Yesterday's Gone: Season One

by Platt, Sean

  He glanced at Jade’s nightstand, saw a framed photo from her 16th birthday party. He smiled, remembering the night, and the photo. One of the rare pictures he’d been in. However, he noticed he wasn’t in the version on her nightstand. The photo had been blown up and reproduced, to edit him from the photo. A knot formed in his heart and throat and he swallowed the bitter fact that his daughter didn’t want reminders of him.

  “Nice room,” Teagan said from behind, snapping Ed from his thoughts.

  He returned the unicorn to the top of her pillows.

  “Let’s go see who’s in Room 410.” Ed said.

  They didn’t bother checking the third floor. Ed opened the door to the fourth and came face to face with a young man with a baseball bat.

  “Put the bat down!” Ed yelled, aiming his gun at the stick-thin olive-skinned guy with thick black framed glasses and long dark hair.

  The guy was frozen, very likely the first time he’d ever had a gun pulled on him.

  “I said fucking drop it,” Ed said, voice sharp.

  Dude dropped the bat and stepped back, “Sorry, man. I wasn’t gonna hit you with it.”

  “Just wanted to play some ball, eh?”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be human.”

  “What?” Ed asked.

  “I thought you might be one of them.”

  The man saw the look on Ed’s face and said, “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

  “Seen what?” Ed was getting impatient with the clown.

  The guy stammered, trying to find the right words, when the door to Apartment 410 opened behind him.

  “Daddy?”

  It was Jade.

  * * * *

  BRENT FOSTER

  Brent jumped down, ran over another car, then leapt again as he heard the creatures landing on the cars behind him, navigating the metal and plastic maze with ease. They wouldn’t be able to outrun them, not when they were that fast and agile.

  Brent’s mind raced, keeping time with his heart, as he tried to think of something to do. He could barely keep up with Luis, now two rows ahead.

  Just keep running.

  A creature shrieked behind him, so loud, it seemed like it was right over his shoulder, about to take him down.

  Brent turned back and saw the black monstrosity. Distracted, Brent’s foot slipped from under him and he landed on the hood of an old Nissan, smacking his right cheek hard against the hood before he slid off, hitting the ground hard on his back. The bag of weapons slid beneath the car along with the gun he’d been holding.

  The creature jumped over the thin space between the two cars as Brent rolled over, and reached for the pistol.

  CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK, the sound came from above, audible even over the incessant warbling of the triggered car alarm. The creature circled back, about to pounce as Brent got hold of the gun and rolled onto his back.

  The creature landed on him, knocking the breath from Brent’s lungs. It opened its large mouth and wailed an unearthly shriek as it straddled Brent’s chest, swiping at Brent’s face with its claws. Brent pushed against the creature’s wet fleshy chest with his left hand, trying desperately to hold it back.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Brent screamed as he struggled to raise the pistol and steady his shaky aim. He fired twice. The bullets hit the creature’s chest and head. The thing was still moving.

  Brent emptied the clip into the creature and got a hot splatter of hot black gore to the face for his effort.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, trying to wipe the goop from his eyes and face as he pushed the twitching creature aside and got to his feet.

  Before he was fully upright, something punched him in the ribs, sending him hard into another car. The gun fell from his clumsy hands again. Brent looked up just in time to see another creature coming at him, two eyes narrowed on him.

  Two thunderous gunshots ripped through the air knocking the creature back. Relieved, Brent turned to see Luis standing on the hood of a pickup truck. Luis fired another four shots at creatures Brent couldn’t even see yet.

  “Come on!” he screamed, though Brent wasn’t sure if he were yelling at him or the monsters.

  Brent ducked down, found the bag of weapons, grabbed two more pistols, fresh clips in each, and jumped onto the truck’s roof beside Luis, who had opened fire with an Uzi. Brent fired too, missing more than he hit, but able to keep them away, and even take a few down.

  “Die! Die! Die!” Luis screamed, emptying his clip into four creatures just below them.

