Yesterday's Gone (Season Four): Episodes 19-24

by Sean Platt

  The something bubbling in Rose erupted: She ran at Boricio and beat at his chest with the butt of the gun. Then she lifted it, nudged the barrel against Boricio’s temple and pushed. He looked up at her like a beaten puppy, waiting for a kick.

  “I should kill you!” she screamed.

  Boricio was silent.

  “I’d be doing the world a favor, I’d be doing me a favor.”

  Before she could say finish, Boricio said it for her: “You’d be doing me a favor, right, Rosie?” The gun shook against his temple. “You’re right, Rose, that you’d be doing me a favor, and that I’m a monster. But nothing in this world is worth a smear to you, and I can’t stand knowing you’re thinking all the things you are about me. So no, I don’t wanna die, but I won’t stay if you want me to go. I figure if the door that ain’t death means living without none of your sweet miss near me, maybe Door Zero ain’t so bad.”

  Rose held the gun on Boricio as he looked up, forgetting how to blink. He saw straight to her insides, and knew she wouldn’t — couldn’t — pull the trigger. She wanted to see him dead, but didn’t want to kill him.

  Her eyes flickered, and for a second Boricio wondered if he was wrong, if he had misjudged things, if Rose really would shove the gun deeper and paint the wall behind him in red. She drew the metal from his skin, took two steps back, held the gun to Boricio, and pulled her phone from her pocket. “No,” she said, “you don’t deserve mercy.”

  “What are you doing, Rose?”

  He watched as her fingers dialed 911.

  His instincts to live crackled to life. Boricio had no problem being killed by Rose — it was almost poetic — but there was no way Boricio would let a donut diddler curdle his milk.

  “What are you doing, Rose?” Rose snarled out from his mouth, mocking him.

  “I’m calling the police, Boricio. That’s what you deserve: not an easy way out.”

  Boricio heard a woman on the other end of the phone, “Nine one one, what is your emergency?”

  Boricio pleaded, “No, baby — you’ve gotta listen to me. You’ll regret turning me in forever; it’ll keep you up at night; you’ll want to die. You can forgive yourself for killing me, but you’ll never be able to do the same for turning me in, Rose. And you know it, because you know me, the me that’s got nothing to do with this.”

  Boricio’s whisper kept his words from the operator.

  Rose held her eyes to Boricio.

  “Nine one one, what is your emergency?” the voice repeated for the third time.

  “Hang up and shoot me, Rose.”

  Shots were fired. Someone in this hell hole must’ve heard it. The police will be coming, even if she doesn’t call. We don’t have long.

  “No,” she steadied her aim and took another step backward toward the door. Her lips to the receiver: “I need help. I’m being held against my will.”

  Rose gave the operator an address as black liquid puffed like smoke from the fallen impostor’s nose, then plumed over the floor, and raced up Rose’s ankles, enveloping her body on its way to her face. It happened so fast that Boricio barely had time to register movement before the alien was seconds from overtaking her.

  “Rose!” Boricio yelled, waving his hands, then moving toward her. “Rose! Look out! It’s getting inside you!”

  He was too late.

  The Darkness curled into her nose like cartoon scent, the rest of its body quickly following.

  She dropped the phone, and her body began to shake, either a process of invasion, or her trying to fight it, Boricio couldn’t be sure which.

  He watched in horror, helpless, as The Darkness settled, hating It for everything It had done and everything It likely planned to do.

  Boricio stared, knowing his Rose was gone and could never come back; a trip through evil would ruin her if she tried. It turned, shocking Boricio with a glimmer of his Morning Rose still in her eyes.

  It reached down and tore the cuffs from Boricio with inhuman strength.

  “GO,” Rose cried out, her voice even less her than the tormented face. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it back.”

  “No,” Boricio said, flexing his freed wrists and grabbing Rose roughly by the arms. “I’m not leaving you.”

