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

by Platt, Sean

  Morris met Brent’s eyes, but instead of the ice Brent expected, they glistened with sympathy.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know how to tell her. I was hoping we’d run into someone she knew, and . . . well, do you want to tell her?”

  Brent looked over at Emily, her face filled with anxiety, like she knew they were talking about her and her mother.

  “Fuck,” Brent said. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Brent turned from Morris and began walking back toward Emily, not sure what in the hell he should say.

  How do you tell a kid her mother is dead, and that she’ll never see her again?

  Brent approached Emily and met her eyes, preparing to deliver the worst.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 7 — Boricio Wolfe Part 1

  East Hampton, New York

  East Hampton Docks

  April 2, 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  Boricio stared as Limp Dick approached the Paul Bunyan looking motherfucker at the front door, and thought for sure a fight was about to erupt.

  He wasn’t sure why, but Boricio wanted to see the little guy get knocked the fuck to the floor. It was the sort of irrational hate Boricio had never questioned before, but rather indulged, figuring most people — if you really got to know them — had at least one or 14 things that made hating them easy as fuck.

  Boricio kept one eye on Die Hard talking to the Guardsmen and Pirate Boricio about whatever shit was happening on the island and around the restaurant. From what Boricio could tell, the island seemed fuckered, overrun with about a billion of the ugly black monsters, which weren’t monsters, but aliens and infected fuckers too stupid or sorry to outrun the aliens — mutants, they were calling ‘em.

  Boricio didn’t care what the fuck they were called — people, aliens, mutants. They all bled, which meant all of them died.

  Boricio watched as Limp Dick walked away from Paul Bunyan with his tail between his legs. Boricio smiled.

  Fucking pussy. Should’ve at least taken a shot at the fucker. I might’ve had a squirt of piss worth of respect for ‘ya then.

  Limp Dick was walking toward a little girl. He got down on his knees, met her eyes, then put a hand on her shoulder.

  What’s goin’ on here? I doubt that little girl has a single blade of grass on her patch. Ain’t no way she’s old enough to play ball.

  The girl burst into tears, sobbing, “Mommy!” on repeat.

  Limp Dick picked her up, then held her tight.

  Boricio looked over to Paul Bunyan, watching the scene with watery eyes.

  Boricio walked over to Paul Bunyan, nodded toward Limp Dick and the girl in his arms and said, “What the fuck is up with General Hospital over there?”

  Paul Bunyan wiped his eyes, then said, “We’ve got orders to kill infected on sight. The girl’s mom was infected and had to be put down. Girl didn’t know. That guy, Brent, I think, is a friend of the family. He volunteered to break the news to the girl.”

  “Put down?” Boricio asked. “Like a dog?”

  “We have to kill all infected.”

  Boricio whistled, then nodded on his way back to his spot near Ed and Pirate Boricio — both of them still speaking to the Guardsman, and now on the radio with home base or some such shit.

  Boricio looked back over at Limp Dick, the girl still in his arms.

  Boricio saw the pain in the girl’s eyes, then felt a sharp and sudden stab, no different from if he were a kid with his own mother shot. Boricio wondered, for the first time ever, how many kids he’d made cry by putting their mommies or daddies into the dirt. Boricio prided himself on never raping or killing a kid — he might’ve been a monster, but he wasn’t sick — but he must’ve handed pain like candy to at least a few kids over the years.

  Boricio surely broke some little girl’s heart, like the one still sobbing in Limp Dick’s arms.

  Limp Dick wiped the tears from the little girl’s eyes and Boricio suddenly felt like a giant asshole for thinking of Brent as a pussy, when the truth was the fucker was brave enough to tell a tater tot that her mother wasn’t ever baking potatoes again.

  A girl’s voice pulled Boricio from the scene, asking, “Are you crying?”

  He looked down and saw Little Lamb, with Mary and Luca standing behind her.

