Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  Bob looked over at Charlie. “What?”

  This had to be a dream. Not just a dream but an unending nightmare. Yet it felt so real and … like he’d been here before.

  Charlie remembered every heartbreaking moment that occurred after October 15. How they’d wound up on another world. And then, most importantly, he remembered her. The girl they’d met as she attempted to break into Bob’s truck outside the store.

  Callie!

  Oh, God, Callie!

  Charlie scrambled to his feet, to the store’s front, and then through the broken doors, coming to a skid in the debris outside. There, parked in front of the shopping center was Bob’s truck — Callie breaking into the cabin.

  He flashed back on their original meeting, how he’d chased her, how Bob had hit and nearly killed her. He saw Bob coming through the doors, bat in hand. Not just a bat, but the same bat that Boricio had been holding moments ago, but no longer broken.

  “Hey!” Bob called out.

  Callie looked up, surprised to see them, caught red handed.

  She ran toward the woods in the distance.

  No, no!

  Charlie had to prevent the inevitable.

  Instead of chasing Callie, he went after Bob, racing as fast as he could, a tightness in his chest as he pushed himself to catch up. Bob was about ten steps ahead, and closing in quickly on Callie.

  Charlie focused on his stepfather’s back, pushing himself fast enough to launch himself at Bob and bring the man down, stop him from catching Callie and hitting her with the bat. He noticed something moving beneath Bob’s shirt, just between his shoulders.

  Something fell back, hitting Charlie in the face.

  He reached up, swiped it aside, then looked down in his hands to see a piece of Bob’s skin and hair.

  Disgusted, Charlie shook his hand until he’d rid himself of the flesh. When he looked back up, Charlie saw more scraps shedding from Bob, revealing something underneath: a black, oily-looking creature with hundreds of tiny lights inside its skin — an alien!

  And just as he realized what it was, and how much danger it posed, the alien gathered speed and closed in on Callie.

  Charlie screamed, “No!”

  The alien turned on a dime, causing Charlie to smack into it.

  They tumbled to the ground. The bat fell.

  Charlie grabbed the bat, spun, and slammed it straight into the alien’s giant face. Black goo gushed everywhere.

  Charlie leaped away, lest the stuff touch him, then turned to search for Callie.

  But she was gone. And suddenly he was alone, on a path, surrounded by giant redwoods on either side.

  The dream was getting weirder.

  Charlie looked up and down the path, which seemed to unspool forever, wondering how the hell he’d ended up on it. These weren’t the same woods where he’d chased Callie.

  Are they?

  “Callie!”

  Waiting for an answer, Charlie heard water in the distance.

  He left the path, following the sound, creeping through the woods toward a clearing where three people stood in the shadows. One stepped forward from the trees.

  “Callie?”

  She smiled then ran into Charlie’s arms. “You’re finally here!”

  “I thought you died. I mean, I saw you die.”

  She kept hugging him and whispered into his ear, “Death isn’t the end, for any of us.”

  As he held her, another figure stepped from the shadows, an old man Charlie recognized from Black Island.

  “Will?”

  “Welcome, Charlie. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Fifty-Six

  Paul Roberts

  News came back from the incoming shuttle, reporting results of the rebel house raid, and Paul felt his knees weaken.

  “No sign of the girl,” the Guardsman said over the transmission. “One male, one female, and two children. No Emily.”

  The Guardsman relayed a video of the prisoners, displayed on the window in front of them, momentarily replacing the view of Mary in her chamber.

  Paul’s heart sank when he saw these other faces, and not Emily’s, on their way to the ship.

  Desmond clicked off his shoulder communicator then turned to Paul, the only other person in the observation room overseeing Mary’s cell.

  “I’m sorry,” Desmond said.

  “Sorry? What? Is that it? You’re not going to look for her?”

  “I’m sure we’ll get answers from the prisoners once they’re onboard,” Desmond said. “Let’s not overreact.”

  Paul couldn’t believe Desmond’s manner, as if this were some minor mission failure that would be corrected in due time.

  “She’s my daughter. She’s a child, Desmond. Alone in The Wastelands, with bandits, rebels, and Ferals you can’t control. Do you understand the danger she’s in?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Desmond said with his usual dismissive smile.

  Paul crossed his arms, turned, and again stared through the window at Mary strapped to the table.

  “She knows where Emily is.”

  “Maybe, but she’s not talking.”

  “We haven’t tried everything.”

  “Are you suggesting that I let you fail to get inside her head again? Or maybe you’d prefer another crack at slitting her throat?”

  “I can do it this time. Before, she was strong. Now she knows we have Paola. Her resolve is weaker. I can break her.”

  Desmond stared through the window, arms crossed, chin resting in the nook of his thumb and index finger as he contemplated Paul’s offer.

  “You have Luca and the others, right? You’ve already got what you want. Let me try and get the info.”

  Desmond kept staring through the window. Paul tried reading his thoughts, but like with the other aliens, found little but static. He didn’t dare press, lest they notice and kill him immediately.

