Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “Oh, wow, so a womanizer and a racist, elitist scumbag? Wow, real class act, buddy.”

  Torrino stood his ground, fogging Marina’s face with his breath. “You know they laugh at you, right? All the church leaders think you’re a fucking disgrace to the organization! You’d never have this job if your father hadn’t given it to you.”

  Marina shook her head, nearly as fast as her racing heart. Her leg was shaking; she hated confrontations like these, but damned if she would let this asshole treat her like he treated everyone else with the misfortune of living in a lower station.

  She inched ever closer, putting her face inches from his.

  “You wanna know something, Max? My father didn’t love you. He didn’t even respect you. He felt sorry for you. He pitied you. Because you were a nothing when he met you, and you’re a nothing now. All the money in the world won’t make you a tenth of the man my father was.”

  “Yeah, well I guess he respected me more than he did you, or he would’ve given you the vial and not me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, cunt, I’ve gotta get back to my tan.”

  Torrino started to walk past her, his smug grin like a kick to her gut.

  “No!” she said, “you will give me that vial!”

  Marina reached out to grab Torrino’s shoulder and turn him around.

  He spun fast and ferocious, like a predator, punching Marina hard in the jaw, where Keenan had punched her before. Her face exploded in pain.

  She fell back, her head hitting the desk, hard.

  Marina cried out as she sank to the carpet, feeling dizzy, weak, like the world was blurring, darkening at the edges of her vision.

  Torrino looked down at her with disgusted rage, before kicking Marina in the ribs. Pain tore through her body. She cried out with the one word she was able to form.

  “Help!”

  Forty-Seven

  Edward Keenan

  Ed stood outside Torrino’s office, pacing, eavesdropping on the conversation via the earpiece connected to Marina’s mic as the actor’s steroid case, the bodyguard with a buzz cut and no neck, guarded the door like Ed might decide to rush into the room.

  Ed had every intention of letting Marina try to get the vials first, as he didn’t need the shit storm he’d get from his superiors if things went south with Max Torrino.

  But then shit went south anyway.

  Ed had his gun in the bodyguard’s face the moment Marina screamed.

  The bodyguard froze, hand reaching for the pistol inside his black jacket.

  “Is he worth dying for?” Keenan asked.

  The bodyguard’s eyes widened, frightened to die. He shook his head no.

  “Good, take your gun out, by the barrel, then hand it over nice and slow,” Ed ordered. “I’m with Homeland Security. We have this place surrounded.”

  The bodyguard did as instructed. Ed grabbed the man’s Colt Python and barked, “Open the door!”

  Behind the door, Marina let out another cry as the guard followed orders.

  Keenan followed the man into the room and saw Torrino about to kick Marina.

  “Freeze!” Ed yelled, aiming his gun at the movie star. It was almost surreal pointing a gun at a man whom Ed had seen in countless action movies as the guy who always outsmarted his enemies. Pulling a gun on Torrino in a movie was the quickest way to get your ass handed to you.

  But this wasn’t a movie, and Ed was no more afraid of Max Torrino than he was the boogeyman.

  Torrino turned, eyes wild, hair mussed, stunned that someone was stopping him.

  “Get away from her!” Keenan said, “Homeland Security.”

  “Homeland Security? What the hell is this about?”

  “Get in your chair,” Ed said. Then, pointing to the guard, added, “You get in the corner and keep your hands in the air. Lower them or turn around, and I’ll shoot you. Understand?”

  The bodyguard nodded.

  Ed watched as Torrino went to his seat. Ed then turned and locked the doors to the office.

  “Hands on your desk, palms down,” he snapped. “Move ‘em, and I’ll shoot you.”

  Torrino sighed as he put his hands on the table, rolling his eyes.

  Ed bent down and looked at Marina. She seemed woozy, her jaw screaming red where Torrino had apparently punched her. He felt a sting of guilt as he looked at her jaw, seeing one bruise shading another.

