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

by Platt, Sean

  Something inside Boricio felt like it was cracking.

  Ryan turned to the Brady Bunch. “I was being held in Black Mountain, like Charlie. I saw some sort of Darkness — the same Darkness that’s controlling all the creatures,” he looked down, “including me, sorta.”

  Ryan shook his head, then turned back to stare the Bunch in the eyes. “I saw The Darkness go inside Charlie, and then he just started killing people on his way out of The Mountain. It’s the same Darkness that had been inside the Prophet and John before that.”

  “Wait a second, how do you know them?” Mary asked.

  “I’ve seen what It sees. It wants to kill you all, starting with Luca. And then It wants the vial.”

  Before Nerdy Die Hard, and the rest of Team Boricio could turn their guns on Charlie, the boy with the monster inside him suddenly wrestled Callie’s gun from her hand, pushed her three feet from him, then trained his gun on the back of her head. “No one come near me,” he said, his voice somehow . . . different. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if you continue to force my hand.”

  Scary Charlie half-smiled at Callie. Boricio almost winced when he did.

  Charlie turned to The Bunch, his voice growing soft, then said, “You’re not gonna actually believe this fucking freak are you? Look at him, he’s obviously sick!” Charlie swallowed, then turned to Callie. “You believe me, right, Callie? You know I love you. You’re the only reason my heart keeps beating.”

  That shit sounded as phony as the flavors at Applebee’s. Callie must’ve thought so too. She looked Charlie in the eyes, held his gaze for a second, but then stumbled back a step, then two. Scary Charlie suddenly growled, then lurched forward and reached out a hand, smacking Callie so hard across the face that she flew back and fell onto the road.

  She screamed and Charlie roared — a horrible, screeching bellow of rage.

  Maybe a tantrum; definitely a summons.

  The area all around them erupted with swarms of monstrosities, all charging toward them in an elegant explosion of perfect chaos.

  “Well, fuck a duck, son,” Boricio said, “looks like you just screwed the pooch.” He raised his gun to clear Scary Charlie’s head from his body, but Scary Charlie was faster, ducking beneath Boricio’s aim and flying toward him, taking him down at the waist.

  Boricio growled like a wolf as the gun flew from his hand and skidded across the dirt road.

  Boricio punched, clawed, kicked, and tumbled in battle with Scary Charlie as the end of everything erupted all around them.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 11 — Ryan Olson Part 2

  Black Island, New York

  April 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  The crazy version of Boricio was exactly that — a crazed ball of raging insanity as he wrestled the Darkness-infected Charlie to the ground.

  The Darkness should have easily finished Crazy Boricio off, but the crazy bastard managed to get It to retreat into the shadows instead, where it crouched and cried with a horrible series of terrible screams, calling for alien reinforcements with an urgency that Ryan could clearly feel in his head and body.

  KILL HIM!! the Darkness screamed.

  Charlie was only off of Crazy Boricio for a few seconds before an especially large mutant took his place. The mutant that should have shredded Crazy Boricio to nothing ended up as a pile of nothing itself after a minute spent at the hands of the man’s rage and blade.

  Ryan turned to Mary and Paola. So much to say and no time to say it. “Stay safe so we can get through this. I promise I’ll explain everything.” He pointed toward the relative safety of the trucks.

  “No,” Mary shook her head. “We’re fighting too.” She lifted her pistol for Ryan to see, then Paola did the same.

  “We’re trained,” Paola said. “And I fixed my jammed gun all by myself!”

  Ryan could tell by their eyes. NO wasn’t an option, and he hadn’t earned the right to insist. He wasn’t sure how many of the mutants were already surrounding them, or how many more were approaching, and while he tried to see the answer in his mind, the truth was as blurry as the island’s gnarled shadows.

  “Okay,” Ryan said, as though permission mattered. His girls were already firing into the dark, bullets slamming into their targets with a horrible squishing.

