Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “OK, eat your dinner before it gets cold,” Jane said.

  “I like it cold,” Emily said, smiling.

  “Should we get some ice cubes for your lasagna, then?” Brent joked.

  “Yeah! That would be yummy.”

  Brent shook his head, laughing, then took a sip of wine. Despite all that had happened in the world during the last five months, Emily was resilient, often silly, hyper, and at times, pouty like any normal little girl. While Jane put on a good show, he could tell that she was having a tougher time. But she was practical, and appeared upbeat most nights when he came over for dinner.

  Brent enjoyed being with them, though at times like this he worried that Emily was looking to him as a father figure. They’d grown close over the past few months, bonded by shared tragedy and the human need for companionship in a world circling hell’s drain. But there was no romance between Brent and Jane. They were good friends, with similar interests in books and movies. That was it. But Brent wasn’t certain Emily understood the distinction. And he wasn’t about to say anything to either the girl or her mother for fear of alienating Jane or crushing Emily. So, he simply enjoyed the relationship for what it was, a quasi-family unit that they’d successfully avoided delving into or discussing in any depth at all.

  “What did you do today?” Emily asked from behind a mouthful of lasagna.

  “Michael and I flew over the city looking to see if we could find any other people.”

  “Did you?” Emily asked, half-chewed lasagna rendering her question barely intelligible.

  “No,” Brent said, “Not this time.”

  “Do you think your family is still alive?” Emily asked.

  Jane’s face went red. “Emily Rose!”

  “What? I was just asking . . . ”

  “It’s okay,” Brent said. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anyone else out there, at least not in the city.”

  Emily’s eyes were big and sad. “Are you going to keep looking?”

  Jane’s face grew redder, but it was too late to say anything, so she said, “I’m sorry, Brent. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “She’s curious,” Brent said in the child’s defense. “It’s okay. I don’t think the helicopters are going to go out too many more times. And it’s too dangerous to go by myself. From what Michael says, they’ve pretty much scoured the city and gotten everyone they could.”

  “I don’t want you to go back there,” Emily said. “They’re probably in heaven, anyway.”

  “Emily!” Jane said, “I want you to apologize to Mr. Foster right now.”

  Emily looked at him, confused at what she’d said wrong, doe-eyed and adorable. It was impossible to get mad at a face like that – for him, anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  Brent leaned over and hugged Emily, his eyes welling up. Jane’s eyes were red, too, as she excused herself and went into the kitchen, out of sight.

  “It’s okay, Emily.” Brent said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Wait here, I’m gonna get some more to drink, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, pushing the food around on her plate with the fork.

  Brent went into the kitchen and found Jane leaning against the fridge with her face in her hands, shuddering. She hadn’t noticed Brent in the room yet, and he worried that maybe he should go back into the living room so he wouldn’t embarrass her. She obviously wanted privacy. Before he could leave, she turned, looked at him, eyes red, cheeks wet, and blew her nose into a napkin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  The awkwardness of the moment deepened. He had no problems showing affection to Emily, but he and Jane were more like two male friends, avoiding anything close to intimacy. As she stood there, vulnerable and crying, he felt stupid not embracing her. He surrendered to his instinct, walked to Jane, and put both arms around her.

  She fell into his chest, crying and sniffing louder. Her warmth and lightly perfumed scent reminded him how long it had been since he’d touched another woman. He thought of Gina and how much he missed her, then found himself inappropriately aroused. A flush of guilt flooded his body.

  Jesus, Brent, what the hell?

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” Emily asked, standing at the kitchen’s entrance.

  Jane pulled away, leaned down, then hugged her daughter, “Mommy just got sad. I’ll be okay.”

  Brent stared at his “family” as they held their embrace and felt even more like an outsider.

  After Emily went to bed, Brent and Jane sat on her couch together watching a DVD of some comedy show neither of them had ever seen, nor remembered being on the air. He had no idea whether the show was funny or not because all he could think about was the fact that Jane was just inches away. He grabbed a few looks at her whenever he could, trying not to be too obvious, something Gina said he was horrible at hiding whenever he’d look at another woman on the streets.

