Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  Ryan didn’t think the old man looked like much of a hope, however.

  A man with glasses cried out, “Keenan!” running toward one of the fallen men, 30 yards away from the others.

  Keenan was lying in a pool of quickly spreading blood beneath him, “Go, Sullivan,” he said, his voice frail. “Get Luca to the house. And take this.”

  Ed pulled a glowing orange ball from his tactical jacket, then handed the ball to Sullivan as the two Boricios ran over to join them.

  “If you can’t get Luca to the house, or if that monster makes it there first, use it.”

  Sullivan, his face lit from below by the orange light, swallowed as Ed sputtered through his final breaths.

  Ryan asked, “What is that?” nodding toward the orange ball.

  Sullivan said, “The end of this island.”

  Ed coughed up blood, then stopped moving, eyes staring at the darkness above.

  Sullivan closed his eyes, seeming to whisper a prayer.

  Ryan didn’t think anyone was gonna answer, though.

  Sixty-Four

  Callie Thompson

  Black Island, New York

  April 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …

  Callie stood up as the madness broke out all around them.

  She couldn’t believe Charlie had smacked her. She was pissed, but more than that, she was afraid. She knew that Charlie would never do that to her. There was something inside him. And that something was after the same thing they’d come to the island for — the vial.

  She looked around, surveying the scene. She saw him slipping into the darkness of the woods on the way to Will’s house. He must’ve taken off while everyone was distracted. She could stay and help the others fight, but she didn’t think she’d make that much of a difference.

  But if nobody had even noticed Charlie was gone, then that meant nobody else could stop him— which meant she had to.

  Callie scooped up her gun and chased Charlie. He was about 80 yards or so ahead of her, barely a blip of pale flesh in the black forest, but he was walking, not running, so she thought she might be able to catch him — so long as no aliens got in her way.

  Charlie reached the backyard of a two-story home, set in the woods, its front facing the ocean beyond, which she could hear even from this distance and above the gunfire behind her. Charlie bashed in a sliding glass door and stepped inside the house.

  Shit! Shit!

  Callie ran faster, certain that as she drew closer to the backyard, an alien would surface from nowhere and kill her progress. Even if she were able to shoot the alien, or aliens, there was a damned good chance the gunshot would alert Charlie to her proximity, which would definitely speed him up.

  I can’t let him get the vial.

  Callie breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the back yard. She peered into the dark house, unable to see anything. She hesitated before stepping into the house. Since it was so dark, Charlie, or the evil inside him, was at an obvious advantage.

  Callie closed her eyes as she stepped inside, to better balance the difference between the moonlit night and the pitch black house. She opened her eyes, and in the moonlight spilling through the open windows, was able to make out the rough shapes of furniture and a stairway.

  No sign of Charlie.

  Callie inched forward, gun held in front of her.

  She wasn’t sure if she should hold the gun straight out, like she was, or more at a downward angle like she’d seen on The Shield. She wondered if holding the gun straight out was an open invitation for Charlie to knock it from her hand.

  Callie heard a loud bang from upstairs. Then another; the sound of furniture being tossed around.

  Is he looking for it? Is it not in the moon?

  What if it’s not here?

  Would that be good or bad?

  She headed to the stairway hoping like hell Boricio and the others could find her, and would show up soon. Now that she was close to catching Charlie, she had no idea what she would do.

  I’m not gonna shoot him, am I? It’s Charlie!

  But what am I gonna do? TALK HIM into handing the vial over?

  What the hell am I thinking?

  Do not go up the stairs.

  Just wait.

  Boricio and everyone will show up.

  Just.

  Wait.

  Callie waited, looking out the rear window, but she saw nothing but black.

  Damn it.

  Callie started climbing the stairs.

  Slowly — One.

  Step.

  At.

  A.

  Time.

  Another loud crash of furniture made Callie jump, and she nearly fired her gun. She grabbed the railing, breathing relief for not pulling the trigger.

  The movement upstairs suddenly stopped.

  Shit, It heard me!

  Silence stretched as Callie kept herself frozen, gun aimed up the stairs, waiting, and praying that Charlie wouldn’t show his face.

  “I hear your heartbeat,” Charlie said in a voice that was only his because it came from his throat. The music of his speech was horrible; void of emotion.

  “Leave now or I will kill you,” he said.

  Callie swallowed, her heart threatening to burst from her chest.

  Should I say something?

  Maybe he doesn’t know I’m here. Maybe he’s just testing.

  “Leave. Now, Callie.”

  She opened her mouth, and at first, could barely speak. Finally, she found her voice, cracked and frightened. “No! You leave! Whatever you are, leave Charlie!”

  “No. I rather like this body. The best I’ve had so far.”

  Callie could almost feel the Evil’s sneer.

  She cried out as she heard footsteps above her, approaching the stairway.

  “This is your final chance not to die,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll shoot you!” she cried.

  “Shoot me, and I’ll go inside you. No problem. I haven’t been inside a woman yet. But you won’t stop me from finding it. Ah . . . what’s this?”

