Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m only here temporarily.”

  Get the hell out of my head!

  The tendrils released him. Sebastian’s momentum sent him sprawling to the ground. He reached up, grabbing his head with massive hands, squeezing his skull as if he could force the tree, its seed, or whatever the hell was inside him to leave.

  Get out of my head!

  “After you deliver me.”

  Deliver you to who?

  “First, I am going to help you.”

  How?

  “Let’s go get that girl.”

  Slum Lord shook his head. I’m not going anywhere like this.

  “You’ll get used to it. Soon you won’t even notice me.”

  He could feel the tree sifting through the layers of his mind.

  Stay out of my memories!

  “I can’t help but see the things you think.”

  I’m not thinking of her.

  “Subconsciously you were. Subconsciously you always are. You can save them. We can save them. But you must let me help you first.”

  Sebastian refused to move. No one could force him to do anything.

  “I’m not forcing you. We’re doing a favor for each other. I’m going to show you where the girl is and allow you to save your sister along with the rest of the vanished. You can be the hero, Sebastian. Not the Slum Lord, not the scapegoat, and not under anybody’s thumb.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I need to deliver something to someone,” repeated the tree. “Someone who can help us with the coming war with the general.”

  “Why not just kill him?”

  “Others will take his place. We must gather our army first. We need to free the children I’ve created — your Touched brothers and sisters. To make sure he doesn’t follow through on his plans … unless you prefer enslavement?”

  Flashes filled his mind of McTaggart rounding up other Alts, putting chains around their necks, and taking them to some underground camp.

  “Is that true?”

  “Do you doubt his capacity for evil? Look at what he wants to do with The Slums.”

  Sebastian nodded. He wasn’t sure if it was eroding his will and overcoming his resistance or if the tree was being forthright and making perfect sense. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Then we shall save that child from Hobarth.”

  Fifty-Four

  Wolf

  Wolf was wandering in Old City, lost and soaked to the bone.

  Fucking horse didn’t know the goddam way.

  Visibility had gone from muddy to mud-caked as clouds kissed the purple haze enough to get a sliver of winking moon. He could see better than most in the dark. Yet one more advantage over the bandit dumb enough to take a kid in front of him.

  The man would have minutes at most before he was dog food. Once Wolf managed to find him, of course.

  The city planners must have been idiots. He stuck mostly to the outskirts, instead of the hedge maze streets, figuring the bandit wouldn’t want to go any deeper into the avenues than he had to, and was likely looking for his first exit out of the place. That meant north, same as Wolf and the merry monks had been headed before the attack.

  He avoided areas with roaming packs of Lost. The bandit would be doing the same. Because unlike Wolf, he wouldn’t be immune.

  He pressed on, wondering where the monks might be, probably off meditating over some tree, or trading reach-arounds and tickling taints.

  Wolf rounded a corner and saw motion at the end of the street. Something moving fast: a horse, turning onto a northbound road.

  Got ya, fucker!

  He slapped his galloping glue in its neck and growled, “Git,” now grinning ear to ear, riding behind the bandit while picturing the intricate ways he might dissect the asshole, and thinking it a shame that eyeballs stopped working once you ripped them from their sockets.

  The bandit was out of sight, but his path might as well have been a smear of diarrhea. Wolf followed it easily, rounding another corner before spying the bandit and his prisoner again, just as they were turning eastbound.

  The girl’s body fell from her horse and spilled to the ground.

  Wolf winced — that looked like one hell of a fall.

  The bandit dismounted. But the girl was already on her feet and racing away from the scene in a flurry, impressive speed considering she appeared to be cuffed, and running blind with bag on her head.

  She charged toward a dilapidated Extra Mile Autoparts. A few feet away she somehow anticipated the storefront’s broken window, and the precision leap needed to clear the low wall.

  But the bandit was back on his horse and galloping toward the store.

  So was Wolf.

  The bandit made it to the Extra Mile and dismounted in front of the store. He drew a pair of daggers from sheaths on either side of his waist. Wolf expected him to march into the auto-parts store behind the girl.

  But he was wrong. Instead the bandit spun around and hurled one of the blades. It flew like an arrow and landed in the neck of Wolf’s horse.

  Wolf went to draw his sword as the horse whinnied in agony, crashing forward and spilling him to the ground, the road smashing into his skull with a sickening CRACK!

  The horse lay atop his now broken legs.

  Wolf had managed to hold his sword as he fell, but the pain was excruciating. He lost his grip with a twitch and sent the weapon clattering onto the pavement, just out of reach.

  He grunted and heaved, doing his best to manage the agony and the ringing and the blurring vision through which he could still see the young blond bandit. The kid picked up Wolf’s sword and sauntered toward him. He had an ugly sneer and a face that was begging to get caved in.

  Wolf’s mangled legs were still under the horse, his hair so blood-soaked, it felt like he’d been dunked under water. The wet sensation was nothing compared to the living nightmare spilling into his insides like a bottle of ink onto a blinding white page: Wolf couldn’t feel a thing below his neck, or move his arms or even wiggle his fingers.

