by Sean Platt
As if tuned into the same thought frequencies, Keenan signaled for them to stop.
He raised his infrared binoculars to survey the belfry then slowly lowered them. “Nothing.”
They continued forward, guns ready, approaching from the south, through neighborhood backyards abutting the church’s cracked, overgrown parking lot.
The trio hid in the thick brush, Keenan scanning for signs of life.
“I got something,” he said.
“What?” Lisa raised her rifle and peered through the scope.
Boricio squinted and saw something in the parking lot, sitting on the ground, but couldn’t tell what it was. He’d mistaken it for a body — it wasn’t uncommon to find corpses whenever they went on a run or recon mission. Of course, the bodies never stayed out long, either picked apart by carrion or carried off by cannibals.
“What the fuck is it?”
“A dog,” Lisa said.
While it wasn’t uncommon to see wild dogs, Boricio hadn’t seen a mongrel just sitting there, hanging out like it wasn’t the end of the world. They were usually twitchy, nervous, always on the move. This fucker was waiting for someone to pet him.
“He alive?” Boricio said.
Lisa nodded. “Yeah.”
Boricio grabbed the binoculars from around his neck and looked. Sure as shit, it was a dog. Black and white, fuck if Boricio knew the breed, with blue eyes. And he — Boricio couldn’t be sure without checking if it was male or female, but assumed it took balls to sit there — didn’t look fucked up and dirty, or wild. He looked like a pet.
“I got a clear shot.” Lisa said.
“No, don’t shoot him,” Boricio said.
Lisa turned and looked at him, eyebrows arched.
“He’s not a threat.”
“Oh, Jesus, you’ve gone soft. First the kids, and now the dog. You sure you don’t want us to take you home so you can apply your makeup?”
Boricio returned the bird she’d given him earlier.
Keenan turned to Boricio. “Okay, we don’t need to kill him. But if he starts barking or comes at us, you’re putting him down, got it?”
“Got it, chief.”
Boricio didn’t mind Keenan calling the shots in the day-to-day, but he didn’t like when the fucker thought he was Boricio’s boss.
Ain’t nobody the boss of Boricio, chief.
Keenan, as he typically did, ignored Boricio’s tone and continued to search the surrounding area, a burned-down shopping plaza, and another handful of houses.
“Looks clear,” he said. “Let’s roll.”
Keenan led the way into the parking lot and toward the church, guns drawn, prepared for any sign of enemies.
Lisa stopped, signaling trouble ahead.
“Two o’clock, possible bogey.”
They all turned, though no one fired until Keenan determined the threat. The potential peril was a man shuffling along the street near the burned-out plaza. He was old, pushing a creaky garbage-filled shopping cart, seemingly oblivious.
Keenan shook his head.
They crept closer, now drawing the dog’s attention.
The dog, who was sitting on all fours well past the entrance, looked up at them, ears perked.
Easy, boy. Don’t make me have to put you down.
Boricio didn’t aim his silenced pistol at the dog but kept it ready, just in case.
They were halfway toward the front doors, and the dog kept staring without a growl. No getting up, barking, or chasing them off, defending his territory. He just sat there.
Boricio kept watching the dog as they drew closer to the church entrance.
That’s it, good boy. Shit guard dog, but good boy.
As Keenan and Lisa approached the wooden front doors, Boricio kept an eye on the dog to make sure it didn’t suddenly charge them.
“Clear,” Keenan said.
Boricio turned and followed them into the church, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, and that they were walking right into a trap.
* * * *
CHAPTER 11 — Mary Olson
Mary wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Somehow, she’d managed to fall asleep then woken to darkness, no longer confined to a table. She was lying in a bed, dressed.
What the hell?
Mary sat up, confused, trying to gather her bearings and maybe figure out how she got here, and where exactly here might be.
A light came to life above her, revealing that she was in a small room, almost like a ship’s cabin, with its low ceiling and narrow claustrophobic walls. And she wasn’t alone.
Paola — or rather, the thing wearing her daughter’s body — was sitting across from Mary in a sleek, curved, black matte-finished chair.
Mary was going to get up but couldn’t move after seeing Paola sitting across from her. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the girl.
“Desmond let you up as a show of good faith,” Paola said.
Her cool, calm speech indicated to Mary a lack of humanity. No emotion. No pleading. No tears. Matter-of-fact: Desmond let you up as a show of good faith.
Mary said nothing. She smirked at the creature.
Does it really think it’s fooling me?
“I want to go home.”
“You are home, Mother.”
“Do not call me that.” If glares could cause violence, Mary’s would’ve eviscerated the alien.
“But you are my mother.”
“No. And you are not … her.”
“Yes, I am. How can I prove it? Ask me something only Paola would know. Go ahead.”
“I’m not playing games with you. Just because you’re in my daughter’s body, and can access her memories, doesn’t make you my daughter.”
The girl stared at Mary, her head tilted to the side as if lost in thought, or trying to understand something Mary was saying. Maybe it was attempting to mine the right tactic to change Mary’s mind, to convince her that Paola was still in there.
