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

by Platt, Sean

  Asshole Boricio didn’t even give Charlie a second to answer. He asked, “Infected with what?”

  Boricio thought he’d already explained this shit to his asshole counterpart, but for the sake of keeping things calm, he said, “It doesn’t have an official name, but some of us at Black Mountain refer to it as ‘The Apocalypse Worm.’ The monsters aren’t monsters; they’re aliens. And the aliens aren’t friendly. They’re parasites that worm their way into your body through physical contact, usually a bite, then slowly — though it seems to be happening faster and faster — take over the body, turning regular people into mutated monstrosities. Charlie is our only subject to have not mutated in outward appearance, though. We have one other subject who is halfway mutated, but everyone else, once they’re infected, that’s been that. They’re lost.”

  Asshole Boricio then asked, “Is Charlie Cheese Dick dangerous? Is he gonna get all slippery when wet on us?”

  Callie spoke instead. “We’re safe,” she said. “I knew Charlie was infected, but wasn’t worried. Mr. Bishop said Charlie was fine, and that they’d probably be able to fix him, maybe use his blood to help fix everyone else. Believe me; you’ve nothing to worry about. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless it was to protect one of us.”

  Boricio wanted to believe her, but looking at Charlie, and the odd look in his eyes that he couldn’t quite pin, he wasn’t so sure. Even if Charlie wouldn’t do anything dangerous on purpose, that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat.

  Bishop considered pushing his position; drawing the line between himself and Charlie and clarifying the threat’s severity. If Charlie returned to his world infected, it was only a matter of time until their world went to ash just as this one was.

  Charlie still hadn’t answered the question, how he’d gotten out. And what the hell kind of mess did he leave behind? Boricio hoped that he didn’t break out and kill anyone. If so, he’d personally put a bullet in the kid’s head. The first time Charlie went all X-Men, Boricio could forgive. He was scared, his only experience with Black Mountain had been at the hands of assholes who shot the kid he was with. But Boricio had spared the kid, had trusted him. He hoped to God he hadn’t made an error.

  He considered pressing Charlie for an answer, but decided to go another, more subtle, route.

  Brent and Ed, the Black Island Guardsmen who’d proven quite useful, were standing about a foot and a half apart, their bodies tensed and ready; eyes wide and alert, shoulders and jaws set. Ed had one foot forward, ready to spring. He looked pissed, probably because Boricio made him leave his gun in the van. The woman, Mary, looked more upset than frightened, while her daughter looked more frightened than upset.

  He had no words to describe the look on Callie.

  Boricio didn’t have the time or the focus to read all of their thoughts, so he quickly went into their heads, pulling the most dominant thought from every mind in the room.

  Charlie: Nothing.

  Callie: He’s wrong about Charlie. Real Boricio will make sure everything’s okay.

  Ed: The crazy Boricio’s gotta go first. I’ll wipe that smug look off his face.

  Brent: At least she’s at the end of the world with her daughter?

  Mary: If anything happens, we run outside and grab a van ... Sorry Luca.

  The girl: Charlie reminds me of John.

  Old Luca was sending nothing but static from upstairs, and that was slightly more than Boricio was pulling from Charlie.

  He hated the room’s tension, but at least that was something — the emptiness inside Charlie was chilling.

  But there was nothing Boricio could do, no way to cleanly win this particular battle.

  He’d go with the flow for now, play it cool. But he’d have to keep an eye on Charlie. Then he had to let Ed and Brent know that they needed to do the same. Shoot at the first sign of trouble. Boricio hoped it wouldn’t come to that, however. He actually liked Charlie a bit. He was a good kid given a bad deal, and from what Boricio had seen in his head, that had been the story of his life.

  Boricio could relate to the abusive step-dad. And he could see how Asshole Boricio had developed a soft spot for the kid as well. Perhaps he wasn’t a complete asshole, after all.

  The top stair creaked and the entire room spun toward the sound. Ed thrust his arm in front of Brent and took a slight step forward as Mary wrapped her arms tighter around her daughter, then fell a step back toward the door.

  Another stair squeaked and Asshole Boricio was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, looking up toward the top. A smile split his face as he turned to the rest of the room. “Looks like Old Man Luca wanted to come down and meet his brother from another mother.”

  A second later, Boricio saw Luca’s foot, though it took about a half-minute for his body to follow. He didn’t speak until he reached the bottom stair, and when he did, it sounded as though he was using every last drop of energy to push a few splintered words through his ancient throat.

  “We have to go to Black Island. Now.” Then, after a few long seconds spent struggling for breath while the rest of the room stood waited, he whispered, “If we don’t go, we’re all dead.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 3 — “Charlie”

  Dunn, Georgia

  Boricio’s Compound

  March 31, 2012

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  It was hungry.

  Starving.

  Empty, hollow, deprived.

  It smelled the ripened scent of the unfiltered feast It longed to consume.

  The good one — ancient on the outside, but still gooey in the middle where the child harbored his innocent thoughts — would be bliss to consume.

  Soon.

