Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

by Platt, Sean

  Maybe it wasn’t love.

  Maybe in the real world, they would have never met, and maybe they would both die here in the unfortunate hell where they finally found themselves together again. But as Charlie met her eyes and found nothing inside but sorrow and fear, he felt compelled to conquer the one fear that would make him ready for death.

  As the cleanup man finished mopping the last of the redhead’s blood, Charlie put his hand on his heart and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

  Callie’s face crumbled and she brought her hands to her face, crying.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake in thinking that love in a place like this was pointless and that he’d only succeeded in upsetting her further.

  The lights dimmed again and the darkness returned.

  Charlie went back to bed and cried into his pillow . . . until Charlie’s cry turned into a scream.

  **

  Charlie didn’t remember falling asleep, but it didn’t seem long before he was waking up to bright lights burning in his cell again.

  The trio of death began its descent down the hall again, two men in yellow, one holding a clipboard, with the man in black behind, rifle in hand. Charlie and Callie were in the last two cells on the block, and as the trio drew closer, the swirl in his stomach turned especially sour.

  “Here they come, Charlie Brown. They’re coming to get you,” Boricio said from behind him.

  This time, Boricio was wearing all black. Pants, shirt, duster, and a black derby to match. Charlie wondered why he’d imagined Boricio dressed like this, or why he was apparently unable to imagine Boricio with a firearm or three to take these fuckers out.

  The trio was two cells away. The lead with the yellow clipboard looked up at Charlie. Their eyes met.

  “Uh-oh,” Boricio shook his head. “This looks about as good as a Showgirls sequel.”

  No one was to Charlie’s immediate left, and the trio had already passed the last of the cells except for his and Callie’s. They were coming for one of them.

  Fuck.

  The man in yellow looked at Charlie, down at the clipboard, then over at Callie.

  Oh no.

  They walked to Callie’s cell.

  Please, please, turn around. Don’t open her door. Don’t open her door. Open my fucking door!

  Charlie closed his eyes, not wanting to see reality as it spilled before him.

  “They’re opening her door,” Boricio said.

  Charlie opened his eyes.

  “No!” he screamed.

  The soundproof cell swallowed his screams.

  Charlie pounded on the glass.

  The man in black turned back toward Charlie. He could see the man’s icy eyes behind his glass mask. Then he turned from Charlie, ignoring him, as the men in yellow pulled Callie from her cell.

  She screamed, trying to crawl back to her cell, her eyes wide, staring at them and then at Charlie.

  Charlie pounded harder, “No! Take me! Take me, you fucking cunts!”

  He couldn’t tell if they could hear what he was saying, but he was sure they heard the pounding and were choosing to ignore him.

  Charlie pounded his fists harder. “No!” he screamed as each man in yellow grabbed one of Callie’s arms, shoving her forward.

  She turned back, her feet kicking, as she looked back at Charlie, screaming something he couldn’t hear from her mouth or read from her lips.

  He screamed, bashing the glass harder and harder, as it purpled his fists.

  “Take me!”

  “They can’t hear ya, Charlie Cheese Dick” Boricio said, as the men pushed Callie past another cell, now halfway to the door. “I think it’s time to turn up the volume.”

  “How?”

  “You know,” Boricio said, even though Charlie didn’t have a clue.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Charlie screamed at Boricio.

  “Go get her back,” Boricio said, his eyes a set of steel marbles, settling on Charlie’s. “Go and fucking get her. Now!”

  Something sparked in Charlie and he slammed his hands against the glass again, opening his mouth and screaming an unholy wail, far from human.

  Glass shattered to the right of his cell door. Charlie stared in surprise, then turned to Boricio who was pumping his fist in the air and screaming, “WOO HOO!, Chuckie Cheese Dick, THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about you panty jacking mother fucker! Go get ‘em!”

  Charlie stormed into the hall, naked, armed with nothing but an exploding fury.