  “No, I’m not fucking crying, Paola,” Boricio said, turning away and wiping his eyes. “It’s goddamned dusty in here and I’ve got allergies conspiring to fuck my shit up.”

  Mary burst out laughing, but her laughter collapsed when she saw what had held Boricio’s attention — Brent and the little girl.

  “What happened?” she said.

  “The fucking Gestapo here killed the girl’s momma because she was infected. They’ve got orders, kill on sight, and POW! that’s just what they did. Apparently, the girl didn’t know because the Brawny Man over there didn’t have the balls to do it, so Brent, who knew the girl and her mom, said he’d break the news.”

  “Jesus,” Mary said.

  “But I wasn’t fucking crying,” Boricio said. “And even if I was getting a sniffle, it’s only ‘cuz Rip Van Creepy here broke me!”

  Boricio looked over at Luca, who was staring at Brent and the girl, head titled like he was trying to read the tattoo on a stripper’s left tit from the cheap seats at a strip joint.

  Luca started walking toward Brent and the child.

  “Where the fuck is he going?” Boricio asked Mary.

  Luca kept walking, even though he must’ve heard Boricio.

  Luca walked up to Brent and the girl, now sitting beside one another at a table. Brent’s arms were wrapped around the child, and her eyes were on the tabletop. Boricio followed, out of curiosity, hoping like hell he wouldn’t see any more sad shit that would agitate the dust situation in the room.

  Luca stood an inch from the girl and said, “Hi.”

  Brent looked up at them as if to ask, “Really, now?”

  Boricio shrugged, as if to say, “What am I gonna do; the old fucker’s senile.”

  The girl sniffled, then wiped at her eyes, looking curiously at Luca.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the girl like an ancient Mr. Rogers catering to newly grief-stricken children.

  “Emily,” she said through her tears.

  “My name is Luca,” he said. “I heard that your mom died?”

  Jesus Christ, Luca! Way to be sensitive! Fuck, dude! Good thing you hop, skipped, and jumped right through dating age, with an opening line like that!

  Boricio stared at Mary and Paola, both wide-eyed and loudly wearing their shock.

  “Would you like to see her again?” Luca asked. “Just to say good-bye.”

  “Yes,” Emily nodded, crying.

  Brent looked up at Luca, and seemed like he might be gearing up to punch the old man-kid square in the jaw.

  Boricio shook his head and looked at Mary, prompting her to intervene before Luca said something even more astonishingly stupid than he already had.

  Maybe he is getting senile.

  Mary said, “I’m sorry,” and put a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Let’s give her some time. She just found out.”

  “No,” Luca said, shaking his head and shrugging Mary’s hand from his shoulder, then turning with a surprising awareness to look the little girl in the eyes. “She wants to see her mommy.”

  Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Luca sat across from Emily, stretching his hands out, open palmed. He said, “Can you put your hands on mine?”

  Brent glared as if Luca was about to pull some phony bullshit psychic reading routine to exploit the child’s tragedy. For all Boricio knew, he was. The boy had clearly lost his marbles. Before Mary could gently pull Luca away without making a scene, Emily slipped her hands onto his.

  Every eye was turned to the four clasped hands.

  Paola looked at Mary and Boricio, then whispered, “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “Shut your eyes,” Luca said, closing
his own.

  Emily did.

  As she did, Boricio felt something shifting inside him, some force or energy was the only way to describe it, swelling so much it felt like it might pop from his body. Then he saw the light bleeding from Luca’s hands — from his fingers and into the girl’s.

  “Oh my God,” Mary whispered.

  The same soft glow was wrapped like a blanket around Mary and Paola — the two other people Luca had brought back from the dead.

  “You’re glowing,” Mary said to Boricio, her eyes wide as she looked at him, then at her daughter, and then herself.

  Boricio looked down, but couldn’t see the aura around himself like he could it around Luca and the girls.

  Emily said, “Mommy?” then a wide smile spread across her face.

  Boricio saw a slight Asian woman in his mind, a moment before he heard her voice.

  “Emily,” she said.

