Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

  “She did it all herself, her first repair,” Nathaniel said, beaming.

  “That’s great.” Pascal nodded. “I’ll let Declan know that you’ll be back as soon as we open back up. If you need a place to stay, Jacob’s Inn still has rooms.”

  “Can’t afford Jacob’s rates. We’ll camp out around here if that’s all right with you, then head back to John’s Township in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t allow campers outside the city gates.”

  Nathanial straightened his shoulders. “What kind of nonsense is that? All the other cities allow it.”

  “We’re taking extra precaution with the lockdown.”

  “An old man and a teenage girl are a threat to the mighty Hope Springs?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows, throwing his hands up dramatically.

  “It’s fine, Dad.” Charlotte put her hands on his shoulders to sooth him, clearly embarrassed by her father’s reaction.

  “I’m truly sorry,” Pascal said.

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Rules are rules, right? God forbid ya break one.”

  “It’s not his fault, Dad.”

  “Come on, Charlotte, back in the wagon.” Nathaniel grabbed his reins and turned away from Pascal. “We’ll stay at Jacob’s Inn.”

  She waved back at Pascal. He felt bad for turning them away, and worse that the girl would probably never have a normal life living on the road with her father. No one should have to lose their childhood because of their parent’s stubbornness. Charlotte deserved to grow up in a proper town.

  Pascal thought of his own daughter, who’d probably be around her age now, had she lived.

  Even for three decades before The Event, it had become increasingly difficult for women to conceive. People had their theories: environmental causes, cell towers, a strange virus, even mass hysteria. Religious people thought it was the Gods punishing the world for its evil. Of those who could get pregnant, the odds of a child surviving were extremely rare.

  Children today were valued in a way that they’d never been in history. Pregnancies were celebrated because each one meant another person in the world, reminding them that life refused to perish in the face of an apocalypse.

  Charlotte should’ve been given a chance to live in a community where she would be cared for and valued instead of being on the road, forever threatened by robbery, or worse.

  Pascal lit another cigarette as darkness swallowed the wagon.

  Six

  Slum Lord

  The Slums

  * * *

  In the heart of the filthy city with its tall ancient buildings, smoke-congested sky, and cacophonous streets packed with a forgotten society eking out a living, the man known to most as Slum Lord sat behind his large mahogany desk in his clean, well-furnished office at The Baxter Hotel, adjusting the knot of his twelve-hundred-dollar silk red tie.

  His girlfriend, Sasha, stood behind him, running her hands across his broad shoulders and down over the muscles bulging beneath his perfectly tailored black suit. She ran her fingers over his scalp, then back along his long dark ponytail.

  She leaned in, her sweet perfume intoxicating as she purred into his ears, “How many more today, Sebastian?”

  “Patience, my dear.”

  She circled around to his front, looking down at him with those oversized brown eyes. They owned him, now and always.

  She smiled, the corners of her lips rising into dimpled cheeks. Her long purple and black hair dangled just above the porcelain cleavage kissing her black bustier.

  Her knowing smile made him want to stop business for the day, take her upstairs, and let her tie him up and do whatever she wanted.

  Of course Sasha knew that.

  Which was why she smiled wider and batted her lashes whenever she saw temptation creep into his eyes.

  Axl knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” he said as Sasha slid onto the leather sofa along the left wall.

  Axl came in looking even skinnier, greasier, and more bug-eyed than usual. He avoided Sasha’s gaze like always. Axl could barely function with her in the room. It would be funny if not so pathetic. How Axl managed to make a suit look like shit was beyond Sebastian.

  “Leo Rinetti is here to see you. He runs the pasta restaurant on Fourth.”

  “Show him in.”

  Axl went into the next room, then returned with Mr. Rinetti, a heavyset gray-haired man in his late fifties. Two decades Slum Lord’s senior, but at least twice that by the looks of it.

  Axl closed the door and waited with folded hands in front of his beanpole body.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Rinetti?” Sebastian waved the man to a seat across the desk, then folded his hands on top of it.

  “Well, sir,” he said sheepishly as he sat, “it’s … it’s the O’Leary boys. They’ve been coming around my restaurant, being obnoxious, getting drunk, and giving my customers a rough time.”

  “And what exactly does this have to do with me?”

  “I thought maybe you could talk to them, tell them not to come around.”

  “Where else are they going to get good pasta?”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “Oh?” Slum Lord laced fingers behind his head. “Then what is it?”

  Lights flickered. Once, twice, then three times. Slum Lord wondered if yet another blackout was imminent. He nodded to Sasha, who lit a lantern, just in case.

  Electricity hummed back to life, and so did the old man. “The way they look at my daughter, Francesca.”

  “How?”

  “Like wolves.”

  “Well, men are dogs.”

  “Here, here …” Sasha raised her beer.

  “I am afraid they will do something to her. She’s a good girl. I’m teaching her to be a doctor. My eyes are too bad and my hands are too shaky, but she’s going to be great. She doesn’t want their attention. She’s … not into men.”

  “Ah, I see. So tell them.”

  “I have. And they only laughed in my face. In my own restaurant. They have no respect for their elders.”

