Yesterday's Gone: Season One

by Platt, Sean

  Ed stood in the doorway, enjoying the sound of ocean waves and the smell of saltwater. It was the first time the world felt close to normal since the crash. He considered walking the path to the beach and sitting in the sand. It had been forever since he’d just sat on a beach and let the sound of waves, wind, and gulls set him at ease.

  That’s when he realized there weren’t any gulls, or birds of any kind.

  That’s weird.

  As he strained to hear over the waves, he picked up on the undeniable sound in the distance.

  A helicopter.

  They’re coming for her baby.

  * * * *

  BRENT FOSTER

  Three quick knocks followed the first set as Luis and Brent traded glances.

  “Do you think it’s the aliens?” Luis whispered.

  Brent shrugged his shoulders, uncertain what to do. If they didn’t answer, the person, whoever it was, would leave. But was it a person, or something else?

  Another knock, followed by a whisper, “Hello?”

  A man’s voice, familiar, but Brent couldn’t quite place it.

  “Hello?” Brent asked.

  “Mr. Foster? Is that you?” a vaguely Jamaican sounding voice asked.

  “Yeah,” Brent said, trying to match the voice to a face or name.

  “It’s Joe from maintenance.”

  Joe was the elder of the building’s two maintenance men; a tall, thin man who had to be pushing 65, though he looked 10 years younger. He was always super nice to Ben, who called him Mr. Joe, whenever Joe came to the apartment to fix something.

  Luis and Brent pulled the fridge away and unlocked the door.

  Joe was in his red maintenance uniform, like always. But he looked 100 years older.

  “Come in,” Brent said, “This is Luis from across the street.”

  Joe smiled, and walked in, limping.

  As Luis locked the door, Brent asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Do you have any rice?”

  “What?” Brent asked confused.

  “Rice, I need some rice. Right away.”

  “You’re hungry?” Brent asked, thinking Joe was injured and confused.

  “No, not to eat, to keep them away.”

  “To keep what away?” Luis asked.

  “The jumbees. Rice will preoccupy them. You pour it outside your door.”

  “What are jumbees?” Brent said.

  “Do you have rice or not?” Joe asked, raising his voice, though it was edged with fear, not anger.

  Brent grabbed a bag of white rice from the pantry and handed it to Joe, who asked Luis to open the door. Joe poured half the bag onto the ground just outside the door, then turned to Brent and said, “Do you have another bag?”

  “Yeah,” Brent said.

  “Good,” Joe said, pouring the rest of the first bag on the ground. He came back inside. “You can lock it now.”

  Luis did so.

  “What are jumbees? And what’s with the rice?” Brent asked as he ushered Joe to the couch to get off his injured foot.

  “Jumbees are evil spirits. I used to think they were just old island folklore that my mother would go on and on about, but then I saw two of them tonight.”

  “What do they look like?” Luis asked.

  “Jumbees can take different forms, but the things I saw on the street tonight, were dark, deformed, monstrous jumbees. They came after me, but I got away.”

  “You ran?” Brent asked, surprised Joe was able to get away.

  “Yes. But they were also distracted. They saw someone else on the street and … they…” Joe looked down, like he might not finish the sentence. “They tore her up.”

  “Her?” Brent asked, fear stirring in his guts, “Who did they get? Did you know her?”

  “No,” Joe said, “A young Puerto Rican girl, maybe 20, I don’t know. Nobody from this building, I don’t think. They ripped her apart, though, limb from limb like some kind of wolves or something. Eating her.”

  Brent released the breath he’d been holding.

  “How does the rice distract them?” Luis asked.

  “The rice is supposed to slow them down. Jumbees are like kids passing a candy store. If they see a bunch of stuff spilled, they have to stop and count it. By the time they’re done counting, daylight comes and they have to return to the spirit world.”

  Brent and Luis exchanged a sounds-like-bullshit glance.

  “I don’t think those things are jumbees,” Luis said. “Because we saw some during the day. And they killed my friends in the apartment across the street earlier.”

  Whatever wind Joe had beneath his sails, evaporated. “So, if they can walk in the day, then the rice might not work.”

  All three men stared at the ground as if it were harboring answers.

  “Have you seen anyone else?” Brent asked, “Gina or Ben?”

  Joe’s eyes widened, “You mean they’re not here?”

  “No, I woke up in the morning and they were gone, just like everyone else.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Joe said, his lips trembling, eyes red and glassy. “Other than the girl, I haven’t seen anyone else. I went door to door. Nobody answered in your apartment earlier. I wasn’t even gonna come back, but something told me to try again.”

  Joe turned to Luis, “You said you had some friends who were killed?”

  “Yeah,” Luis said, “Two friends.”

  “So there might be more people?” Joe asked.

  Brent told him about the radio broadcast they heard earlier and that they’d be going to Black Island in the morning, once the streets were safer. They invited Joe to go with them. But first, they’d need to get some sleep.

  Brent took the first shift, sitting in the recliner. Joe slept on the couch and Luis on the floor, which he swore he didn’t mind at all.

  As the men slept, Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out Stanley Train. Its big, goofy smile greeted him.

