Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

by Platt, Sean

  The sting of the question caused Boricio to look down at the floor before meeting her eyes again.

  Rose’s eyes seemed tiny, silent, and slightly sad, even though they appeared to be missing any true recognition of the men.

  She stared at both Boricio and Williams, though mostly Williams, as he took her vitals and ran through every necessary precaution to ensure that her fragile body was aptly prepped to accept the serum he had spent the last 32 hours preparing.

  “Are you ready?” Williams turned to Boricio.

  Boricio nodded. “Sure thing, Doc. Can I just have a few minutes alone with her before we get started?”

  Williams nodded, said, “Of course,” then slipped from her room.

  Boricio turned back to Rose. “Hi there,” he said.

  She half-smiled, then said, “Hi.”

  She didn’t sound nearly as uncertain of him as she had been on other days. Something was quiet, but undeniably warmer inside her simple greeting. Perhaps she was remembering more. Or maybe just getting better at faking the responses people expected so she wouldn’t disappoint them.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Boricio smiled, thrilled to hear Rose stringing two words together into a simple question, especially with the genuine curiosity behind it, minutes before she was about to receive the first drops of her certain cure.

  “We’re going to make you better now,” Boricio promised.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  Like every other time Rose had asked that question, Boricio felt something horribly blunt punching a hole through the center of his heart. He wasn’t sure how many times Rose had asked him already, but he hated the something inside her that wasn’t allowing her to remember his answer. He said, “Nothing’s wrong with you, Sweet Rose. You’re just having a hard time remembering a few things.” He paused, then added, “Like you and me, for example.”

  “I remember you,” she said.

  His heart dropped so suddenly, Boricio felt as though he was stomping on its beat. Rose hadn’t said anything like that since the accident, not at least without him having spent hours reminding her who he was and getting only snippets back.

  “You do?” he asked, unable to hide his excitement.

  She added, “At least I sorta do.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Water, um . . . boats, . . . um, pasta, . . . and you.” She paused for 30 seconds or so, though each one felt like more than its share of forever, while she tried to turn a second thought into another full sentence, but couldn’t get the words to tumble from her mouth in any sort of logical order.

  Boricio stared at her hard-working face, twisting in concentration as she tried to pull something from her memory’s depths. Her eyes said she found something, but its weight must have been too heavy, because her lips seemed to lose it a second before her eyes returned to their usual vacancy.

  Boricio pulled Rose’s hand into the sandwich of his palms, wanting to weep when she didn’t pull it away like had been doing recently. She held his hand like she held his eyes, and for the first time seemed perfectly unafraid.

  Boricio didn’t care that he was bald and scarred and ugly as an angry action figure. Fuck the world and all the haters in it. A flawless face was pocked with its own sort of flaws, anyway. The only reason Boricio dripped a drop of care about how he looked was that he couldn't stand looking nothing like the man who used to hear Rose whisper, “I can’t wait to wake up with you tomorrow,” each night before the cool of his pillow sent him to sleep.

  “Dr. Williams will be back in a minute,” Boricio said. “And he has something that will make you better. Do you want to be all better Rose?”

  She nodded, still holding his gaze, as her eyes filled with something Boricio dared to call hope. “Yes, I want to remember.” Rose surprised Boricio further by adding, “And I want to walk again.”

  “You will,” he promised.

  Tell her about the risks. Tell her maybe you should both wait. Give it a bit more time.

  Tell her!

  Before he could voice to the warnings or ask her again, the door opened and Williams entered the room.

  “Are we ready?” he said.

  Boricio nodded, as did Rose one second behind him.

  Tell him no. You need more time to think about it!

  But Boricio couldn’t open his mouth. He’d forced Williams into this position. If Boricio pulled out now, Williams might tell him to fuck off and just run to Will with everything, and they’d lose what might be Rose’s only chance at a normal life. It was now or never and Boricio couldn’t let fear make the choice.

  Williams opened a small black case, then withdrew a syringe filled with an oddly colored lavender liquid, almost beautiful behind the clear glass. He ejected the last bit of air into a second glass vial, not allowing any of the serum to spill out.

  Williams rubbed a swab of alcohol across Rose’s arm, then said, “You’re going to feel a slight prick, but it shouldn't hurt for more than a second. Is that okay?”

  Rose nodded, and Williams pressed the syringe to her arm, slowly pushing the plunger until every drop of lavender had disappeared.

  Rose squeezed Boricio’s hand during the long minutes of silence which followed, as Dr. Williams paced back and forth in front of the room, waiting for some instant reaction. Boricio wasn’t sure what would happen to signify that the serum had worked. Would she suddenly feel her legs? Would she burst into tears remembering every memory that had been sealed away? Or would the change be more subtle? If so, the Doc might be pacing a while.

  Boricio wondered how much longer silence would choke the room, and was surprised when it was Rose — the light in her eyes making a return – who finally broke it.

  “Am I supposed to be feeling something?”

  Dr. Williams said, “Just give it a few minutes, Rose. The serum has to work through your body.”

  Boricio was thrilled at the light in her eyes, the first indication since the accident that someone was home.

  “Can I turn on the TV?” she asked.