  Brent was surprised that he’d not really noticed Jane’s beauty before now. He’d recognized that she was pretty, of course, but dismissed it as one might recognize their sister as pretty, yet not be attracted to them. But he hadn’t really thought of her sexually until their embrace in the kitchen. He hadn’t thought of any woman other than Gina, in fact. But now, he found himself intoxicated by the woman’s beauty as if she’d just removed a mask and was revealing her true self for the first time. Jane’s father was Irish and mother Japanese, leaving her with beautiful fair skin, long, dark hair, and oversized, but gorgeous brown eyes.

  As he was looking at her eyes and trying to figure out if it was merely his imagination that had filled them with flecks of gold, she turned and caught his gaze. He meant to turn away, flushed with embarrassment, but instead leaned over, cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her. Softly at first, then passionately, as she fell back and he, on top of her, hands running down over her breasts, down her sides and back up again, kissing her the entire time.

  Neither said a word. She let out a sigh as his mouth found her neck. He licked, sucked, and nibbled as his hands moved down, hiking up her dress, then unbuttoning his pants. He was about to slide her underwear aside when Emily screamed.

  Jane bolted upright, eyes wide and darting back and forth, avoiding eye contact with Brent. “She gets real bad dreams sometimes,” Jane said, even though Brent knew it, and raced into Emily’s bedroom.

  Brent buttoned his pants and sat up, uncomfortably, on the couch, wondering what the fuck he was doing.

  They’re still out there.

  He closed his eyes, trying to will the nagging thought into submission.

  No, they ARE gone.

  Stop it. Just . . . stop.

  Jane’s voice carried from her daughter’s room and cut through the inner battle in Brent’s head. “It’s okay, baby,” she said, “Mommy’s here.”

  Brent stood, went to the doorway, and peeked into Emily’s room. A blue nightlight lit just enough of the room for him to see Jane sitting at the edge of Emily’s bed, stroking her daughter’s hair as the girl lay on her side, facing the wall. Jane looked up at him. Again, he felt like an outsider.

  He whispered that he needed to go.

  She nodded, then waved awkwardly.

  Once outside, Brent locked her door with his copy of her key, then headed toward headquarters, a quarter mile away. He wished he’d thought to bring an electric cart, but then again, Brent didn’t want to push his privileges too far as a recent recruit.

  The air was crisp, cool, and the wind tinged with salt from the ocean, reminding him of the few times he’d taken his family to the shore. And how much more often he wished he had.

  Three

  Charlie Wilkens

  Dunn, Georgia

  March 20

  8:40 p.m.

  Three flashes of light were followed by a second set before they went black.

  The signal outside the gate was Adam’
s code to enter, but the vehicle wasn’t the truck he and Jeremy had left with. Charlie stood from his chair on the second-floor balcony where he’d been waiting nearly two hours for the guys to return.

  “You got eyes on the gate?” Charlie called into the radio to Vic, who was on watch in the cupola. “Can you see inside?”

  “Hold on, it’s dark, but looks like him.”

  “Wait here, okay?” Charlie said to Callie, half asleep in a lounge chair beside him, where she’d been staring at the stars and engaging in her usual what-ifs. She sat up in her seat, staring at the front gate.

  Charlie grabbed the shotgun, ran inside, down the stairs, and out the front door with Boricio, who was holding his trusty bat, and Vic, with his Colt Python.

  “Where’s the truck?” Boricio asked.

  “I dunno,” Charlie said as they drew closer to the car, still a blur in the dark, though they were close enough to see it was some sort of dark sedan. The car’s interior was bathed in darkness, causing Charlie to silently curse himself for not thinking to bring a light. He hoped Boricio wouldn’t notice his lack of planning. There was no room for errors on Team Boricio, even if they’d been safe for nearly three months since finding the compound. And Charlie already felt like the weakest link, aside from maybe Adam. Vic and Jeremy were constantly teasing him, calling him by girls’ names and giving him the same shit that Bob did, though they claimed they were just playing. Charlie thought he’d settled the issue of his supposed weakness with what he did to Bob, but most of them hadn’t been there to see that, and only Boricio really knew what happened.