  As Luis changed his clip, something dark caught Brent’s eye, moving in from behind, and coming right at Luis. Two creatures, in tandem, no, connected at the hip, were sailing over the cars behind them, barreling toward Luis faster than he could reload.

  Brent fired six shots, the last two hitting the joined monstrosity and sending it to the ground.

  Luis now had two Uzis loaded, and was firing them like a post-apocalyptic Rambo, still screaming.

  Brent loaded fresh clips into his pistols, and stood to join in the firefight, only to find nothing left to shoot.

  Nearly 40 creatures lay in scattered pieces around them. Luis called out, “Any more?!”

  Nothing but silence.

  After a long echo of the same nothing, Brent stared at Luis, somewhere in the middle of admiration and outright hero worship.

  “You are a fuckin’ bad ass!” Brent said laughing.

  Luis’s face, fat with rage just seconds before, melted to a warm smile, “Not a bad shot yourself. For a desk jockey. Come on, let’s get outta here before more of them crawl out of the woodwork.”

  They raced over the last rows of cars and down the road, high with a confidence that could only come from living the action part of a popcorn flick while leaving a trail of dead monsters behind them.

  As they approached Times Square, the silence was replaced by the sound of birds. Lots of birds. As if the entire city’s avian populace had decided to flock to Times Square. Brent couldn’t see the birds through the fog. Nor could he see the giant advertisements that usually greeted him at the world’s most famous intersection. Without power, commerce was dead, and the giant LCD screens were just one more object barely visible in the fog. Even the solar and wind-powered Ricoh billboard was eerily dark and silent.

  As they reached the corner of 7th Avenue and 42nd Street, the birds grew to a constant loud chorus of chirps, shrieks, and calls.

  Luis, 10 feet ahead of Brent, stopped in his tracks.

  As Brent picked up his pace, Luis turned, eyes wide, and said, “Go back.”

  “What?” Brent said, not listening, pushing past Luis. And then he saw for himself.

  Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of human corpses were lining the thoroughfare, in 10-foot-high mounds, piled like garbage.

  Brent’s throat ached and his eyes welled. He stood, rooted to the spot, unable, unwilling to register what his eyes were clearly seeing.

  “No,” he cried, “No, no, no.”

  The bodies weren’t rotting, burned, or emaciated, or in any way injured-looking to Brent, other than the torn eyes and flesh from the grazing birds. All were fully dressed, many in pajamas, as if plucked from bed and deposited right in the middle of the road. Dead.

  Luis crouched on one knee, eyes bolted to the mass grave.

  Brent raced forward and into the graveyard.

  “Ben! Gina!” he screamed repeatedly, hoping they might be hiding somewhere amongst the dead.

  His voice bounced off the buildings, bodies, and fog, sounding ever more desperate upon its mocking return.

  He raced through the streets, among the bodies, screaming for his family until his throat was raw.

  They have to be here. Ben spoke to me through Joe. He said Times Square!

  Brent continued calling, running from pile to pile, searching for any signs of life among the rows of bodies. Not caring if he drew the attention of every fucking monster in the city.

  “Ben!!” he screamed again
, this time, crying more than screaming, as he fell to his knees.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Luis said, now crouching next to Brent and putting an arm on his shoulder.

  “They can’t be ...” Brent cried, his entire face hurting so much he thought it might crack open, “They can’t be... dead.”

  Brent’s mind flashed on the moments he’d held his son tight, tucked him in, played with him, read to him, played peek-a-boo. Thought of Ben’s happy face and bright blue eyes. So full of life and innocence. He thought of the train in his pocket that his boy would never play with again.

  They can’t be gone.

  Brent couldn’t fathom a world where his son and wife were only memory.

  Sudden recall hit Brent like a blade to the gut.

  Last weekend, he was home, dead-ass tired, and just wanting to chill out and watch TV. Ben came in asking him to read him a book. Stanley Train Goes To School. Brent said, “Tomorrow, buddy, Daddy’s tired.”

