Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “Yes. On sight?”

  “Yes,” Ed said. “We can’t take any chances.”

  Ed brought him current on everything that had happened, as well as with his theory, that Dr. Williams was somehow communicating with the infected and that the infected were acting on his behalf. Ed ended the call on his radio and turned to Will Bishop, who was still looking down at the Guardsmen on the ground.

  “They’re trying to keep us here,” Ed said.

  “Yes, they appear to be working in concert with Williams,” Bishop said, echoing what Will had just told Sullivan.

  “How long do you think Williams has been infected?” Ed asked.

  “I dunno. You all should’ve fired him the second you knew he helped Boricio. But screw consequences, right? Anything for the sake of science!”

  “It wasn’t my call; you know that,” Ed said, annoyed.

  He was just as pissed as Will that Overseer Washington hadn’t thrown shutters on the project sooner. But arguing about it now, particularly when the Overseer was dead, was pointless. There was a heap of shit they should’ve done differently. But they didn’t pay Ed for his opinions. He was paid to manage scientists and make sure they didn’t blow up the world or worse. Yet, when they actually tinkered with something as dangerous as the vials, Ed was told to sit down and shut up while the real scientists did their thing.

  And we all know how that went.

  “Let’s just stick to what we’re gonna do next,” he said to Will, who seemed at least a little more present than in recent memory, maybe awakened by the danger. “By the way, what did Williams mean when he said he’d known what you did?”

  Will looked confused. “I believe he thinks I have the vials.”

  “Are there any left?” Ed asked.

  “No, you know that. All we have left is what was in the serum that our guys are trying to use to find a cure.”

  “I had to ask,” Ed said. “He seemed so certain.”

  “The crazy ones usually are.”

  “How do you think he was infected?” Ed asked. “It had to have happened recently, right? We’ve never seen it lay dormant for longer than 48 hours.”

  “It had to be recent, yes” Will agreed. “Was he working with the infected patients he helped escape?”

  “Yes,” Ed said. “Almost daily.”

  “Perhaps they played his sympathies, and he left himself open to their influence. They must’ve done it telepathically. We all know that I was changed by mere proximity. Luca more so having been injected with the serum.”

  “We’ve never seen them do anything like that,” Ed said. “We’ve never seen an infected with that kind of cognitive function, have we?”

  “Once,” Bishop said, but then trailed off when Ed’s radio rang again.

  It was Sullivan saying that Teagan wanted to talk to him.

  “Ed, I’m scared. What’s happening?”

  “Everything will be okay,” he said. “Sullivan is going to move you to Level 8. Go with him; do whatever he says. OK? Is Jade with you?”

  “Yes,” she said, weeping.

  Ed couldn’t afford the distraction, or the tears that came with it. “I don’t have time to talk now, Baby. Sullivan will take care of you. OK? I have to go. Now.”

  A pause, then Teagan said, “Bye.”

  Ed hung up without saying another word. The tune of her fear had already compromised his ability to think clearly. He had to figure out a way to get from the monastery to the Facility without running into any of the infected.

  Ed looked down at the Guardsman who were no longer Guardsman, six total. He couldn’t make out any of their identities, since their mutation was nearly complete and their faces had shifted to monstrosities.

  Ed turned to Will with a sudden idea. “If Williams is infected, why hasn’t he mutated like these things? His temporal lobe is functioning just fine, unlike the other infected. Could the species be finding a new way to integrate with us? More of an invisible parasite, controlling functions without showing symptoms elsewhere or going full-blown mutation?”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out at the moment, and that does make the most sense. But we’d need to get a look inside his brain to know for certain.”

  “Well, first, we need to take care of these down here and then get back to the Facility.”

  “Okay,” Bishop said.

  Ed loaded a fresh clip into his Glock, then aimed at the mutant in the center of the line of them and fired, hitting it square in the forehead. It dropped to the ground, screeching as it fell. Ed was’t sure if the screech was pain or a warning because the moment it started, the others followed, all opening their mouths and releasing unholy wails, piercing to his ears even from 30 yards away.

  Ed fired down into the group and hit another, drowning its fallen comrade’s cry with a wail of its own. The other four scattered into the shadows as the first one finished dying from Ed’s near-perfect headshot.

  “Come on,” Ed ordered. “Follow me.”

  They made their way down to the monastery entrance, then across the courtyard and into the woods.

  “The truck is just this way,” Ed said, surprised that Will was keeping decent pace.

  They made it halfway to the truck when suddenly, movement erupted around them, dark on dark moving fast.

  And then they were surrounded by the four infected Guardsman.

  Ed stepped in front of Will, shielding him from the closest of the infected. For some reason, however, the infected weren’t moving any closer — as if they were frozen in place awaiting instructions.

  “They won’t fight back,” Will suddenly said, sounding far more certain than Ed's hunch.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Ed raised his gun and shot each of the four infected in the head, taking them down by order of proximity. Once on the ground and writhing, Ed emptied his gun, finishing them off in the same order he shot them before.

  “Let’s go.” Ed opened the driver’s side and climbed inside, though he didn’t have to say anything to Will, who was already sitting in the passenger seat, waiting.

