Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  In his head, he could hear hundreds of echoes from dozens of different sounds — clicking, shrieking, and even random grabs of thought in garbled clicks and beeps. Whatever the sounds were, they likely made sense when passed among the aliens and mutants, but Ryan couldn’t untangle the noise, despite his condition.

  Most of him was grateful.

  He could also see some of the same images the creatures saw as they scoured hallways searching for humans to either murder or draw into their collective Darkness. Each time a fresh body was absorbed Ryan felt a small surge in power. He wondered if the other monsters felt it, too, then swallowed with a sickening certainty, knowing that they did.

  We’re their food.

  As he tuned his senses through the endless assault of sound and image, Ryan found Charlie and the Guardsman — outside the mountain, roaring down the road in a van.

  “They’re in a van, heading toward wherever Boricio went,” he said.

  “Shit!” Lisa yelled. “Then we’ve gotta get to the tunnel and get the fuck outta here now!”

  “Why? Are we going after them?”

  “We have to,” she said. “We’ve gotta warn Boricio and the others. They have no idea that something is coming after them.”

  “You have a radio, don’t you?” Ryan said. “Can’t you call?”

  “I tried, but I’m not getting through. Had problems with reception out there before, too.”

  Ryan looked around, trying to think of what they should do next. Upstairs, one of the mutants seized on someone, sinking its razored teeth into their neck. It was a young boy. Billy. Ryan felt a refreshing surge of energy rush through his body, could taste the blood in his mouth, and feel the beautiful agony of the boy being bitten.

  He closed his eyes, trying to shake the images — and the feelings — from his head.

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked.

  “I can feel it . . . ”

  “Feel what?”

  “All of it — all the suffering, all the energy. All of it.”

  “Energy?”

  As his pain started receding, Ryan explained how he could taste the blood, and feel the same energy the creatures felt when they entered someone’s body. Each shell absorbed became part of the collective, adding to their power — magnifying the volume in his head, and moving it from intense to nearly unbearable.

  “I think they got Billy,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” Lisa asked, her face going pale.

  “Yes, I see glimpses of his memories. I see you with him.”

  “Fuck!” she cried out.

  For a moment he thought she might break down right there. He had to get them moving before it became impossible to do so.

  “Let’s go,” he said, taking the lead, and following Charlie’s memory toward the tunnel. They turned down another hall and were close to the tunnel, when Ryan sensed five mutants in the hallway before he could hear them.

  “Wait here,” he said, turning to Lisa and the terrified pregnant woman.

  Ryan went through the door, and immediately sensed how the mutants saw him.

  He was just another one of them — a relieving yet horrifying thought.

  How much longer until I’m exactly like them?

  The group of mutants was made up of two Guardsmen and three civilians, all male. All but one were hybrid mutants like him, slightly more human than alien, though no less deadly. The last one was nearly mutated in full, its skin all black and slippery wet, both hands already twisted to claws, with a wide mouth rowed high and low with razor sharp teeth.

  Ryan sensed something new: They’d picked up on the women outside the hallway. They felt a hunger, an immediate craving, which Ryan felt building inside him as well — like sympathy hunger pains. They started toward him, on their way to the door, moving slowly, as if not quite sure how to regard or navigate past him.

  Ryan had to protect the women.

  He took a swing at the first mutant, his claw slicing through the man’s neck, as a gallon of dark-red and almost-black blood seemed to pour from him at once.

  One down.

  The other mutants turned on him, shrieking and clawing and charging forward with rage. One of their hands caught his ribs and sliced into his slippery skin.

  Ryan screamed, then twisted from its grip before the clawed blade could do any more damage. He brought his own clawed hand up and through the fucker’s neck, then thrust up and sideways, killing him instantly.

  Each time Ryan killed one of the mutants he felt sharp pains where he had inflicted the injuries. The pain was so intense it was nearly blinding. It took Ryan a full minute to shake the feeling, though the pain lingered as he allowed the mutant to slip through his still human hand.

  Two down.

  Ryan had no time to celebrate his win. The mutant behind him, fully transformed, with the razored teeth to prove it, roared toward him, snapping its jaw on the way to his shoulder.

  Ryan dropped to the ground and pumped his legs, thrusting them both up, sending the mutant flying into the wall behind them. Ryan leapt on top of its body, savagely swinging his gnarled claw, tearing into the mutant’s guts, driven by a blend of human rage and alien instincts.

  Three down.

  Wait, where are the others?

  He heard the shotgun and felt an intensity of pain, no different from if he himself had been shot. Ryan could see through the dying mutant’s eyes — it was still standing, swaying over where it had just knocked Lisa to the ground.

  Ryan saw through the other mutant’s vision as well, as it attacked the pregnant woman.

  The mutant knocked her to the floor, ripped the dress from her body, then opened its maw, sinking its teeth into her full stomach.

  Ryan wanted to rush to the door, but was overwhelmed by a sudden flood of disgust as the creature tore the woman open, then pulled the fetus from inside her and started to feast.

  He fell back against the wall, then turned and vomited. He looked up as he heard a second shotgun blast, killing the mutant attacking Lisa.