  “You OK?” he asked.

  She tried to stand, eyes tearing, pissed and wanting to go after Torrino.

  “You sit down a minute,” Ed said. “I’ve got this.”

  Ed helped Marina stand, set her in a chair opposite Torrino, then turned to the celebrity. “So, you’re a big Hollywood tough guy, eh? Hitting women?”

  “Fuck you,” Torrino sneered. “I want my lawyer.”

  Outside the office door, Ed heard Torrino’s assistant yell, “I’ve called the police, Mr. Torrino. They’ll be here shortly. I suggest you all leave here before they arrive.”

  “We are the police!,” Ed growled back. “I’m with Homeland Security. Now shut your mouth and get your ass downstairs.”

  Ed wished he could see the woman’s face. She’d been such a bitch when they arrived, as arrogant as Mr. Hollywood himself.

  “I want my lawyer,” Torrino repeated, glaring up at Ed.

  “Oh, you didn’t hear me? I said I’m with Homeland Security. You have no rights. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to cooperate and give us the vial before I have this place crawling with agents and leading you out your front door in cuffs.”

  “You can’t arrest me. Mr. Harmon gave me the vial. It’s mine. And besides, it’s not even here. It’s in a safe deposit box at the bank.”

  “Bullshit,” Marina said, surprising Ed. “I can tell he’s lying. He wouldn’t trust it in a bank. It’s here, somewhere. No way he leaves it out of sight. He wouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Ed saw something creep across Torrino’s face — a look that confirmed Marina’s accusation. She’d figured him out, and he didn’t like it.

  Torrino shook his head, “I’m not handing it over. Do whatever you want, you’re not getting shit.”

  “Oh, you’ll hand it over.” Keenan leaned forward and sneered into his phony Hollywood smile.

  Ed saw movement in the corner, the bodyguard’s right arm creeping down.

  Ed fired a shot into the monitor behind the man on the adjoining wall. “Keep your hands up!”

  The guard jumped when the monitor screen shattered, then did as he was told.

  “Fuck!” Torrino screamed, starting to stand. “Do you know how much that costs?!”

  Ed shoved the gun in his face and barked, “Sit down!”

  “Do you know who I am?” Torrino yelled, his face turning beet red. “Do you know what I can do to you? To both of you?”

  “Yeah, you’re a guy who gets paid a lot of money to play pretend and shoot bad guys and fuck starlets. And oh yeah, you’re a lot shorter in person. And you like to hurt women. Yeah, I know who you are. But all I care about is that vial. So you’re going to lead me to it and hand it over, or else.”

  “Why the hell do you even want it?” Torrino whined.

  “It’s a matter of national security, and you, sir, are impeding our attempts to preserve said security. That makes you a terrorist, son.”

  “I want to know why you need it.”

  Keenan was tired of playing patty cake with this bastard, but figured the man was clinging to his fragile ego and needed a win, something he could cling to. If that meant trading the vial for some information, Keenan had no problem throwing the mongrel some scraps.

  “Have you seen the violence on TV? The mass shootings at the mall, at the school, that woman who tried to bite a child’s face off? These people have been infected with what’s inside the vial. It’s a highly dangerous biological weapon.”

  “Bullshit,” Torrino said. “No way Josh Harmon would have a biological weapon, or give it to me, or anyone else, to hold onto.�
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  “It’s complicated,” Ed said, “but believe me — if we don’t get the vials back into custody, millions of people will die.”

  Torrino stared at them, his grin finally fading as he seemed to consider Ed’s words. He looked at Marina, and something twisted in his face, an anger he couldn’t dismiss. He shook his head no.

  “I want my lawyer.”

  Marina shouted, “He’s telling you the truth, Max! Innocent people will die if we don’t hand over the vials. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

  “I’m not responsible. Whatever happens happens, it’s what’s meant to be. As the Great All-Seeing intended.”