  In their eyes, Charlie was the kid, the baby of the group. Never mind that Adam was actually weaker, younger, and more timid than Charlie. Somehow Adam got a pass, for reasons Charlie didn’t understand. Perhaps it was because Adam was so nice to everyone, practically fawning over them. Or maybe there was some target painted on Charlie that always made him the butt of the jokes, the one most likely to get bullied. The one who couldn’t do anything right. The pussy who always chose the path of least resistance. Whatever the case, he found himself in the familiar position of trying to fly under the radar in a pack of wolves. Trying to avoid scrutiny. Trying not to fuck up.

  By the time they reached the gate, they got a clearer look inside the car’s cabin. Whoever was inside was slumped over the steering wheel, unmoving.

  “Who is it?” Charlie called, shotgun raised.

  The shape in the car moved, slowly, and the driver’s door opened. The shape stepped out, and into the moonlight.

  Adam’s face was bloodied, his left eye swollen shut, shirt shredded and covered in blood.

  “Jesus!” Vic said, “What happened?”

  Adam stumbled forward as Boricio unlocked the gate and pulled it open.

  Adam shuffled forward then leaned against the car; his hand slipped on the hood, and he nearly fell to the ground. Charlie rushed to his aid and put an arm around him, helping him stand upright.

  “They killed Jeremy and took the truck,” Adam said, eyes on the ground.

  “Who did this?” Boricio asked, enraged.

  Adam’s eyes wouldn’t leave the ground. Charlie couldn’t tell if he was afraid to report the bad news to Boricio, or if he was simply too weak to look up. “It was that crew we ran into on the road last week, the pale guys on the motorcycles.”

  Boricio stared at Adam, laughed, then glared at Charlie. “I told you we shoulda killed those cum-colored fuckers!”

  “They didn’t do anything,” Charlie said defensively.

  “Tell that to the walking roadkill,” Boricio said, pointing at Adam.

  “I meant they didn’t do anything last week. They didn’t pose a threat.”

  “This ain’t a fucking Sadie Hawkins dance,” Boricio yelled, “and we don’t fucking wait for invitations or for motherfuckers to ‘pose a threat.’ We strike first so we can stay alive.”

  Charlie shook his head, not wanting to have this argument again.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Vic said, helping Adam towards the house.

  “Lock the gate,” Boricio barked to Charlie, throwing him the keys, as he followed Adam and Vic inside. Charlie shook his head, then caught a glimpse of Callie standing on the balcony, looking down, concerned. He sighed, then turned back and closed the gate, taking an extra moment to lock it, knowing that once inside, he would get an earful from Boricio.

  By the time Charlie made it back inside, Adam was sitting beside two battery-operated lanterns at the kitchen table, shirt off, as Callie cleaned his wounds with a rag and a fresh bowl of water. Adam’s face was bruised and his nose bloody, probably broken. Blood seeped from a thin, red line slashed across his chest courtesy of the sharp side of a knife. The wound looked scarier than it was, though, as it didn’t seem to run too deep.

  Adam cringed as Callie hit a tender spot. “Sorry,” she said.

  “They got you after you made the pickup, or before?” Boricio asked, pacing back and forth.

  “After,” Adam said.

  “Fuck!” Boricio slammed a fist on the black granite kitchen counter. “So they got the truck and the supplies.”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said.

  “OK, Lone Ranger, I want you to start from the beginning and tell me exactly how in the fuck this shit went sideways.”

  “Well, everything was normal. We hit the store, loaded the truck, and were about halfway back when all of a sudden we heard the motorcycles and saw the lights behind us. At least six of them, all on bikes. They drove in front of us and blocked the road, with guns aimed at us.”

  “And you didn’t just run the fuck through them?” Boricio asked, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that’s a holy trinity of fucking stupid. Why wouldn’t you floor it?”

