It had forgotten how good it felt to be in its natural state.
But it needed a human body in order to fight. And It was itching to fight. It was surprised to have become so embroiled in such petty human matters as vengeance. Perhaps It had spent too long in its human wrapper, and had taken on a few of the species’ lesser qualities. Nonetheless, It wanted revenge. Now.
Brother Rei would pay for his betrayal. The humans were a wretched species, and It was tired of waiting to extinguish them. It would kill them all, except the child, Luca, and perhaps the new visitor, Boricio. There was something about them It needed to understand.
Whatever It was waiting for, whatever the voices promised, would have to wait. It needed to feed – NOW. It flowed past Brother Eric, who stared, eyes wide in horror, at Its true form.
Brother Eric reached for his rifle, and and fired a shot, but guns had no effect on It in this form.
It flowed faster, snaking through the hall and drifting up the stairs, sensing the perfect new host, laying crippled in bed, practically dead – The Prophet.
Brother Saul, one of The Prophet’s right hand men, stood guard in front of the door. When Saul saw It coming, he screamed.
It entered Saul’s mouth, finding his core in seconds, taking over the shell and using it to open the door to The Prophet’s room.
The Sanctuary’s self-righteous leader lay in bed, nearly dead thanks to whatever Brother Rei had done. It knew Rei was plotting something. It had allowed it, even, not really caring much for the games of mortals, as It had more important things to plan.
It didn’t realize that Brother Rei would betray John, though.
It left Saul’s body, floating out and over The Prophet’s bed, gathering strength before bursting in through the man’s mouth. Then in It went.
The Prophet put up a decent fight, but was no match for It, who seized control within a minute.
The Prophet stood from his bed and stretched out its new husk, feeling exhausted and frail. It didn’t like this husk; it was obese and felt tired. But this was the husk that was most useful at the moment, the one that would make people obey.
It looked down at Saul, who was gasping for air, looking up at The Prophet with a confused, scared expression.
The Prophet stepped past Saul, then went forth into the world to wreak havoc.
It walked down the stairs, still in his pajamas, past several of The Prophet’s followers, staring with wide-eyed disbelief. They were surprised, and mortified, “Sir, your mask,” one of the men said.
The Prophet felt no need to hide his burned face any longer.
“You’re okay, Prophet! Praise The Lord; it’s a miracle!” another said.
The Prophet ignored everyone, leaving through the front door and approaching the main gate.
Brother Roderick stood guard, the only one on gate duty. He held a rifle at his side, and a vest with ammo, ready for war at a moment’s notice. He was The Sanctuary’s best shooter by a mile. When Roderick saw The Prophet coming, he straightened his back and stood taller, “How can I help you, Prophet?”
The Prophet locked onto the man’s gaze until he was subservient to any command.
“Give me the keys to the gate,” The Prophet said.
“Yes, sir,” Roderick said, handing him the keys, unable to resist The Prophet’s instructions.
“Now, go forth and kill them all, except Boricio and Luca.” The Prophet flashed images of the child and Boricio into the man’s mind, in case he didn’t know who was who. “Kill the other guards first.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said, then marched toward the main house and opened fire on the guard perched on top. Then he turned and took out the next guard. The third guard managed to get a shot off, but it missed. The puppet’s shot didn’t.
A woman in front of the women’s house screamed, followed by another. Roderick opened fire, cracking the woman’s skull open in one shot. He then marched toward the main house, firing upon men as they emerged.
The Prophet turned his back on the violence and went to the front gate, slipped the key into the lock, sprung it, then pulled open the gate.
More gunfire erupted in the distance behind him as guards returned fire on Roderick. The Prophet didn’t flinch, but walked out of The Sanctuary and into the woods. He looked up to the sky as it started to snow. He opened his mouth, and let out a shrill scream — his call to the things that were an extension of himself.
Come feast. The time is now.
