Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30

by Platt, Sean

  I can’t feel anything!

  “It’s OK,” Luca said from the man’s mouth. “We’ll fix you up.”

  The Boy Wonder carried Boricio out of the woods.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 11 — BRENT FOSTER

  As the wind picked up and cold rain began to pelt them, Brent was starting to wonder if searching the island’s west side was a waste of time. There was nothing out here but too many trees. And no sign of Paola.

  But given that nobody else was searching this area, Brent decided this was the best place to look. If someone had taken Paola and was lying low, what better place to do so than in the middle of the dark woods?

  Their narrow dirt path seemed to be thinning, bringing the swaying skeletal branches closer to their bodies. Flashlights battled the surrounding blackness, but did little to pierce it. The icy rain only made visibility worse.

  Something reached out in the darkness and scratched at Brent’s face.

  He threw an arm up in defense, the one with the heavy flashlight, relieved to just see a branch and not something alien reaching out to grab him.

  Brent shoved the branch aside and turned his face downward, covering it with an arm.

  “Careful of the branches, nearly poked my eyes out.” Brent turned back to Jade who had been walking beside him but was now behind as the dwindling path left little room for more than congestion.

  “OK,” Jade shouted over the howling wind.

  They walked a bit farther, and Brent figured they had to be close to the shore, even though he saw no sign of the sea or lights from the mainland beyond.

  How big is this damned island?

  It, like its counterpart on the other world, seemed so small on the ferry ride over. But the island felt like Dr. Who’s TARDIS upon arrival, deceptively larger than it seemed. That wasn’t even counting the sprawling research facility that descended God knew how many levels underground.

  The path abruptly ended.

  Brent ran his light over the thick wall of trees ahead and around, searching for a fork in the path he might have missed. But it seemed to end, as if unfinished.

  “Shit, that was a waste of time.” Brent turned back to Jade and shined his light at her waist so he could see her face without turning her temporarily blind. “Think we should turn back?”

  She pushed strands of wet purple hair from her eyes and looked around, flashing her beam into the woods ahead. “There!” Her eyes widened. “What’s that?”

  Brent turned toward her discovery. In the distance, light grabbed what looked to be some sort of barely visible structure.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Let’s go.” Jade pushed past Brent and marched into the woods, fearless like her father.

  Brent followed, burying a creeping unease, a whisper inside him somehow (illogically) certain that they were tromping toward their deaths.

  While Jade was only about ten years younger than Brent, and not at all a child, he couldn’t help but feel some sense of obligation to look out for her, to protect her from harm. Ed had asked him to do just that.

  Don’t let my daughter get into any shit.

  Ed may as well have asked Brent to keep the sun from shining in their sky.

  Jade was fiercely independent, living as if she had something to prove. It was in her stature, in the way she took to their survival and gun training, and, like her father, in her eyes.

  When Brent first heard that Paola was missing, from one of the Guardsmen on the radio, he went to Jade and Teagan’s cabin, hoping they would look after Ben while he helped Mary search for her daughter. Jade had insisted on coming, even though Brent had argued otherwise.

  She refused his feeble attempts to stop her, and insisted that four eyes were better than two.

  Brent surrendered. Jade wasn’t his daughter, and it wasn’t his place to order her around. Trying made him feel like a jerk.

  Now, as they were out in the woods on “monster island” and inching toward some decrepit lair, Brent wished he’d told Jade to stay behind. Ed would kill him if something happened to his daughter, if the aliens didn’t end him first.

  They drew nearer to the small clearing, and the structure sharpened into view. Jade stopped in her tracks, clicking her light off. Brent killed his, too. He stared ahead at the back side of an ancient-looking, two-story wooden house, half swallowed by wild weeds and vegetation.

  Brent’s heart raced as he considered his next move. Something felt wrong.

  Wind whistled louder, and rain pounded harder, now stinging Brent’s face and eyes.

  He leaned in close, putting his mouth next to Jade’s ear and doing his best not to shout. “Let’s look around the front.”

  They stayed in the trees, navigating in the inky-black darkness, slowly making their way toward the home’s front.

  Light flickered from behind a sheer curtain in an upstairs window.

  Someone’s in there!

  Brent wiped wet hair from his eyes and looked at Jade to see that she’d noticed the window as well. She drew the gun from her holster, ready to race inside.

  “Wait.” Brent put his hand out to stop her from moving forward. “We should call this in.”

  “Call it in? If someone is in there with Paola, then every second counts.”

  Brent argued. “If they wanted to kill her, I think they would’ve done it already.”

  “There are things worse than death,” Jade said, her eyes firm.

  Brent wasn’t sure if she meant the girl was in danger of sexual assault or alien infection. Either way, he thought it would be best if they waited for backup.

  “We can’t go in there alone,” Brent said. “If something happens to us, she’s screwed. We’re all screwed. We need to call it in and see how close they are. We might not have to wait long.”

  Jade looked at the house again, sighing in protest. “Fine, call it in. But if they’re not here in a few minutes, I’m going in — with or without you.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 12 — MARY OLSON

  “We’re going to find her,” Desmond repeated as they walked the shoreline, flashlights sweeping for any sign of Paola in the stormy darkness.

