Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “Die! Die! Die!” he screamed as the creature’s black blood spurted from the holes Charlie peppered in its flesh. He kept stabbing until the creature was nothing more than a mangled, shuddering mess.

  “I think it’s dead,” Adam said, approaching Charlie cautiously, tail between his legs. Charlie was sick of Adam’s dead weight and scared puppy routine. He was pissed and wanted to lash out at something, and right now; kicking a scared puppy seemed like a great idea. He fought the urge, got up, and started walking away before he took out his rage on Adam.

  “Where you going?” Adam called, but Charlie ignored him, walking into the fog with no idea where the hell he was headed.

  Charlie found the highway, or where the highway had been before the tornado tore it to nothing. The fog was still soup-thick; he couldn’t see far enough to figure which way was which, so he simply started walking along the broken path of where the highway had been, hoping it would lead them back to Boricio HQ. Adam was following him, though at a distance, likely afraid to get too close and rekindle the fire of Charlie’s anger.

  After 20 minutes, the road appeared, in chunks of asphalt at first, then the full road. Ten minutes later, Charlie saw a sign indicating he was traveling south, which was the right direction. The fog had cleared, replaced by a light-gray sky. Soon, the lightest drizzle of snow started to descend from the heavens.

  If there is still a heaven.

  Shivering and damp from the storm, Charlie continued forward, hoping to locate a usable vehicle. And soon. He kept walking, freezing, teeth chattering, with every muscle in his body on fire. He’d been surviving on anger alone, but that anger wouldn’t carry him much farther. They had to be at least 60 miles away from HQ, if not more. No way he’d make it that far in his present condition. And if he was going to save Callie, he had to get back. Boricio would know what to do. Boricio always had an answer.

  He’d find the fuckers who took Callie. They’d regret fucking with Team Boricio.

  His mind erupted with images of the unholy hell Boricio would rain down upon them. Charlie couldn’t help but smile.

  Time eventually lost all bearing. It seemed like forever since he’d seen any sign of civilization. The snow was falling harder, and was nearly as thick as the fog had been, his visibility compromised yet again.

  We have to find a car. Soon.

  The thought of “we” caused Charlie to turn around, and look back for Adam. But Adam was gone.

  Fuck him. Better off without him slowing me down.

  Charlie pivoted back and kept walking.

  Just as he did, he saw something in the distance, maybe a car in the road. His languishing heart found traction and sped up, as did his feet, fueled by fresh hope. When he reached the car, an old maroon Caddie, he nearly screamed in joy. He looked back for Adam on impulse, to tell him the good news, but Adam still wasn’t there.

  Oh well.

  He opened the car door and found keys in the ignition.

  Yes!

  He turned the key.

  Nothing.

  Shit!

  He turned it again.

  Still nothing.

  Yes, the keys had been in the ignition, but the car had also been left on, meaning it ran dry of gas and exhausted its battery long ago.

  “Fuck!” he screamed as he slammed his fists against the steering wheel.

  Instant pain from fist to shoulder was the prize for his loss of control. Anger wasn’t going to magically turn the engine, nor keep him warm in the constricting cocoon of white death. Outside, the snowstorm had become a howling blizzard, reducing the world to a thick wall of white.

  Like the fog, but freezing.

  He was exhausted, in pain, and trembling. Abandoning the shelter of the car to confront the cold kiss of the storm was suicide. So he hunkered down and waited. He hoped Adam was smart enough to find him and get out of the cold, too. But he was too exhausted to worry about Adam.

  Charlie reclined the front seat, leaned his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes. Maybe just a few winks.

  As he drifted off, memories of a movie where the hero was fighting sleep in the cold flashed behind his eyes. There was danger there, something about if he fell asleep, he would never wake up.

  Don’t fall asleep, or you won’t save Callie.

  Charlie opened his eyes, trying to shake himself free from the seduction of sleep. But within minutes, his eyelids grew heavy again.

