Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  Marina turned to Walker. “Can you help us?”

  “Is that all?” Walker’s voice was treading sarcasm.

  Marina had not the patience nor time for doubt. “Either you can or you can’t. Let me know, Mr. Walker, so I can find another way if not.”

  A light slap on the cheek, just enough to set him straight. Walker would do the right thing. As with her father, sometimes he had to vent his doubt and get prodded in the right direction to feel like he was doing his job. Walker was a good man, or at least he’d always been good to her family. Whether that was due to loyalty, genuine friendship, or billable hours, Marina could never know for sure. But at the moment, he was the closest she had to a trustworthy soul.

  “Yes I can help you, of course, Marina. I think we should come up with a story regarding your whereabouts and make sure we’re all on the same page before answering any line of questioning. As for the media, I’ll hold them off with a press release about how we’re still waiting to hear more details from the police and to please respect the church as we grieve a great loss.”

  “Sounds great, Mr. Walker,” Acevedo responded. “Thank you. But I think we should hold off on the police for now. We need the vials and names first.”

  “If you hold off on talking to the cops for too long, Marina will look suspicious.”

  “I’d rather she look suspicious than dead. We have no idea where The Darkness went after Steven’s murder. It may have jumped into an officer on-scene. Not all of them are able, but the controlling parts of The Darkness can jump from bodies after the death of their hosts.”

  “How do you know all this?” Marina asked.

  “Because The Darkness lives inside me, as well.”

  “What?” She stood from the couch. “You’re infected?”

  “No,” he said, “not so much as I can tell. But I’ve been around the vials long enough, and exposure is all It needs to change you. How do you think your father became the man he was? How do you think he created some of the science the Church is known for? The Current? The Capacitor? That’s alien technology, a gift from the vials. Just the same, I’ve been cursed with an ability to see things I wish that I couldn’t. I can sense The Darkness in others. When I sleep, I feel its dreams. I’m plugged into the hive mind, and get glimpses of what it’s doing and what it wants.”

  “And what does it want?” Walker asked.

  “Everything.”

  Seventeen

  Luca Harding

  Luca lay in bed, staring at the five vials holding his alien brothers, the blue glow beautiful in the motel room’s pre-dawn darkness.

  There was something so alluring about the liquid in the glass, it was hard to believe this was the same stuff that, when corrupted, turned black. The same stuff that had destroyed his home world after it failed to take over.

  Luca looked at Rose in the other bed, still sleeping.

  He fingered the glass, and wondered what would happen if he removed one of the seals.

  The Darkness awoke within him and said, Don’t do it.

  Why not?

  We need to save these vials for other vessels. The right vessels.

  What do you mean?

  You are a vessel, Luca. Rose is a host.

  What’s the difference?

  A vessel is someone who helps to shape our species. We must find the right people to give this to. People who can help us evolve humanity.

  How will we find these people? How do we know who to give the vials to?

  We will know. We are scanning the world now, searching, but we can’t spread before finding the other vials. We can’t afford to take chances, and fail like before.

  Luca kept staring at the azure glow, eyes fixed on the flecks of darkness swirling inside them. He wondered if those specks were there before, or were a response to his holding the vials.

  Am I contaminating them?

  Luca understood that the liquids were neither good nor bad on their own, which meant that the vial Rose poured down his throat had been turned bad by him.

  I’m not a bad person, am I?

  No, Luca, you are not. Good and bad are relative, labels humans insist upon one another as a means to categorize and control you, to punish and murder your sisters and brothers. One man’s good is another man’s evil. Such a primitive species. Something that the coming evolution will change. There will be no good nor bad. There will be no self. There will only be us. We. A collective. Good for one is good for all. Same with the bad.

  Luca thought about the boys he killed, the ones who had picked on him. Then all those deaths at the pool.

  Certainly those were bad, right?

  The Darkness was silent.

  Instead, Rose cried out as she woke, eyes wide.

  She turned to him. Luca wasn’t sure if Rose was awake. She looked very much like the puppet of The Darkness she was.

  “She’s escaped.”

  “Who?” Luca asked.

  “Marina.”

  “Who is Marina?”

  “She’s someone I … or, rather, Steven … had gotten close to. Her father had hidden as many as six of the vials. I had trapped her in her house and planned to return, but then I found you and your vials.”

  Luca was going to ask who Steven was, then saw in a flash of memory that The Darkness had been in Steven’s body, the man who was once Boricio Bishop. Steven died and It moved into Rose.

  “So what does this all mean?”

  “She’s working with someone else, a priest, who has also been touched by The Light.”

  A knot of fear twisted Luca’s gut, imagining Marina and the priest’s pursuit.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  “I’ll continue to watch them. But I can’t get in her head, or his. And if I try to have someone pursue them now, I’d lose the advantage of surprise once it’s time to strike.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I think it’s time we expand.”

  “Infect more people?” Luca asked.