* * * *
DESMOND ARMSTRONG: PART 3
Rei shoved Mary and Paola down to the ground at gunpoint, forcing them to kneel in the center of the room, next to Linc, as they cried. Peter, Carl, and Boricio stood behind Rei, guns ready.
Rei pushed the pistol into Linc’s temple. Mary winced, then shuddered. “Tell me who the others are,” he said. “All of them. Now.”
“I don’t know anything,” Linc cried. “I swear.”
Rei clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. That’s the wrong answer, Brother Linc.”
“You’re not gonna get anything from him, because he doesn’t know anything to tell you!” Desmond screamed. “No one here trusts us enough to tell us anything!”
“Tell me now, or I kill the girl first,” Rei said, without a whisper of apology.
“I don’t fucking know!” Linc’s voice cracked, tears running down his cheeks.
“Too bad,” Rei said. He aimed his pistol at the back of Paola’s head, held it steady for a pregnant second, then pulled the trigger, sending a bullet sailing through the back of her head, then exploding out the front of her head.
Desmond and Luca both screamed “No!” as if they could somehow turn back time and stop the moment from happening.
“YOU FUCKER!” Desmond screamed, struggling to break free his shackles.
Paola’s eyes widened at the sight of infinity as her body fell forward, face first into the ground. Mary screamed in anguish, as she crawled toward her daughter and cradled Paola in her arms.
Mary looked up from Paola, eyes on fire, then leapt to her feet and charged toward Rei. But he was expecting her. His fist landed in her stomach and his foot on her knee.
Mary dropped to the floor, wailing and crying, her pain so animalistic and raw that it tore like a knife through Desmond’s heart.
Rei took a step toward her, lowering his gun on the way.
“No!” Desmond screamed. “She’s pregnant!”
Rei looked up at Desmond, “Tell me what I want to know. Names. Plans. Now.”
“I swear,” Desmond said, breaking down, “I don’t know.”
Rei shook his head, then pulled the trigger, shooting Mary in her stomach. Mary looked up at him and screamed. He put a bullet through her head, ending her anguish and her life. And the life of her unborn child.
Their unborn child.
No!
Desmond, Luca, and Linc cried in a symphony of shared torment. Linc started to get up, but Peter put his gun in the back of Linc’s skull.
Outside, a Fourth of July’s worth of gunfire erupted behind a Halloween’s worth of screaming. And then they all heard the unmistakable sound of monsters outside, shrieking, clicking.
“It’s started,” Rei said. “Well, I guess I don’t need the names any longer.” He turned and headed for the stairs. “Kill them all,” he said to his men. “Including the kid.”
“This isn’t over,” Desmond screamed. “I’ll tear the life from you, you motherfucker!”
Rei was already half way up the stairs when Desmond swore he heard the son of a bitch laugh.
Peter and Carl took aim at Linc and Luca. Boricio aimed at Desmond.
Desmond winced, waiting for the blast and the arrival of death.
Death didn’t show.
Desmond opened his eyes a half second later to the sight of Boricio’s hands suddenly divided between two guns. In a ballet that Desmond could barely fathom, Boricio pulled Carl into his hands and knocked Peter to the floor, then kicked Carl in the bac
k of his calf, sending him down in a painful kneel, while he took aim at the Peter.
Peter shielded his face and body with his hands, inching backward toward the stairs. Boricio emptied his clip without flinching. Bullets ripped through his flimsy shield of flesh and tore his body to pieces. Boricio dropped the empty gun on the floor, then slammed his fist into Carl’s face, before delivering another blow to his liver.
Carl fell doubled over and screaming. Boricio casually walked to the far side of the torture room, retrieved Carl’s dropped gun, aimed it at its former owner, then pulled the trigger twice. Blood pooled through the room, soaking the floor and everything on it, including Desmond’s love and her beautiful daughter.
Boricio said, “Brothers love; Boricio 30,” then started freeing the prisoners, one by one. Desmond wasn’t sure what Luca had done to switch Boricio to their sides, nor did he have time to ask or figure it out.