  “Respect. A most interesting choice of words, Mr. Rinetti, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What do you mean?” He shifted nervously, glancing back at Axl before returning his attention to Slum Lord.

  “Do you … respect me?”

  “Of course I do. You are a very powerful man. You keep this place from slipping into chaos.”

  “Yes, yes I do.” Slum Lord smiled. “And yet … you chose not to pay the tiny fee that makes it possible for me to keep you and others, like your daughter, safe from harm.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I could not afford the monthly payments.”

  “Then you don’t respect what I bring to the city. Despite your words, you don’t have the decency to honor my position as Head of The Six. That is an insult to me, to the men who work for me, and to my girlfriend.”

  All three men glanced at Sasha.

  “I’m sorry … to you all, I meant no disrespect.”

  “You say one thing, but how will you act? Why should I have my men go out of their way and risk their lives to chase the O’Leary boys away from your daughter when you so clearly disrespect me?”

  “How can I make it up to you, sir?”

  “You can start by paying the three months you owe me. A quarter year during which your restaurant has not been robbed, while remaining free of violence and drug dealing. Unless, of course, you don’t honor the work I do …”

  “Yes, of course. I will pay you whatever I must. Just, please, help me.”

  He thrust a hand into his pockets and pulled out a sack of coins. He dug in and placed them on the table one at a time, counting three months of back-pay plus the current month.

  Slum Lord unlocked his fingers and rose from his seat, looking down at the old man with the broadest of smiles. “Thank you for showing your respect.”

  The old man took his hand and shook it appreciatively. “Thank you, sir.”

  “
Thank you, Mr. Rinetti. I will make sure the O’Learys stay away from your lovely daughter and behave themselves should they enter your fine establishment.”

  His nod was almost a bow. “Thank you.”

  “Axl will see you out.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Rinetti followed Axl out of the room.

  Sasha smiled at Slum Lord and winked.

  He smiled back at her.

  Axl returned a few moments later as Sasha was putting the money into the safe. “Damn, boss. You were right, boss. The old man paid right up. I just have to ask, why didn’t you just send us down to threaten him instead of having the O’Learys act like assholes?”

  Slum Lord put his feet on the desk. “Every man has a different lever, Axl. Some people need to fear you before they will act. Others, like Mr. Rinetti, must want to pay you. It’s the difference between true loyalty and begrudging obedience. One is love, and the other mutiny in waiting.”

  “Damn, boss, you are so smart.” He kept beaming like an idiot.

  “Will there be anything else, Axl?”

  “Oh, um … Kiril wanted to see you when you were done with Mr. Rinetti.”

  “Tell him to come up.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The door swung shut and Sasha sat on his lap. “Oh, yes, you are so damned smart, ‘boss.’”

  “Would you prefer I tell him that you are my brilliant advisor?” He laughed.

  “I guess not,” she pouted. “As long as you know who the real boss man is.” She reached down, grabbing his cock through his pants. “Such a shame Kiril is on his way …”

  “I hate you.”

  “Good.” She leaned in to kiss him roughly on the mouth.

  He bit her lips.

  She squeezed his dick harder.

  He wanted to lock his door and bend her over the desk, but he couldn’t. Kiril only requested a meeting when there was something important.

  Footsteps outside his office door.

  Sasha laughed as she hopped off of his lap and returned to the couch.

  He pushed his chair closer to the desk, concealing his erection as Kiril entered the room.

  If Sasha was the picture of youthful effervescence, Kiril was its antithesis. Also in his twenties, the extremely pale man was prematurely bald and practically geriatric in the way his body hunched over. He reminded Slum Lord of Nosferatu. His wardrobe full of black suits didn’t help.

  He really needed to have a talk with his men about their fashion choices. Perhaps Sasha could help them to improve their appearances. In a city this thick with poverty, appearances were everything. People here were starving for something better. Seeing someone like them ascending in any way gave them hope that they could too.

  And that made them even more loyal to Slum Lord.

  Kiril entered and gave Axl an eye, waiting for the goon to get the hint.

  “I need you to go and talk to the O’Leary boys,” Slum Lord said when he didn’t. “Make sure they leave Mr. Rinetti and his daughter alone.”

  “Yes, boss.” Axl nodded, then ducked out in a hurry.

  Kiril removed the black bowler from his head, then took a seat across from Slum Lord and set it in his lap. The perfect prop to hide his own erection.

  “I got word that the Large Council met yesterday and the general was going on about how he wanted to attack the city.”

  “Oh, did he now?” Slum Lord glanced at Sasha, who was reaching in between the cushions to retrieve a small black box.

  “Yes.”

  “And, what … what was the temperature of the room?”

  “A lot of people cheered the general.”

  “And the other mayors?”

  “They were silent, except Mayor Freeman. He opposed the move.”

  “Did he?” Slum Lord was pleased.

  “Yes. He wants to try diplomacy first, talking to you.”

  “And what is it they want?”

  “They believe we’re behind the recent raids on merchants.”

  “And … are we?”

  “Not us, sir. No.”