  Three choppers growled from above, spotlights probing the rolling ocean between island and mainland for any sign of boats that the kidnappers might be using. According to Desmond, the choppers were outfitted with thermal viewers to spot heat signatures on land or sea. Anyone attempting to leave the island would light up on the choppers’ screens.

  “We’re going to find her,” Desmond repeated a bit louder over the wind.

  Mary ignored him.

  Discussion was pointless, and his reassurances meant nothing — empty as a wish in a well. Hope meant little, or maybe nothing in a world cruel enough to take her husband, unborn child, and now her daughter — again.

  Action was all that mattered — doing what had to be done to find Paola. They had to keep looking. They had to find her.

  Desmond’s phone chirped, though Mary couldn’t hear it above the pounding rain. She watched as he brought the glowing face of the phone to his ear.

  Mary moved closer, hoping (wishing) for news — good news — about Paola.

  “Where are you?” Desmond said. “Wait, never mind, I can track your phone.”

  He pulled the phone away, swiped the screen three times, and raised a map of the island populated with hundreds of bright-blue dots. He highlighted Brent Foster from a list of names on the left, then pressed it.

  A red dot lit up on the island’s west side, near the shore and what looked to be a blue block.

  “OK, I’ve got you on my screen,” Desmond said after returning the phone to his face. “Stay put. I’m sending backup immediately. Don’t do anything until they get there. Understand?”

  Brent offered a faraway “Yes”, then Desmond killed the call and turned to Mary.

  “Did they find her?” Mary asked, daring to voice her hope.<
br />
  “Hold on,” Desmond said, then barked orders to Guardsmen over the whipping wind and pelting rain.

  He dropped the phone in his jacket pocket and turned to Mary. “I don’t know. They found an old house on the island. Brent said there’s a light on inside.”

  Mary’s heart began to race. “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing. I told him to wait. I’m sending Guardsmen over, and someone is coming to pick us up.”

  A black jeep rolled up before Desmond finished his sentence. Desmond gestured toward the vehicle, then followed Mary into the back seat.

  Desmond nodded at the pair of unfamiliar Guardsmen up front. The jeep skidded as it turned, then bounced along the bumpy dirt road toward coordinates already loaded into the GPS.

  “What is this place?” Desmond asked.

  The passenger, an older man with salt-and-pepper beard and matching short, curly hair said, “The old Wilson home, belonging to one of the original owners of the island back in the early 1900s. Black Island considered tearing it down, but I guess someone had a soft spot for history and decided to leave it.”

  “Does anyone live there?” Mary asked, thinking a caretaker would explain the light.

  “Oh God, no. The place should be torn down. It’s decrepit and spooky as Satan’s bachelor pad.”

  “Great,” Mary said.

  Desmond squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry.”

  They hit a bump, jostling them hard. Mary didn’t care. All she wanted was to reach the house and find Paola safe inside.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 13 — BRENT FOSTER

  Jade paced in the rain while waiting for the Guardsmen.

  “What the hell is taking them so long?”

  “They’ll be here.” Brent wished she’d stay in one spot. Jade was making him jumpier than he already was.

  “Would you stand still? Someone might see us if you keep moving.”

  She looked at him. It was too dark to tell if she had rolled her eyes, but Brent figured she probably had. Jade finally stopped pacing, then moved closer.

  “Every minute we sit here—” she started to say.

  “Is another minute she’s safe,” Brent interrupted. “We go in there, we’re more likely to do harm. Let’s leave it to the trained professionals.”

  “Would you say that if it was Ben in there?”

  The girl had a point.

  “I don’t know,” Brent admitted. “But Desmond said to stand down. And he’s with Mary. I think we should respect their wishes. She’s Mary’s daughter, not mine … or yours.”

  Jade pursed her lips, then resumed pacing.

  A shape appeared in the window.

  Brent grabbed Jade and yanked her down into the brush, hard on her knees, beside him.

  “Look!” Brent pointed at the window and the black shape behind it, pulling the curtain aside and stepping closer to the glass.

  “Can you see?” he asked her.

  “Only that it’s a guy.”

  “Stay down,” Brent whispered.

  Lights flooded the first floor, and a second dark shape appeared in the downstairs window, also staring out into the night.

  Brent sank lower to the ground, water and mud soaking his pants and shirt, hoping that he and Jade were invisible. They were crouched so low he could barely see through the brush and the land’s slight rising.

  “Shit,” Jade ducked lower, practically lying on the ground. “Someone’s coming outside.”

  Brent dared to peer above the brush, and saw the front door swing shut. His eyes found a man, already outside, approaching with a rifle raised.

  A bullet whizzed past, so close, Brent could hear it zip by before slamming into the ground behind them.

  Jade lifted her Glock and fired.

  Brent scrambled to his knees, raising his own weapon to fire at the man.

  Both shots missed.

  The man, still cloaked in shadows, fired again.

  Brent wasn’t sure where the bullets went, but wasn’t about to stick around for discovery. He emptied his gun into the darkness as Jade did the same.

  One of them dropped their enemy to the ground.

