Yesterday's Gone: Season One

by Platt, Sean

  Luis screamed, sure the thing that was once Joe would rip right through his flesh. With renewed fear and anger, he kicked both his legs up with all the force he could muster, found Joe’s jaw, and kicked it straight back. He kicked again, repeatedly, as hard and fast as he could, bashing Joe’s skull into the window until it was a bloody pulp and his body stopped twitching.

  Luis hopped from the car, screaming, adrenaline coursing through him, air stinging his lungs as he gulped deep mouthfuls. Brent climbed from the back seat, gun in hand. Luis grabbed it from him, ran around to the passenger side, opened the door, and yanked Joe’s body out, then threw it to the road and fired four shots into the corpse.

  “Fuuuuuuck!” Luis screamed, wiping at his stinging, bloody arm. The injury was worse than he’d thought, a mouth-sized chunk of flesh torn from his right forearm.

  Brent ran to him, “What the hell happened?”

  “He was infected,” Luis said. “He was turning into one of those things.”

  “Holy shit,” Brent said, staring at Joe’s body, eyes wide in disbelief. It took a moment, but Brent’s eyes soon found Luis’s injury. “What...?”

  “It bit me,” Luis said, feeling fear for his own life for the first time in decades.

  * * * *

  BORICIO WOLFE

  October 18

  Somewhere in Alabama

  The door whined open and Boricio smiled.

  Testosterone must not have been expecting trouble because he sauntered in like he owned half the South. Two guards were behind him, neither one holding the guns in their holsters.

  Stupid shits.

  “Now!” Boricio growled.

  The door was open just three seconds when the flat of Boricio’s bat was beating the air straight from Testosterone’s lungs. He hit the floor with a throttled wail and both hands curled around his gut. Boricio left him writhing, then turned his gnashing teeth to the other two guards.

  Killing the delicate was like popping a zit, and the two flowers in the doorway were just a few seconds from wilting.

  The two guards reached for their guns. Boricio swung the bat and broke the knuckles of the first guard before he’d even unfastened his holster. Boricio dropped the bat, grabbed the man by his neck, spun him around, and reached into his holster. Boricio pulled out the guard’s Colt, and shot him once in the chest, followed by a second shot to his head on the way down.

  A geyser of blood rained onto Testosterone, who was still thrashing around on the ground, though quickly catching his breath. He opened his mouth as if about to scream for help, and Boricio pressed the Colt hard against his cheekbone.

  “Gimme one reason,” Boricio said, shoving the gun so hard into the man’s face it would leave a bruise.

  It was one-on-four on the other side of the room. The remaining guard had his gun drawn. “Stand down!” he screamed, waving the gun back and forth at Team Boricio who surrounded him. Adam and Charlie stood behind the guard while Manny and Jack stood in front of him.

  He obviously wasn’t the one who signed the checks, but he might also have been given orders to keep the prisoners alive, since despite his boss licking the concrete and his comrade already growing cold, the guard just stood there with a shaking gun and hollow eyes.

  Stupid fucking asshole. That right there is the last dumb ass decision of your wasted life. Pull the trigger five times and BAM! Ashes to ashes, we all fall down. Maybe you’d manage to get us all, maybe you wouldn’t. But if you don’t pull that trigger in the next two seconds, you’re dead no matter what you get around to doing.

  “Stand down!” the guard barked again.

  “Shoot him...” Testosterone finally found his voice long enough to issue a command. Boricio smacked Testosterone in the head with the butt of the pistol, then stood up.

  Boricio flashed the gunman his most winning smile and raised his hands in the air. “Not so fast,” he said. “I can do the math, I surrender.” He kept inching forward. “My hands are up. You got me.”

  “Stand down or I will shoot you in the face!”

  Boricio stopped, ten feet from the guard. Would’ve been plenty close if the flunky wasn’t waving a .45, but it was a few feet farther up shit creek than Boricio would’ve liked considering Team Boricio was unarmed and GI Joe was just seconds from gathering another round of breath to order them all dead.

  “Chill out, man. I said I surrender. Need me to start speaking French so’s I can prove it?” Boricio kneeled, lay the gun on the floor, barrel first, then stood with his hands in the air.

  He kicked the gun across the room just past the guard and between Adam and Charlie. “See,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m surrendered, just like I told ya’.”

  The prisoners were all too scared to move.

  Boricio heard Testosterone’s heavy breath rising from the floor behind him.

  Team Boricio is made up of flash frozen idiots. If I was standing over there, that fucker’s gun would already be in his mouth. They may as well be playing pocket pool. If you’re on Team Boricio, you best be useful.

  Boricio charged toward a surprised Manny, tackling and then spinning him around until Boricio’s eyes were bolted on the flunkie with Manny between them.

  Boricio hurled Manny into the guard then dove to the ground.

  Testosterone was back on his feet, but Boricio had already hit the floor, sweeping the guard’s feet from under him. The guard’s head landed with a loud crack on the concrete. Boricio lifted him by the hair, then sent his head back to the floor with a fatal aftershock, coating the floor in the man’s blood.

  “The fuck man!” Manny screamed.