  “You can’t be that heartless,” Marina said. “You’re willing to let innocent men, women, and children die because of what? Some stupid belief that the Great All-Seeing won’t let bad shit happen?”

  “It won’t happen to me, or any of the other enlightened. We’ll be fine. It’s all ordained. Perhaps the world needs a proper flushing.”

  Ed shook his head. “You can’t be serious. Are you stupid? I mean, I know you Hollywood types will believe anything, but this is some world-class high school misfit nihilism shit here.”

  “Why should I care about anyone else? You think I don’t know what people think of me, think of us, Marina? They laugh at our religion, mock our beliefs, and they thought your father was a fraud. But it looks like he’ll have the last laugh, eh? No, I’m tired of being everyone’s dancing monkey. Fuck humanity, and fuck you, too, Marina. You can die with the rest of the unenlightened flotsam.”

  Torrino grinned his big, stupid Hollywood smile, like he was sitting on a talk show host’s couch, discussing his latest flick, oblivious as he was evil.

  Ed had had enough.

  He reached into the loop on his belt, fingered the handle of his black carbon blade, and whipped it out, slicing across Torrino’s left cheek.

  Torrino screamed, fingers up as the flap of skin fell open and blood began to gush down his face and onto his neck.

  Keenan glanced over at the guard who stared back with terrified eyes. Keenan pointed his gun at him and said, “Staaay.” The man turned back around.

  In his ear, Keenan heard Luther ask, “What did you do?”

  “Don’t worry. What’s the situation with the cops?”

  “The agency is taking care of it. We’re good.”

  Keenan smiled, and leaned closer to Torrino. “My man just said the cops are getting sent home. That means we have all night to give your plastic surgeon the biggest hard-on of his life. Now you might not give a shit about most people, and that doesn’t surprise me at all, but as long as there are people, you’ll care about your appearances. And as long as there are people around to watch your stupid movies, you wanna be making as much money as you can, right? So here’s the deal, Max. When I’m done with you, the only role you’re gonna be able to land is a remake of The Elephant Man. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You’re fucking crazy!” Torrino held the flap of flesh to his cheek, as if it might mend itself back if pressed hard or long enough.

  “You’re right,” Ed said, “I am crazy because I love my job. Especially when I get to put little bitches like you who play tough guys on the big screen in your place.”

  Ed turned and winked at Marina.

  She smiled.

  “So, what’s it gonna be?” Ed asked. “The vial, or round two of Stabby Pokey?”

  Torrino nodded yes, tears in his eyes.

  Sometimes, Ed really did love his job.

  Forty-Eight

  Mary Olson

  Mary stared up at her bedroom’s darkness. She could feel hot sun outside the drawn curtains, trying to pour light into her room, but wanted nothing of it, nor the people in her cabin — Brent, Teagan, Ben, and Becca.

  She could hear them outside, discussing Jade’s death and how they couldn’t tell Ed that his daughter was gone because Bolton had killed all communication between the island and the mainland. It was wrong — that the people in charge were choosing operational security over Ed’s rights as a parent.

  There were also whispers about Mary. She couldn’t make out much of it, other than how horrible everyone felt about her losing Paola.

  Every now and then someone would come to the door, gently knocking to check on her needs. Mary said no thank you each time, wanting nothing more than to be left alone.

  But Desmond had asked them to stay while he was back at the facility working to get the situation under control. The island was on lockdown. No ferries in or out. No shipments from the mainland. Civilians were told to stay in their cabins while the Guardsmen scoured the island for infected and Desmond inspected everyone.

  It was all meaningless to Mary.

  Paola was dead, murdered right in front of her.