  “No, find more vessels, like you. People who can help us fight The Light, seize the vials and gain the advantage.”

  “OK,” Luca said. “Who can we get?”

  “I have a few people in mind. We have five vials now. With these people on our side, The Light can’t win even if they manage to get the other six.”

  Luca felt a chill, and somewhere in the distance heard a dog cry out in the night.

  Eighteen

  Edward Keenan

  Las Orillas

  Ed sat in the van, staring into the passenger-side mirror at his new Black Island Guardsman partner, Luther, as the giant attempted to make sense of the gas pump’s intricate instructions.

  Luther looked like an offensive lineman, all muscle. Looking at him, you’d think he was jumbo-box-of-rocks dumb. And, as Ed learned on their flight, and subsequent ride from the airport where they were met with an Agency van, you’d be right. Luther was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and never stopped talking about the dumbest things — TV shows Ed had never heard of, wrestling, and conspiracy theories that were nowhere near plausible. One included Elvis, JFK, and Michael Jackson not only being alive, but secretly puppeteering the world’s governments as part of some Illuminati-like cabal.

  Ed had nodded around a hundred thousand times in the past six hours, and was wishing like hell he’d been sent on a solo mission.

  Luther stared at the gas nozzle, then squeezed the trigger, but judging from his rage face, was having no luck spilling gas into the van.

  “Come on!” Luther smacked the pump, then turned to glare at the clerk inside who would have been as likely to hear him from four blocks away. He yelled, “Turn it on!”

  Ed sighed, got out of the van, and looked at the giant red “START” button with the white sign above it:

  Pay cash inside or insert credit card and press Start.

  “Did you put the card in?” Ed asked.

  “Yeah, fucker won’t start.”

  “Di
d you press the start button?”

  Luther looked at the big red button, “Oh, this one?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh,” he said, sheepishly grinning. “In Jersey, we didn’t pump our own gas. Sorry.”

  “OK.” Ed said as he decided to head into the gas station to kill two birds with one stone: take a piss and get a moment’s reprieve from the idiot.

  No telling when he’d get a chance to use the bathroom again. From here, they were headed to the Church of Original Design headquarters. They had to find Marina Harmon, or rather the man she was with, a priest, whose name they didn’t yet know. Paola had seen him in her “vision,” or whatever the hell they were calling it.

  “Can I get you anything?” Ed asked Luther.

  “Yeah, get me a Coke and some salt-and-vinegar chips.”

  “I am not getting you salt-and-vinegar chips.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because then I’ll have to smell them. Got a second choice?”

  Luther frowned and sighed, his heart apparently broken by the loss. “OK, barbecue?” he asked more than said, seeking Ed’s approval.

  “OK.” Ed walked toward the station, wondering how the hell he got paired with the dumbest guy in the Black Island Guard.

  Ed had worked with at least four other men who would’ve been better suited for this mission, but since shit went down with Sullivan, many men had vanished from the island. Ed figured they were either infected, or suspected of helping Sullivan, and were being detained on one of the lower levels.

  Whatever the case, God help them if Luther was the best they had left. He had worked in another division of the Guard prior to last week. Ed was guessing it wasn’t Research and Development or Applied Sciences. According to Director Bolton, Luther was a damned good fighter. For all he lacked in basic vocabulary, manners, and people skills, Ed figured the guy had to be a one-man army to earn his spot on this mission.

  Ed went to the bathroom, then searched a chip aisle that was fully stocked with everything — except barbecue.

  After getting some drinks and snacks, Ed returned to the van where Luther was already sitting in the driver’s seat. Ed opened the passenger door, climbed inside, and threw the bag of chips at the big man.

  “You got me salt and vinegar!” The large man practically squealed.

  “They were out of everything else,” Ed grumbled as he passed Luther the bottle of Coke then unscrewed his own and took a drink.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  Ed closed the door. “Let’s go.”

  Ed was pleasantly surprised to find that Luther stayed quiet, so long as he was shoving food in his mouth. He ate like a buzz saw, but at least he wasn’t talking. It was almost enough to make up for the reeking cabin.

  Luther polished off the bag, licked his fingers, one by one, savoring the flavor as if these were the best chips God ever saw fit to create.

  Ed looked away rather than continue watching the man child making sweet love to his fingers. He looked out the passenger-side window and watched the crammed houses flying by, hoping Luther would think he was lost in thought and maybe leave him be until they reached the church.

  “You know,” Luther said, “a lot of people say that dance is gay or lame, but I happen to like it.”

  Ed was intrigued. “Dance?”

  “Yeah, dancing. Do you like it?”

  “What kind of dancing? Like ballet?”

  “Any kind, really. I started watching that Dancing with the Stars, and I really liked it. Suddenly, I started watching any kind of dance I could find —Broadway shows, old movies with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, even that Dance Moms show.”

  “Wow,” Ed said.

  “What?” Luther asked, looking defensive. “I’m not gay.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say you were. And even if you were … ”

  “I’m not.”