  Brent prayed he’d be able to give the train back to its rightful owner soon.

  **

  In the morning, the men loaded supplies into duffel and grocery bags and prepared for the trip.

  Brent wrote one last note to Gina, telling her where they were going. He doubted she’d ever see the letter, but it still pained him to write it. He imagined her showing up an hour after they left, stuck in the apartment with the jumbees, aliens, or whatever the hell the monsters were.

  “We’ve gotta go,” Luis said, likely sensing Brent’s hesitancy as Brent took forever to tape the note to the phone on the wall.

  They made their way downstairs, Brent and Luis carrying bags and weapons, while Joe walked behind them, a pistol in one hand, a bag of rice in the other. Joe had never used a gun, so Luis went over the basics with him, all three men hoping he’d never need to put his lesson to use.

  As they reached the ground floor, Brent feared once they got outside that one of two things would be waiting — either a pack of creatures or a demolished car. But he kept the fear to himself.

  The glass of the lobby doors was shattered. Luis readied his shotgun, pushing through to the street. He scanned the avenue, then waved for the other two men to follow.

  The streets were still wrapped in the eerie fog, cutting visibility to 10 yards at most. The car was thankfully intact. Luis opened the trunk, loaded the supplies, then hit the button on his keychain to unlock the doors. The car’s alarm beeped twice, then bounced across the empty hallways of the ghosted metropolis. Brent cringed, hoping the sound wouldn’t attract the creatures’ attention.

  A shrieking sound from above crushed that hope.

  They all looked up at once, unable to see anything other than fog.

  “Get in the car!” Luis screamed.

  The creature fell from the sky, landing between all three men.

  It was at least a foot taller than Luis, its limbs impossibly long, just like its fingers. Its body was black, with lights under its wet skin. Its face was long, a giant maw of teeth for a
mouth, and two almond-shaped eyes, ink black. If it had a nose or ears, Brent couldn’t see them.

  It surveyed all three men, turning in half circles, body hunched as if ready to spring into action.

  Luis took a shot as the creature leapt into the air, into the fog, and then came back down, landing on top of Joe. It stood up in one fluid motion, bringing Joe with it, one arm around Joe’s chest and the other around his neck.

  Joe dropped both his gun and the bag of rice — which didn’t distract the creature a bit. It opened its mouth wider and made that god-awful Click Click Click Click sound, then held Joe up as a human shield.

  “I can’t get a shot!” Luis yelled.

  Joe cried out, trying to squirm free from the creature’s grip. As if in response, the creature’s right hand moved up and gripped Joe’s skull, its fingers covering his entire head and dripping half way down his face. Joe’s entire body began to shake violently as the lights, or whatever it was beneath the creature’s skin, pulsated brighter. Joe screamed as his body continued shaking as if being electrocuted.

  “Shoot it!” Brent yelled, not confident in his ability to get a clear shot.

  Luis screamed and ran toward the creature, gun raised. The monster threw Joe aside like a rag doll and brought its hands down to tackle Luis. Before Luis could take aim, Brent fired two shots — one hitting the monster’s torso, the other striking its head.

  The creature dropped immediately and Luis descended, firing another shot and finishing it off.

  Luis screamed, “Die motherfucker!”

  Brent, shaken, scanned around them for any sign of more creatures. Something moved in the fog above them and Brent fired into the sky.

  Luis raised his gun, “What? You see something?”

  “I’m not sure,” Brent said, heart pounding, eyes scanning the sky above as he circled his gun in all directions, praying nothing would pop up from a direction he wasn’t looking. “I thought I did.”

  From the ground, Joe moaned.

  “Shit!” Brent said, having forgotten that the old man was injured. He ran to Joe and noticed two things at once — the man’s eyes were white and milky, the pupils barely visible. Dark, painful looking splotches stained his head where the thing had touched his scalp.

  “Help,” Joe moaned, his jaw shaking, drool streaming from the corners of his mouth.

  Luis had the car’s passenger door open and they carried Joe and put him inside, Brent hopped into the back seat as Luis slammed shut the driver’s door and stepped on the gas, putting the shotgun on the center console.

  “Are you okay?” Brent asked Joe, who was moaning something incoherent.

  Something was off about Joe’s voice. It had lost the Jamaican accent and sounded lower, words slurred.

  Luis stared at Joe, then shot a concerned look back at Brent.

  “Mphrrr,” Joe mumbled, his voice sounding even more different than before. Joe’s head fell in a nod, chin on his chest, as he mumbled more.

  No, he didn’t look good at all. Brent put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and was about to ask if he was okay, when the man’s head shot up, turned back and looked at Brent with vacant white eyes, and said, “Daddy?”

  But it wasn’t Joe’s voice.

  It was Ben’s.

  * * * *

  CHARLIE WILKENS

  “I like you too,” Callie said with a smile, seemingly oblivious to what Charlie was trying to say.

  “No,” he said, “I like like you.”

  “Oh,” Callie said, her eyes widened in recognition. She paused, looking down to her hands. It was a longer pause than the one that usually comes before good news.

  She finally met his eyes again, “Listen, Charlie...”

  Oh no.