  Just a few minutes . . .

  Charlie closed his eyes, tired of fighting, and surrendered.

  Thirty-Four

  Mary Olson

  Kingsland, Alabama

  The Sanctuary

  March 24

  9:06 a.m.

  Mary sat on the toilet, holding her stomach. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something. Aside from the occasional bout of sniffles, she almost never got sick. There was nothing like a boiling stomach, rolling in anger and making you too stupid to think straight. She needed to be stronger than ever, not struck by the lightning of an oncoming virus. She didn’t dare consider what the flu might do to her body now that modern medicine was a memory.

  Maybe it wasn’t the flu, but stress. Stress could certainly tear a body in two. And she’d had more than her share recently, with what had happened to poor Rebecca and all. It was awful, punishing an innocent girl like she was Devil’s seed, shearing her hair to nothing and locking her in a wooden box for a little more than being a normal 13-year-old girl. The end of the world didn’t entitle anyone to forget human decency, compassion, and fairness. Such predatory behavior was vicious, befitting of wolves, not people. And those who allowed it to happen without a word of protest? Sheep.

  As awful as all of it was, Mary had the hardest time with the part played by the girl’s mother, Sarah. Not only had Sarah done nothing to stop it, she’d fueled the fire and fanned the flames. What sort of mother would do that? If that had been Paola, The Prophet would’ve needed Rei and every other “brother” in the compound to keep her nails from clawing the color from his face. Sarah had practically issued the directive to lock her daughter away.

  Punish the sinner. Punish the sinner now, while there is still time to save her soul, before she joins her sister in The Lake of Fire.

  The cruelty of Sarah’s words was a ragged blade digging into her spine. Mary shuddered, continuing to rock back and forth on the toilet in a self-embrace.

  Mary was so enraged, she wasn’t sure whether it was the sick in her stomach or the sick in her soul that had driven her from the lunch table and into the bathroom for the first time that day. This was the second. The space in the middle had been spent outside in the garden with Desmond and Will.

  The garden was at the back of the property, behind the hangar, a favorite spot for the three grown-ups in their group. While Linc was technically part of their group, he’d been steadily spending more time with the members of the church, which left Mary feeling like Desmond and Will were the only adults she could truly count on here.

  The garden had two long stone benches. The trio always sat on one, Desmond and Will on either side with Mary in the middle, huddled close together to ensure their chatter didn’t carry too far.

  “You should’ve seen it, Mary,” Desmond whispered. “It was some fucked up shit, the way they got their ‘confession.’ If I was a kid like Carl, getting tortured by a pious dickhead like Rei, I would’ve confessed to stealing the Lindbergh baby!” He shook his head. “Rei’s every word was insidiously chosen to led the boy down a series of feelings and then fed him the answers they wanted from him. Carl didn’t stand a chance. It was expert manipulation and mind control!”

  “What did he say?” Mary asked. “Rei, I mean. Not Carl.”

  Desmond gritted his teeth. “I remember it word for word: ‘Do it for both of you. The punishment for girls is far less strict than it will be for you. You will be helping both of you by admitting the truth. The Prophet is a great man, a loving man. He’ll be looking for any excuse to
show mercy on the child. Give him one, Carl. Allow God’s grace to spare your life.’ I’m telling you both, if I’d had my gun I might’ve emptied it on ‘Brother’ Rei. Maybe John, too.”

  Will whistled as Desmond finished his eerie impression of Rei. “Des is right. I thought I was gonna have to pull him back.”

  “What did Carl say?” Mary asked Desmond.

