Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

  “How does anybody sleep around here?” he asked Rosalita.

  “You get used to it. And we take medicine.”

  They walked to Yugo’s without interference or questioning. Rosalita smiled and waved at many of the passersby.

  “Hi, Rosalita,” they often responded.

  When Sebastian imagined what Hobarth might have done to her, he was surprised the girl wasn’t catatonic. She should be numb or, if not, dying of hurt.

  Was she this resilient or had she faced so many horrors in her short life already that this was just another bump in the road?

  His sister had struggled. What happened hardened her, made her less capable of being happy or loving or trusting anybody. Sebastian had managed to bottle his own abuse. Kept it corked until he eventually learned to thrive on the anger that drove him like a hammerhead onto a nail.

  They turned off the main street and walked along the row of apartments leading to Yugo’s. Sebastian spotted three kids sitting in an alley, glassy-eyed and clinging to half-empty bags of glue.

  One street of despair followed another.

  “Are you happy?” Sebastian asked.

  “Happy that you two saved me? Yes, of course,” Rosalita said. “Thank you.”

  “No, I meant happy to live here?”

  “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to live somewhere else?”

  “My sister said that wishing for impossible things only makes you sad when your wishes don’t come true.”

  Sebastian continued to wonder as they walked: What kind of future was there in this place, or even The Slums? There had to be something better than this. How could people get used to such squalor?

  “People are animals, same as any other life. A bit smarter, and a bit more self-destructive. A few more comforts than their neighbors makes most people happy.”

  No, there has to be more. A way to bring these people out of this. To integrate them into the other cities.

  The tree left Sebastian alone with his sobering thoughts.

  Finally at Yugo’s, the guard said, “Arms out.”

  “I didn’t bring anything.”

  He ignored Slum Lord, patting him down just the same.

  Inside, Rosalita ran to her sister, sitting on the couch next to Yugo, probably getting high on Pillar.

  Maritza smiled, softly crying as she held her sister. She turned to Sebastian. “What did you do to the man who took her?”

  “His head is hanging in Town Square.”

  “Fucker!” Yugo was on his feet, eyes dilated from the drug and pumping his fist in rage. “Who was it?”

  “Hobarth. He took her for himself.”

  “Did he …?” Maritza looked at her sister with quivering lips.

  “It’s okay,” Rosalita said. “He mostly just looked … and did stuff to himself.”

  Slum Lord’s stomach lurched in disgust. He looked at Maritza, barely older than Rosalita, and wondered how long before the child would follow in her older sister’s footsteps, trading sex for money, drugs, and a place to rest her head.

  “We need to speak alone,” said Slum Lord to Yugo.

  He nodded and the girls stood.

  “You need to shower,” Maritza said, then turned and thanked Sebastian again.

  Slum Lord gave her a nod.

  Yugo looked Sebastian up and down, nodding from his spot on the couch.

  “What?” Sebastian asked.

  “You did good. Wasn’t sure I could count on you.”

  “I gave you my word. And … you gave me yours.”

  “That I did,” Yugo agreed. “No more drugs in The Slums.”

  “Let me ask you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you happy?”

  “What you mean, am I happy?”

  “Are you happy here?”

  “What you think? I’m prince of shanty town! I’m a god here. Like you are a lord of The Slums.”

  “But is it good to be a god of a pile of trash?”

  Yugo sat up, leaning forward, brow furrowing. “What you gettin’ at, old man?”

  “Would you rather be king of shit or a peasant in paradise?”

  “I ain’t no peasant.”

  “Don’t you want more for you, or for those girls? How long before Rosalita’s turning tricks?”

  “Watch your mouth! Rosalita’s still innocent.”

  “But for how long? How long can you protect her? How long before someone else comes to claim your throne?”

  “Let a fucker try.” Yugo smiled while rubbing his knuckles.

  Slum Lord shook his head, but instead of admonishing the young man who knew no other life, and had risen against the odds to seize his power and create a better life than others in this hellhole, Sebastian offered the kid a confession.

  “I would trade all of my power and money to get my sister back. I would gladly work in the mines if it meant she was in my life and I could see her smile. I would give anything and everything to know her again.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She disappeared with the others in The Event.”

  “Maybe she’s better off that she ain’t have to see what this world turned into.”

  “Maybe. But what if we could live somewhere else? What if this wasn’t how the world had to be?”

  “The cities look down on us. Hell, even The Slums look down on shanty town. You gonna take us all in? What are we gonna do there? You got jobs, you got enough food to feed us?”

  Sebastian shook his head.

  “That’s what I figured. So, why you dreamin’, man? What’s the point when you keep wakin’ up to the same old life you always had?”

  “I think we find a way to get better,” Sebastian said.

  “How’s that?”

  “I … I don’t know yet, but we can work together, to help our people.”

  “Yeah?” Yugo laughed as he dipped into his pouch of leaves, folded a few, then tucked them under his tongue and offered the pouch to Sebastian.

  Slum Lord politely declined.