  “I like you too. You’re a nice guy. But … I’m not really looking for a relationship.”

  He looked down, and could feel tears welling up.

  Don’t you fucking cry!

  “Oh,” he said, not sure what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she said, reaching out across the chess board, putting a hand on his, “I’m flattered, I really am. But right now, with all this crazy shit that’s going on, the last thing I want is complications.”

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say, or do.

  She went on, “You know how hard relationships are under normal circumstances, but this? This is zombies n’ stuff. We need to be strong if we’re gonna fight these things. And if things get weird, we lose whatever advantage we have. Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk our friendship, you know? Does this make sense?”

  Friend Zone, admission one.

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes now watering.

  Fucking baby!

  He got up and left his room, embarrassed on too many levels.

  “Charlie,” she called, but he kept going. He didn’t want to make a dramatic exit, but at the same time, he felt if she were to stop him, he would collapse into tears. He walked downstairs, past Bob, who was passed out on the sofa, and outside into the night.

  Derek lived on a cul-de-sac with a dozen houses similar to Derek’s on the south end backing up to the Gulf of Mexico. He stared at the other houses, barely visible in the late hours. The house across the street was nice, also three stories. He ran to it, tried the front door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. He went inside, shut the door behind him, and locked it. He fell against the door and put his head in his hands and cried.

  Big fucking baby! If Bob could see you now!

  He hated himself for being so damned stupid.

  Callie said she didn’t want to risk his friendship, but he couldn’t imagine how they could be friends with her knowing how he felt. It would be awkward as hell, and Bob would surely pick up on it and have a good ole laugh.

  Charlie cried himself empty, then forced himself to stand, though he was unsure what he would do.

  He took the stairs to the second floor and found himself in a spacious master bedroom that put Derek’s to shame. Though the room was dark, Charlie could see it was beautifully decorated. The bed was huge, bigger than a King-sized bed, for sure. And though unmade, it looked inviting, far more than the uncomfortably sterile beds in Derek’s guest rooms.

  The bed was fluffy-looking, had a ton of pillows, and a giant thick white comforter, smooth and cool as a soft pillow. He slipped into the bed to see how it felt. He was asleep in minutes.

  **

  When Charlie woke, he wasn’t alone.

  A guy was standing in the corner, maybe in his early thirties. He had thick dark hair, jeans, boots, and a black jacket. If Hollywood was casting for a bad ass to star in a movie, this would be the guy they called.

  “That’s some bruise you got there,” the man said.

  Charlie wanted to ask who the hell he was, but realized he was dreaming, and that the man wasn’t a threat.

  “Yeah,” he said, “My asshole stepdad.”

  “My old man used to knock me around, too. Fuckin’ cunt.”

  “Someone beat you up?”

  “I wasn’t always a tough guy. I used to be a scrawny kid. But once I learned what I needed to learn, I took control of my life.”

  “What did you do?” Charlie asked.

  The man looked at him, eyes cold as steel. “You don’t wanna know. Let’s just say, nobody fucks with Boricio no more.”

  Boricio.

  “Yeah, well, Bob’s pretty scary,” Charlie explained.

  “They’s all scary. But you know what … they’re all scared o’ somethin’ too. Everyone has a weakness. You just need to find it.” He leaned forward. “When you find a pussy, you fuck it.

  “Fuck it?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah, fuck it,” Boricio said, then made a slitting motion across his neck.

  **

  Charlie woke in a sweat, fully expecting to see the man from the dream in the corner of the room.

  The morning sun came in through the drapes, motes of dust floating on the rays. Ch
arlie glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It must’ve been battery operated, as it was still showing the time.

  8:04 a.m.

  Shit, they’re probably looking for me.

  He went to the curtains and looked across the road. The blinds were closed on all the rooms, so he couldn’t see if they were awake, let alone looking for him. Maybe they were still sleeping.

  He considered returning to the house, but he couldn’t face Callie. Couldn’t stand to look her in the eyes after running from the room, crying like a baby. Maybe he would stay in this house. It wasn’t on the water, but it was nice. Better than he’d ever have done for himself, for sure. He’d stay here until the government, or whoever was in charge now, came around to put things back together.

  Tell Bob to fuck himself. I got my own house. I live under my own roof. MY rules. And I’ll grow my hair longer than Jesus.

  He took a shower; the water was cold like at Derek’s. Then he made breakfast — peanut butter on a bagel. He thumbed through some magazines, mostly old issues of Popular Science and People.

  Charlie walked through the house, looking at the evidence of a life once lived, trying to imagine the family who called this place home until Saturday. A retired couple with a college-aged son, judging from photos. Lots of vacation pics, tropical islands, skiing, and all the other shit rich people did. From what he could tell, they lived pretty good lives.

  Happy lives for a happy family.

  He felt a pang of sadness, then started thinking of his mother and how cruelly he had judged her the past few years for being so subserviant to Bob. Now that he’d been under Bob’s spell a few days, he could see how chaotic life could be on your own. Especially when you were a heartbroken widow looking for someone to spend time with and maybe fill the void in your life. She’d been single a long time before opening her heart to another.

  And how did Bob repay? By being an abusive fuck.