Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

Acevedo thought to warn whoever was under the sheets, but modesty probably wasn't an issue in Beef's den of depravity.

  The comforter fell away revealing two gorgeous women, both nude with long dark hair falling in peek-a-boo strands over perfectly shaped breasts. Acevedo found himself unable to turn or look away.

  They turned slowly and looked up at him, staring at him, or rather through him, with vacant stares.

  “Do you like?” Beef asked, still facing away from Acevedo.

  The priest turned to Beef to make sure the man wasn’t getting a gun.

  In the second it took to turn, the woman threw themselves at Acevedo, all limbs and fingers, dragging him back into bed with the force of a horde.

  Someone yanked the gun from Acevedo's hand as the nude women straddled him, holding his arms to the bed.

  Acevedo tried to pull away, but they were far stronger than they appeared.

  Beef finally turned around, and his smile widened, eyes now all black.

  “Oh yeah, I know why I can’t find the vial. Because I drank it. Right, girls?”

  The women on top of Acevedo answered as one.

  “Yes, master.”

  TO BE CONTINUED …

  ::Episode 28::

  (FOURTH EPISODE OF SEASON FIVE)

  “Gone Baby Gone”

  Thirty-Two

  Marina Harmon

  One moment Marina was sitting in the Mustang’s driver’s seat, watching the house. The next she was staring at the business end of a pistol and the harsh-looking buzz cut behind it.

  “Do as I say, and you won’t get hurt, Marina Harmon.” The man made his way into the car’s back seat from the passenger side door.

  Marina froze as he entered the car’s rear and put the gun to her head. He was fit, looked to be in his early forties, wearing a black jacket over a black shirt, and looked vaguely military.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “No.” The taste of metal tipped her tongue, and adrenaline surged through her body.

  Who is he? What does he want? How does he know my name?

  And then it hit her.

  Police!

  He found the bodies!

  Shit.

  Marina kept her mouth shut, intent to keep herself from revealing anything the man didn’t already know.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Agent Ed Keenan. I’m with Black Island Guard.”

  “What?”

  “We’re a division of Homeland Security. I’m here to make sure you don’t open those vials.”

  The vials!

  “What vials?”

  “I want you to listen very carefully, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Right now there are four snipers with infrared scopes trained on you. Fail to listen, and they will shoot you in the back of your head. You’ll be dead before you know what happened. If you attempt to warn the priest, you’ll get a bullet in the back of your skull. If you fail to hand the vials over to me, they will also put a bullet in your skull. Nod if you understand.”

  The man pressed his pistol hard into her head.

  Marina swallowed, nodded slowly, and tried to keep herself from breaking down into a blubbering mess of tears.

  “Good,” he said. “Now hand me the case.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “No talk. Do as I say, or I will shoot you now and take them myself.”

  “It’s on the floor at my feet. I need to bend over.”

  “Go ahead.” He slipped the gun from Marina’s head to her spine, pressing again to remind her it was there.

  Marina’s fingers found the vials, and as she touched the box voices entered her head — intertwined like two people, a man and a woman, talking at once.

  No, don’t give him the vials. He works for the enemy.

  Marina ignored the voices. She had no choice: it wasn’t like she could defend a gun to her back, even if armed and able to fight.

  “Come on,” he said, “hand ‘em over.”

  Marina did as instructed.

  He withdrew the slip of paper that had been inside with the vials.

  “What’s this?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He pressed the gun hard into her head again. “No lies, Marina. Again — what is this?”

  “The names of the people with the other three vials.”

  “Three?” Ed asked. “Where’s the other one?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s two in here. I thought you all had three.”

  “There should be three in there.” Marina turned around to look into the case.

  The agent kept his gun on her, pulling it back slightly as she moved.

  “There are two,” he said.

  “Shit, he must’ve taken one into there.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Marina shook her head. “He went in to get a vial from some guy called Beef. I don’t know why he’d bring one into there unless … oh no.”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless he plans to use it.”

  Thirty-Three

  Rose McCallister

  It lay still in Rose’s shell on the bed after reaching out to Boricio, who’d been stubborn enough to reject Its invitation.

  It would try again before moving on and finding another person to join their cause.

  It wanted Boricio, but hadn’t decided if It would infect him and use his shell, or offer one of the vials and invite the man to truly evolve. Boricio was one of the most merciless killers It had ever seen. It, along with many others, had tried to destroy him, yet the human kept surviving. To have Boricio as part of the collective might be dangerous to Its stability. It was losing the army of hundreds it had gathered since its bit-by-bit arrival. Humans had proved too difficult to tame through long periods of time.

  They were easy to infect and control when weak. But over time, a small something inside them always seemed eager to fight back for control. But how could they fight what they could not understand? So they inevitably snapped into a murderous rampage or ended their misery with a bullet to the brain.