  Ryan rushed through the doors, blinded by pain and disgust, but at the same time, relishing the surge of power coming from the mutant feasting on the dying woman’s baby.

  He launched himself into the air, and landed on top of the remaining mutant as the half-eaten bloody baby fell to the ground in a sickening wet thud. The pregnant woman screamed, one hand on her open guts, the second reaching for her dead baby, both eyes wide in horror.

  Ryan unleashed his rage, screaming as he sliced the mutant’s throat to an open vent, then plunged his claw into the mutant’s burning eyes, gouging them one at a time.

  Ryan collapsed to the ground, shaking, crying, and screaming all at once as he stared at the pregnant woman, dead and cradling what was left of her baby in her frozen hands, eyes open to the heavens as if to beg for an answer to “Why?”

  Lisa stared at the woman, eyes tearing, unable to move.

  Ryan, now on his knees and shaking, stared up at Lisa, “I’m so sorry,” he said. “They got past me.”

  She stared back, and Ryan felt the rage bleeding from her. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him, but Ryan couldn’t tell the difference. She marched toward him, gritted her teeth, then raised her shotgun to his head.

  Her hands started shaking as Ryan met her eyes and begged her.

  “Please, kill me. Kill me now.”

  Fifty

  Boricio Bishop

  Kingsland, Alabama

  Oct. 15, 2011

  THE DAY OF THE EVENT …

  Boricio was chained to a wall, in reality and in dream.

  The last few minutes, which felt like hours of Boricio’s fear-battered dream, was spent chained to a dungeon wall as a long line of grotesque demons whipped his body, lashing his back as they screamed through his life’s atrocities line by line, starting with the earliest — stabbing Cricket Branson with a Bic pen when he was four — and ending with his last few month’s worth of personal terrible before finding the end and sta
rting over again.

  The violation the demons kept wanting Boricio to repeat over and over and over again was the one where he murdered Rose from behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper, before leading his own father to finish her forever.

  The shackles followed him into the waking world. He was in an underground room with shackles on the walls to either side of him. On the wall to his right was a stairway, all of it lit by a low bulb hanging from a chain in the center of the room.

  The whole thing seemed like something out of some old pervert’s makeshift sex dungeon.

  Where the fuck did The Prophet go?

  What did he do with the vial?

  He screamed, his bellow fueled by rage and filled with fury. It was also fueled by self-loathing for having been duped by a so-called man of God.

  As if on cue, The Prophet descended down the stairs less than a minute later. He removed his hat, set it on a wooden table in the middle of the room, then turned to Boricio.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head like he was mourning tragedy instead of making it with his own two hands.

  Boricio wanted to murder the old man, and probably would have if his wrists weren’t keeping him prisoner. He imagined his free hands digging all eight digits and a set of thumbs into the pasty white of the fat fucker’s turkey neck.

  Boricio yanked against his chains, growling.

  “Truly I am,” The Prophet continued. “I didn’t want it to be this way, Boricio. And so I prayed to The Good Lord that it wouldn’t be. But,” he shook his head, “His way is the only way.”

  The old man sighed, taking a moment before he continued. “I had truly hoped for the two of us, you and me together as The Good Lord intended to usher in the Rapture. Yet, because The Good Lord is good enough to give us free will, He also knows I can only lead you to the water.” He shook his head. “I can’t make you sip from the chalice any more than I can keep you from chewing on the apple. And if I’m to pick one of two dreams, either the one where The Good Lord gives us all Salvation, or the one where He gives us Salvation and you’re smart enough to make yourself a part of it, well, I imagine you can see how my choice is clear as a proper Alabama sky. I chose you, Son. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let Satan whisper in my ear long enough to let the other one go.”

  Boricio was still growling, but the old man stepped into it, patting him on the shoulder.

  Boricio wished the man had been fool enough to get within biting range.

  “So, I really am truly sorry, but I’d be negligent if I didn’t give my gratitude, both to you and to The Good Lord for sending you to me. Now I know exactly what I need to do, and I’m eternally thankful to you for that, Boricio. While He will recognize my good works, I am sure He will reward you for your part.”

  The Prophet wasn’t just crazy, he was insane. And the joker’s smile on his face was proof.

  It was the same kind of insanity that had moved Boricio from thinking of himself as a stain on the planet to the possible caretaker of its safety. Boricio didn’t know what the vial would do, but knew it could do something terrible, and he could tell by The Prophet’s dancing eyes that he was ready to find out exactly what that meant.

  Boricio breathed his way to calm. “Please,” he said. “Don’t do anything with the vial. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  “Well, that may be true, Son. But that’s why I asked you to tell me,” the old man said. “I tried to make you a part of this, Boricio. Truly, I did.” His voice dropped an octave. “There’s nothing I wanted more. But I could tell ‘round about your third cup of Jack that it was time to prepare a different sort of sermon between us.”

  “You can’t do this,” Boricio thrashed against his chains. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know; I’ll help you with your church.” Boricio pleaded. “Whatever you want, as long as I can have that vial back.”

  Boricio flashed back to what the serum had done to Rose. The serum he felt he had somehow tainted. What might it do if The Prophet opened it? Would it turn him into a beast, also? Or would it give him abilities as it had done to Luca?

