Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “Yes,” their teacher, Mr. Pace, said from the front of the cabin, “those are deer. The Wastelands are full of deer, dogs, pigs, and wolves. Without people, the animal population is out of control.”

  “What about the Ferals?” Kenny said. “Don’t they eat the animals?”

  Emily watched as the teacher’s expression changed from smiling and happy to something else. She couldn’t read it. Maybe he was annoyed by the question. Emily wasn’t sure if the teacher were among the hosts or a free person too. If he were an alien, perhaps he didn’t appreciate disparaging comments about the Ferals — despite the fact that everyone on The Island was told to avoid contact with the Ferals at all costs, that they were deadly aliens run amok.

  Mr. Pace cleared his throat. “The aliens typically eat humans not animals.”

  “Eww,” Sutton said.

  Chris, who was sitting in the back of the shuttle, pushed his long brown hair from his face. “Better watch out, Sutton, or they’re gonna eat you next.”

  Sutton raised her hand then extended her middle finger.

  Emily laughed.

  “Now, now,” Mr. Pace said. “None of us will be eaten.”

  Chris murmured, “None of us?”

  Emily looked at Mr. Pace, certain he must have heard the comment basically accusing him of being an alien. If Mr. Pace had heard him, he said nothing and didn’t react.

  Emily turned and met Chris’s eyes. He was a year older then she, and known for causing trouble. Nothing too serious but annoying to the teachers — and charming to some of the girls. Emily was surprised he’d been among the students chosen for the tour. Not only was he always getting into one thing or another, he was obnoxious like most overly aggressive boys were.

  Why is he even on this trip?

  It was easy to see why the others were there. Sutton was pretty and popular — her father was a big shot at one of the mainland factories. Kenny was one of the smartest kids in class. And Emily, well, Emily wasn’t sure why she was picked, either. She didn’t think of herself as especially smart. Perceptive, yes. But she’d never been particularly interested in learning history, remembering facts, or anything having to do with math. And nobody knew about her gifts.

  Last year, Mr. Pace had called Emily’s father in for a conference because Emily was “daydreaming,” as he’d said, too much in class. She didn’t see it so much as daydreaming as much as thinking up songs she planned to write when class was out.

  If there was one thing Emily missed in this world, it was that nobody would ever make another song, at least not in her lifetime. Emily remembered when she was a child and her mother would sing while rocking her to sleep. She’d sing in the car when they were going to preschool. As Emily grew up, she started singing in music class, plays, and church choir.

  Nowadays, she sang only to herself, when she was alone.

  Emily didn’t feel comfortable singing to her father. He was always so logical and wanting to discuss facts, history, and other stuff she had no interest in. The few times she did try to sing, he gave her a polite, “That was nice” but didn’t seem to appreciate it. She often wondered if her singing reminded him of her mother.

  Dad hated talking about her.

  Sure, he’d answer Emily’s questions, but he always cut the conversation short. For a while, she thought maybe her father didn’t like his wife. But then one night, following a fight she had with her dad, he’d drunk too much wine and said something she’d never forget.

  “I wish the plague had taken me instead.”

  He got up, went to his room, and they never spoke of it again.

  Emily would always remember the words, and how much they hurt, but she wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it, or what he’d meant. But the part of Emily that kept her awake at night suggested that her father was mad at her mother for dying. For leaving him with a burden. For having to take care of Emily.

  “What is that?” Chris asked, voice raised in enthusiasm, yanking Emily from her Memory Lane.

  She looked out the window and saw a huge parking lot. In the center of the lot, where the store — or perhaps a mall — should be, lay a block-wide crater in the earth, maybe ten feet deep, filled with what looked like vegetation-peppered rubble.

  Mr. Pace said, “That’s one of the impact spots from our mothership’s lasers.”

  “Wow!” Chris and Kenny said in unison.

  The crater gave Emily chills, reminding her of everything the aliens had robbed from the world — and her. She hated how Chris and Kenny seemed to be in awe of the aliens’ destructive powers. Such boys. She wanted to throttle them.

  Don’t you realize you’re oohing and ahhing over aliens killing our people? What kind of insensitive jerks are you?

  Instead, Emily kept her mouth shut.

  See, Dad, I do listen to your advice, sometimes.

  She wished she’d come on the trip alone. While Sutton wasn’t being her usual bitchy self, Chris and Kenny’s enthusiasm over every sign of destruction got progressively worse as the field trip continued. You’d think they were touring enemy territory, not the place they’d all called home before The Fall. Surely, the boys had lost loved ones, maybe a parent or two, to the plague or aliens.

  A sudden bang outside rocked the shuttle, causing it to shudder violently back and forth, sending the kids stumbling.

  Emily sat and grabbed the straps in the back of her seat, sliding them over her shoulders.

  “What’s happening?” Sutton asked, falling onto Emily.

  Emily helped her to sit up and secure the straps around her so she wouldn’t fly into a wall.

  The shuttle rocked harder. A horrible whirring burped from below.

  “What’s happening?” Sutton repeated, this time shrieking.

  Neither Mr. Pace nor the two Guardsmen up front said a word.

