ruins around me sway and lurch, then tip over on top of themselves as my head hits the ground. The rest of me crumbles to join it.

"He's bleeding. Quick, get him inside." Luther's voice is followed by a grumble and curse from Samson.

Strong hands and arms lift me up, and I'm carried down into shadows, cool and musty. My face shield is removed, and the fluid of a hydropack pours across my forehead, down into my eyes. Careful fingers open my jumpsuit at the chest. I wince as the bandages are gently ripped away.

"It must have reopened. Apply pressure here." Luther attends to me.

He is dangerous. Kill him.

Fabric tears beside me.

"Not the most sterile solution, but it'll have to suffice. Samson, prop him up." To me, Luther says, "One would think you'd heal faster with your gift of speed."

That makes sense, I guess. Why isn't that the case? And why isn't my stomach growling? Shouldn't my metabolism be faster, too?

"The spirit is interfering with his