  Ed gunned the engine, floored the pedal, and said, “It’s almost worse that they didn’t put up a fight.”

  Will said, “That’s because it’s easier to see the people inside them.”

  Thirty-Six

  Boricio Bishop

  Black Island Research Facility

  September 2011

  ONE MONTH BEFORE THE EVENT …

  Boricio sat cross-legged on a mattress, alone in the glass quarantine cell, one of 12 cells in the room where he had seen Will oversee so many tests before. However, it was usually animals in the cells. Now, there was he and three doctors, awaiting tests, and a large, old ape named Brian. And then, of course, there was Rose.

  The Guardsman threw Boricio inside the cell, leaving him alone and afraid, sitting on the floor with a front-row-center view of Rose — the fresh monstrosity in the cell across from him — mutated, grotesque, and mercifully asleep, lying momentarily still as death on a mattress.

  Will’s question, as he’d yanked Boricio from Rose’s room, played on repeat over and over in Boricio’s head, the sole lyrics of a guilty song:

  What have you done?

  The longer he waited, the longer he had to stew in the pain of that question.

  What have I done?

  Why?

  She said she remembered me. Maybe her memory would’ve come back.

  The pain would’ve gone away. I could’ve waited.

  I should have stopped it.

  Boricio had no idea how long it was from when the Guardsman had first thrown him into the cell to when he finally heard the pressured release of the door lock and his adopted father stepped inside his cell.

  “Hey, Boricio,” Will said. He was missing the hazmat suit worn by every other Guardsman. “So?” he stood over Boricio’s mattress, arms in an X across his chest.

  Boricio said nothing.

  Will finally said, “S
eriously, Son, what were you thinking?” It sounded like he was using everything inside him to keep his voice low and emotions steady.

  “You know exactly what I was thinking,” Boricio said, “So, don’t show up to the barbecue and act surprised to see meat on the grill.”

  Will didn’t respond so Boricio added, “What happened to Rose?”

  Will shook his head and said, “Sorry, Boricio,” but followed his apology with silence.

  Boricio said, “What does sorry mean?”

  Will drew a breath, then said, “Rose has mutated. We’ve never seen anything like this. We’ve got our best people analyzing the serum that Dr. Williams concocted along with her blood and tissue samples. Dr. Williams will be facing punishment for his actions. And I’m sorry to say, you will, too.”

  “Fine,” Boricio said, “I look great in orange.”

  “I need you to take this seriously,” Will said. “You could be court-martialed . . . or worse.”

  Boricio felt a flutter of fear, and he must’ve showed it on his face because Will stepped into his confidence. “It’s possible I could prevent it,” he said. “I don’t know for certain. But even if you’re not court-martialed, they’ll want to excommunicate you from the island. Probably forever.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes, probably since Boricio had warned Will not to ask him the same question he already knew the answer to. Finally, likely because he couldn’t help it, Will asked, “Why did you do it, Boricio?”

  Boricio didn’t answer, just stayed quiet until Will finally lost his temper. “I’ve never been angrier with you in my entire life!” he screamed. “I don’t know what in the hell is the matter with you, Son, that you would ever think it would be okay to jeopardize our jobs, futures, and friendships, not to mention the very fabric of our family, just so you could sneak in here and play scientist. Your behavior was selfish, Boricio. Sure, you can claim it was all for love, or that it was you and Rose against the world. But that’s bullshit, Boricio. You put your needs above everyone else’s, including Rose’s, and you’ve done it for the last time.”

  Will kept on going, throwing words at Boricio like they were kicks to a beaten dog’s belly. Boricio took every syllable, mostly because he knew he deserved them, but finally a month’s worth of torment cracked through his facade. His shoulders started shaking, then sagged.

  His entire body shuddered, and Boricio finally broke down.

  Once his tears started to fall, Will lowered himself to the mattress beside him, wrapping his arms around Boricio’s shoulders and softly whispered his apologies.

  Boricio gathered his composure and nudged his breathing into the same, steady rhythm he’d been practicing for weeks. Finally, once he felt like he could finish a full sentence without his voice cracking in half, he said, “I don’t get it. You all have used the serum on animals and nothing like this has ever happened, right?”

  Will nodded.

  “And with the first human subject, Luca, it cured him. No bad side effects. Dr. Williams said he’d used the same formulation. There is nothing different about the serum. Nothing! Why did it do . . . that, to her?”

  “Well, first of all, Luca has been having side effects. I tried to warn you that we didn’t know what we’re dealing with, but … ”

  “No, he didn’t turn into a fucking monster! Why did Rose?”

  Will folded his hands in front of him, “I don’t know. There’re so many variables in play, and our team is looking them over, trying to figure out what happened. Obviously, this is a huge setback in the program, even if Rose wasn’t a part of it — she’s become a part of it, now.”

  Boricio swallowed. One more slice of the guilt pie.

  Boricio swallowed hard, trying to put words to a thought that had been forming in his mind since he’d been thrown into the cell.

  “What is it?” Will said, knowing his son like a book he could read without turning a page.

