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

by Platt, Sean

  The living room felt emptier than it was. He saw signs of recent life — a bowl of batter and a couple of half-eaten pancakes on the bar — but not a single breath was in the house.

  Mary and Paola’s scents, physical and psychic, were strongest, at least until Ryan smelled Charlie’s.

  Except Charlie’s trail wasn’t a scent; it was more like a broadcast.

  Charlie had what he’d come for, but decided he wanted more.

  Another sudden flicker — no, a flash — inside Ryan’s mind sent him back to his knees. It was something horrible, something crowding his mind. Something from outside. They were coming. The dark horde sensed them and was coming.

  “We have to go,” Ryan said, trying to stand. “We have to follow them and get to Black Island immediately.”

  Ryan tried to stand while Lisa stood openmouthed and unsure.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Ryan nodded. “Yes, but we’ve gotta go.”

  Lisa didn’t question him, just looked at him while trying not to stare, grazing her eyes up and along his mutated body, while Ryan tried to set his eyes anywhere but on his potential meal.

  Lisa swallowed, then said, “Okay,” and headed for the front door.

  Ryan scrambled to his feet, screamed, “No!” then ran toward Lisa as she was halfway through the threshold. He reached out, his claw grabbing the edge of her shirt and pulling her back toward him. The fabric tore with a loud RIP! as Ryan fell hard to his bottom and Lisa fell on top of him.

  She screamed, then quickly crawled away backward and scurried to her feet.

  Once standing, Lisa screamed, “What the fuck!” while kicking at Ryan and taking a step to the side, away from the door.

  “I’m not trying to hurt you,” Ryan said, calmly waving his claw in front of his face to shield himself from Lisa’s feet. He stood, then said, “I swear,” though the drool dripping from his hungry maw probably made him hard to believe. He added, “I’m trying to help you.”

  Lisa took another several steps back, then turned toward the door, closed it, and spun back toward Ryan. “Want to tell me what the fuck is up then?”

  Ryan thought it was funny, how he wanted to save Lisa’s life, and take it from her at the same time. He wondered which of his two sides would be most likely to win, and how much longer it would be before he found out for certain. But whatever gallows humor he found in his condition ended immediately when he followed the thoughts to their next logical destination — what happens when I find my family? Can I protect them? Or will I endanger them?

  “What the hell’s happening,” Lisa repeated, her voice shaking behind.

  Ryan walked to the door and said, “I’ll show you. But you have to stay behind me, okay?” Lisa nodded, and he opened the door, slowly stepping through the threshold with Lisa a half-step behind.

  On the other side of the door, Lisa gasped.

  There were at least 15 mutants and aliens standing between the gate and the house, with four on either side of the van.

  “Will we be okay?” she whispered, raising her gun.

  “Don’t shoot,” he said. “Let’s just walk real slow.”

  Lisa wrapped her arm around his waist, as if he could protect her, and like he wasn’t thinking the same thing they were.

  “Yes,” he said. “But we have to get to the van. Once we get to the van, we’ll be safe. I promise.”

  “Should we run?” she asked.

  “No,” Ryan shook his head and took a tentative step forward. They were about six feet away from the van. Two mutants stood to the right. Two to the left. They’d have to get close to them in order to get in the van. That’s when shit would get tricky. He turned to Lisa and said, “Don’t make any quick moves unless they attack. Just keep doing what we’re doing, we’re almost there.”

  He and Lisa crept toward the van, as the two aliens on either side swayed on their feet, waiting for the one that was sort of like them and the one who was nothing like them at all to make a move. Ryan wasn’t sure if they would strike or not. Even they seemed confused as to what to do. Ryan’s alienness had taken a simple decision, whether to kill the girl, and made it difficult. They were hive mind and did not fuck with the hive thought.

  And Ryan was thinking: Do not hurt her. She is with me.

  They were almost to the front of the van, with maybe four steps to go on either side doors, when the stabbing pain returned to cripple Ryan. He hunched over, hands clutching his aching skull, crushed by the weight of the hive suddenly inside his mind.