  The three Guardsmen stared at Charlie, and the damage he’d done to his cell, their eyes wide in disbelief. Callie’s eyes were wide too, as the men in yellow tightened their grips on her arms.

  The man in black raised his rifle, aiming at Charlie.

  Charlie ran at him, and as the man fired, Charlie sprang forward, leaping at least 20 yards before slamming into the man in black, sending him sprawling backward into the cell behind him. His rifle fell to the ground.

  Charlie looked up at the man to Callie’s left, his eyes wide behind the glass helmet. Charlie’s arm thrust out with — as if driven by instinct — and his fist smashed straight through the glass, and he plunged his fingers into the man’s eyes, gouging them.

  The man released Callie with a scream.

  The other man let go of Callie, then dived for the rifle. She kicked it from reach as Charlie grabbed the man by his helmet, yanked it sideways, then shoved him forward and into the man in black.

  Callie grabbed the gun and squeezed off a burst of shots into the men until the clip was empty and all three men were lying dead on the floor.

  Charlie stared in disbelief at the carnage beneath them, then down at his arms and bloodied fists, expecting — and terrified — to see that he’d become a monster. But he looked normal, at least every part of his body he could see.

  “How did you do that?” Callie asked staring, eyes wide, and looking around, maybe trying to figure out what they should do next.

  “I dunno.” Charlie shook his head, not daring tell her the truth — that he was infected with God knows what.

  He stared at Callie, feeling the warmth of her body, then reached out and embraced her, crying. “I thought they were gonna kill you,” he said.

  She held him back, her hands circling around his waist. He felt the warmth of her flesh against him, hardening his cock. He pulled away, embarrassed, then looked to the side, awkwardly.

  The other prisoners started pounding on their cells, eyes and mouths wide open in likely pleas to be released.

  Callie turned to Charlie, “What do we do?”

  Charlie looked at the closed door in front of them, with its black glass hand panel to the right. Then he looked down at the dead men, trying to formulate a plan. Did they have keys, codes, or something he could use to get away? He bent to search but the lights went black before he was halfway down.

  “Fuck!” Charlie screamed.

  The door in front of them opened, the light from the hallway beyond illuminating another four men in black coming toward them, armed with infrared goggles and rifles.

  The door closed and cast them back into darkness.

  Charlie turned to cover Callie with his body, shielding her from their intent.

  Arcs of blue light shot from one of their weapons, sending Charlie to the ground twitching in pain.

  He tried to fight, but whatever bit of strength he’d been given was failing him now.

  Charlie’s world was nothing but pain until it was nothing but black.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 9 — Boricio Bishop Part 3

  Other Earth

  Black Island Research Facility

  Level Seven

  July 17, 2011

  one week after the accident…

  I’m a monster. A fucking monster.

  Boricio stared at his reflection, unable to turn away from the ugliness.

  He was on edge, his body in pain, and he was doing his best not to give into the swelling dark
ness within. Part of him just wanted to punch the mirror and let the rage out.

  He clutched either side of the bathroom sink, to keep himself from giving into impulse. As he stared at the ugliness in the mirror, his growl turned to laughter, dancing along the thin fissure between humor and pain, comedy and sorrow. If he didn’t laugh, the rage would swallow him.

  He looked like a goddamn action figure, with a patch over his right eye like a pirate. With his freshly shaved head, giant scar, and semi-permanent scowl, Boricio was a catchphrase away from a Saturday morning cartoon.

  Boricio snarled into the mirror. When life gave you lemons, it was time to get the salt and tequila.

  “Staring all day won’t change a thing,” Will said, surprising him as he opened the bathroom door. “Don’t worry, you make bald work,” Will slapped Boricio affectionately on the shoulder.

  Boricio was nervous as hell.