  With the same inhuman strength that had freed him, Rose leaned into Boricio, grabbed him by the arms, yelled “Go!” then sent him flying through the doorway and out into the parking lot.

  “Get out!” Rose screamed.

  Boricio stared back as Rose’s face made tormented ripples. He snarled at the creature who had taken so much, including all that mattered. Boricio vowed that he would grow strong enough to kill the monster, no matter what it took, or what surrender was required to make things right.

  Then Boricio did something Boricio never did: He ran.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 11 — Sullivan

  Sullivan held the gun to Ed’s head, watching as the girl, Jade, aimed hers at him, demanding that he let her father go.

  The alien part of Sullivan had tried to reason with them, was honest with Its purpose. While one of them, Teagan, seemed to see sense in his offer, the rest could not, too polluted by fears.

  Sullivan’s human side tried to be cryptic in his warning to the girl, as if the alien side would not realize his intentions. Truth was the alien didn’t care to lie. It was confident that Its offer was death’s superior alternative. Who wouldn’t want to evolve? Who wouldn’t want better? Apparently, It had overestimated the intelligence of these humans.

  It would have to kill them, or settle for a hostile invasion.

  The problem with taking humans who fought it, was living with lesser control, weaker integration. An inferior host wasn’t as useful to the Collective. And a host as strong-willed as Ed might prove damaging. If It couldn’t convince them to surrender, It would have to kill them all.

  But even as It thought that, It could sense Sullivan’s hesitation, he too a reluctant host. Sullivan was different from others because he had been touched by Its counter, The Light, enabling Sullivan to mount a better defense, and prevent an outright takeover.

  Even as Sullivan held the gun to Ed’s head, his human side resisted, trying to seize control. It was all It could do to maintain Sullivan’s hand on the weapon, making it all the more difficult to keep an eye on Jade.

  “Put the gun down or I’ll kill your father!” Sullivan commanded.

  “Kill us, kill us both, Jade!” Ed yelled.

  “No, Daddy!”

  “If you don’t, he’ll kill us all! Shoot him in the head!”

  It had tolerated plenty. It was time to end this, cut Its losses. It sent the command to Its host to squeeze the trigger: Kill Ed.

  The host’s hand started to squeeze, but froze, gun shaking in Sullivan’s hand.

  Do not resist me! It commanded. I will hurt you.

  Sullivan’s human side resisted, apparently not learning the lessons It had already taught him. Or perhaps the human side could tell It was bluffing. It couldn’t send a blast of pain to Sullivan, not now. If It impaired Sullivan, Ed or his daughter might get the upper hand and kill It. While It could find another host in one of the others, there was also a chance they could fight It off enough to stop Its ability to find another body.

  It pushed It thoughts harder: Shoot now.

  Suddenly, Its connection to Itself in Steven Warner’s body, thousands of miles away, dropped.

  Something had happened to Steven. Someone had killed the master organism. It was stunned, weakened, trying to focus on Sullivan, but unable, Its power crippled.

  **

  Sullivan was back in control.

  He wasn’t sure what had happened to the alien, but he could feel it inside, already trying to reassert control. Sullivan’s mastery of his body was likely short-lived. He leaned toward Ed’s ear, and said, “I’m sorry, Ed. Sorry, I couldn’t stop it. I want you to take the girls and run, run before it gets into you.”

  Sullivan put the gun
to his head and pulled the trigger.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 12 — Edward Keenan

  Ed jumped at the gunshot, turned back, and saw Sullivan lying on the ground, bleeding out, dead eyes staring up at him.

  Upstairs, Becca cried out, surely startled awake by the thunder.

  “Dad!” Jade shouted.

  Ed turned to his daughter, saw her pointing behind him. Dark strands of alien matter stretched from Sullivan’s open mouth like strings of rope in search of a host.

  “Get my bag!” Ed yelled at Jade, keeping his gun on the dark strands as they poured faster, gathering speed and strength.