  Mr. Pace strapped himself in and instructed the boys to do the same.

  Then the shuttle lurched downward.

  Eleven

  Paul Roberts

  The elevator ascended, and Paul’s mind stirred with possibilities of what Desmond might show him. Whatever the case, he felt safe — for the moment.

  The elevator doors opened into an all-white hallway that stretched as far as Paul could see, ending in blinding white. The brightness of the light panels above combined with the sterility reminded Paul of a hospital. The floors were so shiny he could see their reflections as he, Desmond, and Wasterman started down the hall.

  Every twenty feet or so, they passed white doors with no discernible knobs or electronic panels to open them. He hoped his chills went unnoticed.

  What if they bring me into one of these rooms and lock the door?

  Each door had a silver insignia of some sort, in an alien language Paul had seen many times but never understood. Were these names? Numbers?

  Desmond stopped at the second door and waved his hand before it. The door slid open.

  Four beds were neatly lined inside the white room, each holding a sleeping woman. They were under translucent blankets with hundreds of selvions blinking in different colors. It took a moment for Paul to realize their common denominator: they were all pregnant.

  The door slid shut behind them.

  “What is this?” Paul said.

  “This is our solution to the lack of pure psyches to serve as host.”

  “You’re going to implant them into babies?”

  “Yes. We’ve already had four successful implantations. Though the children are still young, the process shows promise.”

  “How … how many are there?”

  “So far, thirty.”

  “Thirty pregnant women? How? Why am I just learning about this?”

  Desmond looked slighted. “This project is unrelated to your work.”

  “You don’t need me to screen appropriate women?”

  “Not yet. Perhaps in the next phase. Now we’re a bit less discriminating, seeking proof of concept.”

  “So, why are you showing
me now?”

  “There are certain people in our council who feel we should consider using more locally sourced women to impregnate. And perhaps we should start younger.”

  Paul was confused then did the math.

  This is about Emily! This is a threat!

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “Watch your tone,” Wasterman said from behind.

  “Paul, Paul, Paul, I’m not saying we’ll do this to your daughter. What kind of monster do you think I am? I’m saying there are certain people here who believe that would be a good idea. I won’t allow it because you are an important member of our society. And your family is our family. Besides, she’s still a child.”

  Paul stared at Desmond, wanting to knock the fucker’s smile from his face. But he had to throttle his rage.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m about to upset you. And I need you to be cautious in how you react.”

  A cold sweat beaded Paul’s back. His heart throbbed. What the hell was Desmond about to say?

  “What?”

  “Your daughter has shown herself to be quite gifted.”

  Oh, God, they know. What do they want with Emily?

  “Are you aware that she’s a telepath?”

  “I’ve not talked to her about it — yet. I just started sensing it a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to say anything. She’s at that age, you know, where anything I say is met with hostility. If I want to explore this, she has to bring it up.”

  While Paul initially thought her having abilities, like him, would protect her from the aliens, he wasn’t so certain now. Maybe it put a target on her back. They had leverage over him. They could control him. But her, not so much. Especially if she came to dislike her father as so many teens did. Why would a disgruntled kid care if they used their dad as leverage?

  Desmond nodded. “Well, unfortunately, we needed to expedite her development.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Paul bristled, struggling to stifle his anger. Wasterman loomed so close behind Paul, he could imagine the man’s breath, and the gun in his belt holster.

  “So far, Luca, and the others under The Light’s influence, have been undetectable to us. We have a general idea where they are but not enough to make a move. We needed to set a trap.”

  “What do you mean, a trap?”

  “Remember what I said. I’m about to anger you. I need you to stay calm. Are you calm, Mr. Roberts?”

  Paul nodded, panicked.

  “Your daughter is bait. The trip she just took, it’s all part of our plan to bring out our enemy.”

  Paul had to force himself not to scream. “What?”

  “Tone!” Wasterman barked behind him.

  “Don’t worry,” Desmond said. “Your daughter is completely safe.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “We’ve staged an accident to lure our enemy. When they move in to help, we can follow her back to their lair.”

  Paul shook his head. He wanted to murder Desmond. Then he’d grab Wasterman’s gun, shove it in his mouth, and blow a hole through the back of his skull, killing the man and the alien likely riding jockey inside him.

  “Why did you do this? If you have a general idea where they are, why not take one of those big fucking laser cannons on your ship and level the damned city like you all did when you arrived?”

  “Because it’s not enough to kill the hosts. It’s far harder to kill The Light. So we must contain The Light.”

  Paul paced back and forth, fists shoved in his pants pockets. “How are you ensuring her safety? What if they take her and you lose her, too?”

  “She has a tracking chip embedded in her, part of the protocol for any trip into The Wastelands.”

  “And if that fails?”

  “That’s where you come in. You will contact her telepathically.”

  Paul hated every part of this but was powerless to do anything. Emily was already out there. Possibly already in the hands of the enemy. He had no choice but to play ball, and they knew it.

  “So,” Desmond said, “are we on the same page, Mr. Roberts?”

  Paul nodded. What else could he do?