  It had been three days since he and Rose were transferred to the Facility for rehab and treatment. Today was going to be the first time he saw Rose since the accident. The doctors had made him wait, saying she needed some more time, and that things were still fuzzy for her. Apparently she was having trouble remembering stuff, though Will said it was a normal thing following head injuries, and that they shouldn’t be too concerned yet. Will warned that she might not remember Boricio, but Boricio couldn’t believe it.

  Boricio had quipped, “Ain’t nobody ever forgotten me yet. Even if they wanted to.”

  Though he’d been confident when he said that to Will, the fear was starting to take seed.

  What if she did forget me?

  Boricio wasn’t sure what to expect, but his stomach was in knots as the moment drew closer. He looked down at the ring box on the sink — the one the cops pulled from the water — and hoped Will hadn’t noticed it.

  He didn’t want Will to talk him out of what he was planning. He knew what Will would say — wait and do it right. Wait until she’s out of the hospital and all this is behind you. But Boricio didn’t want to wait any longer.

  He’d waited too long already.

  It was that hesitation that had kept him lonely for so long. Perhaps if he’d asked Rose sooner, they’d never have gotten into the accident. Perhaps they’d already have a child.

  “Are you ready to see Rose?” Will asked.

  Boricio nodded, but stayed silent as he palmed the ring box and put it in his pants pocket.

  “Well, then let’s get going,” Will said, turning to leave the bathroom.

  Boricio said, “I’ll be right out,” then stared at his reflection for another minute, feeling the anger rise again, his right hand shaking as he again resisted the urge to punch the mirror.

  It shouldn’t be like this.

  When his right fist finally stopped shaking, Boricio left the bathroom, grabbed a sweater, and followed Will from his room.

  The walk down the hall was silent as most of his time had been with Will since the accident. Boricio wasn’t in the mood for Will’s misguided efforts to cheer him up.

  Boricio wanted to go somewhere to let off some steam, but didn’t know where, or what to do when he got there. Will didn’t have any ideas either. He kept telling Boricio that he had to just let it all out, and had to give himself permission to grieve the loss of their child because if he kept everything inside, it would all turn to venom. But Will was full of bullshit. What did he know of Boricio’s pain? He didn’t have to live in the icy shadows of his past, and had never lost a child.

  Boricio didn’t want to be angry with Will for not understanding, since it wasn’t his fault, but the dark thoughts crawled through his mind like cockroaches anyway.

  Will turned to look at Boricio. “You ready?”

  What kind of a goddamn question is that?

  Boricio tried not to snarl as he stepped past his adopted father and into Rose’s room. Will stayed outside.

  Boricio gasped, devastated, swallowing his shock as he looked at Rose. She barely looked like the same person.

  Her face was puffy and pale, save for the bruised parts. Her hair was clean and brushed, but hanging from her face without any life. And when she looked up at him, there wasn’t the slightest spark of recognition.

  “Hi,” she said, and then turned her attention back to the TV which was showing CNN Headline News. As if he were some kind of stranger.

  No, this can’t be happening.

  She thinks I’m an orderly or something!

  Will was right. And Boricio hated him for it.

  “Hi, Rose,” he said.

  She slowly moved her eyes from the TV back to Boricio, giving him the thinnest of smiles but saying nothing. That nothing killed everything inside Boricio, then turned it inside out and black and rancid.

  That nothing made him want to give in to the swirling darkness within him.

  “Rose?” Boricio tried again, giving the light one more chance before he let the darkness came to claim him.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 10 — Charlie Wilkens Part 3

  Charlie woke to find himself in another shroud of darkness, lying on another mattress. He thought his body should have been aching, but it wasn’t.

  He was tired, though. And his brain was foggy. Memories fell in snippets, glimpses of impossible playing out in his head — how he had somehow leapt impossibly far, knocking a Guardsman to the floor before thrusting his hand through another’s glass helmet.

  Impossible.

  Unless I’m infected.

  Where’s Callie?