  Callie looked up, certain that he was above her, poised to attack. But he wasn’t. Instead, she heard the sound of something unscrewing. A bright light suddenly illuminated the upper floor and spread to the stairs.

  Oh God, he found it!

  Callie ran up the stairs, forcing herself to ignore every pore in her body, saturated with fear and certainty that she was knee deep in a terrible mistake. She reached the top floor and saw Charlie standing in Luca’s bedroom in front of an open moon globe sitting on his desk.

  The white was blinding, Vegas in one bulb, throwing shadows on the wall behind Charlie, who stood over the globe looking down like Gollum ready to seize his “precious.”

  Callie raised her gun, shouted “Get back!”

  She fired a warning shot out the window behind him.

  Charlie ignored it.

  As he moved toward the globe, the light began to dim.

  He smiled.

  “Ah, you know I’m here, don’t you? You’re ready to become one with Us.”

  Charlie reached down, his hands inches from the vial.

  Callie fired another shot, missing intentionally for the second time.

  Charlie looked up. This time she had his attention. Her eyes met his — dark and blacker than miles of nothingness.

  “Please,” she cried. “Don’t make me shoot you. Please. Just wait for Luca. He can heal you with the vial. He can save you.”

  Callie wasn’t sure he could, but she had nothing else to try and lure whatever part of Charlie might still be awake inside the monster.

  Charlie stepped toward her. His head lashed violently to the left, then to the right, whipping back and forth so fast, it looked as if he was somehow moving in fast forward.

  Charlie fell to his knees, then buried his now-still head in his hands.

  He started to sob, sounding like a scared child.

  Did he get control?
/>   “Charlie?” she whispered.

  “Callie?” he asked, his voice cracked with fear as he looked up. He sounded more like Charlie than before. The white went back in his eyes as he met her stare, looking up from the floor like a helpless, wounded child.

  “Please, Callie, don’t kill me,” he cried, looking up at her. “I think It’s gone.”

  “Where did It go?” she asked, looking around the room, afraid it might make good on Its threat to go into her.

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “But I can’t move.”

  “What’s wrong?” Callie stepped slowly toward him, careful to keep her gun on him, in case he was trying to trick her.

  “I don’t know,” he cried. “I can’t move. And I’m so . . . so cold.”

  His teeth started to chatter as he trembled. The house was cool, not cold. Something must have been happening inside him. Charlie buried his head in his hands, his entire body shaking. He cried, “Please, help me! Help, Callie!”

  She moved forward, not knowing what to do.

  Every alarm in her head was screaming, It’s a trap! It’s a trap.

  But Callie couldn’t ignore the pain in his voice, or his pleading for help. It was Charlie. He was inside with the Evil. She couldn’t ignore that part of him that was fighting to be free.

  “I love you,” he cried, face still buried in his hands. “Please, just hold me.”

  Callie was inches away when something struck her as odd. Something in the tone of his voice.

  “Say it again.”

  “What?” he cried, still shaking.

  “Say you love me.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Something was wrong.

  Callie fell back a step.

  He sensed her retreat and leapt to his feet in an instant, wildly swinging his arm and narrowly missing her face.

  Callie screamed, firing two shots in a row, hitting Charlie right in his face.

  He fell to the ground, his face reduced to red and black gore. Callie stepped back, screaming and crying at once, the gun shaking in her hand.

  “Oh God! Oh God!”

  She couldn’t believe she killed Charlie. The boy she’d come to love. The boy who had risked his life to save her. The sad, but sweet boy whom she passed notes with just one night before. Now he was dead, his body motionless, lying on the floor.

  Callie jumped as a deafening hum belched from the globe.

  She looked up and saw the light’s brightness grow even more intense, surging from dim to bright to blinding white, as if it were somehow aware of her. The hum grew louder, beckoning her toward the globe.

  “Come. Open it,” a voice whispered in her mind. Not her internal thoughts, but an external thought, from someone — something — else.

  Callie looked over.

  Did it just talk to me?

  “Yes. Come. Open me. I will save you all.”

  Callie inched toward the globe.

  No, no, wait for Boricio and Luca. Wait.

  “No, Callie. You. Come. Open me.”

  Callie stepped closer and looked down at the vial, glowing bright-white, so bright she couldn’t see its shape through the light. It was as if someone had just flicked on a million watts in the room. The light was so bright, and so beautiful despite its intensity, Callie nearly missed the darkness gathering form beside her — the Darkness pouring from Charlie and up toward her.

  “Let me in,” the Darkness whispered in her head.

  Callie turned to run, but couldn’t. She was rooted to the spot as It crept closer. The smoky entrails slithered around her, bringing Its icy slaughter.

  “Let me in,” It repeated, snaking toward her mouth as It spread her lips wide.

  Callie cried out, but her throat made no sound and her feet refused to move.

  Her eyes found Charlie’s corpse on the floor and her heart shattered again.

  I love you.

  The gun trembled in her hand, and she lifted it fast, before she could change her mind. As the Darkness rushed inside her throat, drowning her with its form, it began to sift through her memories, tossing them everywhere in an attempt to keep her from doing what she had to do.

