Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “We’ve gotta go,” Luis said, likely sensing Brent’s hesitancy as Brent took forever to tape the note to the phone on the wall.

  They made their way downstairs, Brent and Luis carrying bags and weapons, while Joe walked behind them, a pistol in one hand, a bag of rice in the other. Joe had never used a gun, so Luis went over the basics with him, all three men hoping he’d never need to put his lesson to use.

  As they reached the ground floor, Brent feared once they got outside that one of two things would be waiting — either a pack of creatures or a demolished car. But he kept the fear to himself.

  The glass of the lobby doors was shattered. Luis readied his shotgun, pushing through to the street. He scanned the avenue, then waved for the other two men to follow.

  The streets were still wrapped in the eerie fog, cutting visibility to 10 yards at most. The car was thankfully intact. Luis opened the trunk, loaded the supplies, then hit the button on his keychain to unlock the doors. The car’s alarm beeped twice, then bounced across the empty hallways of the ghosted metropolis. Brent cringed, hoping the sound wouldn’t attract the creatures’ attention.

  A shrieking sound from above crushed that hope.

  They all looked up at once, unable to see anything other than fog.

  “Get in the car!” Luis screamed.

  The creature fell from the sky, landing between all three men.

  It was at least a foot taller than Luis, its limbs impossibly long, just like its fingers. Its body was black, with lights under its wet skin. Its face was long, a giant maw of teeth for a mouth, and two almond-shaped eyes, ink-black. If it had a nose or ears, Brent couldn’t see them.

  It surveyed all three men, turning in half circles, body hunched as if ready to spring into action.

  Luis took a shot as the creature leapt into the air, into the fog, and then came back down, landing on top of Joe. It stood up in one fluid motion, bringing Joe with it, one arm around Joe’s chest and the other around his neck.

  Joe dropped both his gun and the bag of rice — which didn’t distract the creature a bit. It opened its mouth wider and made that god-awful Click Click Click Click sound, then held Joe up as a human shield.

  “I can’t get a shot!” Luis yelled.

  Joe cried out, trying to squirm free from the creature’s grip. As if in response, the creature’s right hand moved up and gripped Joe’s skull, its fingers covering his entire head and dripping half way down his face. Joe’s entire body began to shake violently as the lights, or whatever it was beneath the creature’s skin, pulsated brighter. Joe screamed as his body continued shaking as if being electrocuted.

  “Shoot it!” Brent yelled, not confident in his ability to get a clear shot.

  Luis screamed and ran toward the creature, gun raised. The monster threw Joe aside like a rag doll and brought its hands down to tackle Luis. Before Luis could take aim, Brent fired two shots — one hitting the monster’s torso, the other striking its head.

  The creature dropped immediately, and Luis descended, firing another shot and finishing it off.

  Luis screamed, “Die, motherfucker!”

  Brent, shaken, scanned around them for any sign of more creatures. Something moved in the fog above them, and Brent fired into the sky.

  Luis raised his gun, “What? You see something?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brent said, heart pounding, eyes scanning the sky above as he circled his gun in all directions, praying nothing would pop up from a direction he wasn’t looking. “I thought I did.”

  From the ground, Joe moaned.

  “Shit!” Brent said, having forgotten that the old man was injured. He ran to Joe and noticed two things at once — the man’s eyes were white and milky, the pupils barely visible. Dark, painful looking splotches stained his head where the thing had touched his scalp.

  “Help,” Joe moaned, his jaw shaking, drool streaming from the corners of his mouth.

  Luis had the car’s passenger door open, and they carried Joe and put him inside, Brent hopped into the back seat as Luis slammed shut the driver’s door and stepped on the gas, putting the shotgun on the center console.

  “Are you okay?” Brent asked Joe, who was moaning something incoherent.

  Something was off about Joe’s voice. It had lost the Jamaican accent and sounded lower, words slurred.

  Luis stared at Joe, then shot a concerned look back at Brent.