  “Who is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You are my spymaster, are you not? Isn’t it your job to know things?”

  Kiril frowned. “Yes. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Shake a few trees and find out who is behind the attacks.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As for the general, what would you advise? Should we strike first?”

  Kiril was quiet for a moment, carefully considering the question, or perhaps Slum Lord’s infamously mercurial mood.

  “I think we should wait and see what happens with the meeting.”

  Slum Lord turned to Sasha. “Has Mayor Freeman reached out to us yet?”

  “No.” She didn’t look up, tending carefully to the items inside the box.

  “Very well. Is there anything else, Kiril?”

  “No, sir. Good day.” He stood and set the hat on his head.

  “Good day, Kiril.”

  He scurried out of the room.

  The door closed behind him. Sasha returned to her spot on his lap, now holding the box with one hand as she returned to his dick with the other.

  “Oh good, you’re still happy.” Sasha smiled as she dipped her fingers into the box, coating them with crushed Pillar and Entiome.

  She thrust her fingers into his mouth.

  He sucked the drugs off of her skin, closing his eyes as the rush of stimulants, opiates, and psychedelics flooded his senses.

  “Oh, God …” He leaned back as Sasha began to grind on him.

  This city was hell, but it was still good to be its lord.

  Seven

  Wolf

  Riverside

  * * *

  Wolf lay in the dark of his sparsely furnished room above the bar, not wanting to get out of bed. The place was rustic, like all of Riverside, but he didn’t need much. A warm bed when it got cold, a place to drink, somewhere to shit and piss, and wash the stink off of him. He barely had any belongings and only a few pieces of clothing.

  Wolf wondered if he’d always been so spartan.

  There were times, in the lingering moments of drifting off or waking up, when he had bittersweet glimpses of his life before the world went to hell.

  He hadn’t always been a lone wolf.

  He’d once had people in his life, but his loved ones — if that’s what they were — had been reduced to blurs and obliterated memories.

  Maybe it was just as well. Remembering people that were gone, that had vanished in The Event or in the shit storm that followed, was begging for heartache. Far better to live in a haze of convenient amnesia than with the crystal-clear memories of all that he had lost.

  But Wolf buried siblings a couple of days ago, and felt a certainty that there had been children in his life before.

  Am I, or was I, a goddamned daddy?

  God, he hoped not.

  Maybe I wasn’t a drunk. Maybe I had my shit together.

  He laughed. Yeah, and maybe I didn’t appreciate a nice set of puckered lips playing Paint the Fence on my ten inches of pecker.

  He got out of bed and headed down to the bar where the owner, Glenda, was tending to Jackson, the only other customer who ever came in this early.

  Wolf sat at the other end of the bar, lest Jackson bring his ass over and start chatting him up. It was too damned early to suffer the old man’s worthless stories. Oddly, Jackson didn’t even say hi. Might have been actively ignoring him.

  Glenda came over. A tall black woman in her late forties who reminded him of a teacher he’d once had, though Wolf couldn’t remember her name, his school, or even what city it might have been in. Her hair was in braids, tied back with a brown bow that matched her vest and chocolate-colored corduroys. Her rainbow-colored top was the color of unicorn jizz.

  “How’s it going, Wolfie?”

  “Hit me with some shots, then ask me again when they’re gone.”

  “No can d
o.”

  “You’re right, no reason to dirty the dishes. Go ahead and give it here.” Wolf looked at the ceiling and pointed to his open mouth.

  “Mayor says she needs to see you.”

  “The principal wants to see me in her office? The fuck did I do now?”

  “Like she tells me anything.”

  “Yeah, we’ll just pretend the two of you ain’t bumping donuts.”

  “Bumping donuts?” Glenda shook her head. “You’re lucky I find you charming, or I’d kick your ass outta here.”

  “Charming enough to get one for the road?” He smiled and batted his lashes.

  She smiled back, but still no dice. “Sorry, Wolfie. No can do.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with you, Glenda.” Another wide smile. “Just a handful of dog hair and I’m out of here. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  She sighed, then reached beneath the counter for a bottle of whisky.

  Wolf reached out to grab it.

  But Glenda grabbed him by the wrist. “Don’t you press your luck.” She let go of his wrist, then got Wolf a glass and poured him a drink.

  He thanked her, raised the glass and swallowed the fire in a gulp, then handed her a matching set of coins.

  “You drink too much.”

  “I’ve taken more from the liquor than the liquor’s taken from me.” He grinned at Glenda and held out his empty glass. “One more before I go.” She shook her head, but Wolf already had her mostly there. “I’m juicing. Problem is there ain’t any oranges in this place.”

  She surprised him with a laugh.

  He shook his glass again. This time she filled it.

  “Don’t tell her I gave you anything.”

  “If you don’t want credit for my superpowers then—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Your loss.” Wolf winked, swallowed, and zipped his lips.

  Then he left the bar.

  The morning light felt bright like a flashlight in his eyes, despite the overcast day. A bit more whiskey might’ve improved the outlook, but Glenda was playing grinch with her holy spirits. Wolf would return after seeing what bunched the mayor’s underwear.