  Ryan roared, then charged forward toward a cluster coming at them, shredding aliens with a crazed blend of alien intensity, human cunning, and a father’s need to protect his wife and child.

  Ryan continued to drop creature upon creature, as the dark hordes continued to close in around them. Both Boricios were out of bullets and fighting beside one another, Bald Boricio using a machete and Crazy Boricio using a knife. Ed still had plenty of rounds, and was taking aliens down one carefully placed burst of gunfire at a time. Mary and Paola stood back to back, firing only at the creatures actually coming toward them, though they were hitting their marks and dropping every one, with Ryan shocked by the accuracy of their aim. Sullivan rotated in small circles, firing into the sound of the gnashing aliens.

  The girl who was threatened by Charlie showed no fear on her face, though it was twisted with rage as she stared into the shadows, probably searching for Charlie, likely wanting to see him dead as much as Ryan wanted to see his family safe. She finally growled, then ran into the shadows of the forest.

  Ryan was surrounded by a trio of aliens, quickly closing in around him. He raised his claw and hand as the largest of the three creatures brought him hard to the ground. Ryan gnashed and raged and screamed and bucked his body hard against the ground, thrashing about as he tried to throw the mounting aliens from his slippery body.

  Ryan’s world was quickly fading to dark as another pair of aliens joined the trio.

  He was as good as dead.

  Ryan squeezed his eyes and twisted his head, swaying his body as he tried to grab a final glimpse of his girls.

  The first of the five aliens fell, quickly followed by a second.

  Crazy Boricio screamed, “Come and get me, you slippery soul-eating fucks!”

  The alien swiped at Crazy Boricio, its claw connecting with Boricio’s arm and spraying a jet of crimson, which rained across the sky and splattered Ryan’s still mostly human face.

  Bald Boricio joined him, screaming just as loud, though nowhere near as crazy, while waving some sort of giant stick.

  Ryan slipped from the bottom of the huddle and saw Mary with an alien charging toward her. She raised her gun, but the alien slapped the pistol from her hand. Paola raised her gun and pulled the trigger but the gun only mocked her with an empty clicking.

  Ryan charged forward, closing the distance in less than two seconds, thrusting his claw deep into the alien’s torso, then twisted the blade inside the creature’s body, pulling the alien’s still beating ebony heart from its body, then throwing it into the darkness with a wailing bellow.

  Mary screamed, terrified, then swallowed her fear and ran toward Ryan. “Thank you,” she cried out, hugging him.

  He looked around. Aliens were everywhere, circling them at a bit of a distance instead of attacking, as if they seemed to be moving with less urgency. The hive buzzed with discord in his mind, and there was nothing Ryan could do to filter through the countless lines of chaos.

  The aliens seemed suddenly confused and Ryan could feel something interfering with their commands from the Darkness. He looked around, but couldn’t discern the source.

  Charlie was gone, and his minions had stopped attacking, but at the same time, they weren’t leaving. The aliens numbered in the hundreds, surrounding them on all sides.

  Ryan looked around at Mary’s companions. They were still alive, but not for much longer. Ryan had heard enough empty clicking, and had seen enough discarded guns, to know they were out of bullets. Everyone was covered in blood, and the bright crimson with only shadows of black said most of the blood was human. They gathered between the trucks with two old men in the back seat of one of the
trucks. Ryan recognized one of the men from Charlie’s vision as Luca — their last true hope.

  Ryan didn’t think the old man looked like much of a hope, however.

  A man with glasses cried out, “Keenan!” running toward one of the fallen men, 30 yards away from the others.

  Keenan was lying in a pool of quickly spreading blood beneath him, “Go, Sullivan,” he said, his voice frail. “Get Luca to the house. And take this.”

  Ed pulled a glowing orange ball from his tactical jacket, then handed the ball to Sullivan as the two Boricios ran over to join them.

  “If you can’t get Luca to the house, or if that monster makes it there first, use it.”