  Yugo leaned back, closing his eyes, riding the euphoria.

  If Sebastian didn’t have to deal with Jackie tonight, he would have grabbed his board and rode those waves as well.

  Yugo smiled at him, almost looking like a normal kid instead of some adolescent street thug. “I like you, old man. You a dreamer who refuses to wake up. But … I’m afraid that whatever happiness you think you gonna find ain’t gonna be there once you wake the fuck up.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “I already said I’d stop dealing in your town.”

  “Another favor. One that helps us both.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How many of your men can fight, as in right now?”

  “Fight who?”

  “Jackie and her people. I’m taking control tonight.”

  “Shit.” Yugo grinned. “You ain’t a dreamer, you a revolutionary!”

  Sixty

  Olivia Freeman

  Olivia was walking up the stairs to her bedroom when the drugs they’d slipped her finally began to wear off.

  The half hour or so had been gauze. Only now was she fully emerging. Thinking clearly, Olivia wanted to revolt.

  But if they knew the drug had worn off, they’d likely dose her again. And this time they wouldn’t bother with the pleasantries of slipping it into her drink. A needle would be the least objectionable of the infinite ways they might coerce her.

  She had to play along.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to give them the Registry?” Captain Stewart asked the general.

  Olivia vaguely recalled one of the Rangers saying that the bandits were holding people hostage somewhere in town, and that they’d start killing people every fifteen minutes until the Registry was in their hands.

  “We’ll copy the list and give them a fake one,” McTaggart answered. “Then we’ll get the rest of the Alts on the list and put them somewhere a
way from the bandits.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Olivia kept walking, working to clear her thoughts enough to strategize.

  McTaggart was clearly working with the bandits and Monique was somehow involved. The general had probably organized the attack in an effort to drum up more anti-Alt aggression and perhaps add fuel to the anti-Slums sentiment to convince the populace war was an appropriate answer and The Slums their waiting reward.

  But what was he planning to do with the Alts? Kill them all and eliminate any potential threat?

  Giving him the list would be putting her son’s life at risk, along with every other Alt, many of whom kept their powers secret.

  That’s what they should have done with Elijah. But Olivia had pushed their son to live his life openly, and never in fear. She believed that the anti-Alt hysteria in the early days after The Event would eventually die down. Pascal was an Alt and a beloved member of the Rangers. There were a few other Alts serving as leaders in Hope Springs and other communities. It wasn’t until the Hendrix Incident that people began to fear them again.

  Olivia paused at the bedroom door.

  “What is it?” McTaggart asked.

  “I … what am I looking for?” Olivia slurred, still pretending.

  “The Registry. You said it was in your closet.” Then when she stared back at him blankly: “Under a false floor.”

  Shit. I told them? What the hell?

  What else don’t I remember?

  “Ah.” Olivia nodded and walked toward the closet.

  McTaggart’s eyes were hot upon her.

  She kneeled down and unfastened the floorboard, then moved to the side so he could see the black metal door.

  But so what if he could see? There was no way to get inside the safe without the combination.

  She turned the dial all the wrong ways.

  “Stop fucking around,” McTaggart said.

  “I’m not. My mind is … everything is … I’m having a hard time remembering.”

  The door slammed downstairs.

  “I’ll go see who it is,” Stewart said.

  Then the captain left them alone.

  She wanted to ask him why he had sold out their city. Why he had invited all this death and destruction on his people. She wanted to damn him to hell. But Olivia couldn’t let him know she’d assembled the pieces, not if she hoped to keep the upper hand whenever some grand plan revealed itself.

  “Open it,” he ordered, staring down at her.

  His gloved hand was on the hilt of his sword as if he might be tempted to punish her lack of compliance.

  She turned the dial, again pretending to fumble.

  “I … I can’t remember it. I’m sorry. M-maybe, after this headache goes away it’ll c-come to me. I really d-don’t feel so good … ever since Mo-Monique gave me that wine.”

  “Stop stalling.”

  She heard footsteps, then looked over and saw Elijah and Stewart both standing in the doorway.

  “Look who I found,” the captain said.

  Olivia leapt to her feet, but McTaggart’s hand pressed down on her shoulder. “Open the safe first!”

  “Let go of my mom!” Elijah lurched toward the general with balled fists.

  The captain moved quickly, as if he’d anticipated Elijah’s response.

  “Don’t make me cut you, kid,” Stewart warned with a knife to his throat.

  Elijah froze.

  So did Olivia.

  Seeing her son so close to being killed by a man who served at the highest rank in her city, being led by the traitorous general, boiled her blood.

  She wanted them dead.

  But she had to hold her composure. Act like the slow and intoxicated woman she was supposed to be.

  McTaggart stared at Olivia, then back at Elijah. “There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt here. We need the Registry so we can end this siege before too many innocents die. Now, Olivia, please … open the fucking safe.”

  “S-sorry. I’ll try again.”

  Olivia slowly returned to her knees, then turned the dial, making every move more deliberate and slower than it needed to be.

