Tomorrow's Gone Season 1

by Sean Platt

“Thank you, Henry.” Richmond didn’t have many coins on his person, so he couldn’t tip the stable hand as usual. And money might be tight for a while, though hopefully not forever.

  Henry led the horse out of the stable toward the front gate as the booing got louder and louder. He looked back, confused, then smiled again at Richmond. “Wow, they’re really mad, huh?”

  “They sure are.” Then he dug into his pocket and handed Henry a coin.

  The stable hand did something that Richmond had never seen him do before. Shaking his head, he said, “No, thank you, Mayor, sir.”

  Did he understand that Richmond was now essentially broke, or was he refusing the coin to show his disgust at the traitor?

  Richmond mounted his horse, the boos now overwhelming.

  Cutting slurs and wicked accusations.

  He wanted to explain his side, tell his people that he hadn’t betrayed them — he was trying to help move them into the future.

  But if his own wife and fellow council members didn’t understand him, what hope did he have of convincing a mob?

  Stewart led them to the open front gates and extended a hand. “Good luck, Mayor.”

  He took his hand and shook it, surprised by the kindness. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Richmond left his home, the place he’d spent most of his life, unsure of his next destination. He would get by, in The Slums or somewhere else. He was too resourceful not to find a way to rebuild his life.

  The shame was like rain he couldn’t escape from, pelting him without reprieve. But there was only one thing he kept thinking about, spreading through his brain like poison ivy on his skin.

  Would Elijah ever forgive him, or be in his father’s life again?

  Fifty-One

  Wolf

  Wolf squared off against ten bandits, surveying the lot of ‘em to see which of the seven men and three women he’d send wiggling and twitching out of this shitty world first.

  “Don’t worry.” He grinned. “Death ain’t nothing but the next great adventure.”

  Path and Truth stood on either side and a long step behind him.

  He swung and the air whistled. Wolf wasn’t trying to hit anything, he just needed another moment to make sure he’d be able to end every one of the fuckers in front of him. He usually went for the Billy Badasses first. Once the biggest bandit was bested, the rest were usually reduced to a pile of bitches.

  But this time Wolf was eyeing a shin kicker in back. Tiny Tim, holding a crossbow. If it was just the two of them on the battlefield, Wolf would go over and grab it from the tiny guy, hold it above the little hobbit’s head and make him look like a toddler crying for his ball.

  So, Polly Pocket in back with a crossbow, and another nine corpses in waiting, with nothing better than blades, axes, and bats. In other words, more fun than he’d seen in a while.

  Wolf whispered to Path, “See that armrest holding the crossbow? Take care of him, then maybe you and Truth here can meditate. I’ve got the rest.”

  Wolf didn’t wait for an answer, charging with his sword high.

  Frodo raised his crossbow, but a bolt landed between his tiny eyes before the cock could do dick about it.

  A fat bandit — far too large considering sustenance was so scarce — charged Wolf while wildly waving an axe. You had to be a real pile of shit to steal everything you ate and still eat enough to end up looking like that plastic statue in front of Bob’s Big Boy.

  He swung and Wolf dodged, barely but enough to circle behind him. He was about to stab Big Boy in his Buick-sized back when another bandit barreled toward him like a redneck in a bar brawl, bat held high above his head.

  Wolf raised his sword while ducking, then sent it into the man’s thigh like he was chopping wood.

  Big Boy charged.

  Wolf shoved forward with his sword and sent the asshole with the bat flying right into him. Then he used the momentum to bury the tip of his sword through the bandit’s throat.

  Blood painted Big Boy before he dropped his buddy. He was closer than Wolf realized, and falling back the asshole’s axe still skimmed his forearm, nicking skin through his jacket.

  Reinforcements were gathering behind Big Boy. Two men and a woman. The rest must be occupied with the battle Wolf could hear but not see behind him. Maybe he needed the monks after all.

  “Get ‘em, Reggie!”

  Big Boy — Reggie — growled, then made the mistake of coming at Wolf.

  He fell onto his back, thrust his sword up into Reggie, then rolled away as the bandit’s fat ass fell to the ground, shoving the blade even deeper as he landed.

  Back on his feet, Wolf grabbed the axe just as the first of three new bandits was on him.

  The symphony of clanging metal and pulverized meat continued its orchestration behind him as a bat slammed into his shoulder, then another found his elbow.

  Wolf cried out, mostly in surprise, then laughed to smother his weakness. The first bat-wielding bandit got his head lopped off, then the second lost a pair of limbs, one arm and his opposite leg.

  Wolf left the bandit to bleed out and turned to his remaining enemy, a bandit with spiky hair and black warpaint. She growled, jabbing her knife at him.

  She was small and fast, so Wolf swung and missed.

  Another meathead came out of nowhere, wildly waving a sword.

  It sliced his cheek. He tried to counter, but the woman was back and this time she got him, shivving Wolf in the gut three times.

  He severed her hand at the forearm.

  She screamed. Stumbled backwards. Stared at her stump, now spurting like the start of a water show.