  Woah, what the fuck?

  “Mommy, are you alive?”

  The woman was suddenly sitting there, right where Luca was, like a ghost superimposed over his body.

  “Oh, Baby,” she said, reaching out, her spectral hand grazing Emily’s cheek. “You’re okay.”

  Judging from the stone on Brent’s face, he wasn’t seeing dick of what Boricio, Mary, Paola, and Emily were seeing. But he did nothing to interrupt.

  “Are you alive?” Emily asked.

  “No,” the specter shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I’m not here, or that I can’t see you, though. I’ll be watching out for you, Baby.”

  The woman started to fade as Luca’s body began to shake. Sweat plastered his head, and it seemed like he was suffering from the strain of whatever it was he was doing. Boricio was about to shake Luca out of it, but then the woman looked at Brent, and said, “Brent, you made it back! Please take care of my baby girl.”

  Brent didn’t seem to hear her.

  Emily said, “Mommy wants you to take care of me, Mr. Brent.”

  “What?” Brent said, staring at the girl, then up at Mary and Paola, both of them nodding.

  “We can see her,” they said together, creeping Boricio way the fuck out, especially since he said the same shit at the same time, as if the same voice was speaking through all three of them at once.

  What the fuck?

  “Please take care of my baby,” they said together again, even though Boricio had no knowledge of thinking the words before they fled his mouth.

  “I love you, Emily. Please don’t be sad. We’ll be together again,” they said in unison.

  Emily reached out to touch the specter, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

  Their hands touched and a sad smile broke across the little girl’s face.

  Luca slumped forward, as if someone took the batteries out of him, and the ghost was gone.

  Brent reached forward and helped Luca sit up. “You okay?”

  Luca shook his head, “Yeah,” he said, then looked up at Emily, who smiled up at him, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Boricio turned to Mary and Paola and said, “What kinda Touched By An Angel shit was that?”

  Before Mary came up with a theory or Luca could respond, Boricio’s attention was pulled away by Charlie who approached him, walking beside Callie.

  “Is he okay?” Charlie said, looking at Luca about as weird as Luca had been looking at Emily before he went and played Whoopie Goldberg in Ghost.

  “I think so,” Mary said, her hand on Luca’s shoulder as Emily told Brent what she’d seen.

  “I think we’re gonna have a problem getting to the island,” Charlie said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Someone just told Ed that they’re not making any trips over until they get things sealed on the island or something. They said it’s too dangerous.”

  “Bullshit,” Boricio said, as he marched over to where Ed, Pirate Boricio, and two Guardsmen were standing in a circle with Ed trying to persuade someone to get the ferry in motion.

  Boricio slid between them, then grabbed the radio from Ed before he could say dick, “Don’t mean to break up the circle jerk,” Boricio said to whoever was on the other side of the radio. “But we got something you want.”

  “Who is this?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Boricio Fucking Wolfe, who the hell is this?”

  “This is Acting Director Ed Keenan; give the radio back to Captain Keenan,”

  “No,” Boricio said. “Is there a Will Bishop in your room?”

  A moment passed before Keenan said, “Yes. Why?”

  “Because Will’s lil’ Luca paid us a visit with a very special message.”

  Six seconds passed, then Will Bishop was suddenly on the radio. “What? You saw him? Where is he?”

  “I dunno where he went. He came and went like a ghost. But your Luca came to our Will just before he died and said we had to get a message to Black Island, that it might get us back home and save the world and all that happy horse shit. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to take long ass trips across the country, then get kept waitin’ in the middle of Shitsville. So you better get your bumper boat back here, pronto.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Will said. “There are aliens on the docks and our manpower is limited.”

  “Well, lucky for you, Team Boricio just drafted a buncha new soldiers, so you get your ferry over here and let us worry about the E-Fucking-Ts.”

  “Please, just give us the message now,” Will said, his voice desperate.

  “No, no, I’m not sayin’ shit until we’re standing on the other side of the goddamn water.”