  When she sprang into action, they wouldn’t be expecting her speed.

  Olivia opened the safe.

  She looked down at the Registry and grabbed it, then gave the folder full of documents a wide-eyed inspection, as if the very notion of paper both confused and inspired her.

  McTaggart snatched the folder from her hands, then greedily ripped it open to grab the contents.

  And Olivia made her move.

  Eyes on McTaggart, her left hand closed around the pistol’s grip.

  She grabbed then raised it, firing a shot into the captain’s face.

  Stewart fell back, the gunshot’s BOOM reverberating in her ringing ears.

  Then she turned the gun on McTaggart, took aim, and fired.

  But the general’s hand had instinctively swiped at hers to send the shot wide and to the left.

  Her gun hit the carpet with a THUD.

  She vaguely sensed Elijah diving for it.

  Olivia looked up at McTaggart in time to see him holding a knife.

  One second it was in his hand.

  The next it was sticking out of her chest.

  Olivia gasped.

  Elijah screamed as he picked up the gun and aimed it at McTaggart.

  Then he fired.

  Sixty-One

  Elijah Freeman

  Elijah hit the general in his stomach.

  But the gun jammed when he went to fire again.

  McTaggart was barreling toward him, both of them stumbling backward into the wall, crashing hard and breaking chunks from the rampart as they fell.

  The gun slipped from Elijah’s hand, slipping with a clatter to the ground.

  McTaggart reached up with both hands, eyes burning red as he choked Elijah, growling, “You little shit!”

  The general pulled him back, then repeatedly slammed his head into the wall. Pain exploded in his skull with every blow. Elijah was dizzy with the first one, about to pass out by the third, and sure he was going to die soon after that.

  Still, McTaggart choked him harder.

  And Elijah continued to gasp.

  Just past the general’s shoulder, his mom was crawling toward the gun.

  “Die! Die! Die!” McTaggart grunted, pounding his victim’s head into the wall with every exclamation.

  One moment Elijah was gasping for air, or passing out and coming close to fulfilling the general’s request. Then the next he felt an unbridled energy building inside him. Eventually, the energy won, exploding out of his body and sending McTaggart sailing across the room.

  He hit the wall with a human-sized dent.

  The general glanced at Elijah, stunned, then slipped to the ground, a blossom of blood across his shirt.

  Elijah sucked air through his teeth and scrambled toward his mother.

  She looked up at him, crying. Eyes big and dark and losing focus.

  “I’m … s-sorry,” she said.

  For what, he wasn’t sure.

  Elijah looked down at her wound. A sea of blood around a knife like an exclamation mark in her chest. Her breath was ragged and wet.

  “No, no, no,” he cried, cradling her in his arms. “Nooooo.”

  Please, do something, he begged The Light. Please don’t let her die.

  The Light remained silent.

  Elijah shouted, “Please!”

  His mom looked at him, confused. “I … Love you.”

  He begged The Light again. There must be something it could do.

  “Put your hand on her wound.”

  Elijah did, and she looked at her son in confusion.

  What now?

  A bright white glow began to hum beneath his palm, burning warm as he felt her skin knitting itself under his touch.

  She looked up at him, smiling.

  Yes! Yes!

  “You’re gonna be okay, Mom. You’re going to�
�”

  Then her smile faded as her eyes found something behind him.

  He turned to see a thin blond man he’d seen in Pascal’s memories, the one that had killed him.

  His hands were engulfed in flames.

  He shot a fireball at Elijah.

  The blast sent him flying into the wall, next to McTaggart.

  Two more bandits came in, a small elfish woman with short dark hair, and a skinny black man with a gaunt face and limbs that were too long for him.

  The blond stepped toward Elijah, his eyes wild. He smiled, then looked down at Elijah’s mother and his smile widened further

  “No!” Elijah cried out.

  But the man unleashed his flames on her, anyway.

  Elijah tried to stand, but the black man raised a long, skinny arm, and fixed him to his spot.

  Do something!

  The Light wasn’t responding.

  Elijah was all alone while watching his mother burn to ash.

  The woman approached, cautiously, eyeing Elijah with sorrow in her oversized eyes. She knelt next to the general and laid her hands on his wound, healing him as Elijah had tried to do for his mother.

  Elijah couldn’t turn away.

  He couldn’t close his eyes.

  He could only cry and cry and cry.

  Sixty-Two

  Wolf

  Wolf had been awake for a few hours when the door finally unlocked.

  He palmed his shiv, freshly made from a sharp piece of box spring.

  The door opened and a familiar face was suddenly in front of him. Brother Faith, the man from his memories.

  Another monk entered behind him. Short and muscular, with too much rage in his face for a man of the cloth.

  Wolf hid his shiv as he sat up in bed.

  “You may leave us,” said Faith to the younger monk.

  He glared at Wolf before leaving.

  Then the door closed and Brother Faith was standing before Wolf with folded arms, looking like he’d just returned from a day tour at The Museum of Starving Children.

  “Welcome back, old friend.”