  It needed to create a strong group of soldiers prior to Its evolution, and control, of the species. Luca was Its first. There was something about Boricio — or the Boricio of this world — which The Light had chosen to help.

  The Darkness had tried to pluck his doppelgänger from the other world as a counter, but that had failed miserably when Rose, prior to Its infecting her, killed Boricio Bishop. It had considered leaving Rose’s shell and entering Boricio Wolfe’s body, but It wasn’t sure It was up to the task.

  First, this Boricio’s psyche was much stronger than Boricio Bishop’s. Second, The Light was stronger in Boricio Wolfe than in Bishop. If It entered Boricio’s body and failed to take over, that could be the end of all of Its plans.

  For now, It would continue to focus on getting Luca ready to truly evolve into the perfect hybrid of human and alien.

  Luca was developing his powers nicely, though he was still a bit too sentimental when it came to humans. It would have to break that in the boy, lest his mind weaken to nothing. The collective could have no anemic links.

  Now they had a military strategist in the form of the writer, Art. The man was so grateful for his youth, he would do anything to maintain it. His knowledge of human warfare was an invaluable asset in conquering the species.

  They still had four more vials, which meant another four people to strengthen their fold.

  It closed its eyes and reached out into The Darkness’s collective consciousness, filtering the experiences of those It possessed, searching for the right pieces: casting a net then tuning into the thoughts and memories of Its many hosts.

  It could tap into any of them individually, or the lot all at once, ingesting experience like breath into Its body. Sometimes, the process was easier than others. In recent weeks It had managed to swell Its numbers to nearly a thousand
.

  But tonight It could sense only 658.

  It was frustrated to find so many dead connections.

  Surely they hadn’t all been severed, or Its hosts broken.

  It would’ve sensed such a decline in Its collective strength. It would have picked up on the pain of so many people snapping.

  It had felt only a few such cases in recent weeks. And usually It could feel the intensity of those who had snapped prior to their break. It had even managed to draw a few back from their madness, though by then it was usually too late to get complete control, so It usually ordered those to kill themselves before taking out others and drawing unwanted attention.

  If they’re not dead, then what’s happening?

  When it came to The Darkness, people were either infected or not. There was no in-between. Those who killed the connection had died following their psychotic breakdowns. There was no cure for infection. No human had yet to return, save for the girl, Paola.

  And she was only spared because of the other Luca.

  Yet It could feel parts of Itself out there in the world, unplugged from the collective, somehow there, but not connecting. Were they broken, or somehow refusing connection?

  What’s happening?

  The only thing that made sense was It losing control, along with Its collective strength. It had to accelerate plans.

  Suddenly It felt something probing back.

  It allowed the connection, and was surprised by the source — The Light.

  “So, there you are,” It said to Its counter. “I’ve been wondering where you are. It’s been a while.”

  It tried to lure The Light deeper into Its mind, but The Light was too bright, too strong, too wise to fall for such an obvious trick.

  The Light was surprisingly strong for a disembodied entity. The boy, Luca, had died on the other world, leaving The Light and the boy fused in some sort of incipient state. But without a host, The Light had been weakened.

  And then, as bits of residual memories flowed through the connection, It realized the error of Its presumptions. The Light was no longer disembodied. It had found a new host, after all — the girl, Paola.

  “Where are you?” It asked.

  The Light had tried not to tell It, but was unable to mask Paola’s thoughts quickly enough.

  Black Island.

  It now knew Its enemy’s location.

  Even better, the island harbored four infected humans, that neither she nor the humans knew of.

  It smiled in the darkness.

  Perhaps the war would end sooner than planned.

  Thirty-Four

  Mary Olson

  Mary had never had a job with a company picnic, but had been to enough of Ryan’s to loathe them. She hated sitting with coworkers and their families, pretending to ignore the obvious politicking as employees jockeyed for raises, promotions, and ideal schedules that didn’t exist.

  She remembered sitting with Ryan as he detailed the nasty things that someone had done behind his back. Then the very asshole he was telling her about would greet them, and Ryan would offer an enthusiastic hello with a wide, phony smile. Mary was always forced to do the same.

  She hated when Ryan put her in that position.

  “You can’t tell me what monsters these people are right before I meet them, then expect me to be all nice. Now I come off like some cold bitch,” she’d said several times in many different ways. It was one thing for him, as he could mask his dislike for the people. But Mary had never done well at hiding her feelings.

  Ryan would always apologize, but too late, with the damage already done.

  Mary found it sadly fitting in a full-circle sort of way. Here she was again, this time on Black Island with people she didn’t know in what felt like the world’s most uncomfortable company picnic.

  A shame, because the park, on the southwestern tip overlooking the mainland, was gorgeous.

  They were at one of two dozen picnic tables under a wooden pavilion, where the men all crowded in front of a row of grills to show off their skills.

  Most of the hundred or so attendees of the island “eat n’ greet” for nonessential personnel and their families were at the other tables. Mary and her flock sat by themselves like the black sheep she felt like they were.