  Boricio said. “What if I’m the variable?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The serum was the same, and Dr. Williams performed both procedures. The biggest variable is me — this time I handled the vial.”

  “Did you open the vial?” Will asked.

  “No, but maybe I didn’t need to. Or maybe the seal wasn’t as tight as I thought it was.”

  “That seems unlikely,” Will said.

  “I know, but ever since I got the vial I’ve been having these weird dreams. The vial has been all I could think about. It was like an obsession, clouding my thoughts. Like I was suddenly so damned certain that I needed it in order to help Rose. More certain than I’d been with Luca.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, but what if I somehow infected the vial? What if I’m the variable? That means maybe the Doc could make a new serum. Get a new vial and just start over without my interference? Maybe it will reverse the effects?”

  Will looked at the floor. “I’m not doing that,” he said.

  Boricio flared with anger, but didn’t have the strength to fuel it. He started to sob, again. Then finally, from behind his broken pieces, a cracked voice said, “Please, Will. You’re her only hope. That makes you my only hope, too.”

  Will said, “Why don’t you first tell me where to find one of the other two vials you took? That might be a good place to start.”

  His tears vanished. Boricio wiped his eyes and turned to Will.

  “What? Are you saying there are three vials missing?” He shook his head. I only had two, not three.”

  Will ignored the discrepancy in the math and said, “How did you get them?”

  Boricio should have expected that Will would infiltrate his mind, but sitting beside him sobbing had reduced his guard to rumor. Now that he wanted to keep Will out of his head, it was already too late.

  There was one second when Boricio felt especially full, followed by a flash where he felt nothing but empty, then a slight prick inside his brain that felt a bit like a needle slipping into his skin.

  “No,” Will shook his head. Sudden horror widened his eyes. He stuttered, “You didn’t ask him. What the hell, Boricio?”

  Boricio wondered if Will was saying “him” instead of “Luca” because of the closed-circuit cameras.

  “Do you realize the danger you’ve put us in?” Will seethed. “And I mean all of us?!”

  “I’m so sorry,” Boricio said. “I had no idea.”

  Will turned to leave the cell.

  “Where are you going?” Boricio called.

  Will turned back and hissed, “To fix your mess.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Callie Thompson

  Black Mountain, Georgia

  March 2012

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …

  Callie wondered if they’d ever return Charlie to his cell.

  So, when she woke in the morning to find the lights on and two guards wheeling someone in on a gurney, she got excited that he was finally coming back. But the guards stopped two cells away, opened the door, then deposited an old, heavyset nude man onto the mattress.

  The old man lay motionless, likely sedated as she had been. They closed the door to his cell, then left the hallway.

  A while later, the same guards came back with breakfast — Cheerios in a bowl, two bottles of water, and fruit. Before the guards left her, Callie asked, “Where’s Charlie?”

  But the guards said nothing.

  Callie considered yelling, but decided to keep her mouth shut, at least for now. Charlie had gone willingly, or so it seemed. That meant she would have to be patient. She ate the Cheerios with her fingers. At least it was Honey Nut Cheerios, and not plain. She was surprised that even without milk, the Cheerios tasted pretty good.

  After a while, the old man began to move on his mattress. He sat, immediately meeting Callie’s eyes. Something about his gaze sent a chill down her spine. It was almost as if he’d never been sleeping at all. He simply woke, sat up, then turned his eyes on Callie w
ith a creepy stare that settled somewhere between Willy Wonka and Hannibal Lecter.

  He smiled, and Callie looked away.

  A bit later, a guard in a yellow hazmat suit appeared, looking at the old man. Callie recognized him immediately as the one whom Charlie had been speaking with earlier as she pretended to sleep. He looked a bit like Boricio, but bald and with an eye patch. He looked a lot like him, in fact, though she couldn’t be certain without a closer look or hearing him. If it was Boricio, she wondered why was he going through the ruse of holding them?

  Most of all, what did Charlie know that she didn’t? Why was he out of his cell? Where had they taken him? And why hadn’t they taken her?

  The man who looked like Boricio started to yell at the old man, though Callie couldn’t hear him. But she could still see him, waving his arms and pointing his fingers almost accusingly, it seemed to her.

  Callie wondered why.

  After five minutes or so, the man who looked like Boricio turned from the cell and left. The old man smiled, staring after Boricio as he went down the hall.

  Well, that’s just weird.

  Then the old man turned his attention to Callie, staring directly at her.

  Even weirder.

  Thirty-Eight

  Mary Olson

  Dunn, Georgia

  Boricio’s Compound

  March 2012

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …

  The cool, spring night did nothing to chill the warm feeling Mary felt as she tossed the empty “bottle of piss” from the wooden picnic table into the large, metal bucket across the yard, where it crashed loudly against the metal, then rained glass into a pile.

  Bottles of Piss was what Boricio had called the alcohol-free near beers that she kicked back back like they were the real thing. She’d never much liked alcohol-free beer, but she was pregnant, and Boricio had managed to get the generator to run a refrigerator on the back porch, making the drink ice cold, which did a lot to make up for the fact that it wasn’t getting her buzzed.