  After a long pause, Will said, “We’ll send the ferry to you, but you have to give me the message before it docks. I can’t guarantee you safe passage once you get off the boat.”

  “Fine by me,” Boricio said, then handed the phone to Ed and walked away.

  He returned to Charlie and said, “They’ll be sending the Love Boat before the next commercial break.”

  “Good,” Charlie said, smiling a bit too wide for Boricio’s liking.

  CHAPTER 8 — Boricio Bishop Part 2

  Black Island, New York

  April 2, 2012

  SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

  They had practically flown from Georgia to New York, taking turns behind the wheel and flooring the pedal the entire way. The trip could only be described as eerie, not for what happened, but for everything that didn’t.

  Even when they had to find alternate routes and take back roads because entire chunks of highway had simply vanished, which easily doubled their trip time, nothing got in their way or attacked them along the way. It was as if every alien, mutant, and bandit had decided to take the day off.

  And while Boricio was grateful to fly through the omnipresent danger all the way to Black Island, it felt wrong.

  When they hit New York, it seemed even worse, the empty seemed somehow emptier, like a red carpet rolled before them. Once Will finally cleared the ferry, and they were standing at the docks ready to cross, Boricio could almost feel the waiting army of eyes behind, watching from the shadows, but not striking for reasons he could only imagine.

  Even on the ferry, in the middle of the water and away from any chance of attack, Boricio bristled with unease. The two Guardsmen on the ferry eyed him with suspicion, looking like the men from Black Mountain, though somehow softer. They were definitely new, and didn’t recognize him at all.

  Before they were allowed off the ferry, Will radioed them and asked what the message was. Luca stepped forward and told them about the vial — the last vial — tucked away in a moon globe. Boricio wasn’t sure why his brother had hid the vial away, but hoped like hell, the kid knew something that he didn’t.

  Their walk across the island grounds was as uneventful as their drive into the city, terrifying because of its thousand-pound silence. When they arrived at the Facility gates, Ed stepped to the front of the group, then hit the intercom button a
nd identified himself. There was a long silence, then another try from Ed before they heard a crackling response from Will.

  “Let me speak to my son,” he said.

  Boricio stepped to the front. “I’m here.”

  Will said, “A.D. Keenan will let you inside, but one wrong move and the Guardsmen have been instructed to shoot. I don’t know all of what you’ve done, Boricio. But I know enough. You have no margin for error. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  The outer doors parted, and the group stepped into the Facility’s reception area — a sprawling lobby with a welcome desk in the front and a high tiled wall behind, more like a posh hotel than a research center, spilling into a long, wide hallway with a bank of eight elevators leading down to the lower levels.

  They were halfway to the elevators when Boricio realized that bringing Charlie down to Level Eight would violate every instinct inside him. Charlie was dangerous; Boricio could feel it. Not being able to see inside Charlie’s mind, fueled his rising worry.

  Boricio pulled Ed back toward him, and into a conspiratorial whisper. “I need you to knock Charlie out, now. He isn’t safe.” Boricio didn’t even have to add, “Trust me.” Ed winked, then nodded. He may as well have said, ‘Glad you asked.’

  Ed brought the flat of his palm against the back of Charlie’s skull, sending him into a silent collapse. Ed hit him a second time when he was halfway to the floor, where he lay like an empty bag of skin and bones.

  Callie screamed, “What the fuck?!”

  Her yell was louder, but Asshole Boricio’s was meaner.

  “What the fuck you trying to do?” Asshole Boricio screamed, getting in Boricio’s face, pistol out and aimed at him. Ed and Brent immediately responded, guns trained on Asshole Boricio.

  His asshole twin laughed as he looked around at the Mexican standoff and seemed to almost relish the situation.

  “You wanna take us out one by one, and your adopted daddy taught you to hit people on the back of the head like a yellow-bellied candy ass? I knew you were a tiny-pricked fucker without a ball in his sack, but this is some goddamned bullshit!”