The girl spoke, still with no emotion. “Why are you so afraid of the unknown? The different?”
Mary shook her head, refusing to answer. “I want to go home.”
“Is it the alien inside me that disgusts you so much? Do you really think Paola is dead?”
Mary looked down, refusing to participate in its manipulation.
“Do you know what happens to the human body when it dies, Mary?”
Calling her Mary rather than mother was a confession, the alien no longer pretending.
She looked up and met its eyes. “No, please, enlighten me.”
“There’s a release of energy as your body shuts down, an energy your science isn’t equipped to register. Some might call it a soul. Other species have different words. But it isn’t really all that different from what you’ve seen of our scouts. Or from our true forms.”
“Scouts?”
“Yes, this thing you’ve been calling The Darkness is part biological, part artificial intelligence, created by our species, sent to many planets, searching for those inhabitable to our kind. But we’re not all that different, at our root.”
“What are you saying?”
“These … ” The girl waved her hand in front of her chest to indicate her — Paola’s — body. “These aren’t us. They aren’t you. They are husks. Shells. They are biological machines in which we, in our true forms, exist.”
“What the hell are you saying? Aren’t you The Darkness?”
“No, we are another species altogether, called Pruhm. We are all parasites, as you call us. You, me, even your precious daughter. We’re all forms inhabiting a shell for a finite amount of time before we go on and inhabit some other form, or vanish into the Great Void. The only difference is that our species is advanced enough to leave before our hosts die. We can then find a new host to hold our identity.”
“Are you talking about reincarnation?”
“That’s the closest to your understanding, yes.”
Mary tried to wrap her he
ad around the alien’s words. Something about them rang true, as if it were providing her with the secrets of life, but her human mind was too feeble for true understanding.
Or maybe they’re trying to get me to drink the Kool-Aid, manipulating me into joining them.
“As I was saying,” the alien continued, “when the human body dies, your soul remains for a while, until the organs sustaining the body’s life finally die. Some souls can stay in a body for weeks after the shell is dead. But once the body is gone, the soul moves on, to the Great Void if it can’t find another vessel.”
Mary wasn’t exactly buying the story, but her curiosity couldn’t be quelled. “What is the Great Void? Like Heaven or Hell?”
“Nobody knows for certain. It is believed that we all go there if we can’t find a new body to host us.”
“How do you know of this void if people, souls, whatever, don’t come back?”
“Like humans, we all have our myths, Mary. But no there is no certainty of what happens next, which is why we cling to life for as long as we’re able. Which is why we’re here on your planet, to find a species to live with. From what we know of your kind, we can allow you to live practically forever. Isn’t that a dream worth pursuing?”
“So, are you telling me that Paola really is alive in there? That you got to her soul before it crossed over into the Void?”
“Yes, I am.”
Mary stared at the girl and shuddered. Her every fiber wanted to kill this conversation, to refuse the possibility. Her Paola was dead. There was no returning from that.
“You were both dead once before. Don’t you remember? Killed in the dungeon of that cult leader’s house? Luca, or The Light as you call him, brought you back. You know what I’m saying is possible. Your daughter’s soul is safe and sound, in here with me. You can be together again, Mary. Only your fear of the unknown is stopping you.”
Tears welled in the corners of Mary’s eyes. The grief she’d driven into the depths of her soul — into a place where she could no longer feel — began rising inside her, consolidated in physical form as a giant ball in her throat. She swallowed, painfully, but could no longer drown her grief.
It felt as if her body was on fire, her flesh unknitting in the flames of her pain. Soon, there would be nothing left but a husk.
The alien stood, eyes boring into Mary’s.
“You’re hurting,” it said in Paola’s voice.
She wanted to look away, not give it the benefit of seeing its words undoing her resolve.
“You don’t have to hurt any longer, Mommy.”
Her daughter’s hand reached out, touched Mary’s cheek.
She fell against the touch, into Paola’s embrace. “It hurts so much.”
“I can make it all better,” Paola said, stroking her hair.
“How?” Mary pulled away. “You want to put an alien inside me? Take over?”
She covered herself with arms, hating the alien even more for using Paola to reduce her to such an emotional mess. For using her willingness to see her daughter alive to undermine her resolve.
She wished it would go away.
But at the same time, she wanted to hear more. Wanted it to tell her the one thing she could believe without feeling like a fool.
Give me a reason to trust you.
“You still don’t trust us?” The alien stared at Mary as if reading her mind. Maybe it was in her head, even though she couldn’t feel it.
Mary felt at a crossroads, that the next thing she said would choose her path forever. The wrong choice might be her death. She had to get ahold of herself, control her emotions, bottle the grief. She had to figure out what the alien wanted and play along enough to buy more time.
Buy time for what? You think Team Boricio is coming to save you? They don’t even know you’re here!
“It’s okay.” The alien nodded. “I think I can help.”
The alien stepped closer.
Mary tensed, backed up again, her foot hitting the bed.