  Ryan screamed, trying to drive the clicking and beeping hive thoughts from his head.

  Stop it, stop it! GET OUT!!

  Ryan couldn’t think straight, so Lisa thought for him.

  He saw nothing, but heard four shots — two sets separated by a heartbeat’s worth of silence, then two thuds followed by a chorus of shrieks. And he felt intense pain in his chest and head, where he figured the gunshots hit the creatures.

  Lisa pulled Ryan to his feet, then dragged him the four remaining steps, sliding the van’s side door open with one hand, throwing him inside with the other, and climbing in behind him, then locking the door as the first alien pounded its body hard against the metal.

  She climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Ryan in a moaning puddle at the back.

  “Fuck yeah,” she said, then threw the van into reverse and rolled over a pair of rampaging aliens.

  “Now!” Ryan screamed. “Get us out of here and out to Black Island before we’re overrun.”

  “You think I’m a fucking idiot?” Lisa screamed back, pulling the van from the compound.

  “Well,” he said. “You are traveling with me.”

  Lisa said something else, but Ryan couldn’t hear it. His head was swimming — flashes of Mary and Paola, on their way to Black Island with everyone else as the Darkness inside Charlie patiently waited to end them.

  The Darkness waited because It had a new goal.

  “It wants the vial,” Ryan said, suddenly knowing for certain, and wondering how long it would be before he would finally kill Lisa and join the Darkness.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 6 — Brent Foster Part 1

  East Hampton, New York

  East Hampton Docks

  April 2, 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  Their vans arrived as the last of the purple twilight surrendered to black, pulling up to the East Hampton Docks that were as dark as the desolate cities.

  Lights from the ferry flickered in the distance, a few hundred yards offshore. Further out, Brent could see the barely-there outline of Black Island, a dark smudge you’d miss if you didn’t know where to look.

  Boricio Bishop, Ed, and Brent took one van, while Boricio Wolfe, Mary, Paola, Luca, Charlie, and Callie followed in the other. Brent was glad to not have been stuck in the van with Wolfe, who may have been the most arrogant person he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Bishop was far less crude and maybe two percent as terrifying, despite his bald head, scarred face, and pirate’s eye patch.

  “Is the ferry just sitting out there?” Brent whispered so that his voice would not carry to whatever might be lurking in the darkness. “Are we gonna have to wait for the morning?”

  “A Guardsman should be stationed on shore,” Ed said, looking up the dark street and into the driver’s side mirror.

  Apart from the houses to the left, and a restaurant along the boardwalk to the right, there wasn’t anything or anyone else but them on the dark street.

  “And you don’t have a radio, do you?” Bishop said.

  “No,” Ed shook his head.

  A salty breeze gusted through the shattered passenger window, and carried the sound of the surf with it. Other than the ocean, and the sound of the van’s low purr, they heard nothing but eerie silence.

  That silence lasted a moment, then was shattered by the blasting of a horn and flashing of headlights behind them.

  “What the fuck?!
Is that asshole trying to get us killed?” Bishop shouted as he hopped from the van, pistol in hand.

  Ed followed, rifle ready.

  Brent stepped out of the van, holding his pistol, hoping he wouldn’t need it, and remembering how he’d frozen in the van when an infected Jung attacked.

  Bishop raced to the second van as Boricio Wolfe hopped from the passenger side and yelled, “Where the fuck’s our welcoming committee, Captain?”

  “Shut the hell up, you’ll draw the aliens!” Bishop yelled at his revolting twin.

  “Let ‘em come,” Wolfe said, full of machismo and idiot one-liners.

  Brent looked at Ed and rolled his eyes.

  Suddenly, another voice called out, coming from behind them, “Drop the weapons and down on your knees!”

  Brent turned to see two Guardsmen aiming assault rifles and lights at them.

  Ed turned to face them, placed his gun on the street, then stepped into their light, and said, “Stand down, I’m Guardsman! Commander Edward Keenan — returning from special assignment.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the Guardsmen slowly approached the group, getting a closer look before lowering their guns.