  “Mphrrr,” Joe mumbled, his voice sounding even more different than before. Joe’s head fell in a nod, chin on his chest, as he mumbled more.

  No, he didn’t look good at all. Brent put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and was about to ask if he was okay, when the man’s head shot up, turned back and looked at Brent with vacant white eyes, and said, “Daddy?”

  But it wasn’t Joe’s voice.

  It was Ben’s.

  Thirty-Four

  Charlie Wilkens

  “I like you, too,” Callie said with a smile, seemingly oblivious to what Charlie was trying to say.

  “No,” he said, “I like like you.”

  “Oh,” Callie said, her eyes widened in recognition. She paused, looking down to her hands. It was a longer pause than the one that usually comes before good news.

  She finally met his eyes again, “Listen, Charlie ... ”

  Oh no.

  “I like you too. You’re a nice guy. But … I’m not really looking for a relationship.”

  He looked down, and could feel tears welling up.

  Don’t you fucking cry!

  “Oh,” he said, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she said, reaching out across the chess board, putting a hand on his, “I’m flattered, I really am. But right now, with all this crazy shit that’s going on, the last thing I want is complications.”

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say, or do.

  She went on, “You know how hard relationships are under normal circumstances, but this? This is zombies n’ stuff. We need to be strong if we’re gonna fight these things. And if things get weird, we lose whatever advantage we have. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk our friendship, you know? Does this make sense?”

  Friend Zone, admission one.

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes now watering.

  Fucking baby!

  He got up and left his room, embarrassed on too many levels.

  “Charlie,” she called, but he kept going. He didn’t want to make a dramatic exit, but at the same time, he felt if she were to stop him, he would collapse into tears. He walked downstairs, past Bob, who was passed out on the sofa, and outside into the night.

  Derek lived on a cul-de-sac with a dozen similar houses on the south end backing up to the Gulf of Mexico. He stared at the other houses, barely visible in the late hours. The house across the street was nice, also three stories. He ran to it, tried the front door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. He went inside, shut the door behind him, and locked it. He fell against the door and put his head in his hands and cried.

  Big fucking baby! If Bob could see you now!

  He hated himself for being so damned stupid.

  Callie said she didn’t want to risk his friendship, but he couldn’t imagine how they could be friends with her knowing how he felt. It would be awkward as hell, and Bob would surely pick up on it and have a good ole laugh.

  Charlie cried himself empty, then forced himself to stand, though he was unsure what he would do.

  He took the stairs to the second floor and found himself in a spacious master bedroom that put Derek’s to shame. Though the room was dark, Charlie could see it was beautifully decorated. The bed was huge, bigger than a King-sized bed, for sure. And though unmade, it looked inviting, far more than the uncomfortably sterile beds in Derek’s guest rooms.

  The bed was fluffy-looking, had a ton of pillows, and a giant, thick, white comforter, smooth and cool as a soft pillow. He slipped into the bed to see how it felt. He was asleep in minutes.


  When Charlie woke, he wasn’t alone.

  A guy was standing in the corner, maybe in his early 30s. He had thick, dark hair, jeans, boots, and a black jacket. If Hollywood was casting for a bad ass to star in a movie, this would be the guy they called.

  “That’s some bruise you got there,” the man said.

  Charlie wanted to ask who the hell he was, but realized he was dreaming, and that the man wasn’t a threat.

  “Yeah,” he said, “My asshole stepdad.”

  “My old man used to knock me around, too. Fuckin’ cunt.”

  “Someone beat you up?”

  “I wasn’t always a tough guy. I used to be a scrawny kid. But once I learned what I needed to learn, I took control of my life.”

  “What did you do?” Charlie asked.

  The man looked at him, eyes cold as steel. “You don’t wanna know. Let’s just say, nobody fucks with Boricio no more.”

  Boricio.

  “Yeah, well, Bob’s pretty scary,” Charlie explained.