“It’s okay.” The alien smiled. “I’m going to show you that everything I said is true. Your daughter is still here, and you can be together again.”
Paola began to yawn. At least that’s what Mary thought at first. She fought back her own urge to do the same.
Her daughter’s lips began to vibrate.
Mary couldn’t do anything but stare at the light burning inside the girl’s throat.
What the hell?
Dozens of tendrils of blue light spilled from Paola’s mouth like floating filaments in a slow current, swimming past her lips, followed by the rest of the alien’s body, a bulbous sheer sack of iridescent blue flesh rippling with thousands of tiny bright lights.
While The Darkness had been an almost inky, smoke-like creature, this thing seemed more organic, more like something you’d find in the deep sea, more fragile, lighter, dancing on air above them.
Mary was so entranced by the thing’s wonder and beauty, she’d almost forgotten the point of the show.
Paola gasped.
Mary looked back at her daughter, choking, trying to catch her breath.
“Mom?” she cried.
Mary met Paola’s eyes, and in a heartbeat knew she was no longer staring at some hijacked husk controlled by the aliens. No, this was her daughter.
Mary threw her arms around Paola and hugged her tight. “Oh, God, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 12 — Boricio Wolfe
They searched the entire ground floor and hadn’t found any sign of foul play, or a note left behind to indicate that Radio Bob had headed somewhere else.
As they climbed the circular staircase in the back of the church toward the belfry, Boricio kept thinking about the stupid dog outside. Just staring at them, blue eyes, so peaceful. He wondered if the dog had any idea that the world had gone to shit. Maybe it was young enough that it didn’t remember the world as it had been. For the dog, it had always been this — scumbags and aliens destroying everything they touched. As tough as it was to survive now, during some months in the beginning, Boricio’s team had been on the verge of starvation before they’d learned to do some rooftop farming and got a bit luckier on food runs. This dog seemed like he was living on easy street.
Boricio wondered if the dog could be domesticated. Maybe Luca would like having a dog around. Maybe Emily would, too.
They reached the belfry and saw Radio Bob sitting in the darkness, his back to them, facing the wall. Shafts of light seeped through the wooden shutters, illuminating just enough of the short bald man to show it was him, but not whether he was dead or alive.
Boricio took the lead, approaching with his pistol drawn.
Closer, Boricio smelled piss and blood.
He reached the man but didn’t bother to touch his shoulder. Instead, he circled and saw through the light streaming up at Radio Bob.
Fuck.
“His throat is slit. We need to get the hell outta here.”
Boricio went to the closest shutter to look out, to check if either bandits or alien fucks were closing ranks.
At first, he saw nothing.
Then Boricio saw something he wished he hadn’t.
The dog was no longer sitting there. It was lying on the ground in an awkward position, facedown in the parking lot, clearly dead.
Boricio wasn’t sure what it meant but knew it wasn’t good.
The sound of doors exploding inward erupted downstairs, followed by the all-too-familiar shrieking and clicking of aliens.
Double fuck!
Boricio went and looked along the north-facing shutters and saw something worse than the dead dog — a horde of aliens, too many to count, moving too fast to escape.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “We’ve got a problem.”
Keenan and Lisa raced to Boricio side and looked down.
“Fuck,” they said together.
TO BE CONTINUED …
YESTERDAY’S GONE
:
:EPISODE 35::
(FIFTH EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)
“The Belfry”
* * * *
PROLOGUE — Edward Keenan
Two years ago
First Lutheran Church
Las Orillas, California
Ed put the gun against his temple, ready to end it all in the belfry’s heavy shadows.
But instead of pulling the trigger, he lowered the gun, hands shaking, sweat drenching his shirt.
Again, he couldn’t do it.
He shook his head, disgusted with himself.
Why can’t I do this? It’s not like I’m afraid to die. Or have anything worth living for.
Why can’t I end it?
Ed had once been known as a man without conscience — a black ops agent who could be counted on to act without hesitation. No matter the target, from obvious enemies of the state to a seemingly innocent person whose crimes Ed couldn’t imagine rising to the level of assassination, the soldier followed orders and did his job. He pulled the trigger and did what had to be done.
He’d never been particularly proud of his reputation. Nor had he ever been ashamed, until some time before the end of everything, when he started to question his government’s role as the good guy — after Ed realized he was working to perpetuate some of the very crimes his government claimed to be fighting. Until then, he’d never blinked before pulling the trigger.
There was a small part of Ed that did take some pride in the workman-like quality he brought to the job. He didn’t break or get overly emotional on assignment or when odds were stacked against him. He kept his shit together whether he was being held against his will or facing insurmountable odds behind enemy lines. Ed got shit done. He was the perfect killer — be that to praise or damnation.
He’d once been celebrated, and feared. Now he was nothing — a shell of himself, a loner in the dark, contemplating the best way to end it all.
He looked up at the bell, which hadn’t rung since The Fall, and fought the urge to ring it now. Announce his presence and let his enemies come — bandits, aliens, or hybrids — come and fucking get me.