  Sullivan, his face lit from below by the orange light, swallowed as Ed sputtered through his final breaths.

  Ryan asked, “What is that?” nodding toward the orange ball.

  Sullivan said, “The end of this island.”

  Ed coughed up blood, then stopped moving, eyes staring at the darkness above.

  Sullivan closed his eyes, seeming to whisper a prayer.

  Ryan didn’t think anyone was gonna answer, though.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 12 — Callie Thompson

  Black Island, New York

  April 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  Callie stood up as the madness broke out all around them.

  She couldn’t believe Charlie had smacked her. She was pissed, but more than that, she was afraid. She knew that Charlie would never do that to her. There was something inside him. And that Something was after the same thing they’d come to the island for — the vial.

  She looked around, surveying the scene. She saw him slipping into the darkness of the woods on the way to Will’s house. He must’ve taken off while everyone was distracted. She could stay and help the others fight, but she didn’t think she’d make that much of a difference.

  But if nobody had even noticed Charlie was gone, then that meant nobody else could stop him— which meant she had to.

  Callie scooped up her gun and chased Charlie. He was about 80 yards or so ahead of her, barely a blip of pale flesh in the black forest, but he was walking, not running, so she thought she might be able to catch him — so long as no aliens got in her way.

  Charlie reached the backyard of a two-story home, set in the woods, its front facing the ocean beyond, which she could hear even from this distance and above the gunfire behind her. Charlie bashed in a sliding glass door and stepped inside the house.

  Shit! Shit!

  Callie ran faster, certain that as she drew closer to the backyard, an alien would surface from nowhere and kill her progress. Even if she were able to shoot the alien, or aliens, there was a damned good chance the gunshot would alert Charlie to her proximity, which would definitely speed him up.

  I can’t let him get the vial.

  Callie breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the back yard. She peered into the dark house, unable to see anything. She hesitated before stepping into the house. Since it was so dark, Charlie, or the evil inside him, was at an obvious advantage.

  Callie closed her eyes as she stepped inside, to better balance the difference between the moonlit night and the pitch black house. She opened her eyes, and in the moonlight spilling through the open windows, was able to make out the rough shapes of furniture and a stairway.

  No sign of Charlie.

  Callie inched forward, gun held in front of her.

  She wasn’t sure if she should hold the gun straight out, like she was, or more at a downward angle like she’d seen on The Shield. She wondered if holding the gun straight out was an open invitation for Charlie to knock it from her hand.

  Callie heard a loud bang from upstairs. Then another; the sound of furniture being tossed around.

  Is he looking for it? Is it not in the moon?

  What if it’s not here?

  Would that be good or bad?

  She headed to the stairway hoping like hell Boricio and the others could find her, and would show up soon. Now that she was close to catching Charlie, she had no idea what she would do.

  I’m not gonna shoot him, am I? It’s Charlie!

  But what am I gonna do? TALK HIM into handing the vial over?

  What the hell am I thinking?

  Do not go up the stairs.

  Just wait.

  Boricio and everyone will show up.

  Just.

  Wait.

  Callie waited, looking out the rear window, but she saw nothing but black.

  Damn it.

  Callie started climbing the stairs.

  Slowly — One.

  Step.

  At.

  A.

  Time.

  Another loud crash of furniture made Callie jump, and she nearly fired her gun. She grabbed the railing, breathing relief for not pulling the trigger.

  The movement upstairs suddenly stopped.

  Shit, It heard me!

  Silence stretched as Callie kept herself frozen, gun aimed up the stairs, waiting, and praying that Charlie wouldn’t show his face.

  “I hear your heartbeat,” Charlie said in a voice that was only his because it came from his throat. The music of his speech was horrible; void of emotion.

  “Leave now or I will kill you,” he said.

  Callie swallowed, her heart threatening to burst from her chest.

  Should I say something?

  Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here. Maybe he’s just testing.