  Jade ran to the back yard and dropped her black bag on the ground. Ed raced to the bag, grabbed an incendiary grenade, then pulled the pin while holding the lever.

  Teagan ran downstairs, Becca in hand. Ed turned to the girls, “Grab my bag and go out the back! Both of you.”

  They ran as Ed backed away from the alien, gun still on it, looking for the spot where mass was mostly gathered. Ed released the lever, counting backward to three, then tossed the grenade at Sullivan’s body, turned, and flew out the back door.

  The explosion was immediate, shattering glass along the home’s back windows.

  Ed grabbed the bag from Jade as fire swallowed the house that was home for months. “Are you OK?” He asked Jade, over Becca’s wailing.

  “We’re OK,” she said, looking around at the houses behind and to their sides, neighbors peering through windows. “We better get out of here.”

  Ed glanced at his watch: 8:58 p.m. “Come on,” he said. “We’re gonna meet a friend of mine, then get out of town.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 13 — Mary Olson

  The door at her back shook in its frame as Mary’s feet again slipped on the floor.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had before the door exploded, and she would have to fight another infected.

  The banging stopped, something on the other side of the door dropped.

  Mary froze, listening for sounds of someone coming to her rescue.

  Did someone shoot the cop?

  Suddenly, she saw something she wished she hadn’t — dark smoke pouring under the door.

  No, no!

  The smoke poured in a thick, undulating fog, crossing the floor as if searching for something.

  Her first thought was Paola, in the bed, helpless. Mary’s heart slammed in her chest as she tried to decide between letting go of the door and running to her daughter, and staying put, just in case leaving the door would allow however many zombies out there to rush in.

  Even if she reached the bed, she wasn’t sure how to fight something as mercurial as an alien fog.

  The dark cloud puffed and swelled in size, taking form, almost bleaker-like, and walked toward Paola’s bed.

  “You stay away from her!” Mary screamed, letting go of the door and throwing herself at The Darkness. As she swung her blade, it dissipated, and then reformed behind her.

  The Darkness stood there, still in front of her, as if trying to figure out what it should do first — kill Mary or take Paola. Just then, the door burst open, several zombies standing in the hall, moving toward them.

  Mary had to ignore the alien fog. She dropped the blade, grabbed the dead cop’s gun from the floor, and fired shots into the closest of them as she raced back toward the door. She slammed it shut, again, but not before seeing the entire hallway filled with walking dead. She threw her back against the door, crying out as it rattled her spine, again.

  She stared at the alien fog, standing there, staring at Paola, but not yet trying to go into her.

  “Get away from her!” Mary screamed.

  On the other side of the door more zombies piled up, banging on the door. The pounding carried to the wall beside her, over and over. THWAP, THWAP, THWAP.

  The THWAPS grew louder and closer together, one after another, THWAP … THWAP … THWAP … THWAP. It sounded like dozens.

  Mary screamed, “Leave us alone!”

  THWAP

  THWAP

  THWAP

  “Stop it!” Mary screamed.

  A collective gust, exhaled from many mouths, muffled through the door, just loud enough as it seeped into the room:

  “Give us the girl … ”

  The door exploded open, throwing Mary to the floor. Two and three at a time, zombies poured through the doorway.

  Mary backed up toward her bed, aiming and shooting, taking them down until the gun was empty. The undead circled her, with the dark smoke standing in front of them as if leading their assault.

  Once her gun was empty, they raced forward, all at once, clawing and tearing at Mary’s arms as she punched, kicked, and tried to fight them away from her daughter. There were too many. Hands pulled her from Paola, dragging Mary from the bed, helpless as they circled.

  “No!” Mary screamed, kicking, biting, clawing a mass of flesh.

  Suddenly, the room was awash in an icy-blue light.

  The assault stopped. Everyone’s attention went to the shimmering air and light beside Paola’s bed. A seam in the room’s reality split, as if the air was smiling, then parted wide enough for a man to step through.

  Then, a man did. A dead man.