He raced to Mary and Paola.
There’s a chance!
Desmond dropped to the ground, feeling for a pulse in Mary and Paola and finding nothing. Both were dead. He looked up at Luca, heart brimming with hope.
“Luca, can you save them?” Desmond pleaded.
Luca kneeled down in the pool of blood, eyes tearing, as he closed them and placed his hands on Mary and Paola’s hands.
The room grew silent and heavy with expectation as they watched Luca attempt to work his miracles again.
Outside, the world continued to erupt in chaos.
Boricio stood at the top of the stairs, “Don’t worry; I got the door.”
Desmond turned back to Luca, whose eyes were squinting tight, as he appeared to be trying hard to focus.
Please, God, if you’re up there, please, please, save them. They don’t deserve this.
Luca’s eyes squeezed tighter, his hands now shaking on the women.
Desmond’s breath was caught in his throat, along with his heart, watching anxiously, waiting for the moment the boy would do what he’d done three time before.
But nothing was happening.
Linc glanced at Desmond, fear in his eyes, then back down to Luca.
While Luca had brought three people back from the brink, never had he brought someone back from death.
Perhaps some miracles were too great for whatever was working through him.
Desmond’s heart turned to lead and he swallowed. The minutes were stretching, and Luca collapsed in tears.
“They’re not answering,” he cried out, and looked up, grief-stricken, “I’m so sorry, Desmond. I can’t.”
Desmond fell to the ground, his world shattered.
Chaos continued to reign outside. Screaming, gunfire, and the sound of monsters. All hell was breaking loose.
But nothing would compare to the hell Desmond would rain upon Brother Rei.
Desmond stood up, and ascended the stairs, taking a gun from Boricio, and walking out into the night of death.
* * * *
BRENT FOSTER: PART 2
After nightfall, Ed spotted the aliens, seven of them, leaving the hotel in a pack. They mulled about, looking around the cars, then headed toward the underpass running beneath the highway.
“That all of them?” Brent whispered.
“I think so,” Ed said, fishing a pair of mini binoculars from his tactical jacket, then training them on the group.
“Whatchya lookin’ at?” Brent asked.
“I thought I saw something different about one of them… oh Jesus.”
“What is it?”
Ed handed him the binoculars. Brent focussed on the pack of aliens. One was indeed different, and by different, Ed had meant nearly human in form. Its skin wasn’t like the infected but rather exactly like the aliens’ – dark, wet, and lit from within.
“Is it human? You ever seen anything like that?” Brent asked, handing the binoculars back to Ed.
“I dunno if it’s human. And no, that’s a first, that I’ve seen anyway. It’s like some sort of alien-human hybrid, but it’s a more severe transformation . . . an almost total transformation.”
“Could it be what happens if the infected progress all the way?”
“I don’t think so. The scientists have had infected for long periods of time, studying them, and I’ve not heard of anything like this. Of course, they don’t tell me everything, so who knows?”
“An evolutionary step,” Brent pondered. “How?”
“I don’t even want to say what I’m thinking,” Ed said, slipping his binoculars away as the aliens vanished beneath the highway, and hopefully kept going right on down the road and far from the hotel.
“You’re thinking Black Mountain, aren’t you? Experiments?”
Ed looked at Brent. His grim expression was all the confirmation Brent needed.
“Do you think they’re experimenting on people?” Brent asked.
“If they are still operational, then I have no doubt they would experiment on people, infected and uninfected alike. After all, our own scientists are looking to cure whatever this is, and kill an unknown enemy.”
Brent thought back on all the stories he’d read as a teenager: “scientific” experiments by Nazis, vivisections on humans by Japan’s Unit 731, and even his own government’s radiation, toxins, and disease “research” on unwitting victims. As long as there was an enemy, or underclass to exploit, there would be scientists willing to treat humans as lab rats. A chill ran down Brent’s spine as he thought of the Gina and Ben of this world now being probed by Black Island’s scientists, assuming they were still alive.