  Callie saw her mom.

  “Hi, Baby,” her mother said. “Don’t do that, okay? Put the gun down, Callie.”

  Tears streamed down Callie’s cheeks. She chewed the salt from her lip as she felt the Darkness burrow deeper into her mind.

  Callie said, “Sorry, Mommy,” then pulled the trigger.

  Sixty-Five

  Boricio Wolfe

  Black Island, New York

  April 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …

  The aliens had all retreated, leaving Team Boricio free to make their final trek to Will’s house. They were 100 feet or so from the front porch when two gunshots raged, one right after the other.

  The team froze, trading glances in the black as icy rain began to fall and the wind began to rattle the trees.

  “Callie!” Boricio screamed.

  The wind’s howl accompanied his anguished cry, or maybe mocked it.

  The group slowly approached the house, guns drawn with the last of the ammunition from the trucks. Boricio and Pirate Boricio ran point as Mary, Paola, Will, and Luca followed. Bringing up the rear were Ryan and Sullivan.

  Boricio looked up at the house, wondering who shot whom, and waiting for someone, either Charlie or Callie, to step into view in the brightly lit second-story window.

  Another gunshot.

  Both Boricios ran toward the house as Ryan screamed, “They’re coming!”

  “Who?” Boricio said, spinning around.

  As he turned, he saw a horde of aliens breaking through the tree line — too many to count.

  “Jesus, how many more of these motherfuckers are there?” he said as two of the aliens raced ahead of the others, running on all fours as fast as cheetahs, roaring toward Sullivan and Ryan.

  Ryan leaned down and raced toward one of the creatures. The two collided in midair, then rolled to the ground in a blur of black and blood. Sullivan fired his M-16 at the second alien as it bore down on him. His shots hit, but didn’t stop the alien as it barreled forward.

  Boricio leveled his pistol and fired three shots in rapid fire succession, sending the alien into an eternity of quiet.

  Mary took aim at Ryan and the alien as they tumbled, clawing and tearing at one another. She couldn’t get a clear shot, so she instead fired at the closest aliens. Sullivan fired into the horde again, taking a couple more down before he had to stop and reload a clip.

  Boricio looked back toward the house and saw Pirate Boricio standing at the back porch of the house, his gun aimed into the horde. He didn’t fire, but yelled, “Come on, Luca!” instead. “We’ve gotta get to the vial.”

  Will and Luca stumbled forward with Mary and Paola as Boricio and Sullivan fired, picking off as many of the aliens as they could.

  No way in hell we’re gonna be able to kill them all. I hope to fuck that Luca’s magical potion is there and it works!

  Ryan stood, and was immediately pounced upon by a mutated dog, as large and ugly as the mangy fucker Paola had shot the other morning. Ryan flipped the beast, then gripped its hind legs as he spun the dog on its back, tearing the legs from the dog’s body as it howled and fell to the ground dying.

  “Fuck yeah!” Boricio shouted as he turned and headed into the house.

  Boricio raced up the stairs to find Pirate Boricio, Will, Luca, Mary, and Paola, all standing around the glowing globe, staring inside it as if hypnotized. On the floor, he saw Charlie and Callie both dead, shot in the head.

  His stomach turned, but they didn’t have time for mourning the dead. The aliens were galloping toward the house and nothing short of a miracle would save the day.

  “What the fuck y’all waiting for?” Boricio said, stepping toward the others.

  As he drew closer to the globe, he was suddenly frozen, like the others, impr
isoned by the glowing beauty before him.

  “Oh God,” he said, using an expression he didn’t think he’d ever used in his life. “It’s . . . stunning.”

  Boricio felt the light’s warmth spreading through his body like drugs from the rich fucker’s house, but with none of the murky, trippy confusion.

  The opposite of confusion flooded his mind.

  Clarity.

  Inside that clarity and impossible light, Boricio could feel the others’ thoughts, hundreds of random memories coursing in a current through them all — from Luca petting his cat, to Mary giving birth, to the first time Will danced with a girl — and later, with a man. In those shared memories, Boricio felt something he’d never felt before — love for these strangers — as if they were all bonding through some communal drawing into a well of eternal light.

  Until something dark circled the rim.

  At first, it was a nebulous haze Boricio saw floating around them as they sat transfixed by the light. He could feel Its contempt, Its hate, but he was unable to break from the beauty of the light.

  It circled them.

  It looked down upon them.

  It judged.

  Then It entered Pirate Boricio’s mouth.

  Boricio couldn’t tell if the others could see what was happening, or if it were only him. Suddenly other emotions and memories started seeping into the light, many from Boricio’s personal scrapbook of pain — the time his step-dad killed Boricio’s 4-week-old kitten, the time his step-dad punched him so hard they had to keep him home from school with “pneumonia” for a week, the times his step-dad made him …

  Boricio looked up, glaring at the light.

  Why are you pulling this out of me?

  Why are you sharing this?

  As memories spilled like red paint onto a freshly varnished floor, the light grew dimmer.