Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

  The monk dipped into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a pink leaf, wadded it up and shoved it into his mouth, then started chewing.

  “Evolved? That what you call trippin’ balls on those damned leaves?”

  Brother Truth continued to stare straight ahead.

  “So, you’re still not gonna tell me?” After a long moment, Wolf finished with, “Fuck you.”

  Then they kept riding in silence.

  * * *

  As they continued down the street, the purple mist thickened enough to turn their entire world surreal. The fog moved and color seemed to shimmer with a blushing gossamer sheen.

  The silence was gone. A low hum took its place, the sounds of invisible birds and insects alive in the air.

  The street was riddled with thick, gnarled roots, twisting and turning in every direction, ripping through the cracked pavement, and winding toward either side of the street where trees that once served as decorative bookends had sprouted into giant monstrosities, twisted and turning, branches piercing through buildings like a stick through wet paper. The trees, like those in the wooded Ruined areas Wolf was more familiar with, were wild and alive with the monks’ precious pink leaves.

  “You wanna stock up while we’re here?” Wolf pointed to the closest tree.

  The monk patted his pouch. “I have all I need for now.”

  “These are the biggest I’ve ever seen,” Wolf said, marveling at the mutations.

  “You’ve never been this far in?”

  Wolf shook his head. “You?”

  “None of us have ever gone this far and come back out.”

  “Super. So what’s on the menu for today? Insanity, suicide, something else?”

  “There are other atrocities this deep into The Ruins.”

  “Well, fuck you very much for not telling me before now.”

  “You might not have taken the job.”

  “Like I said, fuck you. But this time why don’t we add your mama. Fuck her, too. You got a sister?” No response, so, “How do you know I’m even safe this far in? Or that I can keep you from turning mad, or into a pile of monk mush after some monster has its way with you.”

  “The brothers say that you’re different. Our order believes in you.”

  “Wanna tell me what sort of artifact is worth dying for?”

  “He did not know how far inside it was. When the others, including his guide — someone like you — refused to go farther, our brother went on his own.”

  “So you don’t even know if he’s alive?”

  Truth shook his head. “He is not dead.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  The monk didn’t answer.

  “You could really use some work on telling me all the shit I need to know.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.” Wolf mimicked the monk as trees continued to grow larger and thicker. Soon they weren’t just tearing through the buildings, they were becoming one with them. Stone and glass took on the appearance of wood. Leaves sprouted from the outer walls and turned the buildings into something else.

  Even more disturbing, Wolf noticed that the roots were pulsating, as if they had a heartbeat. Pink lights blinked beneath the bark (or skin?), reminding him of something seen long ago. Yet another elusive memory he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

  He wished he could remember what it was.

  Something howled in the distance. Whatever it was, the thing sounded wrong. Probably a creature as twisted by The Ruins as the trees and buildings.

  The horses whinnied.

  Wilbur was spooked and Wolf had no idea how to calm him.

  He looked over at Brother Truth as something screamed from above.

  Wilbur got spooked and bolted.

  Wolf fell backwards, barely staying in his saddle, hanging onto the horse for dear life. He tried yanking the reins with both hands, but Wilbur was at full gallop, running deeper into The Ruins and refusing to stop.

  Wolf could barely see the shapes of the buildings flashing by on either side of him through the purple fog. He was powerless, bouncing on the saddle, hanging on for dear life as Wilbur gathered speed.

  Another scream from somewhere.

  The horse stopped and then reared back, tossing its rider to the ground.

  Wolf hit the road ass first, then looked up as the horse, still reared back, whinnied as it spun towards him.

  Wolf dodged, but only barely.

  “Wilbur!” Wolf screamed as the horse galloped away and vanished into the fog.

  Moments later, he heard a horrifying sound of crunching bones and gushing blood, followed by the death cries of his former steed.

  Something shrieked in the fog as it tore into Wilbur’s flesh.

  Wolf reached for his sword, wondering what the fuck that was.

  He strained to see, stepping toward the wet sounds from his dying horse, needing to see what the hell could kill it so quickly.

  Wolf should turn and run away, but curiosity forced him forward.

  Hey, ASSHOLE! Turn the fuck around while you still can.

  He finally listened to his own common sense, turning back around and looking for Brother Truth.

  He heard footsteps.

  Then someone stepped into view. Four someones.

  They looked human, and were donned in bandit attire, but their bodies had transformed, with layers of rippling muscle, faces both elongated and strained, mottled gray-and-white skin, vegetation sprouting from flesh, with pink flowers and leaves peeking through. Their large black eyes were sunken in. Teeth crooked and sharp. Long fingers now more like claws.

  They stood a few feet from Wolf, all five of them trading stares.

  Then the tallest opened his mouth and vented an ear-piercing shriek.

  Wolf raised his sword and roared back at them.

  Twenty-Four

  Slum Lord

  Slum Lord and Sasha were sitting in his office, getting high on Pillar when someone knocked on his door.

  “Sir, you have a visitor,” Kiril said.

  “Come in,” Slum Lord said, moving from the sofa to his desk as Sasha sat up straight.

  Kiril entered the office, his expression grave. “Hobarth is here demanding to see you.”