  “The only thing he knew that would get the shackles off his wrists. Rei didn’t really give him a choice; he told Carl to admit that Rebecca seduced him. You should’ve seen that asshole’s smile, like a pedophile clown at a kid’s birthday party. Carl started crying, saying that, ‘Yeah, that’s exactly how it happened, the picnic was all Rebecca’s idea,’ and adding that he only agreed because the devil made him do it. He finished with, ‘and that’s the honest truth.’ Rei just kept on smiling his pedoclown smile, then signed his masterpiece with, ‘The truth shall set ye free.’ The ‘ye’ made me want to crack his skull. John was just sitting there watching the farce play out, enjoying every moment. Worse, he was watching me watch them! I don’t know if this was some kind of power play by John, a ‘look what we can do if you step out of line,’ or if he honestly felt that I needed to see how ‘justice’ was handled here.” Desmond shook his head, teeth gritted, stewing.

  “I don’t mean to piss in the pool,” Will said, “but is it possible Rei was actually looking out for Carl? Carl could have been sentenced to death for taking Rebecca into the woods. And since all the courthouses are empty, there isn’t anyone gonna stop them here. If Carl pleaded guilty to a lesser charge, his life was spared, like copping to manslaughter instead of murder. You do a little time, but don’t get the needle. I’m not saying it’s right; I’m saying that’s the way it is. We may not like the pews, but that’s where we’re sitting.”

  “What sort of fucked up religion kills kids for being kids?” retorted Desmond.

  Mary didn’t think Desmond was really hunting for an answer. She said, “I think we should leave The Sanctuary. We’re not safe here, not anymore. I want to go now, before it’s too late. What if someone misinterprets Luca and Paola holding hands or something?”

  She rubbed her hand along Desmond’s shoulder, then turned to Will. “Do you really want to wait until something happens to one of ours before deciding to leave? We’ve felt unsettled since the day we arrived here, and we’re only sinking deeper. So, why are we staying? What are we afraid of? The monsters out there? I’m starting to think that maybe they’re not as bad as the ones in here. At least they click, letting you know when they’re coming.”

  Will sighed, then sagged on the back of the stone bench and tugged on his beard. He was tugging for nearly a full minute while everyone gave him the quiet to think, then he swung his right ankle atop his left knee and leaned in toward Mary. “Look, Mary, I hear ya. And if you wanna leave tomorrow, I’ll tip my hat and say toodaloo to this place along with you. But I think it’d be wrong. I think we’d be in more danger than we are now. But hell, that’s like sprinkling salt on a salt lick and saying it’s saltier. We’re in danger no matter what we do. But I think we should stay. Better to stay with the devil you know, or can at least understand, than the devil you don’t, which is the bleakers. Even so, you wanna go, I’ll go right along with you, and make sure the kids know I think it’s the best idea ever.”

  Desmond said, “Why don’t you just tell her ‘no.’ That would be better than the, sure you can do it if you want us all dead speech.”

  “I said it like I meant it,” Will replied, resuming the tugging on his beard. “What we’re seeing behind these walls is easier to understand than whatever’s out there,” he nodded toward the gate. “I may not know what all this means, but something is telling me this isn’t where we’re supposed to go, but it is where we’re supposed to wait. Someone’s been letting me look on things from up high for a while now. I figure, if someone’s kind enough to show me things I need to see before I need to see them, I’m a damned fool to turn my eyes.”

  “I don’t care about your dreams,” Mary said, bluntly. There was no time for sparing Will’s feelings when her child’s life might be in danger. “Not anymore. I want out. I want to feel safe! The world’s full of monsters, but that doesn’t mean I have to sleep in their house. I don’t want to raise my child, or Luca, anywhere near these wackos.”

  “Religious wackos,” Desmond added.

  “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t make it wacko,” Will said. “Religion isn’t evil just on account of it being religion.”

  “You’re a man of science, Will.” Desmond shook his head. “You don’t believe in the religious shit these people are peddling, do you? And who the hell is this guy to claim himself ‘The Prophet?’”

  “I don’t think science and religion are mutually exclusive. I don’t have to believe in a big man with a long beard to see that there’s order in the chaos, that there could be an architect of creation. And if someone, or something, whether it be God or something else, is revealing the future to me in my dreams, then maybe the same thing is true for The Prophet. Maybe his world is dictated by things he’s seen, or whoever made certain he saw them.”