  Brent dismissed Ben’s complaints at the time, a temporary disappointment that Ben would soon get over.

  “Please, Daddy.”

  “Tomorrow,” Brent said. Of course, the next night, Brent was working, along with every evening after that. Now the look of sorrow on his three-year-old’s face would be frozen in Brent’s brain forever.

  “I’m so sorry,” Brent said staring at the bodies around him. “Daddy’s so sorry.”

  Luis dropped his guns and hugged Brent. Both men cried.

  * * * *

  CALLIE THOMPSON

  Callie held the gun against the back of the closet door, waiting for the creatures to make their way into the bedroom. She prayed there weren’t more than two, three at most. She was confident she could take one of them out, maybe two. Any more than that, she was pretty sure they’d overwhelm her.

  She heard the monsters stumble up the stairs, bumping between banister and wall the entire way. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she was sure they’d hear. As one of them passed the bedroom door, Callie caught her breath and held it. The second creature didn’t pass, though. It turned into the room and it was all she could do to hold the breath in her lungs.

  The creature was similar to the others: long, dark, black, and wet looking with lights moving beneath its skin. Its face was an abomination of misshapen parts. It had just one eye, off to the side. It’s nose was missing, with only two dark holes for nostrils. Its mouth was impossibly wide, almost so wide that if it chose to open it fully, the top of its head would probably fall back like a Pez dispenser. Rows of razor-sharp rotted teeth filled the creature’s mouth.

  The gun shook in Callie’s hands as the creature stopped in front of the closet, lifting its head up and sniffed.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  The creature’s face inched closer until it was maybe two feet from the closet opening. It sniffed again. Its eye widened as it stepped back, and pointed at the closet, letting loose with a ear piercing scream that sounded like an alarm.

  Callie let out her breath and slid open the door so hard it nearly bounced back and hit her as she stuck her arms out and fired two rounds at the creature’s head. The bullets sank into its skull like she were shooting a slab of beef. The first creature fell to the ground just as the second stormed into the room. She raised the gun to fire, but the creature’s arm was too quick. It slammed hard into her hand and knocked the gun to the ground. The creature charged at Callie, mouth gnashing and open. Callie stumbled back into the closet, gripped the inside of the door and slammed it shut.

  The creature shrieked and clicked as it hit the door with its body.

  Callie cried out, the closet doors shaking in her hand. Another hit made the doors rock in their track. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hold the doors shut before the creature either ripped them open or pushed them off the tracks.

  Another hit. And then more clicking and shrieking as one hit against the door was followed by another and another, and in such quick succession, Callie figured three of them had to be outside the closet working together.

  Callie’s inability to cry had found its cure. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, “Please, no! Don’t kill me!”

  She didn’t even think about whether or not they’d understand her, let alone listen to her pleas. But those were the only words that would fall from her mouth between cries and gasps for air.

  The closet door kept rocking in its frame as she desperately clutched them, trying to keep them together. The bullets in her pocket mocked her as the gun lay just outside the closet. No way would she be able to get to the gun before one, or all the monsters got her.

  Another hit.

  She cried out.

  Another hit and she heard something a horrible wrenching sound above as the doors broke loose from the track. The right door fell in and on top of her as a long black arm reached in and swiped at her, its dark claws sinking into the meat of her forearm.

  She screamed again, falling down and kicking out. Her foot found what seemed to be one of the creatures’ knees, and it cracked with a sickly wet crunch, but the monster was unfazed, taking another swipe at her. Instead of hitting her, it lifted her last bit of protection, the door that was on top of her. Now it was just her and them. Her eyes darted around the room, but couldn’t see the gun.

  Three monsters surrounded her, each with a differently-misshapen horrifying face, and all of them shrieking like banshee vultures ready to feed.

  “I love you, Mommy,” she said and closed her eyes.

  A shot rang out. Callie’s eyes opened just as one of the monster’s chests exploded and hot black blood splashed onto her.