  “They’s all scary. But you know what … they’re all scared o’ somethin’ too. Everyone has a weakness. You just need to find it.” He leaned forward. “When you find a pussy, you fuck it.

  “Fuck it?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah, fuck it,” Boricio said, then made a slitting motion across his neck.

  Charlie woke in a sweat, fully expecting to see the man from the dream in the corner of the room.

  The morning sun came in through the drapes, motes of dust floating on the rays. Charlie glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It must’ve been battery operated, as it was still showing the time.

  8:04 a.m.

  Shit, they’re probably looking for me.

  He went to the curtains and looked across the road. The blinds were closed on all the rooms, so he couldn’t see if they were awake, let alone looking for him. Maybe they were still sleeping.

  He considered returning to the house, but he couldn’t face Callie. Couldn’t stand to look her in the eyes after running from the room, crying like a baby. Maybe he would stay in this house. It wasn’t on the water, but it was nice. Better than he’d ever have done for himself, for sure. He’d stay here until the government, or whoever was in charge now, came around to put things back together.

  Tell Bob to fuck himself. I got my own house. I live under my own roof. MY rules. And I’ll grow my hair longer than Jesus.

  He took a shower; the water was cold like at Derek’s. Then he made breakfast — peanut butter on a bagel. He thumbed through some magazines, mostly old issues of Popular Science and People.

  Charlie walked through the house, looking at the evidence of a life once lived, trying to imagine the family who called this place home until Saturday. A retired couple with a college-aged son, judging from photos. Lots of vacation pics, tropical islands, skiing, and all the other shit rich people did. From what he could tell, they lived pretty good lives.

  Happy lives for a happy family.

  He felt a pang of sadness, then started thinking of his mother and how cruelly he had judged her the past few years for being so subservient to Bob. Now that he’d been under Bob’s spell a few days, he could see how chaotic life could be on your own. Especially when you were a heartbroken widow looking for someone to spend time with and maybe fill the void in your life. She’d been single a long time before opening her heart to another.

  And how did Bob repay? By being an abusive fuck.

  Everyone has a weakness. You just need to find it. When you find a pussy, you fuck it.

  Oh, how he’d love to wipe that fucking smile from Bob’s face. Take a bat and just smash his fucking skull in. But this wasn’t a dream. This was the real world. And in the real world, the real Charlie Wilkens was neither a bad ass nor a hero. He didn’t know dick about dick, and still needed Bob’s skills if he was going to survive.

  Asshole that Bob was, he knew how to fix things, hunt, and all the shit survivalist types know. Charlie was an ignorant child who couldn’t last a day in the real world.

  And like the pussy he was, he went home with his tail between his legs.

  Charlie was crossing the street, wondering how worried Callie would be when she woke to see he wasn’t there. Maybe Bob would be worried, too. Maybe he’d feel bad for being such a dick. Or maybe he would be mad that Charlie left and was gone all night. Who knew? The coin could land on either side with Bob.

  But Callie, Charlie was sure, would be missing him. Maybe that would soothe the awkwardness between them a bit, he hoped.

  The front door was unlocked just as he’d left it last night. He walked in, surprised that Bob wasn’t still on the sofa sleeping off his drunk. He went to the kitchen, nobody there. He was about to go upstairs when he heard Bob laughing from out back.

  Two large, tinted windows looking out onto the back patio. Bob and Callie were splashing in the pool.

  Did they even notice that I was fucking gone?

  Callie dunked Bob under and he grabbed her, pulling her down with him. When they came up, they were kissing. A long kiss, and Callie wasn’t breaking away.

  Charlie stared, not willing to believe what he was seeing.

  How could she? Why? Why Bob?

  His heart pounded so loud, hard, and fast, he could feel it through his entire body. He wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to do anything other than stand there mute and paralyzed as he watched them kiss. Callie’s arms locked around Bob, and he lifted her up slightly, and reached down.