  Wolf turned back to the meathead, raising his sword just in time to block the blow. Both men pressed forward.

  The man grunted, “Die.”

  Then Wolf spit in his eye.

  He flinched, lost his guard, and faltered as Wolf made a little Roger Rabbit to the left and swung his sword to skewer the man’s abdomen.

  Wolf tried to wrench his blade from the already rotting body when he heard footsteps running up from behind.

  He had to let go of his sword and turn around bare-handed as another female bandit charged him with two knives, slashing the air so fast that he could barely register the motion before she was on him.

  He tripped over another corpse, spilling backward as she leapt onto his body and buried both blades into his stomach.

  He screamed, forearms up to his face.

  She laughed, raising her knives for a killing strike.

  But then a bolt whistled through the air and landed in her eye socket.

  She froze, hands limp, slowly releasing her grip on the blades.

  Wolf grabbed them away from her, kicked the bandit off of his body, then sprang to his feet, blades in his white-knuckle grip and ready to kill.

  But looking around, he saw that all of the bandits were dead.

  Brother Truth was standing over a freshly fallen body, slinging the bandit’s blood onto the ground.

  “The girl!” The old man was aiming his finger at the tree line where a bandit was fleeing on horseback, the girl tied up with a black sack on her head. “They’re headed toward Old City and The Ruins!”

  “Fuck!” Wolf growled.

  Then he grabbed the nearest reins and galloped after the bandit and his prisoner.

  Back into The Ruins … at night.

  Fifty-Two

  Olivia Freeman

  Olivia couldn’t watch as General McTaggart and Captain Stewart led Richmond out of their house.

  She went into the back, glad that Elijah hadn’t been here to witness it. But she wasn’t sure how she could ever explain everything.

  Olivia had always been open and honest with her son. The family didn’t hide behind hard topics or vague language. She would be direct, same as she always had been, and hope that the truth didn’t crush him.

  She walked past her note on the kitchen counter, still right where she’d left it. How long was he planning to stay at Char
lotte and Val’s?

  Maybe he was consoling them once they found out that Pascal had been taken by bandits. Probably so. Knowing him, he wanted to look for his mentor.

  She worried, then dismissed the notion. Val wouldn’t let him do something so stupid. And if he’d gone off without her, Val would’ve told her already.

  She went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine. Uncorked it and poured herself a glass. She paced in her kitchen, wondering what was next.

  She didn’t want to think about Richmond. She needed time to process it. So she thought about her job and how she was going to help Hope Springs going forward, and repair their family name.

  Olivia was the mayor now. And while she knew some people would think she was happy to land the role, she wasn’t. She liked being the real power behind Richmond. Despite their apparent sham of a marriage, they had always made an excellent political couple. She could make the tough decisions and negotiate while he could manage people and navigate the whims of their public with effortless charm. He was the buffer between herself and the people.

  And now that was gone. Citizens would see Olivia in the raw. Even after society had fallen, some men, and even some of the more “old-fashioned” women, still had a problem with women in power. A man with her traits would be considered quick-witted and seen as powerful, but as a woman Olivia was the shrillest of bitches.

  Still, she had the support of the other council members and mayors. Maybe she could make this work. The general had already suggested that her first action as mayor should be to conduct an inquiry into Richmond’s dealing with Slum Lord, to see if he had exposed any of their city’s secrets.

  She thought about the Registry, the biggest one that they had, right in their house.

  Upstairs to the bedroom, over to the closet, then to the false bottom in her floorboard exposing the safe.

  She turned the dial and opened the door.

  The Registry was still there, though Richmond could have made copies.

  She couldn’t imagine that he’d hand over something so valuable, something with their son’s name on it. Not to anyone, least of all Slum Lord. She looked at the document, then into the box and Hope Springs’ only gun.

  His father’s pistol, hidden by Richmond when the Coalition Cities agreed to disarm and destroy all their weapons.

  Richmond had wanted to get rid of the gun, but Olivia talked him into keeping it — just in case others had done the same.

  She replaced the Registry on top of the gun, then closed the safe, and returned the floorboard.

  Her mind was racing. She needed more than wine to numb it.

  She went to Richmond’s office, found his stash of Pillar, and took two leaves upstairs with her wine. She drew herself a bubble bath.

  Soaking in the heat, Olivia let her mind wander. She’d always seen Pillar as a weakness, a drug for addicts and fools that needed to believe in something other than the brutal reality of everyday life. Fools like her husband who believed in the Old Gods.

  Fools whose delusions were fed by the monks as they consolidated power within the cities, pretending to help people heal after The Event with their meaningless shrines to the missing, as if belief might make them someday return to reunite with their lost loved ones in whatever hell might follow the purgatory of life on a mostly miserable Earth.

  Olivia didn’t believe there was anything beyond a cold grave. It bothered her when she was younger, but after most of the world disappeared, she learned to appreciate what little time she had in the world and stopped thinking about what was next.

  But now, under Pillar’s influence, Olivia saw the appeal. She understood how people might mistake the trip for something religious. She was even a bit jealous that they might be experiencing a better high than she was.