  “Sorry, Commander,” said the one on the right.

  Ed nodded, then, “What’s happening? Why is the ferry out there?”

  “The island is on lockdown. Two infected subjects have broken free from the Facility.”

  “Hold on,” Ed said, waving for Bishop to join them. “This is Boricio Bishop, Will Bishop’s son, who I was tasked with bringing back here. Please start from the beginning.”

  “The island is on lockdown. Two infected subjects broke out of the Facility and have infected, and taken control of, several Guardsmen and civilians. We believe Dr. Williams may be involved in the breakout. We evacuated one group of people to the mainland; they’re harbored back in the restaurant, but when we went back for more, several of the infected were waiting, blocking access to the docks. It’s like they’re working together.”

  “What’s the status of Keenan and Will Bishop?” Ed asked.

  “They’re secure in the Facility, along with some others.”

  “What about my brother, Luca?” Bishop said.

  “Luca?” the Guardsman said, his face confused. “Oh, the kid. No, no word on him. We’ve got his picture and have been told to keep a lookout, but no one’s reported anything.”

  Brent started to ask about Jane and Emily, but Ed cut him off, asking the Guardsmen, “You have a radio? I need you to get Keenan on the line.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Guardsman nodded, then handed him the two-way radio.

  A gunshot split the moment of silence in the moment that Ed was taking the radio into his hand.

  Brent spun around to see the girl, Paola, now out of the other van, firing her pistol a second time. Fifty yards off, coming out of the very house Brent and Luis had stayed in a lifetime ago — the one with the car through the hole in the wall — an alien fell to the ground.

  Another five — aliens and mutants both, though they looked more or less the same the further they were into their mutations — charged toward them, shrieking and clicking.

  Wolfe fired next, dropping two aliens in two shots. Callie and Mary stepped forward, both firing. Charlie, looked down at his pistol, clearly confused, then lifted and fired at the aliens, as well. Brent wasn’t sure whose shots hit and whose missed, but they’d killed the last of the aliens before Charlie even raised his gun. At least that’s what Brent thought in the following silence, as their eyes passed in a circle of congratulatory relief.

  A sudden shriek from Paola ended the quiet.

  More aliens poured into the street from the south and west. At least a hundred appeared, likely more, all moving slowly as though trying to untangle their next move — or waiting for instructions.

  “Run!” someone yelled.

  “This way!” Ed shouted, pointing toward the Boardwalk Diner & Cafe, where one of the Guardsmen who greeted them was already banging on a corrugated metal sheet covering the entrance. Brent saw that all the windows and doors were shuttered in metal sheets — a shelter they must’ve set up before they started their evacuation, since he didn’t recall seeing it the first time he’d been to the docks.

  Paola started shooting at the aliens as if her gun had infinite ammo. But her shots only angered the aliens. They started moving faster and with a bit more clarity, shrieking and clicking. Mary, sensing her daughter’s danger, spun around and joined the girl in shooting the aliens.

  Wolfe appeared between them, yelling, “Come on! We can’t shoot them all!”

  They turned, then sprinted toward the restaurant, as Brent and Ed helped assure Luca would make it.

  Once they were all inside the restaurant, a Guardsman slammed the door behind them, then locked it by sliding a bar into a metal brace, attached to the inside of the door, wedged against either side of the door frame. The dining hall was dimly lit by several portable lanterns, cloaking most of the 40 or so people in shadows.

  Brent expected the aliens to rush the building to try and break in, but only quiet followed. As if they’d decided not to pursue, or perhaps had already tried to breach the barrier before but had no luck. Maybe, Brent thought with a sick in his stomach, they’re just waiting us out.

  Brent turned and scoured the room, searching for Jane and Emily. Men, women, and a few kids sat at tables scattered around the restaurant, huddled together in separate groups of two, three, and up to five. Some were eating, but most were simply speaking in whispers, perhaps discussing what might happen next.