  Paul tried one more gambit. “You said you were going to use her as a host, right? But we both know you can’t really do that until she’s broken. She’d kill whomever you put in her. So if you already have what you want from her, and she’s of no use as a host, you’ve nothing to lose. Please, Desmond. Let me try.”

  Desmond finally turned, met Paul’s eyes, and nodded. “You’re right, Mr. Roberts. Go ahead, see what you can get from her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Paul was about to leave the room when an idea struck him. “I think I know a way to break her. But I’ll need you to trust me.”

  Desmond’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “Whatever you need,” he said.

  Fifty-Seven

  Mary Olson

  Mary’s attempts to bar regret from her head failed almost immediately.

  She’d refused to surrender the rebels’ location, and now Desmond was making her pay. The longer she laid strapped to the table, now in a vertical position in the room’s center, the more horrible her imagined scenarios became. Desmond had Paola and therefore possessed everything needed to hurt her.

  She should have given the location. Yes, the group would be screwed, and many of them, including Boricio, likely killed. But at least Paola would have been safe. At least Boricio, Luca, and the others would’ve stood a chance. Even if caught by surprise, they would surely mount a defense. Mary had no power on the alien ship. And they had all the leverage.

  After what felt like forever, but may have only been fifteen minutes, her chamber door opened, and Paul stepped in, alone. He slowly approached her, stopping about four feet away, staring at Mary, hands folded in front of him. She wasn’t sure if this was an intimidation tactic or if Paul was deep in thought, perhaps trying to get back inside her head.

  “Come back to slit my throat?”

  Paul shook his head. “No. I don’t need to.”

  Mary wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean and wasn’t taking the bait. If he wanted to threaten her, he’d have to be more direct.

  “Tell me,” he said, remaining p
erfectly still, “what was it like seeing your daughter again?”

  Mary said nothing, refusing to bite.

  She felt him probing at the edges of her mind but pushed him out, easily.

  “So, that’s your tactic, eh? Get me to think about my daughter, weaken my defenses, and storm into my mind?”

  “Pretty much. An opening move, to test your response.”

  She chuckled. “And?”

  “As expected. Tell me, Mary” he began again, as if that was a hypnotic trigger word to get her doing whatever it was he’d programmed into her, “why didn’t you take the offer?”

  Mary tried not to think about the why, but that was almost impossible with a foot on the path. She could feel him pushing again, trying to use the known responses to regain entry.

  Again, she pushed him out.

  “You could’ve been safe. Desmond offered sanctuary, for both you and Paola. Yet you refused. And for what? To protect your allies?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “But why? What do you think he’s going to do to them?”

  Mary chuckled again. “I know what you’re trying to do. Figure if you push my thoughts enough in the right direction, you’ll sneak past my defenses. It won’t work.”

  “So, tell me, Mary, what will work?”

  Doing something awful to Paola.

  Even as Mary thought it, she tried not to.

  A smile spread across his face.

  Had he glimpsed her thought? Or was he trying to trick her? Mary could no longer tell if he was trying to break in. When someone tried consistently enough, you grew numb to the sensation. It was harder to tell the difference between a genuine attempt at intrusion and a psychic echo of a prior attempt.

  “You turned down Desmond’s offer for nothing, Mary. We have Luca, and the others. They’re on the way now.”

  “Liar.”

  “Oh? Look in my eyes, and see.”

  She looked then turned her head away quickly. Another attempt to breach her defenses. Yet in that moment, Mary saw a flash of something she knew to be true.

  “The Chandler House,” he said. “In a secret basement. We have them. But here’s the thing, Mary. Desmond has no reason to kill them. He’ll offer them the same thing: a chance to live here on the ship, or on The Island, as one of us.”

  Mary shook her head, wanting to look back into his eyes again, to see if that was also true. That this war could be over that easily. Simple surrender. She could even keep her mind and body.

  But didn’t that doom the humans still fighting for freedom?

  “You’re thinking about those you’d be betraying, aren’t you?”

  Mary closed her eyes, pushing Paul out with everything she had.

  “You’d only be dooming The Wastelanders, as if they had a shot in the first place, which they don’t. Evolution is coming, Mary, whether you like it or not. We are the last of our species. There’s something special about that: witnessing the next step without being killed by those replacing us. I’d say we’re lucky. Well, some of us are. You, not so much. You chose wrong, Mary, and now you’ll have to regret saying no.”

  Paul looked up at the mirror and shouted, “Bring her in!”

  The door slid open.

  Seconds later, a Guardsman stepped through, gun aimed at Paola, prodding her forward.

  “Now,” Paul said, “I’m going to give you one last chance to do the right thing.”

  Paola’s eyes were brimming with tears, though she seemed to be doing her best to hold herself together. “Mom,” she said, before the Guardsman at her back told her to keep quiet.

  Paul looked at Paola then back at Mary. “I believe I have your attention now, right? This man behind your daughter, his name is Kurtis. He had a wife and family taken by the plague, so he’s been through some shit. But he’s not a bad guy. The alien inside him, however, now that’s a different story. I’m not sure of his name, forgive me, but I do know he has little empathy for your situation. Way he sees it, you and the other rebels are only keeping his kind from finding new homes. He’d like this fight to be finished and is prepared to do whatever it takes. Am I correct, sir?”