  He’s fucking her right there in the pool!

  Charlie could feel his nostrils flaring, rage coursing through his veins. An idea came to him, then spun him around and sent him to the living room where the shotgun lay propped against the sofa.

  He picked it up. Bob had taught him how to load it and fire it. Charlie hoped he was good enough not to miss.

  Charlie went to the kitchen, cocked the shotgun, and raised it, aiming at the couple in the pool. His finger curled around the trigger as his heart pounded louder, so loud, he could hear it in his ears, drowning out everything else.

  He tightened his grip and leveled the gun. Callie opened her eyes, looking at the window. He didn’t think she saw him, but he had seen her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes that looked like she was looking past him into some distance he could not see. Charlie felt a tug at his heart which he couldn’t ignore.

  He closed his eyes, then turned away from the window, lowering the gun.

  Charlie ran upstairs instead, grabbed one of his duffel bags, filled it with some food, some comics, a couple of pistols, some bullets, and kept the shotgun. Then he grabbed the keys to Derek’s Toyota and drove as fast and far as he could, tears in his eyes.

  As Charlie drove, he replayed the events in his head over and over again, wondering how long Callie had liked Bob. Wondering why she didn’t tell him. Wondering if she was just using both of them, sticking with whichever one would provide a better chance of survival. If that were the case, Bob had Charlie beat by a long shot.

  He wanted to be mad, was mad, but at the same time, he couldn’t ignore biological imperatives. If the world really did flush all the people away, then it was survival of the fittest again. And a big ape like Bob was at the top of the food chain. He would get the best of everything, including the women. He’d get them despite the fact they were nothing more to him than things to fuck, use, and abuse.

  The more things change, the more they seem the same.

  Charlie was about an hour or so into Alabama, driving along the highway, jamming to a Tool CD. Neither Derek nor his lover seemed like the typical Tool fan, but who was Charlie to judge. People surprised him every day. At least this was a pleasant surprise.

  He banged on the steering wheel to the throbbing drum tracks of Forty Six and Two, letting his rage out through music — the only therapy he believed in.

  He wasn’t sure where he was going, but would drive until he found something. He didn’t know anyone outside of Florida, except his grandmoth
er in New Jersey, senile and in a home. Well, she had been in a home. She was probably gone now, which was for the best. He didn’t want to think about his grandma being eaten by zombies.

  He liked the idea of just driving until something spoke to him.

  More than that, he liked the idea of starting over.

  Where nobody, assuming there was anybody left, knew him. Where he could reinvent himself as a stronger, cooler guy. The guy that got the girl. The guy who wasn’t too pussy to go after what he wanted.

  Someone other than Charlie Pussy-Ass Wilkens.

  “My name is Boricio,” he said into the mirror, rolling the ‘r’, even though the guy in his dream didn’t seem Spanish.

  If anyone asks, my name is Boricio. Heh, I kinda like the sound of that.

  Charlie was speeding along the highway screaming out the lyrics to Eulogy when the car started acting weird, as if the engine had just been cut off.

  He turned down the music as the car coasted to a stop. That’s when he saw the red gas light on the dashboard.

  Fuck me!

  As the car died, he stared out his window along the long, rural stretch of road. Nothing as far as he could see ahead. And behind him, it had been at least a few miles since he’d passed any signs of what was left of civilization.

  As if on cue, the sun was eclipsed almost all at once by dark, angry-looking clouds.

  So, what you gonna do now, Charlie Boy? Only it wasn’t his inner voice that mocked him. It was Bob’s.

  “Fuck you, Bob.”

  He thought about getting out of the car and walking back the way he came until he found a place to hole up for the rest of the day and night, or maybe find a new car. But as he was about to get out of the car, he was interrupted by the loudest thunder he’d ever heard. It sounded as if someone were tearing the roof from the top of the world. Lightning flashed not too far ahead.

  Rain followed, hitting his windshield in fat, loud drops that sounded like rocks.