  Not able to tell who was who among the shadows, Brent broke from his group and began to move through the room to get a closer look, feeling as if every eye was either on him or his companions. He saw a few familiar faces from the island, but no one he really knew.

  Brent looked back at his group and saw both Boricios and Ed speaking with a pair of Guardsmen, with Mary and Paola beside them. Mary had her arms around her daughter, but her attention was fixed on the conversation between the Guardsmen, Ed, and the semi-matching set of Boricios.

  Brent looked around again, sighing when he didn’t see either Jane or Emily.

  He hoped they were okay, and wanted more than ever to get back to the island — not just to get home, but because he wanted to see them, and make sure they were safe. Brent was surprised to realize how much he cared.

  “Mr. Brent,” a young girl’s voice called from across the room.

  He turned, heart swelling as he saw Emily racing toward him, her pigtails bouncing on top of her head. She was maybe three feet away when she leapt into Brent’s arms. He caught her, then pulled her into a giant hug. As he hugged Emily, Brent scanned the room for Jane, but didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Where’s your mommy?” Brent asked.

  “Mommy wasn’t feeling well,” Emily said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was sick and they wouldn’t let her come on the boat.”

  Brent set Emily on the floor, then met her eyes, “What happened?”

  “Some men came to the house and told us to get ready. They said we had to go, then they ran a blue light over us like they did that day we all came over. Mommy’s light beeped, and they said she had to go back inside the house, and then they took me.”

  Brent’s heart was at full gallop. He tried to catch his breath and not look like he was a half-minute from a freakout.

  “Then what?”

  “Mommy said not to worry. She was crying, and one of the men stayed with her to help her get better. She said that everything would be okay, I should go with the men, and that she’d see me later.”

  Oh God, she’s dead, and Emily doesn’t even know it.

  Brent felt sick, seconds from vomit, but he had to keep his composure.

  Emily’s eyes began to well with tears as she looked up at Brent. “What’s wrong?” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Can you point out the man
who brought you here?”

  Emily looked around the room, then pointed to an impossibly tall, barrel-chested Guardsman with a red beard and curly red hair standing next to the front door. Brent remembered seeing him a few times, a tough Irish man named Morris. Brent remembered the name easily since the guy was a redhead, like Morris The Cat from the 9Lives commercials.

  “Wait right here, okay, Honey?” Brent said, kissing Emily on the top of her head.

  “Okay, Mr. Brent.”

  Brent stood, swallowed his rising acid, then headed toward Morris.

  Morris was peering out a slit in the door, keeping watch.

  “Excuse me,” Brent said.

  Morris turned, and with seemingly no recognition, said, “Yeah?”

  “You see that little girl over there that you brought in?” Brent nodded toward Emily. She was staring at them.

  “Yeah, poor thing. You know her?”

  “Friend of the family. What happened to her mom?”

  Morris looked down, then at Emily before looking back at Brent. “She was infected.”

  “And? What does that mean? Emily said someone went into the house after they left, to ‘take care of her.’ Was she brought to the Facility?”

  Morris shook his head, and met Brent’s eyes. He didn’t need to say another word.

  Brent asked anyway. “Did you kill her?”

  “Not me, my partner. The island is on lockdown and orders from above are to kill infected on sight.”

  Brent closed his eyes, to hide the tears and squelch his rising tide of anger.

  “Why?” Brent asked.

  “Excuse me?” Morris asked, clearly annoyed that someone would deign to question the ‘orders from above.’

  “Why are they killing people on sight? I thought they, I thought we, were bringing the sick to Level Seven.”

  “Not when there’s a lockdown.” The Guardsmen shook his head. “Two of the infected escaped, and infection is spreading fast. It’s them or us, and no time or space to set anyone aside now for a maybe cure later.”

  “That little girl thinks her mom is still alive. That she’s gonna see her again!” Brent was unable to control the swell inside his voice. He could feel the eyes multiply on his back as his sudden volume made him the most popular person in the room.