  Brent reloaded, looking over to see if Jade was OK.

  She seemed to be, sprinting toward the house, about twenty yards from their spot in the brush.

  Brent scanned the darkness for the first man, to make sure he was still facedown in the mud.

  Brent put another bullet in the back of his skull, then turned his attention toward the house and the dark shape in the second-floor window.

  The man was no longer there.

  Shit!

  Brent was about to call out for Jade, but the front door swung back open before he could. A tall man in blue coveralls stepped out, shoving Paola in front of him, gun to the girl’s head, holding her so close that any shot was too risky to take.

  “Put your guns down, or I’ll kill her!” The man’s voice was eerily calm, revealing none of the panic a pair of guns should invite.

  “Fuck you,” Jade said. “You put yours down.”

  “I’ll kill her!”

  Paola’s mouth was taped shut by a layer of electrical tape wrapped around her jaw and dark hair.

  “No you won’t,” Jade said, sounding oddly like a seasoned hostage negotiator, “or you would’ve already.”

  Don’t piss off the kidnapper!

  The man pressed the pistol into the side of Paola’s head. Judging from the way she winced, the man was definitely hurting her, and likely getting more desperate. If Brent and Jade didn’t listen, they might back the man into a corner where his only way out was to kill the girl and then himself.

  “Put the gun down,” Brent said to Jade, bending at the waist to lower his own.

  “No,” Jade said, “he won’t do shit.”

  “Please.” Brent tried to find Jade’s eyes, hoping to talk some sense into her. She was wrong on this, just as she was wrong to charge into the house. But she was too stubborn to recognize a man at the end of his rope.

  “Mary said he’s infected. He won’t kill the girl. They want her for something else, but they’re not gonna kill her.”

  Brent looked at the man. Yes, he might be infected and working under direction from The Darkness, but he was still desperate and scared. Maybe he had enough control of his senses to be reasoned with. Brent remembered how his friend, Luis, had retained his senses enough to try and talk Brent into leaving him behind even after his infection. This man was talking with them. Clearly, he wasn’t at the crazed stage people reached just before they lost all control.

  “Can’t you see?” Brent spoke just loud enough for Jade to hear. “He’s scared. He’s going to hurt her. We have to do this his way.”

  Jade finally turned and met Brent’s eyes. “Fine, we’ll—”

  Then she went down.

  A shot to the head.

  Brent screamed, barely turning in time to see the man training his gun on Brent.

  He fired. Brent dropped to the ground and rolled back toward the brush. The man continued to fire.

  Bullets tore into the ground around him. Brent scrambled toward the closest cover, the bushes they’d been hiding in a few moments before, his body moving faster than his reeling mind, praying that Jade was OK.

  Lights from a chopper above blinded Brent, then two pairs of headlights added to the glow.

  Brent stayed on the ground, hoping the vehicles would stop before running him over.

  They did, just barely.

  The cavalry had come.

  He hoped they’d come in time.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 14 — MARY OLSON

  Mary bounded out of the jeep, gun in hand, raised at the man standing with Paola at his mercy.

  “Let her go!” she screamed, marching forward.

  Mary saw Jade on the ground with her glazed eyes to the sky, the front of her skull missing from the left side.

  Mary’s stomach dropped.

  She turn
ed her gaze back on the man, hoping like hell he wouldn’t kill another tonight.

  “Please,” Mary said, “don’t hurt her. She’s just a little girl.”

  Paola’s mouth was taped shut, her eyes wide with panic, staring at her mom, silently pleading for help, black, soaking hair in strands over her face.

  The gunman stood frozen, eyes darting back and forth among Mary, Desmond, and the other four Guardsmen now staring down at him with weapons drawn. Brent joined in the standoff, his gun drawn on the man, too.

  The bounty of guns pointed at the man terrified Mary, amplifying the odds that someone would start something that would end in too many deaths.

  Please, please, God, get us out of this one.

  Please don’t let Paola get shot.

  Please, God, I beg you, spare my daughter.

  “You have one chance to get out of this alive,” Desmond said, voice confident, assertive. “Give us the girl, and we’ll help you.”

  “Help me what?” the man said to Desmond, while staring oddly at Mary.

  “We know this isn’t you wanting to do this,” Desmond said. “Something is making you do this. There’s a voice in your head, telling you to do this, isn’t there?”

  The man’s eyes went from scary to scared. “You hear it, too?”

  “Yes,” Desmond said. “It’s The Darkness. It’s got hold of you, but we can get it out of your head if you let us.”

  “You can?” The man’s face cracked, as if near tears.

  Mary stared at her daughter, hoping Paola could pick up on her thoughts, and hoping she believed them — even if Mary wasn’t sure she did.

  It’s going to be OK.

  We’re going to get you out of this.

  Just be calm.

  Desmond continued. “It’s not your fault, Jerry. We can get it out of your head. And you get you back to your life. Back to your wife and child.”

  Mary was impressed that Desmond knew so much about the guy. She wondered if he worked directly under Desmond, or if Desmond’s memory was simply that good.

  “I can have my life back?” The man’s face twisted as if he were waging a battle inside himself.