  She spit out the rancid liquid, glanced up as the other two creatures looked back to the doorway, where Bob stood with a shotgun. He shot again, blasting another of the monsters, then dropped the shotgun, raised a pistol and fired four times until the last creature’s head was gone and its body was left twitching on the ground.

  Callie, still lying on the ground covered in black gore, stared in disbelief at Bob, who stared down at her with a look she couldn’t quite comprehend.

  Is he mad? Does he know I drugged him? He’s going to shoot me, isn’t he?

  “You okay?” Bob said, reaching out to help her up.

  “Thank you,” she said, still stunned, and nervous. She hugged him, breaking down in tears. Real tears.

  He didn’t embrace her, which caused her to pull away. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Why’d you leave?” he asked, a flash of anger ... or maybe confusion ... in his eyes.

  “I wanted to find Charlie,” she said. “I thought I saw someone peeking out the window here.”

  “Probably one of those fucking things,” Bob said, picking up her pistol and handing it to her.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here. Charlie is on his own now. He chose to leave.”

  Bob started down the stairs, Callie following slowly behind.

  “Did you want to go after him?” Bob said, “You’re free to go if you want, but I’m not gonna be there next time some of these creepy crawlies come a calling.”

  She was trapped. He knew it. She knew it. The only thing in question was whether or not he knew she’d drugged him. Apparently the drug didn’t do much to dull his senses. Or perhaps, he never even finished the laced beer. She would give anything to know, but couldn’t think of a way to ask if he’d drank the beer without calling unwanted attention to what she’d done.

  She’d have to play dumb, go home with Bob, and hope he didn’t have a clue.

  * * * *

  BORICIO WOLFE

  Dead Guard Walking would be back in no time, so Boricio kept his stint as team captain short, telling the prisoners to keep still no matter what. Everyone needed to act like they were still bound, and stay that way until he made his move.

  He finished just in time.

  The door whined open and Dead Guard Walking sauntered inside. He was alone, but his feet clopped on the concrete with the rhythm
of a man looking forward to detonating a two-ton dirty bomb of downright nasty.

  “Miss me, fucktard?” Dead Guard Walking was inches away, circling behind Boricio, trying to make him nervous. But Boricio was all calm with steady breath — in and out, in and out, in and out...

  “Where’d that smart mouth of yours run off to? I didn’t beat it out of you yet, did I? Figure I’m not quite ready for you to quit.” Boricio heard a dull thawp and peered between the narrow slit he’d made in his blindfold and saw the baseball bat Dead Guard Walking was smacking into his open palm.

  Bullies hate to be ignored, so I’ll just keep right on ignoring him, least until it’s time to shove the fat side of that bat right up that fucker’s bunghole. He ain’t gonna be walking for long. He’ll be a Dead Guard With Bleeding Anus Crawling in minutes.

  “Well, truth of the matter is I don’t much like tugging my pecker myself. Shit, that’s the only reason I got married. And since you seem inclined to give me the ole frosty, how about we play a little game to loosen your juices? We’ll call it ‘Wheel of Misfortune,’” Boricio heard another thwap, then the sound of the bat dragged across concrete.

  “Here’s how we’ll play: I’m gonna circle myself round the room like I’m playing Duck Duck Goose, ‘cept when I get round to choosing a duck, I won’t be patting no mop tops. What I’m gonna do instead is take this bat and make me a fresh batch of brain stew. See, me and this bat have been through some times together, what with me being a bouncer at the Cock Pit and all. Difference is, the Cock Pit had a lotta rules. My boss Jeff didn’t want no lawsuits or police who weren’t there to drink. So Robin here,” another thwap as the bat hit his palm, “well, he was just for show. Get it? A bat named Robin? Ha! Oh, yeah, you all can’t see Robin, can ya? Well, now that Jeff’s gone, Robin can finally come out to play. Because I’m the boss and the motherfucking law.”