  “Again, not saying you are, but even if you were, which, again, you’re not, I don’t care. I’m just surprised that you’re into dancing.”

  “Why, ‘cuz I’m big and strong?”

  “Well,” Ed said, not sure if he was insulting the guy, “that, and you don’t seem like you’d be very graceful. No offense.”

  Luther was silent for a while.

  Ed wondered if he was insulted, and almost felt bad. But at the same time he was grateful for the quiet.

  As the silence stretched, Ed found himself oddly wanting to know more about Luther.

  He had always been good at figuring a person out immediately. He could look at anyone and size them up, knowing their strengths and weaknesses, prejudices and fears, and oftentimes, their sexual fetishes all at a glance. He thought he had Luther pegged, and for the most part, he had. The man’s intellectual diet consisted of horrible reality shows, sports, and crackpot radio on the AM stations. But this dance thing was an unexpected wrinkle in an otherwise stupid sandwich. Perhaps there was an artistic type yearning to be freed from his dullard’s shell.

  Just as Ed was contemplating engaging Luther, his phone rang. It was his daughter, who was back on Black Island with Teagan, Becca, Brent, and Ben.

  His heartbeat sped as he answered.

  “Jade?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I was just wondering why you didn’t say goodbye before you left.”

  Ed never would’ve left his daughter’s side again, except for two things. Desmond had said he could keep her safe, and he had an ability to see the aliens unlike anyone else, except for perhaps Paola. The second reason was that Ed figured if anyone was going to defeat the aliens, it should be him. Truth was, he was the only person he could trust to get the job done. While he’d told his daughter they were going the night before, he didn’t want to wake her at the crack of dawn when he headed out with Luther.

  “Sorry,” he said. “We had to leave early, and I didn’t want to wake you. How’s everyone?”

  “Good. Teagan and Becca are on a play date with Brent and Ben at a small park the Guardsmen put together.”

  “Good.” Ed would’ve preferred to have Brent over Luther as a traveling companion, but he’d insisted that Desmond keep Brent out of action, along with the girls. “Don’t worry, we should be home soon.”

  “Yeah, I got the note you left on my door. But when is soon? A few hours? A few days? A few weeks?”

  “I don’t know.” Ed sighed. “Too early to say. We just got here.”

  “Where are you at?”

  “I’m not sure what I can say. It’s probably best not to say anything on the phone. No idea who might be listening.”

  “Oh come on, Dad, you’re working for the government. No need to be paranoid.”

  Clearly she didn’t understand that nobody could be trusted these days. Especially other agencies that might be monitoring the phones and that might have someone infected in their ranks.

  “Just the same, honey, I can’t. So, what do they have you doing? Found a job for you yet?”

  She paused. He figured she was wondering whether to continue her previous line of questioning or just now getting the hint that he wanted her to stop discussing Black Island business on an unsecure line.

  “They’ve got me working in the dining hall.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Cooking, for now. Until they learn how bad a cook I am anyway,” she laughed. “I was hoping to work in the school, but they already have a teacher, and only a dozen kids here so far.”

  “Well, if you hate it, talk to Desmond. Tell him I said to find you something in the classroom.”

  “That’s OK, Dad.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “Thank you.”

  “OK, honey, I’ve gotta go now.”

  “OK.” She paused. Ed couldn’t help but feel like Jade was waiting for him to finish with those three words.

  Even though the end of the other world had brought them closer, he couldn’t help but feel a residual frost from years of enmity between them.

&
nbsp; But they were both trying.

  “I love you,” he said, rushing through the sentiment.

  “I love you too. Be safe.”

  “You too,” he said. “Bye.”

  Ed hung up the phone and stared out the window. For all of Luther’s blathering, he at least seemed to know enough to let Ed stew in his thoughts after he hung up with his daughter.

  After ten minutes or so, Luther killed the silence.

  “Looks like we’re here. And we’re not alone.”

  Ed looked down the street and saw a half-dozen news vans.

  “Looks like something’s going on.”

  “Great,” Ed said sarcastically.

  He was about to tell Luther to find a spot on a side street, but the front gates opened and a red Mustang with tinted windows pulled out.

  A voice inside him called out: It’s them.

  Ed wasn’t sure if it was a guess, instinct, or something else, but he pointed at the car. “Follow them, Luther.”

  Nineteen

  Mary Olson

  Mary wanted to vomit, sitting on the couch with Paola and Desmond, watching news reports of the man who shot up the school yesterday.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t let you do this anymore,” she said to Paola. “This is too much.”

  Desmond looked at Mary, surprised. “I thought we agreed that this was for the best.”

  “I know what you said, and I agree with you that yes, we need to do something to stop The Darkness, but this … this is too much! Paola was inside that murderer’s head!”

  Calmly, Desmond said, “She was perfectly safe.”

  “How do you know that? Can you guarantee that The Darkness won’t see her and jump into her head the next time this happens, like it did back at the Drury Inn?”