  “Sorry, Rose,” Williams shook his head, “but I want to keep our full attention on this right now. Do you understand why?”

  She nodded, but glanced over toward the remote sitting four feet from her fingers on the bedside table. Boricio said, “What does it matter if she’s watching something while we’re waiting to see what happens?”

  Before Williams could answer, a smile spread across Rose’s face.

  “My legs,” she said. “They feel tingly.”

  Boricio tore the sheet from her and let it drape off the bed. Her legs were still bandaged, both of them in casts from her knees to her feet, with only her toes showing. Rose began to wiggle her toes and laughed hysterically.

  Williams said, “What does it feel like, Rose? What’s happening right now?”

  She couldn’t stop smiling. Her face was pink and soft and starting to glow. “It feels warm everywhere inside my body, almost hot. But not quite painful. Like an itching burn.”

  “But good, right?” Boricio asked, thrilled with how much vitality Rose was speaking.

  “Oh, God, Baby, yes!” she said, her voice stronger. “I already feel a million times better!”

  Boricio’s voice was a cracked whisper of disbelief. “Baby?” he said. “Can you remember me?”

  “Yes,” she said, crying and nodding, “You were planning a special day for me, weren’t you?” With a playful smile Boricio couldn’t believe he was seeing, Rose said, “Was this what you had in mind?”

  Boricio erupted into laughter, then dropped her hand and pulled her into an embrace before he showered her with kisses. He smothered Rose’s right cheek, then turned from her to Williams and threw his arms around the doctor.

  “I love you, man,” he said. “And I’ll never forget this. I know you didn’t have to—”

  Boricio’s thank you was severed by a sudden scream from Rose.

  The two men turned to see
her entire body shaking violently as if having a seizure of some kind.

  “What’s happening, Doc?!” Boricio screamed.

  “I don’t know,” Williams cried, rushing toward the computer which was monitoring her vitals. Lines were racing up and down in zig-zags when Boricio glanced over, before turning back to Rose and trying to calm her while holding her down so she didn’t launch off the bed.

  She continued to shake until she fell suddenly still, and her eyes closed as if she might never open them again.

  “Someone get the fuck in here and help!” Boricio screamed, slamming his palm on the red ALERT button on the side of her bed. “We need help in here, NOW!”

  A trio of doctors rushed inside Rose’s room and pushed Boricio aside, where he stood helplessly, watching as the doctors tried to revive her.

  As he stared, frozen in fear, he found himself praying to God to please, please save his soulmate.

  Boricio couldn’t watch, so he turned away, and didn’t turn back until he heard the blood bleaching scream that erupted from her.

  Boricio ran back to her bedside, thrusting himself between the doctors surrounding her, trying to keep them from hurting her any more than they already were. Rose was sitting straight up, her eyes wide open and ebony, as an inky blackness spread across her face and then down her entire body. She opened her mouth, but nothing poured forth for a long half-minute until her silence suddenly screamed into a howl; an unholy, unhuman shriek.

  Something started to slither beneath her flesh all at once like a million snakes moving beneath her skin.

  Boricio screamed, trying to move toward her, though he had no idea what he’d do once he’d reach her. If he could just reach her, however, he thought somehow he could help. But the three doctors began to drag him back, trying to get him out of the room. Boricio knocked one to the floor, then ran back to Rose’s bed, just in time to see her beautiful hair turn as black as her slippery skin, then fall from her scalp in clumps on the sheet as she thrashed in the bed. Dr. Williams shoved Boricio aside and shoved her down, screaming for security.

  Boricio started to move toward the bed, but a hand slapped him from behind, and spun him around. It was Will, his eyes wide and terrified.

  “My Lord, Boricio, what have you done?!”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 2 — Ed Keenan

  Black Mountain, Georgia

  March 2012

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  The van had left the morning light, trading it for the dark tunnel leading into Black Mountain.

  Ed couldn’t see what was happening, lying in the back of the van and pretending to be asleep, and was too banged up to care too much at the moment, anyway. Though Lisa had removed the handcuffs from both he and Brent, Ed had no illusions of freedom — and wouldn’t until he finally had the chance to speak to someone in charge.

  Ed was confident that given the state of the world, he’d be able to work something out with whoever it was who sat behind the biggest desk at Black Mountain. He was a commodity the higher-ups wouldn’t easily dismiss, so long as he showed them he was open to a deal. Which, of course, he was.

  Ed wasn’t interested in sides — Black Island or Black Mountain. Nor did he care whatever the hell they happened to be at odds over. His only concern was ensuring the safety of his daughter, Jade, along with Teagan and her child, assuming that she had safely delivered her child.

  Black Island had taken his people hostage in order to get him to work for them. If Black Mountain could make the same offer of safety for Jade and Teagan, he’d switch sides in a second. Ed learned long ago that allegiance to flags was meaningless because the players behind the flags were an ever-changing merry-go-round, each with their own agendas which had more to do with self-preservation than ideals.

  But any thoughts of switching sides was a bit premature.