  Soon, everything would be finished.

  The beginning of the end was already over.

  The girl Its shell yearned to seed was trying to convince everyone that Charlie was safe. He wouldn’t hurt any of them.

  If only she knew.

  The one who held hate where his eye had gone missing was trying to read the room. But he couldn't — at least not all of it.

  Though the man who held hate had a bit of The Enemy within him, which allowed him to read these animals’ minds, there was nothing he could do to penetrate Its mind.

  It waited for the spotlight to fall off of Charlie. If It was found out, It might be killed before It could consume its enemy.

  It was starving. Deprived. Near hollow.

  Ready.

  This was taking too long.

  The scent from the top of the stairs grew stronger. It felt ripe, beckoning to It.

  The gooey parts in the middle of the child’s thoughts now running like broken yolk.

  The end of the beginning was over, but the beginning of the end felt like it was taking forever.

  A stair creaked from the top of the stairs — the end, finally on its way.

  The aggressive one put his arm before the one who was too thoughtful. The woman It met before wrapped her arms around the girl who was too weak for It to stay in.

  Then the violent one, the one It wish It had found at Sanctuary before going into the fat old man, said, “Looks like Old Man Luca wanted to come downstairs and meet his brother from another mother!”

  It licked Its lips.

  Once It attacked the child, It would be forced to silence every breath in the room.

  But It would be worth it.

  It would be stronger than ever.

  The child in the old man’s shell appeared, first his feet, then finally his head.

  The child took great labor to speak. “We have to go to Black Island,” he said. “Now.”

  The eternity it took for the child to finish his thought gave It plenty of time to see everything the child didn’t know he was supposed to be hiding.

  It now knew what the child knew.

  Its body relaxed, putting aside Its hunger now that It had seen the far greater meal waiting for It at Black Island.

  There was plenty of tim
e.

  Soon It would be full.

  Gorged, glutted, satisfied.

  It wanted what the child wanted.

  But the vial — holding the last of Its enemy — would belong to It, never the child.

  It had all the time in the world, now that It knew where It needed to go.

  The child whispered, “If we don’t go, we’re all dead.”

  The beginning of the end was now.

  And nothing would stop It.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 4 — Other Ed Keenan

  Black Island

  Black Island Research Facility Level Eight

  April 2, 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  Ed stared at the giant monitor, wondering how long they had before everyone topside was either infected or dead.

  More than 100 cameras were on the island, and all three digits worth were displayed in squares on the large screen in front of himself, Will, and Sullivan in the control room on Level Eight; the same room they rushed inside on the early morning of October 15 when Will first told them about his dream: Something bad was about to happen.

  That was putting things mildly.

  “How many of our own people are left?” Will asked, pacing back and forth, stroking his beard.

  “Ten Guardsmen topside, five more on the mainland,” Sullivan said, looking at a computer monitor on the table, displaying a map of the island with several red dots detailing each Guardsman’s precise position, with a number assigned to each, hovering over the dots. Two dots side-by-side suddenly went dark.

  “Make that eight,” Sullivan said.

  They glanced at the monitors and saw two Guardsmen ripped into shreds by what could only be called a pack of wild mutants — running and killing together, decimating or infecting every Guardsman in their wake.

  They were down to just three Guardsmen in the Facility, protecting 15 civilians. The math was getting uglier by the minute. Ed wasn’t sure what Will was trying to calculate, and didn’t dare interrupt the man when he was working through a problem. Will was loony, but genius. If anyone could think their way out of this nightmare, it was him. Unfortunately, Will was also harder to deal with since Boricio took off. Boricio had been Will’s unofficial translator, the only person who could steer Will through some of his wackier behaviors and get him to focus on the productive stuff. Boricio also provided a much needed buffer between Will’s sometimes gruff obtuseness and the others in the Facility.

  Will asked, “How many civilians topside on the island?”

  “I’m estimating there are 20 or so, still topside in their homes, with 35 having been brought to the mainland before the aliens crowded the dock, preventing the ferry from its safe return,” Sullivan said.

  “No sign of Dr. Williams?”

  “No,” Sullivan shook his head.

  Will continued pacing. Finally, Ed said, “Why are you asking about the number of people left?”

  “Because we need numbers on our side,” Will said, as if the answer was as obvious as daylight.

  “Why?” Ed said, glancing at Sullivan, glad to see his eyes as confused as Ed’s.

  “Because Luca’s coming back. And he’s going to need allies.”

  Ed shook his head, this shit again, then glanced at Sullivan who also looked as disappointed as Ed felt. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “And don’t say because you dreamed it.”

  Will looked at Ed, then put his fingers over his lips with a zipping gesture.

  “You dreamed it?” Ed asked, unable to control his rising temper.

  “Your son isn’t coming back,” Ed said bluntly. “He’s gone. They both are. And even if they did return, what are they going to do? Unless they bring an army, they’re as helpless as we are with our dwindling numbers. Why don’t you try to come up with something that doesn’t rely on dreams or hope, because it’s getting late and our options are running dry.”