  “Demanding?” Slum Lord smiled. “Then I guess he can wait.”

  He turned to Sasha, but she wasn’t smiling.

  “What does he want?” Sasha asked.

  “To talk about Willie.”

  Slum Lord sighed. “Tell him to come back later.”

  “I think you should meet with him now,” Kiril suggested.

  “And why is that?”

  “Would you prefer he calls a meeting of The Six?”

  “Why should I worry about that? Are there others dissatisfied with my job?”

  Kiril moved his gaze to the floor. “No, sir. I’ve not heard word.”

  Slum Lord looked at Sasha. She shook her head to let him know that she’d not heard anything, either.

  “I’m just taking precautions. You hire me for my wisdom, yes?”

  Slum Lord nodded at Kiril.

  “Then heed my advice and see him now, while the conversation is still easy.”

  Slum Lord growled. “First, I need an update. Have you checked on any of the bandits here being responsible for the merchant attacks in the Coalition Cities?”

  “I’ve asked all my people and no one has heard anything. I believe if anybody here is responsible, they wouldn’t have been able to keep from bragging.”

  Slum Lord said, “Ask your people in the shanty town.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, then, show Hobarth in.”

  Kiril nodded and left.

  A few minutes later Hobarth was shuffling his massive ass into Slum Lord’s office. He was dressed in black robes like one of those damned monks. There was nothing religious about the man; he was too fat for regular clothes.

  Slum Lord nodded as Hobarth took a seat, the chair’s wooden frame creaking
under his weight.

  Sasha pretended to be occupied, painting her nails an alluring shade of red.

  “Do you need me, sir?”

  “No, thank you, Kiril.”

  “Very well.” He bowed, then left them to talk.

  Hobarth dispensed with pleasantries and got to the point. “What you did with Willie wasn’t right.”

  “Which part, cutting his dick off or hanging his corpse as a warning?”

  “Both. He was a respected businessman under my watch, and denied his right to a trial. You executed him without—”

  “He raped a child.”

  “Her word against his.”

  Sasha snorted dismissively, but Hobarth ignored it.

  “I’ll take the word of a scared, innocent child over Willie’s any day,” Slum Lord said.

  “Innocent! You don’t know the first thing about these girls. They come in looking for easy money and you paint them as sob-story abuses.”

  “I’m not debating your business, Hobarth. I’m defending a child. I’d hope we’re on the same page when it comes to children and brothels. Perhaps we should take this to The Six.”

  Of course he wouldn’t, but Slum Lord wanted to defang any attempt Hobarth might make in sowing seeds of discontent among the others.

  “You made a fool of me in front of my men, in front of the entire town.”

  “I might argue the same with you so blatantly disregarding our rules. We — you, me, and the rest of The Six — are the only thing keeping this city from descending into anarchy. We keep the order so nobody else comes in to lord over us with their laws. We can’t be the savages the Coalition Cities think us to be. We must live above our most base instincts, or we’re no better than those in shanty town.”

  “You’re taking this ‘Lord’ title a bit too literally. You’re acting like you’re somehow above us.”

  “Child rape is a low bar to rise above, Hobarth. How many other children are living in your brothels right now?”

  “None.”

  “And you know this for a fact?”

  Hobarth stared at Slum Lord as if expecting a test. There were probably still children in his whorehouses. “Yes, but I will check to make sure.”

  “And what will you do if you find any?”

  “They can go back to wherever they came from.”

  “Not good enough.” Slum Lord shook his head. “Sister Agnes at the temple orphanage will take care of them.”

  “Fine. What do I get in return?”

  “What do you want, a public apology? You will not be getting one.”

  “No. I want compensation for the loss of my man.”

  “Hmm … let’s see. Sasha, what’s the market price on a pedophile rapist?”

  “Can you price a bag of shit?” she teased.

  “I’m serious,” Hobarth said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Two hundred.”

  Slum Lord laughed. “Fuck off.”

  Hobart’s scar turned white against his reddening face as he glared.

  Sasha stood, walked to the desk, reached into the money drawer, then pulled out a small blue sack of coins and dropped four fifties. “Take that and we will speak of this no more.”

  Hobarth gave her a broad smile, staring without shame at her cleavage. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Sasha said nothing while waiting for him to leave.

  Hobarth stood slowly, then walked toward the door.

  Slum Lord said, “I’ll be sending men in to ensure that there aren’t any girls in there. It’ll be you hanging in the Square if there are, assuming we can hoist your fat ass up there.”

  Hobarth turned, his mouth twisting into an ugly knot. He opened his mouth as if ready to speak, but then closed it instead and left in a huff.

  The door closed and Slum Lord turned to Sasha. “Why did you pay him?”

  “Take all of a man’s dignity and he has nothing left to lose. Better to keep your enemies close, Sebastian.”

  “You think he’d dare to try turning The Six against me?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “Then maybe we should move against him first?”

  Sasha sat back on the couch, dipped into her Pillar, then leaned back against the cushion while closing her eyes.

  Yes, that felt like her tacit approval to make a move on Hobarth.