  Twelve

  Mary Olson

  The shuttle sat in the burned-out shopping center’s parking lot like a silent sentinel. Mary and the group were more than a hundred yards away, but danger seemed to crackle in the air from being so close to the alien ship.

  The shopping center was located in a part of The City that had seen the worst of the mothership’s lasers. There wasn’t another building standing within a hundred yards, which made the crash site a prime target for snipers — countless hiding places salted the apartment buildings and storefronts scattered past the blast zone.

  Mary and her group stood at the edges of a wooded area just south of the shopping center, relatively concealed, though probably not against infrared or alien technology. Fortunately, she couldn’t hear the shuttle’s loud engines.

  Mary zoomed in with the binoculars for a closer look and saw two Guardsmen on the ground, torn to shreds. She panned up at the terrified faces of the children.

  Three bleakers circled the craft, each taking turns at running into the ship, trying to gain entry.

  Mary handed the binoculars back to Keenan.

  Boricio looked at them both. “So, we gonna save these little bastards or what?”

  Boricio, Lisa, and Jevonne all had rifles trained on the aliens, waiting for Keenan and Mary to make a decision. Until a few months ago, Boricio had been calling most of the shots, but following some group infighting, Boricio decided to be a bit more diplomatic and mine a few other opinions before making any major decisions. It was sorta sweet, as he was obviously doing it to appease her. Mary had grown sick of the arguments among the group’s clashing personalities, with Boricio’s being the most prickly. She’d been ready to declare a general fuck off, rather than tolerate any more bullshit.

  Boricio looked back at her. She tried reading his face to see if he was as disturbed by this idle shuttle as she was.

  Something felt off.

  “Why the hell did they bring a shuttle full of kids into The City?”

  Lisa looked through her scope. “They all have uniforms on, like school uniforms.”

  “They’ve got a Hogwarts on The Island, and the little fuckers are in monkey suits? Jesus Stepford Christ! We oughta let the aliens eat ‘em on principle.”

  Mary wasn’t surprised that they had a school. Even from the mainland at night, she knew The Island had power, as did certain sections of the mainland where the aliens had their heavily guarded factories and warehouses. Luca was right — they were trying to rebuild society with the new evolved human alien hybrids. So were these kids human or hybrids? Or puppets controlled by the aliens? Not that there was much distinction. And other than Luca, and briefly Paola, she’d yet to meet a true hybrid, where the humans maintained some, or most, control of themselves.

  Mary turned to Keenan. “What do you think?”

  He stared at the shuttle for a while. Mary wondered if he was thinking about Jade. Did he think about her as much as Mary thought about Paola — every fucking day for four years?

  Keenan said, “Well, we’ve been waiting to capture someone from the inside for a long time, right?”

  “But doesn’t this feel convenient to you? And why haven’t they sent backup? I dunno.” She shrugged. “Feels like a trap.”

  Lisa looked back. “I agree. This doesn’t feel right. Let’s jet.”

  “What?” Boricio turned. “We’re gonna leave Dora’s Explorers to die?”

  “There’s something wrong about this,” Lisa said. “I feel like they’re trying to draw us out. And besides, we want to capture someone of worth from The Island to interrogate, not a bunch of kids.”

  “Then why the fuck did you call us down here in the first place? You knew they were kids when you found the crash site.”

  Lisa, ignoring Boricio
, walked up to Keenan. “What do you think?”

  “I agree. Something’s not right.”

  Boricio shook his head. “Hello, Earth to assholes. Do you all not see the same shit I’m seeing? Those kids are making Hersheys in their Underoos! Look at their eyes! There ain’t no ETs in there!”

  “They could be acting scared,” Keenan said. “We all know what they’re capable of.”

  Mary nodded. She knew more than any of them. She’d slept with Desmond, almost had his alien baby. “I don’t wanna take any chances. I say we head back.”

  Boricio stared at Mary, slack jawed. “No. Fuck this shit.”

  He picked up the rifle and fired one, two, three silenced shots, dropping two of the three aliens before squeezing off another two shots and felling the last one.

  “What the fuck?” Lisa got in his face.

  “You best step the fuck back.” Boricio didn’t raise his rifle and aim it at Lisa, but he didn’t need to.

  “We’re not bringing those kids back,” she said. “It’s too risky.”

  “Since when did I become the only motherfucker here who gives a shit about a shuttle of munchkins?”

  Mary was as surprised as Boricio. Then again, ever since he’d lost Rose to the aliens, just before Paola’s death, something had shifted in Boricio. He was still a stone-cold killer, but there had been a few times when it seemed like more of an act. She thought it was a necessary adjustment to becoming a more balanced person — dangerous enough to be useful rather than a psycho who kept them in danger. But now, Boricio was thinking with emotion rather than logic. The risks of saving these kids far outweighed the rewards. Boricio’s blindness made her afraid that he’d grown too soft.

  Jevonne, normally quiet like Keenan, spoke up. “I’m with Boricio. Yeah, maybe it’s a trap. But my gut says it isn’t. I think this is an accident, and we need to act fast before they realize their shuttle is missing.”

  “That’s just the problem,” Keenan said. “If they realize the kids are missing, and they care enough to search for them, they’ll blanket The City with shuttles.”