  “They are coming back,” Will insisted.

  Ed sighed.

  Their last best hope at defeating the aliens just went full-blown senile.

  **

  Will left the control room and headed down the corridor toward the vending machine.

  Sullivan approached, glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected Will to pop back into the room at any moment. “We have to consider the Hard Reset Protocol.”

  “No,” Ed shook his head. “I’m not giving up hope. Not yet. We still have time to make a decision.”

  “No, sir, we don’t. I saw something just before you and Will came in. But I didn’t want to say anything until I showed you first.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sullivan went to the monitor, then touched one of the squares and tapped out a sequence of four numbers.

  A moment later, the box widened taking up most of the screen, showing Camera 76, which looked out over the west side of the island’s shore. The footage was 12 hours old, from when it was still light, and showed several dark shapes dotting the water for as far as the camera could capture about one quarter mile out.

  The shapes were moving.

  Toward the island.

  “What are those?” Ed asked.

  “Aliens.”

  Ed turned his head and squinted, his eyes straining for a better look.

  “Holy shit. They’re swimming?”

  “Yes,” Sullivan nodded.

  “There’s gotta be hundreds.”

  “Yes,” Sullivan said. “And that’s just this morning.”

  “Are they coming or going?”

  “Coming,” Sullivan said. “And it looks like they’re gearing up for something big.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 5 — Ryan Olson Part 1

  Dunn, Georgia

  March 31, 2012

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  Lisa turned to Ryan, sitting in the passenger seat of the van, and smiled. They were finally a half mile or so from the compound. She had driven the van faster than Ryan thought possible, for which Ryan was thankful, since that meant much less time wanting to consume her.

  Ryan had spent the trip wanting to tear into Lisa’s flesh, and diving deep inside his mind to monitor and push down the alien urge. He craved the feast of her body, but was even hungrier to get to the compound so he could finally find his wife and daughter.

  Lisa had missed shooting his face off, but only by the fraction of a moment. She had moved her hand at the last second, after she said she’d seen something in his face change. She said suddenly, he didn’t look like a man begging to die, but rather someone with everything to live for.

  Though she missed killing him, the gunshot had come close enough to shatter his eardrums. However, the pain and ringing had lessened in the past 20 minutes, perhaps thanks to his alien side, which seemed to foster fast healing.

  Lisa swung the van into the empty driveway of the compound, then looked over at Ryan. “I’m gonna leave the engine running.”

  “OK,” he said.

  Lisa climbed from the van and Ryan followed, turning his eyes to look anywhere but her back, hating himself for seeing her as easy prey. She pounded on the door for several minutes, though she didn’t have to. Ryan could tell that nobody was inside to answer.

  He cursed himself for not having known for sure if they’d left. He’d been so busy resisting the urges to kill Lisa that he’d not been tuned into The Darkness which had taken control of Charlie. The last he’d seen through the teen’s eyes, he was in the room, talking to the group. He could feel the same lust for death in the Darkness as he felt in himself. But the Darkness was also resisting the urge, for reasons Ryan couldn’t discern. Nor could he count on the Darkness continuing to resist. Perhaps it was playing the long game, waiting for something.

  Ryan tried to reach out and find The Darkness, but was coming up blank.

  “I’m kicking it in, cool?” Lisa said, breaking his focus.

  “Do your worst,” Ryan said. “But I’d check to see if it’s l
ocked first.”

  Lisa said, “Duh,” even though Ryan would’ve bet that her leg was already twitching to go into action.

  The door swung open and Ryan inhaled more of his family’s lingering psychic scent. Not a lot was left, but there was just enough. He closed his eyes, imagining them so wholly that he could almost reach out and touch them. But all that was left was their auroras, echoes of their souls. He may as well have tried to touch a ghost. His heart crushed beneath the weight of his growing sadness.

  Ryan could smell Mary’s protective shield wrapped around their daughter’s heavy terror. Ryan longed to see more of their memories, maybe something specific, but those memories were now dead — dust drifting into a different wind.

  Something stabbed inside Ryan’s mind, sending him to his knees in a scream.

  “You okay?” Lisa looked down, eager to help.

  Ryan swallowed, then said, “Yeah, thanks.” He shook his head, then set his claw against it, rocking it for comfort. “I’m fine, just felt something . . . weird.”

  “You sure?” Lisa’s eyes said she wasn’t, even if Ryan was.

  But he wasn’t fine. Not at all. The pain was gone, but it was replaced with an increased hunger. Ryan wanted to tear Lisa limb from limb, he longed to taste her, and wanted to share her flavor with others like him. The others he was growing closer to by the minute.

  Ryan wanted to join them.

  With so many mutants and aliens around, Ryan could easily find the growing collective. He should just forget about Mary and Paola — it wasn’t like he could enjoy any sort of normal life with them — and feast on Lisa.

  Then he could join his new family.

  No!

  Fuck you, I’m still human!

  The hive in his mind grew worse for its volume. Ryan had to force himself to stand up or else he might not ever get up . . . not as a human, anyway.