He thought of Ben’s parallel, still more human than not, clinging to his infected mother, while she, who was more progressed in her transformation, shunned him. The pain the child must’ve felt soured Brent’s heart as if it were his son.
But it’s not. Stop thinking like that, or you’ll never get back to them.
“Think it’s safe to leave now, or you still want to wait until morning?” Brent asked.
“I think we should get some rest,” Ed said. “I don’t wanna go down there while it’s dark. The good thing is, we can both sleep. Not much chance of them sneaking up on us up here.”
“First, I have to piss,” Brent said, and walked over to the other side of the utility room to take a piss he’d been holding in for far too long.
He was thirsty and his stomach was growling. The shopping center in the plaza was so close, yet at 12 stories below, so far. He couldn’t wait to hit it in the morning. Assuming they made it through the night.
**
Brent woke to the sound of distant laughter.
He jolted awake to the blinding morning sun and reached for his pistol. He found it, and turned to see Ed already on his feet, shotgun in hand, inching toward the edge of the roof in an impossibly low crouch to find the source of the sound.
“What is it?” Brent asked.
“Well, lookee here. Seems our little thief came back to the scene of the crime.”
Brent looked down and saw the dirty looking child walking with a woman with long brown hair wearing jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket. She was holding a shotgun slung over her shoulder, no doubt one of theirs. They were checking car handles, and were five cars away from Ed’s van.
“No, no, no,” Ed said, racing to the hatch. “I’ll be damned if they take our ride, too.”
Brent followed, woefully behind, as Ed raced down the stairs like a man possessed.
Ed reached the shattered front doors just as Brent was stepping into the lobby. Ed raced out, gun aimed, “Get the hell away from there!”
Shit, Brent thought, pushing himself to catch up. When he did, he was caught in a standoff with everyone, except himself, aiming guns at one another. Brent raised his pistol and aimed at the kid since Ed had his shotgun aimed at the woman. He hoped he wouldn’t have to shoot a child, even if he was a rotten thief.
“We want our weapons back,” Ed demanded.
“What weapons?” the woman said.
&nb
sp; “To start with, the one you’re holding, and then the rest of the bag the brat stole from us.”
“I’m not a brat!” squealed the kid in a bratty voice.
“They’re not yours,” the woman said, her eyes hidden behind shades, which made Brent think of Sarah Connor, hunting terminators. “You looted ‘em, same as anyone. Everything is fair game, now. Go find another gun shop.”
“They’re ours,” Ed said sharply, “we're with the government. Those are government-issued weapons and ammunition, and you taking them is a federal crime. Believe me when I say you don’t want to cross the government now, unless you want to wind up dead or in a cell. And the courts are a bit backed up, what with the lack of judges and juries these days.”
The woman stared, “Who are you with?”
“Homeland Security, and I’m going to give you five seconds to put down your weapons, or we’ll shoot you both.”
“How do I know. . .” the woman began to ask, but her voice was severed by Ed.
“Five.”
“Wait; how do I know you’re who you say you are? You got a badge or something?”
“Four.”
The child looked nervous and blinked, looking at the woman, “What do we do?”
“Three.”
“Wait,” the woman said again, “I want. . .”
“Two,” Ed said, “Put the fucking guns down now!”
The woman lowered her gun and placed it on the ground, and the kid followed.
“Get the guns,” Ed instructed Brent. “Now tell us where the rest are.”
“They’re in the grocery store over there, where we’ve been hiding out,” the woman said. “I’m sorry; we didn’t mean to take your stuff.”
As Brent grabbed the weapons, Ed squeezed off a shot at the kid.
The bullet sailed just past him, but caused him to scream.
“Next time you steal from me, I won’t miss.” Ed said.
“Hey!” the woman yelled, “I said we’re sorry! You don’t have to be such a dick!”
Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) Page 48