  But still he looked up at the bandit with one hell of a shit-eating smile. And at least his mouth was still working. “I thought I recognized you …”

  The bandit paused, blade raised, ready to bury it in his brain. But even if the bandit didn’t believe that this man had seen him before, a box had been opened that he wanted closed ahead of his kill.

  Wolf laughed to stall for time. But really, what could he do? He was a Wolf-in-a-Box at best. A jack-o’-lantern brought to life. Max Headroom, if fuckers still knew who that was.

  Wolf still hadn’t finished the sentence, so the bandit raised his blade again, and again Wolf cried out.

  “That’s it!”

  Another pause, but this one only a flinching. Wolf was about to spit his last words.

  “I knew it would come to me.” Another shit-eating grin. “Last time I saw you was … what? … you couldn’t have been more than four or five.”

  His sword stayed high and ready to strike, but the bandit’s expression was begrudgingly curious. Perhaps even bothered.

  Wolf scrunched his face with a shake of his head. “No, you must’ve been younger. Because I remember you were still sucking on your mama’s titties.” He grinned. “Though, actually, that checks. Your mama was always freaky, especially when—”

  “You have five seconds.”

  “Don’t you get it, kid? I’m trying to tell you something important. You’re chasing a defenseless child in cuffs and with a bag over her head, while standing over an inside-out or upside-down headless horseman, whatever the fuck it is when the horseman only has a head.”

  “Two seconds.”

  “You’re gonna wanna hear this.”

  The bandit glared at him, gritting his teeth. This really was the end of things.

  “Look, all I’m trying to tell you is that I never expected this to happen. At least not like this.”

  “What?” said the bandit, though what
he really meant was, THIS IS YOUR LAST FUCKING CHANCE.

  “Think about this from my perspective. Last time we saw each other, you have your mama’s titties. Time before that, you were still dripping down her leg. She only told me about you after New Daddy was in the picture. And good thing New Daddy dug being a cuck, because our little domestic situation worked out for everyone. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, and this isn’t me just ripping off Star Wars, but I’m your—”

  The bandit kicked Wolf in the jaw to shut him up.

  Then he came in for the kill.

  “HEY!”

  The bandit stopped and turned toward the sound.

  The girl, walking out of Extra Mile without a bag on her head, hands still cuffed in front of her, but now filled with a tire iron.

  The bandit laughed at her. “What ya think you’re gonna do with that?”

  “You killed my friend! I’m gonna kill you, FUCKER!”

  Did Punky just say fucker?

  How totally adorable.

  Rain fell harder. Purple lightning painted the sky.

  The girl screamed as she charged the bandit.

  Wolf’s sword was much longer than her tire iron, so the girl was likely racing to her death if he didn’t intervene.

  But his paralysis didn’t help, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

  The girl screamed as she swung her tire iron.

  She missed and flew forward, legs moving so fast that her body couldn’t keep up. She landed on her knees with a yelp.

  Thunder rumbled like a film score behind the few Lost now straggling into the street, drawn by the fracas.

  The bandit spun, slashing the air as he lopped one of their heads from its shoulders. Another three Lost were already approaching, but he was moving toward the girl.

  “Kill her and you’ll never get your money!”

  The bandit turned around and looked at Wolf, just as his eyes glazed and he started to twitch.

  Shit, shit, shit! He’s going feral.

  The girl was back on her feet.

  “Don’t look at them!” Wolf yelled. “Close your eyes!”

  Ten Lost now surrounded the two of them. The bandit’s twitching grew more violent as he rounded on the girl.

  He dropped his sword, then charged her with hands like claws.

  She swung the tire iron, driving the sharp end straight through his face.

  The bandit fell in a heap.

  She screamed like a banshee, bashing his skull until bits of both it and his brains had coated her dress, arms, and face.

  She turned her feral eyes toward the Lost, then to Wolf.

  He wondered what was a worse death, by horse or by child.

  She came to him, clutching the tire iron, amethyst light on her face making it look as though her eyes were glowing purple.

  Or maybe they are.

  Lightning crashed. Rain poured as if from buckets. Time slowed, then sped up. The girl finally reached him, dropped the iron, and stared down at his body.

  Wolf tried to warn her about the Lost approaching from behind, but he couldn’t speak.

  He was fading fast.

  And then he heard something that Wolf wished he hadn’t — the song of the squid-like monster he’d seen in his mind.

  Its shape drifted in the purple clouds, long tentacles floating loosely behind it in the clouds.

  The girl knelt beside Wolf and touched his face.

  Then he suddenly remembered who he was and how he’d gotten here.

  Just before his descent into an endless void.

  One moment with the girl, then the next he was gone in a …

  —BLINK—

  Fifty-Five

  Olivia

  One moment, it was a normal night with some light rain and a cool breeze. At least as normal as it could be considering her husband had been banished for being a traitor, and she suddenly found herself the town’s mayor. The next moment was pure pandemonium.