  Ed still didn’t know what in the hell he was dealing with. So far, his impressions of Black Mountain were based solely on Lisa and her crew which included a child and a team which had been blasted to memory out in the field. It was easy enough for Ed’s confidence in the Black Mountain operation to crumble under the weight of what he’d witnessed, but he didn’t have all the information, and knew underestimating an organization based on a first impression could be a mistake.

  If Black Island was concerned about Black Mountain, they had to have a decent reason. It was certainly possible that the rest of the organization was a professional, and that Lisa and her crew were merely the most recent recruits. It wasn’t as if either Black Island or Black Mountain had a trained army ready to go when October 15 went down, forced to make do with the groups they could gather together. In many ways, Ed was surprised Black Island had found so many capable people to fill the role of Guardsmen. There were, after all, only six island natives left over from The Event. Yet, Black Island managed to put together a decent group of Guardsmen. He wondered if Black Mountain had been similarly fortunate.

  Maybe, Ed figured, Black Mountain was made up of more people from this alternate Earth. If Black Mountain had managed to shelter more of its natives from the October 15 disaster, then perhaps their institutional memory was stronger. And if that were all true, they were likely more organized and stronger than Black Island operations.

  Ed opened his eyes, just a slit thin enough to see through. The tunnel was dimly lit, enough so he could see Lisa driving the van, her eyes as straight as the tunnel. The Prophet sat beside her, his eyes on the same nothing ahead of them.

  Ed was surprised they’d made it through the storm with only Rojas as a casualty, though it seemed like Brent was almost trying to die, lying on the ground about to take a nap while the tornado was seconds from scooping him up and twisting his breathing to a finish. Ed was too far away to help. Brent would’ve died if Lisa hadn’t yanked him to safety under the overpass.

  Lisa was tough, sure, but she didn’t seem homegrown Guardsmen. Ed wondered what she’d done before being brought over. While she wasn’t Guardsmen material, she definitely wasn’t civilian. No way. She was too comfortable with both guns and orders. Maybe she was military, with a few tours in Afghanistan or Iraq. She seemed like someone used to dealing with assholes, and could handle herself just fine, even though Ed didn’t like her attitude.

  Brent spotted the open slit in Ed’s eyes and started to say something to him, but Ed shook his head just enough for Brent to see, then closed his eyes and continued playing Rip Van Winkle.

  The van had eaten quite a bit of road before it came to a sharp, and seemingly unexpected, stop.

  “What the hell?” Lisa said.

  Ed opened his eyes, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Lisa was staring ahead, though Ed couldn’t see what she was looking at. Moments later there was a voice was outside their window.

  “Pull over into the bay, and stay in the van,” a man instructed sharply.

  “Yes sir,” Lisa said, turning the van to the right and merging slowly into another area branching off from the main tunnel. Ed couldn’t tell if Lisa had been expecting these instructions, but judging from her initial ‘what the hell,’ he figured the routine had been changed since her last homecoming.

  They were probably getting checked for signs of infection, like at the Island where it was standard operating procedures any time the Guardsmen returned from the field.

  Lisa stopped the van and killed the engine.

  “How many?” a man Ed couldn’t see asked from outside.

  “Five, including four civilians.”

  Four? So Billy was a recent addition to the group. Perhaps the kid hadn’t been lying when he said he’d been living with a man who was killed and he’d been left on his own.

  “You step out first, and tell your people to stay put,” the man’s voice said outside the van.

  Lisa turned and met Ed’s eyes.

  “I heard,” he said.

  “What’s happening?” The Prophet asked.

  She hopped from the van a
nd said, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be right back.”

  Lisa disappeared and left them to wait.

  Ed sat up.

  “What do you think is going on?” The Prophet repeated.

  Ed said, “They’re probably gonna scan us all, one by one, to make sure we’re not infected.”

  “Infected? With what?” the old man looked scared.

  “The alien shit that’s goin’ around,” Ed said.

  Is this guy really not putting one and one together?

  “Alien stuff? You mean the demons?”

  “Aliens, demons — whatever. They need to make sure none of us are infected and gonna turn into one of those damned things.”

  The Prophet said nothing, but for the second time since he’d met the man, Ed got a weird feeling. Something in his eyes — something buried. The man called himself “The Prophet,” which meant he probably had all sorts of guilt — real or imagined — running through his narrow mind.

  What are you hiding, old man?

  “Were any of you bit?” Brent asked.

  “No,” Ed said. “I don’t think so. Lisa got cut, but I’m not sure if it spreads by touch.”

  “Shit,” Brent said, adjusting his position to look in the mirror on the Prophet’s side of the van.

  “I can’t see anything.”

  The van lacked rear windows, and he couldn’t hear anything, so Ed could only guess at what was happening outside. He figured he’d hear something soon enough if Lisa tested positive.

  Instead, they heard a knock on one of the van’s back doors.

  A man said, “Come out — slowly!”

  Brent opened the door from inside. They stepped out and into a large gray bay separated from the tunnel they’d been driving in, likely hundreds of feet beneath the mountain.

  Three Guardsmen in black stood with their rifles; no sign of Lisa. Ed wondered if she’d been infected or if she were simply being debriefed. She was the only surviving member of her squad, so no doubt someone wanted to talk to her ASAP.