  Olivia woke to cold water and no bubbles, her wine glass empty on the floor. She got out of the bath, dried off, then put on her clothes.

  She looked at the time: just after eight.

  Then she went downstairs to see if Elijah was home.

  But the house was dark.

  “Elijah?” She turned on the hall light, then went into his bedroom.

  Empty, with his bed still made.

  She half-ran downstairs, calling out to him, but it, too, was silent and dark. She flicked on the lights and went to see if her note was still in the same place. Maybe he’d come home, left another note for her, then went back out for something. Maybe he’d gone to blow off some steam at Joe’s house after hearing what happened to his father.

  Her note was still there. But only now did she notice that it wasn’t as she’d left it. Now she saw words on the bottom.

  How long ago had Elijah left her a message?

  She picked it up and read.

  * * *

  Mom and Dad,

  The bandits are attacking tonight. Get yourselves to safety and don’t trust the Rangers. Pascal said they have an inside man.

  I’m going to get Pascal. The bandits took him. We’ll be back ASAP.

  I love you,

  Elijah

  * * *

  Olivia stared at the letter, her heart pounding as she wondered how long ago he had left it. And more importantly, if he was safe.

  And, of course, she wondered about the attack.

  The house was too still and silent. She needed to go to Pascal’s, hoping he was home. She’d call Val if he wasn’t.

  Olivia put on her sneakers, grabbed a jacket, shoved a knife into her pocket, then left her house and started walking fast.

  The streets were quiet, save for a cold breeze and the rumbling thunder ahead of her. She passed a few people on walks with their dogs, nothing out of the ordinary. She waved. They waved back, eyeing her with a blend of suspicion and pity. The way it would be for a while.

  She passed the Wall of the Gone, and had to look away quickly lest she see a familiar face and start wondering things she was better off not thinking on at all.

  She picked up her pace as light rain started to fall, making her way past the outdoor market where vendors had given way to musicians playing as people gathered at the various carts for food and drink.

  Everything seemed normal.

  Until it wasn’t.

  A woman screamed. Olivia heard it a second before she saw her running right down the middle of the market, on fire.

  A skinny man with long blond hair followed, his hands aflame.

  At least two dozen bandits with weapons drawn gave chase.

  And then the massacre started.

  * * *

  TO BE CONTINUED …

  Episode 6

  LIKE DOMINOES IN A ROW

  Fifty-Three

  Slum Lord

  Sebastian was below the city, standing before the glowing roots again, desperate for an answer. “Have you found her?”

  “I have.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Hobarth has enslaved her in his home.”

  “Motherfucker,” he growled.

  Sebastian should have known that a man trafficking humans would have taken at least one for himself. He’d never seen the pig with a woman, and didn’t think of him as remotely sexual. He figured he was too old and too damned fat to get it up. Slum Lord had always assumed that the man’s only interests were power and the rich foods he shoved down his gullet at the area restaurants, including The Baxter’s.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Yes, you will. But first, you must do me a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need you to deliver something to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I’ll tell you later. But for now, you must take possession of a part of me.”

  “What?”

  “Come closer.”

  Slum Lord backed away. “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you know how trees pollinate? I need you to take a part of me somewhere, so that I may spread and return the world to its natural state.”

  “What d
o you mean?”

  “When the Old Gods changed your world to prepare it for their arrival, I protected myself by adapting. By evolving your kind to reclaim the world. But I cannot do that alone. Now I need you to help spread me. So we can take your world back and get your people back. So we can get your sister back.”

  “Get her back? She’s not dead? The others aren’t dead?

  “No.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Trapped in another realm. But I can get them back. I can get your world back. You just have to trust me. Can you do that, Sebastian?”

  “It’s been so long … how are they still alive?”

  “Time moves differently there. Your sister is still a child. They are all waiting. Help me to help them. Please Sebastian, trust me.”

  Trust wasn’t easy for him, but Sebastian had been coming here for so long, talking to this truth-spilling tree, delivering treasures to help him eradicate his enemies. This tree, or the thing trapped within it, was not his enemy.

  “I trust you.”

  “Then come closer.”

  Sebastian moved toward the tree, feeling the roots encircle his arms.

  The tendrils tickled as they buzzed, an electrical field vibrating against his skin and humming in his ear.

  The tendrils wrapped his left wrist as another set of roots encircled his right. Then they tightened.

  Sebastian panicked and tried pulling away.

  The tree’s grip became a vise. So Sebastian pulled harder.

  “Relax. I’m going to help you.”

  He was helpless in its grip despite his resistance. Two tendrils burrowed into his arm as others held him at the wrists.

  He watched in horror as they bloomed into a brighter pink. Dark bubbles under the skin, pulsating as they traveled from the mass of roots into his flesh.

  Sebastian screamed as the fire spread into his arms and body.

  He felt something like an itch in his brain, even worse than his burning skin and blood and bones. He had the distinct feeling that he was no longer alone in his thoughts.