Yesterday's Gone: Season Six

by Sean Platt

  Why is it so quiet?

  If Team Boricio had dusted the floor with a bunch of aliens, hybrids, or whatever attacked them, there would be celebration, not silence.

  Maybe they’re being quiet, in case there are aliens lurking.

  Mary realized that she’d left the radio on the windowsill back in the apartment. Just as well, considering she couldn’t risk calling one of the team if they were in hiding. She’d seen countless movies where the woman or child in jeopardy was clutching a ringing phone and broadcasting their location to the enemy.

  She stood at the doorway, afraid to open it.

  Terrified to find a massacre.

  She imagined opening the door only to have her friends mistake her for an alien and blast her to nothing.

  Time seemed to slow, yet Mary realized she had precious little to make an impact if the others were in danger. Hell, the aliens could be dragging them all up to the rooftop now.

  I have to move.

  Now.

  Mary opened the door.

  Her friends weren’t there.

  Several Guardsmen were. Including one to her left. She didn’t see him until the butt of his rifle thunked into her head.

  Oh, fu —

  TO BE CONTINUED …

  YESTERDAY’S GONE

  ::EPISODE 33::

  (THIRD EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)

  “Fates Worse Than Death”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 1 — Emily Roberts

  Emily didn’t remember falling asleep, but she’d never woken to the sound of gunshots.

  She opened her eyes to see lights — too many — aimed at them from every direction. She made out a few Guardsmen uniforms beyond the blur. How many Guardsmen are there? They’d found the rebels and were coming to rescue Emily, or, as Mary had accused earlier, coming to kill everyone else. Maybe both.

  She saw movement to her right. Boricio running out, guns blazing, screaming as he went.

  Then bullets found him, blood streaming in arcs from his flesh, as he staggered, still shooting.

  The others were screaming, either firing their guns or already wounded.

  Emily tried to stand, to wave the Guardsmen off, to let them know she was okay and there was no need to kill the others.

  The sounds of screams became twisted, as if coming from some faraway place as lights exploded around them — pink, purple, and blue, like millions of tiny detonating stars.

  Then the warehouse was gone.

  They were in a long, dark tunnel about twelve feet high and ten feet wide. The others kept firing until they realized they were no longer in danger, or in the warehouse.

  “What happened?” Emily asked.

  Boricio and Lisa both looked down at themselves, their ripped, bloodstained clothes, marveling over their healed wounds. Surely, they would’ve been dead if not for Luca.

  Where’s Luca?

  Emily looked around, pulse racing.

  He wasn’t there.

  “Where’s Luca?” she cried out.

  And then, as if in answer, a burst of more lights among them, forming a floating, glowing bright-blue ball of brilliance.

  Something dark was shrouded in its center, like something about to hatch from an egg. The lights hissed, crackled, then died all at once, dropping the object to the ground.

  A fetal Luca, gasping for air.

  Emily fell to his side and shouted, “Luca can’t breathe!”

  Keenan, Boricio, Barrow, Jevonne, and Lisa all rushed over. Keenan dropped to his knees on the other side of Emily. Luca’s body started shaking, his eyes rolling back, thick white slobber foaming from his mouth.

  “What’s happening?” Emily prayed he wasn’t dying.

  Keenan held him down. “Get the needle!”

  Lisa reached into a black pouch on her belt, retrieved a hypodermic filled with some sort of dark-red liquid.

  Keenan bit the cap off the needle and met Emily’s eyes. “Can you hold his arm still?”

  She nodded then put all her weight on Luca’s frail left arm. His flesh and muscles felt like a bird in her clutch. She was afraid to hold on too tight for fear of snapping his limb but had to apply enough pressure and keep him still.

  But his arm was wildly thrashing, even beneath her weight.

  His legs kicked hard against the ground, and his eyes kept rolling up. More white spittle flew from his mouth.

  Emily couldn’t look.

  She turned her head.

  “Outta the way, Sister.” Boricio shoved her roughly aside.

  Emily fell back, pride wounded.

  Boricio straddled Luca’s frame to stabilize his arm, doing a far better job than Emily. “Go!” he said to Keenan.

  Keenan injected the needle, then both men fell back.

  Luca’s body went limp.

  Emily was sure he was dead.

  She stared at the old boy, waiting for some sign of life. Finally, his chest rose and fell.

  Emily stood. “What happened?”

  Boricio got up, ignoring Emily’s question, and went to Lisa, Barrow, and Jevonne.

  Keenan felt for Luca’s pulse then took off his jacket, balled it up, and put it under Luca’s head as a makeshift pillow. He stood and met Emily’s gaze. “Every time he teleports us, or heals someone, it takes a lot out of him. Sometimes, more than usual.”

  Emily looked down at Luca. He seemed at least ten years older than before. It was hard to believe that this was the same person she’d fallen asleep beside a short while ago. The person who was really a boy, a few years older than she.

  “Is he going to die?”

  Keenan sighed. “We’re all dying. The only question is when.”

  “I mean soon. Is he going to die soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was in the needle?”

  “His blood, from when he was younger. He gave us a few vials, told us to use it if he ever passed out or anything.”