  Mary’s heart nearly stopped as Desmond stepped into Paola’s room, holding an M-16. He opened fire, taking down the undead in a surprising display of military precision.

  Mary scrambled to the ground, grabbing her knife, and stayed down, out of the way of the gunfire.

  The room rained in red, almost humid, so suddenly hot, sticky, and wet. The gunfire stopped, and the black alien smoke was gone.

  Mary wiped a slick of blood from her face and out of her eyes, staring in disbelief at the living breathing ghost. The only man other than Ryan she had ever loved.

  “How?” was all she could finally manage. “You died.”

  “Not now,” Desmond said, waving his gun at the blackness oozing from the corpses and slowly fogging towards them. He reached across Paola’s bed, unhooked her from the monitors and IV, and scooped the girl into his arms. “Paola found me and told me to come save you.”

  “Paola? She’s OK?”

  “Come with me,” he said stepping toward the light.

  “Where?”

  “Just come,” Desmond stepped into the light and vanished with Paola.

  Mary followed.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 14 — Marina Harmon

  Marina woke in the bright room, head splitting and throat on fire. She remembered Steven choking her, dragging her down to the room and locking her inside. She banged for hours, begging at first for him to let her go, then for someone — anyone — to hear her.

  But nobody could.

  This was no ordinary room. It was a soundproof, steel-reinforced fallout shelter/safe room her father had designed years ago for when “the end” came. He had designed it to serve as either his headquarters to operate from post-resurrection if people were hounding him, or as his crypt, his body entombed in a casket in the room’s center for as long as The Church owned the estate.

  The shelter’s problem was that it served its purpose too well. No one could hear Marina. When she tried opening the door, she was unable. The codes had been changed. When she tried making a call or using computers to reach the Internet, she quickly reached no one. Steven had planned to use the room as her prison. For what, she had no idea.

  The shelter was in the basement, an area few people ever had reason to go. Marina could bang for a week and go unheard. Even if someone did, no one else knew the elevator or door codes.

  She sat at a desk, trying not to look at the casket holding her father’s remains. It was steel, fused shut after his death to prevent anyone from tampering with his body. There was a small bed, a second chair (where Marina had sometimes come to sit after his death, praying beside him), and a small closet filled with food, water, and medical supplies. There was also a shelf with books and a scattering of other
items that might occupy someone for a few days, but nothing Marina could use to reach the outside world.

  Why didn’t you think to stash a cell phone?

  Not that it would’ve probably done any good. Considering she got shitty phone reception in certain parts of the house, Marina doubted there was anything close to a decent signal underground.

  There was a line of monitors along one wall, all showing static. And Steven had seen to it that the closed circuit television feeds were cut.

  He’d thought of everything.

  Marina spent much of the first hour after waking cursing herself for being so damned stupid — for not seeing Steven for what he was. Marina wasn’t sure what that meant just yet, but he was clearly making some sort of play — for her money? Fame? For The Church?

  Then there was the dream. The dark thing chasing Paola. The dark thing that was Steven. When she woke, he was there, watching her like a creep.

  “I really wish you hadn’t seen that,” he said.

  Seen what?

  Did he see into my dream?

  If so, what the hell is he?

  Marina thought of The Church’s more arcane teachings, things only taught to those who had reached Level: Enlightened Master. The Church, or rather, her father — who knew how many in The Church truly shared his oddest beliefs — believed that negative energies lived among us. They were called Nebulons, and were made real by things like fear and doubt. One spent thousands of hours learning to meditate and fight them. Nebulons were strongest among addicts and people without faith. Sometimes, it was said, they grew powerful enough to possess a soul.

  Marina had never believed those parts of her father’s religion. It seemed like one of those things some people used to personify weakness and fight it. As a self-help tool it worked wonders, so Marina never saw reason to try and change people’s minds when speaking of Nebulons. Once she finally stopped arguing with her father, Marina decided not to battle over beliefs she saw as ridiculous or misinterpretations of her father’s true work.