  Boricio wasn’t willing to sit back and see what might happen. He had to talk sense into The Prophet.

  But how the fuck do you talk sense into the insane?

  “The vial is dangerous,” Boricio said. “It killed my girlfriend!”

  The Prophet smiled and said, “Did you know that the vial thinks?” the old man said. “I mean truly thinking, no different from you or me? Well,” he smiled. “It’s actually quite different from you and me. All I mean to say is that it knows it’s alive, like we do, and it wants to be more alive, and live longer, just like us. I suppose any one of us breathing can relate to that. Well, I’ll tell you, Boricio, I was happy to hear its voice, especially speaking to me so clear the way it did. The way He does. It helped me sort through quite a few of my more pressing mysteries, and now I feel like I’m ready for The Good Lord, which I must confess,” he laughed, “is quite a relief on a day like today.”

  The Prophet patted Boricio on the shoulder again, then turned and started toward the stairs.

  “Tonight is the night,” he said as he reached the bottom step, “that has been foretold, and there is nothing I can, or would, do to change it. But as I said, Boricio, I believe you were meant for much greater things.” He pulled a set of keys from the hook by the stairway then dangled them in the air. “If you can prove you have a place for Jesus in your heart, I’d be happy to make your wishes come true the next time I’m down here.”

  Boricio motioned for the old man to come closer. The Prophet smiled and started walking toward the wall. When he was just a few feet away, Boricio shot a giant ball of saliva right into the old man’s face.

  The Prophet lost his smile, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. He said, “Such a shame,” then shook his head like he’d just seen a puppy shot. “We could’ve done something special together.”

  The old man returned the keys to the hook, then creaked his way up the stairs and out of the dungeon.

  Boricio was already thinking about Luca before the old man left, but the second he heard the door close above, Boricio closed his eyes and tried to pull his brother to his mind.

  Luca.

  Nothing.

  Luca!

  Nothing.

  I need you, Luca, please. If you can hear me, we all need you. Now.

  Nothing.

  Boricio remembered Luca’s horrible dreams after he began getting his abilities, back when Will was battering his little brother with test after test. Luca would wake in the middle of the night, sometimes alert, and often screaming about the Terrible Scary.

  I’m in the Terrible Scary right now, Luca. I need you to help me.

  Boricio was starting to feel a state or two past stupid for trying to speak to his brother when he was a thousand miles away.

  But Boricio had seen the kid manage the impossible before.

  Luca!

  Suddenly, Luca answered.

  “Boricio?” His voice didn’t sound like it was in his head. Luca sounded like he was three feet away.

  Yes, it’s me. I need your help.

  “Where are you?” Luca asked.

  I’m in Alabama.

  “Alabama! Why are you in Alabama?”

  Long story, but I promise I’ll tell it to you. Right now, I need your help.

  “What can I do?”

  I need you to come get me. Come to where I am. Can you do that?

  “I don’t know,” Luca said. “Alabama is far away.”

  Not as far as Las Orillas.

  “But I know Las Orillas. I used to live there.”

  Just think about me. It will work.

  Boricio didn’t know if it really would, but was likely dead if it didn’t. And God only knew how many more might die if The Prophet opened up the vial and unleashed a mutant plague on the world.

  There was a long silence, and Boricio thought his brother may have
disappeared. Just as he was about to call for Luca again, Luca spoke.

  “Okay,” he said. This time he sounded even closer.

  Boricio opened his eyes and saw Luca standing in front of him, wearing his blue flannel pajamas.

  Despite the danger, Boricio couldn’t help but smile. “I missed you,” he said, tears in his eyes.

  His brother looked angry. “Is that why you called me?” After a second, Luca added, “I’m using sarcasm.”

  “I’m sorry,” Boricio shook his head. “I should’ve called before now, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “You did call, the other day,” Luca said. “Then you hung up on Dad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Boricio said to the floor. “Really I am, Luca. But can we talk about it later? I need you to help me right now.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Boricio nodded toward the keys on the wall. “I need you to get those keys and unlock these shackles.” He nudged his nose toward his left wrist, then to his right.

  Luca pulled the keys from the hook and unlocked his shackles.

  Boricio’s arms fell free. He gently grabbed his brother by the shoulders, lightly spun him around, then looked him in the eyes and said, “I need you to go home, Luca. Okay?”

  Luca shook his head. “Not without you.”

  “You have to,” Boricio said. “I promise I’ll come home after this is over, but I have to take care of some stuff first, and I need you to leave before I do. Right now, Luca, for your own good. Okay?”

  Luca stared at Boricio, his nostrils flaring and mouth pursed into a tiny O.

  He shook his head. “You have to come home now. Dad misses you. So do I.”

  Boricio felt like time was moving at triple speed.

  Luca shook his head no.

  “Please, buddy. Do this for me. Just trust me. I promise — on you and Will and Rose and everything I’ve ever loved or will ever love again. I’m on my way home right now, and you can even tell Will I said so. I just have to take care of one thing and then I’ll leave, okay?”

  Luca slowly nodded, but didn’t say goodbye. He was simply there, and then he wasn’t.