  “That wasn’t passing out. That was a seizure. It was scary. Has he had those before?”

  “Once, yeah,” Keenan said.

  Emily could feel the others looking at her and hear their discussion in whispers. From her peripheral vision, she could see Boricio on his radio, repeatedly shaking his head.

  Emily felt like everyone in the room, except maybe Luca, and possibly Keenan — it was hard to get a read on him — hated her.

  “I’m so sorry.” She tried not to cry while looking down at Luca. “If you all hadn’t saved me, none of this would be happening. You could be home. You wouldn’t be fighting with one another. Luca wouldn’t be so old.”

  Boricio barreled over to them, harsh eyes on Emily.

  “Would you stop with the sorry shit?” He grabbed her by the collar and shoved Emily backward, hard into the tunnel’s wall.

  She yelped as her head hit the concrete.

  “Stop!” Lisa yelled.

  “No, I wanna know how they found us!” Boricio shouted, hot spittle flying in her face. “Did you contact Daddy and rat us out, you little cunt?”

  “No! I told you I couldn’t reach him.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Boricio yelled, his eyes wide like he’d caught her in a lie rather than semantics.

  “Couldn’t, can’t. I haven’t been able to reach him!”

  Boricio leaned in close enough for Emily to see his rage-filled eyes, hear the low growl in his throat, and feel the intensity wafting off his body like a fire threatening to consume them. He hissed, “I don’t fucking believe you!”

  “I swear!”

  “Then how did they find us? Not once, but twice!”

  “I don’t know!”

  A look crossed Boricio’s face as if he remembered something he’d been trying to recall for days.

  He ripped at her collar. “Take off your clothes!”

  “What?” Fear somersaulted in Emily’s gut.

  She pulled away from him, but Boricio grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her back against the wal
l. “I said take off your clothes!”

  Lisa and Keenan ran over, inserting themselves between Boricio and Emily.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Lisa might have grabbed Boricio if Barrow hadn’t put his considerable bulk between them and raised his hands to stop her.

  “She’s got a tracking device on her! That’s the only explanation if she ain’t been chattin’ with Daddy via the Psychic Friends Network!”

  Lisa and Keenan looked at Emily as if considering the charge.

  Keenan turned to Jevonne. “Did anyone check her clothes, or her body, when we processed her?”

  “I dunno.” Jevonne shrugged. “I don’t think we ever properly processed her, what with everything goin’ on at the time. She was dying, remember? Luca was healing her, then you all questioned her, but I don’t think anyone ever checked her fully.”

  “Jesus Fucking Christ,” Boricio shook his head. “Do I have to manage every crab in the fucking bucket?”

  Lisa stepped between Boricio and Emily. “I got it. Go cool off before you blow a gasket.”

  Boricio shook his head then walked off with Keenan.

  “Come on, let’s find somewhere to look you over,” Lisa said, her voice far gentler than it had been.

  They tunnel was dark, but not pitch black. Someone had lined blue lights along the ceiling. Emily wasn’t sure how they were charged, nor did she ask. “What is this place?” she said instead.

  Lisa looked at her for a long moment but didn’t respond.

  “Oh, you think I’m a rat, too, eh? Think if you tell me where we’re hiding, more people will show up?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Let’s check you out over here, okay?”

  Emily felt horrible for what had happened to them, and to Luca, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat indignant that she was still a suspect. Part of her wanted to go back and yell at Boricio, maybe take it out on Lisa. Screw you for not trusting me!

  But Emily kept her mouth shut.

  She could feel their fear, palpable in her thoughts, rolling off their auras in black and red waves. She’d considered trying to enter their heads, maybe to see if any of them believed her innocence. But Emily couldn’t risk the odds of someone catching her snooping. They weren’t regular people. They all had some of Luca’s Light inside them, and because of that, they might be more likely to catch her spying. And if they didn’t trust her now, they certainly wouldn’t if they found her snooping in their thoughts. She’d be as a good as dead.

  “I need you to get undressed in front of me. Will that be a problem?”

  Yes, it was a problem! Emily hadn’t been naked in front of anyone since she was five or six, and that had been in front of her parents, not a stranger. Not with men so close by. She felt hyperaware of her body, and her awkward feelings about it. She did not want to disrobe in front of these people, even if it was just the woman, Lisa.

  Suddenly, Emily longed to be back on The Island, even with all the aliens. Yes, The Island was a creepy place where she never felt safe. And yes, she’d been excited when these people took her, even with all the drama. She’d been saved, with no permanent harm done. A part of her even hoped they’d invite her to stay, and they’d all go to this farm they’d been talking about. Maybe they’d live normal lives, like people used to do. Maybe someday she could even convince her father to live with them. Or maybe if he helped them do whatever they planned to do on The Island, they’d invite them both to stay.

  But now everyone hated her.

  And Luca might be dying.

  And she was being asked to strip in a dark, cold tunnel.

  It was all Emily could do to keep from breaking down in tears.

  “Do I have to take all my clothes off?”

  “Yes, I need to make sure you don’t have anything on you, or that you don’t try and hide it if you do.”

  Something in Lisa’s tone flipped a switch in Emily.