  Mary was trapped in a vortex of vicious thoughts. Waves of memory collided, too many things she’d not thought of in years. She flashed back to the first time her baby had stared up into her eyes; then to the time when Paola had drawn something for Mary, eager to be like her mommy and make cards; and then back to a rainy Saturday morning when she, Ryan, and Paola let morning turn into afternoon without leaving their bed, watching cartoons on TV. Such a silly little thing, that one moment of inactivity would be among Mary’s most cherished moments. A sign of happier times when the family was together. Alone, those memories were heartbreaking. But then they blended with darker thoughts — the imagined memories for her daughter’s future that could now never be. Paola’s first job, her first boyfriend, going to college, doing something she loved for a living, perhaps exploring the world. Her life erased in a flash by some alien entity bent on humanity’s destruction.

  And for what?

  Why had they targeted humans?

  Why were they so hell bent on using Mary’s daughter as a pawn?

  It wasn’t just the aliens. Even the horrible people at The Sanctuary had tormented them for no reason other than some top-of-the-food-chain bullshit.

  Mary wanted to scream. Wanted to punch things. Hell, she wanted to shoot something.

  But screams invited company. And whom would she shoot? The man who murdered her daughter had been shot dead the moment he pulled his trigger.

  Mary had no target for her wrath, no well to pour her grief. Nothing to fill her soul’s wretched void.

  She turned over, squeezing her pillow as tightly as she could, and screamed into it.

  Forty-Nine

  Boricio Wolfe

  Boricio woke to a world of blurry pain.

  He tried to move, but couldn’t.

  He panicked, looking around, barely able to move his head, trying to suss out his situation.

  Boricio was in a bed, in what had to be a hotel room. A nice hotel, from what he could see in his limited view.

  The last thing Boricio remembered was being in a motel while Rose, Mary, and Paola had gone off to see that weird-ass cult chick from the Church of Original Design.

  What the hell happened?

  Was I in an accident?

  “Hello?” he called out, barely able to push breath into voice.

  He turned, coughing blood violently onto the bed.

  Boricio tried moving his fingers, his hands, his toes, anything, but his body couldn’t hear him. The more he focused, the more tired he felt.

  Boricio noticed a tube running from his hand back to an IV bag hanging from a pole beside the bed. A peek under the covers would probably show a catheter moving piss from his prick to a bag beneath the bed. But there were no wires or machines, so far as he could tell, meaning that despite the medical equipment Boricio wasn’t in a hospital.

  He drifted off, exhausted.

  When Boricio woke, he had a bit more strength to his voice. He called out, “Hey!” And then, “Hello?!”

  Fifty

  Luca Harding

  Luca sat at the foot of their occupied summer home’s stairs, wondering when Boricio would finally wake up.

  The house belonged to a man
named Parker Davison, founder of P.K. Davison Industries, a multinational company with its fingers in a bit of everything, including, Rose said, elections across the country. Davison was seventy-five years old and had been on the verge of suicide a few months ago when Steven befriended, infected, and ushered him into the Church of Original Design.

  Rose had turned to Davison before getting Boricio out of jail, requesting his summer home in Highland Park — with sweeping views of the San Gabriel Mountains — to use as their new headquarters. It was better than a hotel, as they didn’t have to worry about suspicious staffers, and Davison rarely used the house himself, so they didn’t have to worry about him being around either.

  The home was two stories and well kept for a place so rarely used. Most of the furniture was made of dark wood and looked cozy, reminding Luca of his mom and the magazines she used to read.

  Luca was spending a lot of time alone as Rose was getting Art accustomed to the alien inside him. She was also often busy meditating, during which time she was reaching out to other elements of The Darkness, trying to strengthen its core and prevent its weakest members from doing anything rash that would draw suspicion from the government agents searching for them.

  Sitting in the house alone, Luca couldn’t help but think about his parents, and his sister, Anna. Not just his real family, who had died in a car accident years ago, but the other Luca’s mom and dad, the ones who had been raising him unaware that their real son had evolved into something else, his place taken by a child impostor from another world.

  Luca also felt horrible that he had to run away after he killed the bullies. His family had to be worried sick about their son, never knowing they were worried about, or perhaps even mourning, a fraud. Their real son had become something they couldn’t comprehend.