  Slum Lord and Axl stood in front of the two mountains of trash serving as a valley of sorts peeking into the shanty town beyond.

  Squalid shacks in layered stacks, walls made of thin metal, rotting wood with too many holes, brick and too much damned plastic, plus anything else that could be cobbled together to create something that vaguely resembled a homestead.

  Dirty, grimy people picked through the litter, garbage that had been brought here by The Slums and Coalition Cities. They shoved the best finds into bags they carried like pouches connected to their bodies. They recycled scraps of refuse like natives that used every bit of the animal so long ago. What didn’t go into their homes was often refurbished and sold, black market or regular, depending on the item and its history.

  A skinny old man fired a slingshot into the sky, trying to hit any one of the hundreds of birds that spent much of their lives circling the mountains of trash.

  He hit one and a long-haired child — Sebastian couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl — ran after it. Probably fetching it for dinner. Or to sell in their market.

  The smell was terrible, even from a distance. The trash reeked enough already, and the countless fires around the place made it worse. Plumes of smoke rose from the various smelters, filling their little world with a harsh noxious odor that stung his lungs even from this distance.

  “Sometimes I forget the stench of this place.” Axl covered his nose and mouth with a rag.

  The wind typically traveled west to east and they were usually upwind of the shanty town. But on days when it changed direction, the smell came with it. One more reason Slum Lord wanted to leave, to get as far from the reek as he could.

  They entered the valley of trash with the eyes of every scrounger upon them. A pair of kids, no more than four or five, were digging through the trash in their remnants of shredded clothes. Sebastian felt sickened.

  He’d grown up on the streets. He’d seen plenty of sorrow and abuse in his time, but kids this young digging through garbage was a level of depressing that burrowed deep into his gut and staked a claim in his psyche.

  Deeper in the valley of trash, shadows from the mountains fell over them, giving Sebastian a chill. He hoped that none of Yugo’s men, or kids, were waiting to take a shot at him.

  Kiril and Sasha had both advised against coming here, but Sebastian insisted that he would be safe. Going in to meet his enemy, especially when he wasn’t expecting it, beat hiding in his tower and waiting for the next attack.

  He’d come to deliver a message, but maybe they could make a deal.

  Slum Lord wasn’t sure of Yugo’s age. Rumors ranged from sixteen to twenty-nine. Regardless, he was likely striving for the same thing Slum Lord had once been striving for, respect and his slice of a limited pie.

  He didn’t think Yugo was dumb enough to try and take him out. But if he were, Slum Lord would fight to the end and eliminate as many of Yugo’s men as he possibly could.

  “You ever been in here?” Axl asked him.

  “Long time ago.”

  “You know your way around?”

  Slum Lord laughed. “Even if I had, I’m sure I wouldn’t now.”

  “We should have brought more men. Maybe Sasha.”

  “No. And, in fact, I’m going it alone from here.”

  “What?” Axl looked at Slum Lord with his bug eyes. “You can’t go in there alone.”

  “Wait here … I’ve got this.”

  Axl surveyed the scavengers around them. He seemed genuinely frightened, something Slum Lord wasn’t used to seeing.

  “They won’t bother you,” Slum Lord said.

>   “I’m not worried about them. Just … never mind. Hurry up … Sir.”

  Slum Lord nodded, then entered the passageway into the shanty town.

  The mud and dirt streets were a claustrophobic serpentine path through towering stacks of unsafe structures that looked like they might topple in the wrong gust of wind.

  People, dogs, cats, trash, or a sudden edifice cropping up in the street. Shit was everywhere. It was too chaotic. He needed to find Yugo fast and get the hell out of here before the sensory overload fried his nerves entirely.

  Anyone dealing drugs would lead him to Yugo.

  To his right was a stall selling cooked bird, rat, cat, and dogs, plus other meats he didn’t want to recognize. Even so, his mouth kept watering.

  A young kid on the corner was selling drugs to a pair of scrawny young women in short skirts and bare midriffs. Probably prostitutes.

  He was going to approach the kid when a young dark-skinned girl, no more than thirteen, wearing a faded, ripped long-sleeved pink shirt with her dark hair tied in a ponytail, approached him holding a piece of paper.

  Do you come in peace? in a barely legible scribble.

  “Yes or no?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Sebastian said.

  She appeared to ponder before digging into her right pants pocket and pulling out another piece of paper.

  He took it and read, Then leave your weapons with the man to your right and follow the girl.

  He turned just as a young man, about nineteen or so, emerged from a narrow alleyway. His eyes were dark and empty, no mercy or promise of future remorse.

  Slum Lord unsheathed his sword and drew the knife from his boot. He handed them both to the young man.

  “Follow me,” the girl said.

  Slum Lord followed her along a winding route through the city’s bowels. Scrapyard walls hugged them tighter as they went, underscoring his descent into hell.

  She beckoned him to follow her up a ladder, then along a narrow catwalk. He passed shacks with no doors or window coverings and saw every manner of despair — the elderly staring blankly from a trash-strewn hovel, people of all ages fucking like feral animals, junkies shooting up or zoned out on one or more of a dozen deadly drugs, and way too many children by themselves, including a few crying babies.