  Will stood from the bench and started pacing, like he usually did after sitting for more than five minutes straight. “Let’s give God a rest from the conversation. This isn’t about Him. Let’s agree, at least for the length of this conversation, that there’s more to life than the physical existence we’re living in right now. Let’s say there’s an underlying reality where energy, and maybe consciousness, can give birth to particles and matter. If that’s true, it would mean you could basically push yourself into forever.”

  Mary stared blankly at Will, not sure where he was going with this.

  Will turned from Desmond to her and said, “I’ll melt some ice in the theory so it’s easier to drink. Has Paola ever played video games?”

  “Sure,” Mary said.

  “She have a favorite?”

  “Yeah, she loved the Zelda games.”

  Will said, “That’s Nintendo, right? With the elf kid in green with the big sword, right?” The memory of the game made Mary smile. She nodded, then Will went on. “Someone, or a group of people, thought up the game. Then it existed, right? I mean, sure, you had coders and artists and everyone else who made it reality, but it didn’t exist until it did, and it was the idea that made it happen. Once that world is built, it’s there forever. Now, I’m not some old man off his rocker who thinks Toy Story is a docudrama; I’m merely trying to draw an analogy. What if we can create worlds to inhabit? What if we are doing so right now, and we don’t even realize it?”

  “That’s a weak analogy,” rebuffed Desmond. “Even if it comes close to explaining an afterlife, which is what I think you’re getting at, it doesn’t come anywhere near an explanation for the fairytales and illusion of organized religion.”

  “Sure, my beliefs may be fed by a longing to fly past my death,” Will conceded, “but that right there is the place where science and I split for a while. Science likes to give a finger to faith because it’s only looking for truth. But that’s forgetting the fact that faith is an egg until a new truth hatches. Name one scientific discovery that didn’t start with an unsubstantiated belief. Wasn’t too long ago when an atom couldn’t be split.”

  Mary said, “And Pluto used to be a planet.”

  “That it did.” Will laughed, then continued. “Maybe space and distance are only illusions. It’s just the way things look to us since we can’t see, or fathom, the larger construct that is reality. It’s like how the colorblind can never know the true of a red. People claiming to know God might know there’s something out there, because they feel it, like breath in the air. And maybe religion is the only name they’ve got for it, so they sculpt it in their own image, with their own prejudices and laws and such, but it’s something to believe in. It may be a light year from the truth, but it’s the closest they know. If science can’t accept that religion m
ight be more than fairytales and magic tricks, well, that’s its own shortcoming. Or was. I’m keeping an open mind, though. I’ve seen too much, been through too much, not to. I don’t know what’s guiding me, but I know what happens when I start to doubt it or fail to heed the warnings.”

  Desmond said, “Listen, I respect your mind, Will. You and I agree on a lot of things, and I appreciate all you’ve done for us. But we need to start thinking more logically and less superstitiously. Mary is right; we need to get the hell out of here ASAP.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing at all,” started Will. But Desmond didn’t let him finish.

  “You talk about science, and offer respect for scientific research. But right now you sound like a man of faith, not science; a man of faith who doesn’t subject his irrational beliefs to the same scrutiny he would a controlled experiment or peer review. That’s all fine, as long as you’re not trying to convince me there’s science behind your dreams.”

  “There’s science behind everything,” parleyed Will.

  “Forget science then,” Desmond’s voice was showing his impatience. “Why are you looking for something outside your physical existence in the first place? Do you know something about physical limits that we don’t? Why do you need more than physical reality? Fire, water, glass; wind, rain and snow; human touch, laughter, sex. The physical world is all around us; don’t you think that’s magic enough already? Aren’t the millions of years of evolution, countless species in an impossible number of variations, and the inarguable intelligence of man enough for you?”

  “Sure they are,” Will smiled, “but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole helluva lot more.”