  She was no longer sad. Now she was angry.

  She took her shirt off and threw it at Lisa.

  She removed her bra and threw that, too.

  Emily continued in a white-hot anger until she was completely naked and had thrown each item of clothing at Lisa as if she were a hamper.

  “There, you happy?” Part of Emily wanted to yell louder, maybe invite the others to the show. But the reality of being naked and cold, with Lisa staring, unfazed by her anger, seemed to cool her, made her realize the danger of inviting others to come look. The last thing Emily wanted was for boys, let alone grown men, to see her naked.

  She felt vulnerable and threw her hands over her privates.

  She watched Lisa run her fingers over every inch of clothing, feeling for something she obviously didn’t find.

  Lisa dropped the clothes to the ground then approached Emily, too fast for comfort.

  For a moment, Emily was sure the woman would hit her, in retaliation for throwing her clothes.

  Instead, she said, “Can you please turn around and pull your hair up?”

  Emily did as instructed, her stomach churning.

  Lisa grabbed a small flashlight from her pouch and ran it over the back of Emily’s neck. “Did any doctor do anything to you before the trip?”

  “Well, yeah, they put some antivirus thing in me, which they said would keep us safe from any infection from The Wastelands.”

  “Where did they put this?”

  “My shoulder.”

  Emily ran her fingers over her left shoulder where there was still a small red lump — still itching, now that she thought about it.

  Lisa sighed. “Of course.”

  “What?” Emily asked, scared.

  “It’s gotta be a tracking device.”

  “What can we do?”

  Lisa walked away for a moment, leaving Emily cold and alone. She stared at the wall, so if anyone were looking at her, all they saw was her butt.

  Lisa returned with Emily’s shirt.

  Emily started to put it on.

  “No, I want you to bite down on it. Hard.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is gonna hurt,” Lisa said, holding up a large blade.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 2 — Brent Foster

  Brent inched toward Teagan, who herself had moved closer to the front of the container to try and talk with the young mother and daughter across from them in the darkness. But every time Brent stood up or started to slide over, Ben wrapped himself tighter around Brent, anchoring him in place.

  It took Teagan a while to get the woman talking. For the longest time, her prompts were met with empty eyes, a vacant expression, and fearful shakes of her head, barely visible in the container’s stingy light. Finally, she seemed to break and began speaking to Teagan in terrified whispers that Brent couldn’t quite hear, especially above the old man’s sporadic coughs. He needed to get closer, to learn as much as he could about this place.

  Brent leaned down and kissed his son on the cheek. He whispered, “I’m only going a few feet away, and you can come with me if you want. I need to speak with Teagan. And you can be closer to Becca.”

  “I don’t want to move.” Ben pointed. “And they’re closer to the door.”

  “You can come with me or stay here, but I have to go.”

  Brent stood, and Ben let go.

  Brent took four steps to his right, his son following like a shadow. Once he was beside Becca, to Teagan’s left, he sat. Ben did the same.

  Teagan and the young woman stopped talking. The woman looked among the three of them furtively. Brent said nothing, waiting for Teagan to speak, maybe make an introduction.

  She turned to Brent and nodded toward the woman and the girl. “This is Meghan and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Lara. They were brought in late last night. She’s as scared as we are, and might know even less than we do. She doesn’t want to talk because she says there was someone who wouldn’t shut up when she got here last night. The guards came in yelling about ‘bad things happening to people who
didn’t know how to keep their traps closed.’”

  Brent turned to the woman and tried his best smile. “Hi, Meghan. I’m Brent.” He looked over to his shadow. “And this is my son, Ben.”

  She stared at Brent and said nothing.

  He said, “Can you tell us anything that might help us find a way out of here?”

  Meghan shook her head and looked at the doors, as if a guard might be standing just inside, watching them. The front of the container was just dark enough to be hiding someone, Brent supposed.

  Brent kept trying. “Where did you come from?”

  She swallowed then said, “Las Orillas. We were heading up into Alto Verde, thinking we might find a full pantry in one of those big homes.” She paused then added, “That’s where Teagan said you were all coming from?”

  “It was,” Brent nodded. “We were heading to Las Orillas when we were attacked.” He paused, deciding not to relive the horror, then said, “Do you know what’s going on here? Or what’s in the other three containers?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea … but there are noises.”

  “Noises?”

  “Noises,” she whispered then pursed her lips tight.

  Brent turned to the room and whispered, “Hey. Does anyone know what this place is, or what they’re going to do with us?”

  Nobody spoke.

  Brent ran his eyes along the bar on the other side, past the woman and her daughter, past the old man, and then to his side, where the man who looked like a bandit was still looking passed out. No one looked back, all of them either looking down at nothing, sleeping, or pretending to sleep. He couldn’t tell if any of their eyes were even open. Brent wasn’t sure if they were afraid to speak, or broken and unable.

  “Come on,” Brent said, his voice getting louder, “Nobody knows anything? None of you are willing to talk?”

  Sammy came over and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

  The old man opened his mouth, but rather than speaking he began to violently cough. His coughing turned to hacking. Minutes later, he managed to get a few cracked sentences to leave his dry-sounding throat.