  A bandit with burning hands had set a woman on fire and was now shooting flames at other citizens scurrying around the market in meandering lines of flight.

  A soundscape of screaming as the sky lit with hundreds of tiny orange lights confusing Olivia as she sat and stared, bewildered by their beauty.

  Then she realized they were flaming arrows, sent from somewhere beyond the wall to rain on their market.

  “Run!” bellowed a boy, shoving Olivia as he passed her.

  Elijah’s friend, Joe, pushing her under cover of a pavilion’s awning.

  Fire like a hailstorm, hitting people and buildings indiscriminately.

  Screams growing in number and volume.

  Olivia thought of the gun in her safe. She might be able to reach it, but what was the point with only a dozen bullets against an army of invading bandits?

  “Where the hell are the Rangers?” Like Joe would fucking know. “Have you seen my son?”

  “No. I’m looking for my dad. He was playing tonight. Have you seen him?”

  A guitarist whose music she’d heard just before everything went nuts. Olivia looked around, then saw his father, defending an old lady from a bandit with an axe, swinging his guitar.

  She pointed, then Joe ran holding a sword and stepping in to defend both his father and the lady.

  She turned and saw a woman escaping two men.

  One of them knocked her down.

  The other took a hammer to her head.

  Both were laughing like maniacs.

  Fuck! Tears soaked her face. Olivia wanted to help her people, but she too was a victim of this savagery. That was the Rangers’ job, and so far a teenage Cadet was the most she had seen.

  She needed to reach Pascal’s place and find Elijah.

  And then what? Wait for Rangers to save the day?

  She had no idea what to do and, for the first time in her career, she felt like she was maybe in over her head.

  I’ll figure something out, I always do. I just need to find Elijah first.

  She waited for an opening in the crowded street, then ran.

  She spied Pascal’s balcony not even a block away. The lights were off.

  What if they’re not there?

  What if—

  No, I can’t let myself think it.

  She needed to turn left at the street, but there was a pack of screaming men, women, and children running toward her when she got there, with dozens of bandits behind them, waving their weapons in the air.

  One of the bandits, a woman, belted a scream that knocked a family down. Seconds later, she was on the ground, swinging her axe into the father.

  Olivia kept running.

  She turned onto Pascal’s street, and saw several houses on fire.

  Dead bodies littered the roadside.

  She pushed herself to action, racing to his door and banging.

  No answer.

  She tried the doorknob.

  Locked.

  She cried while pounding on the wood, “Val!”

  Footsteps coming quickly at her. A bandit carrying a bat.

  She grabbed the blade in her pocket and raised it.

  But Olivia didn’t need it.

  A crossbow bolt landed in the back of his head and sent him to the ground.

  Captain Stewart and three other Rangers whose names she didn’t know were in the street behind him, decked in full-body armor, two with swords and two with blades and crossbows, including Stewart.

  She’d never been more happy to see the man.

  She ran to him. “Have you seen Elijah?”

  “No. Come with us, we have an underground safe house one street over.”

  The Rangers flanked her as they made their way through the chaotic streets as citizens were slaughtered around them.

  “Can’t you help them?” Olivia asked.

  “You and your son are our priority. Rangers are in the field securing the other council members and helping whoever they can.” Stewart shook his head with apology. “But we can only be in
so many places at once.”

  So that was that.

  Life as Olivia knew it was dead yet again.

  They arrived at the fortified house. McTaggart’s place in the city.

  Four Rangers stood guard outside with another five inside. Seemed like overkill, especially when people needed help.

  But Olivia wasn’t in position to complain. Same for Captain Stewart. This was McTaggart’s show, judging by the way he was barking orders at Rangers when she arrived.

  He was in his living room with the young blonde that had been latched to his arm earlier. Olivia was aware of their relationship, but knew nothing about the woman staring at her coolly now.

  Her smile was fake, purely political. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’m good. I need to find my son.” Then she pushed past the woman and toward McTaggart, interrupting the general’s orders to a pair of Cadets.

  “I need to find Elijah!” she said.

  “Where is he?”

  She thought of his letter telling her not to trust the Rangers. But who was the betrayer among them? The general? Captain Stewart? Someone else? “He went to save Pascal. Have you seen either of them?”

  “No,” McTaggart said, annoyed. “Talk to Monique. I need to coordinate with my team.”

  Her frantic mind was racing with options, but maybe the best thing to do now would be letting the people trained for this do their jobs.

  But she couldn’t just sit by while her people were slaughtered.

  Richmond wasn’t a fighter, but he would be out there fighting, anyway. He did have that in common with his father. Never of them ever backed down.

  A truth that made his affair with Slum Lord all the more surprising. Why had he betrayed his people to sleep with their enemy? He could have found any number of men to fuck in the brothels, or even in Hope Springs. She’d seen the way gay men looked at her husband.

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on the drink after all.”

  Monique led her to the basement, made to look like a tavern.

  How the hell does the general have a nicer place than we do?