  “Leave. Now, Callie.”

  She opened her mouth, and at first, could barely speak. Finally, she found her voice, cracked and frightened. “No! You leave! Whatever you are, leave Charlie!”

  “No. I rather like this body. The best I’ve had so far.”

  Callie could almost feel the Evil’s sneer.

  She cried out as she heard footsteps above her, approaching the stairway.

  “This is your final chance not to die,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll shoot you!” she cried.

  “Shoot me and I’ll go inside you. No problem. I haven’t been inside a woman yet. But you won’t stop me from finding it. Ah . . . what’s this?”

  Callie looked up, certain that he was above her, poised to attack. But he wasn’t. Instead, she heard the sound of something unscrewing. A bright light suddenly illuminated the upper floor and spread to the stairs.

  Oh God, he found it!

  Callie ran up the stairs, forcing herself to ignore every pore in her body, saturated with fear and certainty that she was knee deep in a terrible mistake. She reached the top floor and saw Charlie standing in Luca’s bedroom in front of an open moon globe sitting on his desk.

  The white was blinding, Vegas in one bulb, throwing shadows on the wall behind Charlie who stood over the globe looking down like Golem ready to seize his ‘precious.’

  Callie raised her gun, shouted “Get back!”

  She fired a warning shot out the window behind him.

  Charlie ignored it.

  As he moved toward the globe, the light began to dim.

  He smiled.

  “Ah, you know I’m here, don’t you? You’re ready to become one with Us.”

  Charlie reached down, his hands inches from the vial.

  Callie fired another shot, missing intentionally for the second time.

  Charlie looked up. This time she had his attention. Her eyes met his — dark and blacker than miles of nothingness.

  “Please,” she cried. “Don’t make me shoot you. Please. Just wait for Luca. He can heal you with the vial. He can save you.”

  Callie wasn’t sure he could, but she had nothing else to try and lure whatever part of Charlie might still be awake inside the monster.

  Charlie stepped toward her. His head lashed violently to the left, then to the right, whipping back and forth so fast, it looked as if he was somehow moving in fast forward.

  Charlie fell to his knees, then buried his now still head in his hands.

>   He started to sob, sounding like a scared child.

  Did he get control?

  “Charlie?” she whispered.

  “Callie?” he asked, his voice cracked with fear as he looked up. He sounded more like Charlie than before. The white went back in his eyes as he met her stare, looking up from the floor like a helpless, wounded child.

  “Please, Callie, don’t kill me,” he cried, looking up at her. “I think it’s gone.”

  “Where did it go?” she said, looking around the room, afraid it might make good on Its threat to go into her.

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “But I can’t move.”

  “What’s wrong?” Callie stepped slowly toward him, careful to keep her gun on him, in case he was trying to trick her.

  “I don’t know,” he cried. “I can’t move. And I’m so . . . so cold.”

  His teeth started to chatter as he trembled. The house was cool, not cold. Something must have been happening inside him. Charlie buried his head in his hands, his entire body shaking. He cried, “Please, help me! Help, Callie!”

  She moved forward, not knowing what to do.

  Every alarm in her head was screaming, It’s a trap! It’s a trap.

  But Callie couldn’t ignore the pain in his voice, or his pleading for help. It was Charlie. He was inside with the Evil. She couldn’t ignore that part of him that was fighting to be free.

  “I love you,” he cried, face still buried in his hands. “Please, just hold me.”

  Callie was inches away when something struck her as odd. Something in the tone of his voice.

  “Say it again.”

  “What?” he cried, still shaking.

  “Say you love me.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Something was wrong.

  Callie fell back a step.

  He sensed her retreat and leapt to his feet in an instant, wildly swinging his arm and narrowly missing her face.

  Callie screamed, firing two shots in a row, hitting Charlie right in his face.

  He fell to the ground, his face reduced to red and black gore. Callie stepped back, screaming and crying at once, the gun shaking in her hand.