  “I was afraid they’d shoot us if we didn’t stop.”

  “Well fuck a duck, son.” Boricio said. “Looks like you just screwed the pooch. What happened next?”

  “We got out of the truck and one of the guys, the bald one with the patch, asked us what we had in the truck. I’m pretty sure he knew, though. So I told him ‘supplies’ and he said they didn’t belong to us, that we’d stolen them from the store, and he was gonna take them back and we ought not to get in his way.”

  “And then?” Boricio asked, full attention on Adam’s story while Vic paced in the shadows where the kitchen opened to the dining room.

  “Well, Jeremy said ‘Hell no’, so the guy with the patch shot him right in the head. I wanted to shoot the guy, but there were six of them and I knew I couldn’t get them all. He told me to give him my gun.”

  “And you did?” Boricio’s upper lip twitched.

  “Yeah,” Adam said, eyes on Boricio, like a child afraid he was about to see the slapping side of a belt. “So, the guy took my gun, then hit me in the face with his shotgun. All the other guys started laughing. He asked me for the keys, and I asked him if he was gonna shoot me. He laughed and said if he’d planned to do that, I’d already have maggots making babies in the holes. So, I handed him the keys, and he was all, ‘See, I told you I wasn’t gonna shoot you’ then headed to the back of the truck to see what was inside. The other guys followed, except one, who stood over me. I don’t know what took so long, but they seemed to be looking in the back of the truck forever. Then the guy who was watching me went to join them. I got up and ran into the woods, but they came after me, and knocked me down. I thought for sure that was it. The bald guy came over, leaned down, slid the knife across my chest, and said, ‘Tell your people that we own Dunn, and we’d better not see them again.’ Then they left me there. I walked a half a mile or so, without a gun or anything, praying I wouldn’t run into one of them monsters. Then I found a house, went inside, got the keys to a car, then drove back here as fast as I could.”

  “Thank God you’re alive,” Callie said, looking up at Charlie, quietly urging him to say something.

  “You did a good job,” Charlie said, figuring someone should praise him if Boricio wasn’t.


  Boricio laughed, “If shitting the bed and losing a truck along with one of our men is what constitutes a good job these days, well fuck me in the face and show me where I can sign up for the union.” Boricio laughed, then added, “My, my, how far the mighty Team Boricio has fallen.”

  Charlie looked up. “Do we really want to bag on him while he’s down? I’m sure he feels like shit enough already.”

  Boricio’s eyes drilled into Charlie. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but kept his mouth shut in a rare moment of silence.

  “So, what are we gonna do?” Vic, the walking steroid case, asked. “We’re not gonna take this shit, are we?”

  “I dunno,” Boricio said. “Let’s ask Prince Charles, here. Do we want to make this shit straight, or should we just pack our bags, tuck our dicks in between our legs and cluck the fuck out of Dunn because One-Eyed Willy and his gang of cum-colored fucktards said to get off their turf?”

  “There’s enough homes and stores for all of us,” Callie said, ignoring Boricio’s usual ranting. “Why did they rob us? It’s not like there’s that many people competing for resources, right? They’re the only ones we’ve seen, right?”

  “Well, them and The Prophet’s compound, but that’s about an hour away,” Charlie said. “Maybe supplies are drying up around Dunn? Or maybe they’re just acting now to get what they can before they do? Maybe they’ve run into other people left behind?”

  “Who gives a dickstick dipped in twat oil WHY they robbed us,” Boricio said, swinging his hands theatrically. “It’s Top-of-the-Food-Chain time, kids! That means kill or be killed, whether you’re human or monster. I know Charlie and Adam here have this cozy notion that people are ‘nice’ and we ought to be a happy band of Mr. Rogers types, taking off our shoes and wiping survivors’ asses if they can’t do it themselves. But when the cosmic shit hits the fan, people ain’t nothin’ but animals – hunter or prey. And in case any of you fuckers were in the bathroom tossing one off during intermission, Boricio is a hunter. The only question is what do you all wanna be?”