  “You are correct,” the Guardsman said through his helmet’s speakers.

  “So, here we go. Since your friends are already captured, and you no longer need to protect the location of their secret hideout, I’d like you to tell me where my daughter is.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Kurtis, kill the girl.”

  “No!” Mary shouted.

  Paul raised a hand to stay the execution then approached Mary. “Tell me where my daughter is.”

  “The last time I saw her, she was in the warehouse you all raided, not the Chandler House. I swear. I left because I was pissed off that everyone trusted her so implicitly.”

  “What do you mean?” Paul asked.

  Mary wasn’t sure how much she could say without risking Emily’s or Paul’s life. If she told him, in front of the alien, that Emily had wanted to leave, that she hated the aliens and wanted to stay with them, it could endanger them all. Or her calling Paul’s daughter a traitor could piss him off. Maybe he’d snap and order them killed.

  There was only one way to convey the information. She had to let him inside her.

  Mary met his eyes and aloud said, “I was jealous that they’d taken her in, that they didn’t see her as a threat.”

  As Mary spoke those words, she sent others into his head.

  Look inside me. You’ll see the truth.

  Paul’s expression changed for only a moment, but it was enough to see her message received. Mary felt him prodding at her mind’s doors moments later.

  This time, she opened them wide and let him in.

  Fifty-Eight

  Paul Roberts

  Paul entered Mary’s head even though he was certainly stepping into some sort of trap. But what choice did he have? If she knew something about his daughter, he had to take the chance.

  Usually, when Paul entered people’s minds, he was in their present thoughts. If they were daydreaming about a beach, he found his toes curling in sand. Inside, he could go wherever he wanted, spy on whatever memories he found without permission. But he always started in their mind’s current space.

  But Mary was different.

  When Paul entered her mind, he found himself in a small, dark vault, with her standing there, in all black, greeting him, like a guard determined to show him only permitted displays.

  “What is this truth you want to show me?” Paul looked around at the vault’s hundreds of lock boxes. A large circular door led to what seemed like another vault — perhaps where Mary held her deepest secrets. He had to admit it was an interesting, if not obvious, construct designed to safeguard her thoughts.

  “I couldn’t tell you in front of the Guardsman. If I did, you and your daughter’s life would be in danger.”

  “Really? And why is that?”

  “Emily doesn’t want to be on this ship. She wants to be free.”

  “Liar!” Paul said. “What the hell did you do to her? Did you brainwash Emily, get her to buy into your rebellion?”

  “We didn’t do anything. See for yourself.”

  A flash, then the vault was a warehouse.

  Paul watched as his daughter sat on the ground beside the old man-child that Desmond was obsessed with — Luca. The child with The Light, significantly aged.

  Paul listened to them discussing The Island, her father, and a desire to be free of the aliens.

  “So, what does this tell me? You took advantage of a confused little girl. She doesn’t know anything about The Wastelands. She’s an idealist without the first clue of the sacrifices I’ve made to keep her, to keep us, safe.”

  “I’m not judging,” Mary said. “I’m showing you the truth. And no, we didn’t take advantage of her. We told her to try and contact you on the ship, but she couldn’t. Hell, I wanted to return her immediately.”

  “Where is she now?”
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  “Like I said, she was at the warehouse with the others. When your people attacked, I ran over to find out what was going on, and then you all grabbed me.”

  “So if she wasn’t there, and wasn’t at the Chandler House, where could she have gone? Could she have left with one of the others?”

  Mary was thinking about someone. Now inside her head, he pulled at the frayed edges of that thought, hoping to unravel it and see for himself.

  There was a man, Boricio. Mary’s lover, also a sociopath. He’d taken a shining to Emily. He wasn’t the male prisoner Paul had seen on the earlier video, which meant he was still down there, in The Wastelands — maybe with Emily.

  “Where are they?” Paul asked, both hopeful and afraid.

  “I don’t know, but I do know one thing, Paul.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You better hope that nothing happens to me or Paola.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you haven’t seen anything when it comes to Boricio.”

  The second vault creaked open. From the other side, Paul heard screaming. Not just one or two bellows, but what felt like the anguished cries from thousands.

  A fiery-orange glow painted the inside of their vault, as if this doorway led to Hell itself.

  “W-what’s that?” Paul’s voice trembled.

  “Why don’t you have a look?”

  Mary was now inches away. She spun him around then shoved Paul toward the open door.

  As Mary pushed him closer, screams grew louder, men and women enduring things Paul’s mind dared not imagine. He’d seen many atrocities since The Fall, but nothing was preparation enough for whatever waited inside the other vault.

  Just when Paul thought the sounds couldn’t get worse, something sent ice through his veins: the sound of a man laughing and … singing whimsically.

  As they drew closer to the threshold, every fiber in Paul’s being resisted.