  Desmond was working on some urgent business or another. Mary sat with Paola by her side, and what she’d come to regard as her new family: Brent, Ben, Jade, Teagan, and Becca.

  She tried to focus on Paola and her table, but couldn’t ignore stares that screamed, You don’t belong here.

  Mary was used to living in places she didn’t belong. She had lived among blue bloods behind a gate in Warson Woods, a single mom making her living as an artist — a dubious job judging from regular neighborhood stares. Yet Mary had managed to make a few friends and find her tribe, including Desmond.

  She’d do the same here in time, she hoped, though making friends on Black Island seemed an even taller task than it had in Warson Woods. She wasn’t sure if the island wives’ looks were because they were civilians and civilians were never welcome, or if people hated them for another reason.

  Mary was reasonably certain that the island’s inhabitants, save for a few, were jealous of the speed in which Desmond claimed his position of power. He was officially an advisor at the facility, but it was clear that Director Bolton, the man in charge, greatly respected his advice.

  Desmond came from the other world and convinced them of the alien threat, and the importance of finding the vials. He persuaded them to let Ed Keenan help, even though the man was considered a traitor before they’d discovered Sullivan’s infection. Desmond had brought Paola, a child, to help them find the vials.

  Their search had yet to bear fruit. Mary could feel a certain contingent hoping it wouldn’t, praying for their failure and a return to the way things were before. Back before the world seemed less certain, when they still had their defined roles and niblets of power.

  Desmond didn’t get involved in such politics nor did he bitch about these things to Mary. While she had heard nothing directly, she wasn’t stupid. Mary knew what welcome felt like, and this wasn’t it.

  She sat at her table, trying to make the best of things.

  Jade, sitting to her left, leaned in.

  “You getting the same vibe I am?”

  “What’s that?” Mary wondered if her discomfort was obvious.

  “These people freaking hate us,” Jade said just above a whisper. “Look how they’re looking at us. Check out that redheaded over there giving us the stink eye. Yeah, fuck you, too, lady.”

  Mary laughed as the woman turned. She was a good six tables away, so there was no way she heard Jade, but it was funny to imagine she had.

  Jade Keenan, a young college girl with purple hair and a pierced eyebrow, looked like she was comfortable as the black sheep. She was sweet once you got to know her, despite her don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. From their few exchanges, Mary could tell that things were strained between Jade and her father.

  “Yeah,” Mary said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I think they’re jealous.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, look at ‘em, they’re all military and scientists used to running the show. But we all showed up and are more or less doing it now. They fucking hate us. We upset their stupid Stepford utopia.”

  Mary laughed again, this time loud enough to draw attention from the nearby attendees.

  Jade was right. The men, along with the few female scientists at the island, were all dressed as if on their way to work, and the wives as if going to church. Mary had on a loose blouse and tight jeans, which felt only slightly better than Jade’s ripped leather pants and black Misfits tee.

  Teagan, in her staid blue dress, might have fit in with the island’s people if she hadn’t been a teen mom.

  Brent leaned over. “What are you two laughing about?”

  “Laughing at the sheep here,” Jade said, making a “bah”
sound loud enough for others to hear.

  “What sheep?” Ben asked, looking around like the innocent five-year-old he was, searching for literal sheep.

  “There’s no sheep, buddy,” Brent said laughing.

  “Why did Aunt Jade say to look at the sheep?”

  Mary laughed as Ben’s volume got louder and Brent’s face turned red, trying to hush his son and deflect attention.

  “She’s just joking,” Brent said to Ben.

  Ben looked at Jade. “Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?”

  “Ouch,” Jade said, “schooled by a five-year-old.”

  “I’m five and a half!” Ben said, outraged that someone would dare to snip months from his age.

  Mary smiled, remembering when Paola was that age and how she’d wanted nothing more than to be older than she was. Now, following everything that had happened she seemed content to be herself: perhaps the single good thing to have come of the past two years.

  Mary watched as Paola pinched Ben’s cheeks and acted normal.

  Normal was good.

  Hell, normal was great.

  But Mary also knew that any moment Paola could slip into another seizure and start seeing things again. She hoped it didn’t happen here, in front of everyone. She wasn’t embarrassed but didn’t need these people, or the few kids close to Paola’s age, making fun of her daughter.

  Mary was sure she’d get violent if another adult said shit.

  Watching Paola, it was hard not to consider that she had someone else, or something else, living inside her. The thing calling itself The Light, as Mary understood it, was Luca’s soul, blended with the good alien that had infected the boy.

  Mary wanted her daughter back to normal, wanted the alien, and the boy, out of Paola. But at the same time, she knew their presence was the only thing saving her. Without them, Mary might not have Paola.

  She’d settle for this as long as she had to, until they figured something out.

  Though what that something was, Mary had no idea.