  Charlie sat, trying to pull shapes from the darkness. When he sat, a bright light whitened the cell, blinding him with its sudden intensity.

  “Remain still,” a man’s voice said through speakers above the door. “Do you understand?”

  Charlie said yes, nodding as an uneasy feeling swirled through his gut.

  “I’m going to explain something to you, so you need to pay real close attention.” The voice paused, then said, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” Charlie shouted, annoyed, and terrified of what was about to happen.

  They’d better not do anything to Callie.

  “I don’t like a single dingle berry on this shit-laced ass crack,” Boricio said, appearing beside Charlie again, still in the black duster and hat.

  Boricio paced the room, looking around, “Come on, do some of that voodoo hoodoo that you do so fuckin’ well, Charlie Brown.”

  Something tapped on the cell beside Charlie and he jumped, surprised.

  Callie was now in the cell beside him. They’d not taken her, after all. Or they’d taken her and brought her back. She was still naked, and looking exhausted as she set her hand against the glass. Though the light in her cell was off, it had a faint glow from the light of his cell that allowed him to see her well enough.

  Callie said nothing. Charlie smiled, then looked up at the ceiling.

  “Good, you see your girlfriend,” the voice said. “Now, I’d like to direct your attention to the holes above you. Notice, there are 16 holes per cell. You’ve probably noticed them already.” The voice paused, then added, “Am I correct?”

  Charlie nodded, assuming they were watching him from a hidden camera.

  “Good,” the voice said, confirming his suspicion.

  “Now I’d like to direct your attention to the cell directly across from you.”

  A light went on in the cell across from Charlie. Beside that cell, Charlie saw his old one, glass still shattered. The lit cell led Charlie’s attention to a naked man lying on his mattress, looking up at the lights, confused. Though the man appeared around 20, he was gaunt, and extremely tired looking. Dark circles painted the undersides of his eyes, and his long dark hair was a rat’s nest. The man muttered something toward the ceiling.

  “Are you watching?” the voice in Charlie’s cell asked.

  “Yes,” Charlie said.

  “Pay close attention. And I suggest you direct your girlfriend’s attention to the cell as well.” Charli
e looked over and saw Callie nervously looking at him, rather than the guy. Charlie pointed at the cell across from them.

  “Watch closely,” the voice repeated.

  The guy began to cough and cover his mouth, as if some sort of gas was getting piped into the room. They’re gassing him! Charlie wanted to tell the voice to stop, but knew with a cold certainty that the Guardsman in charge wouldn’t. Charlie wanted to look away, but morbid curiosity wouldn’t let him.

  Flames suddenly shot from the ceiling, igniting the entire cell in a single explosive ball of fire. Charlie jumped to his feet and stared, mouth open without any words, screams, or whispers of terror.

  “WOO-HOO!!” Boricio cackled. “Let’s get us some marshmallows, because THAT right there is a fucking fire!”

  Charlie turned to Callie, who was still staring, unable to look away, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

  “What did you think?” the voice said.

  Charlie said nothing, just glared at the ceiling.

  The voice moved from calm to sinister. “Well,” it said, “it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is your understanding that if you try another stunt like the one you pulled earlier, I will roast your bitch alive and make you eat her for fucking dinner.” The voice still deceptively pleasant, said, “Is that clear?”

  Charlie stared at Callie, fear twisting like a serrated blade through his stomach.

  The voice waited through a long minute before it said, “I asked you if that was clear. I suggest you answer the second time since I never, ever ask a third.”

  “Yes!” Charlie roared.

  “Good,” the voice said, almost hissing.

  The lights went black.

  Charlie ran to the wall beside Callie’s and ran his fingers across it as flames continued to lick the other cell’s interior, casting a faint orange glow inside both of their cells, barely illuminating Callie.

  Charlie touched the cold glass opposite her, their hands separated by inches that may as well have been miles. He wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else with Callie and a couch, where he could wrap his arms around her and fall gently to sleep.