  “Tell me I’ve been naughty later,” Boricio growled and blew a kiss, then turned to face Testosterone.

  “Not so fast,” Testosterone said, aiming his gun behind Boricio. Predator’s guess said it was at one of the prisoners trying to retrieve a weapon.

  “Why don’t you kick that over here instead?” Testosterone said.

  The gun slid across the concrete and through Testosterone’s splayed legs, landing just behind him, a few feet from the wall. He smiled and turned his gun to Boricio. “You know,” he said, “We were just on our way in here to deal with you. We were gonna take our sweet, sweet time, have ourselves a little fun.”

  Pile of shit wants to mother fucking monologue. Tell me how big and bad he is, and how he’s gonna make me pay. But no shots have been fired, so if they were really planning on taking their sweet, sweet time, and I expect they were, no one else is coming in for a while. I get that gun, it’s game over.

  Boricio said, “Easy to be the Grim Reaper’s right hand when you’re waving a loaded gun. And the way you probably toss off all the lonely boys around here, your trigger finger’s probably even faster than that tiny pecker of yours.”

  Testosterone laughed, then crossed the floor to the baseball bat, keeping his aim on Boricio. He kneeled, picked up the bat, then slipped his gun back in its holster.

  “Bullets wouldn’t be much fun,” he said. “I’d rather beat the loud right out of your mouth. Maybe I’ll celebrate with a shot or two to the kneecap once I’m through. Or maybe…”

  He didn’t wait to finish his sentence — tried to catch Boricio by surprise instead with a wide swing somewhere around the word “or” But Boricio saw the bat coming. He dodged the blow and the bat whistled by him.

  Boricio charged Testosterone, throwing both hands around the bat. Testosterone saw him coming and tightened his grip as Boricio latched on. They stumbled across the room, each trying to gain control of the bat as Team Boricio stood on the sidelines like fucking spectators or cheerleaders, nobody going for the other gun in the room.

  In a battle of brute strength, Testosterone had the edge. He pulled the bat free, sent Boricio sailing to the floor with a swift kick to his chest, then landed the first blow to Boricio’s ribs before he was halfway up.

  Boricio fell back to the floor, just as the tip of Testosterone’s boot clipped him beneath his chi
n. Another half-inch or so and the fucker would’ve broken his jaw.

  “You’re gonna wanna stop right there.” Charlie said.

  Well how about that? Janie got a gun. Looks like someone just made the highlight reel on Sportscenter.

  “Shoot him!” Boricio yelled.

  “No, no, no,” Testosterone shook his head and wagged his finger back and forth. “I’m the only thing that can keep you alive right now, believe you me. You all are dead the minute you step out this door. But you shoot this fucker here,” he gestured toward Boricio, “then you and everyone in this room gets to see the only future there is left.”

  “Why’d you bring us here to start with?” Charlie asked.

  “No, I’m not answering your questions until you put a bullet in this greaseball,” Testosterone said, “This is your one chance to join us. Or join the dead. Your choice, kid.”

  Boricio turned to Charlie. “Now I know you’re too smart to believe a single word this fucktard is saying. He brought us here to kill us, all of us, and that’s what he’s gonna do. He’s the cunt hair who ordered you tied up; I’m the one who set you free.”

  Charlie closed his left eye and steadied his aim toward Testosterone.

  “Stop,” Manny said, “Think about what you’re doing, man. This guy is a monster.” He looked at Boricio. “Think about what you’ve seen and heard since you’ve been in here. I mean, the guy just used me as a human shield. It’s only a matter of time before he turns on any or all of us. We’re only here to help him get from point A to B. He won’t care what happens to us at all once we’re out of this place.”

  Boricio laughed. “Awesome job, Captain Obvious.” He turned to the rest of the Team Boricio. “Every word he says is true. I am one gen-u-ine fucker of a Frankenstein. And yeah, I do need all of you to help me escape, and I really don’t see us all playing house once we get outta here. But true as that all is, it’s even truer that none of you is leaving here without a fair hand of help. And yours truly is a whole Hands Across America right now. I won’t kill you, because you’re all on my team. I killed that fucker earlier because he was a turncoat. Anyone else want to be a free agent; I’ll kill them, too. Because that’s what it takes to protect the team.”

  He turned to Manny. “And no disrespect intended. I assessed as best I could. You were the only thing gonna keep the five of us alive in the seconds I had. Just good math is all.”

  Manny glared at Boricio.

  I’ll have to end him anyway. He don’t wanna be on Team Boricio, and I don’t need no cancer creeping through the group.

  Two shots rang through the room and Testosterone dropped to the floor. Charlie stood there, shaking.

  “I had to shoot him,” Charlie said. “He was reaching for his gun.”

  “Good boy!” Boricio hollered. He walked over to the Colt on the ground, picked it up, handed it to Adam, then turned to the group. “We ready to roll?”

  Manny grabbed the gun from Testosterone’s holster. Boricio went to the door, looked into the narrow hallway outside, then said, “We’re clear,” motioning the gang through the threshold. Manny was last to pass. Soon as he did, he felt the barrel of Boricio’s bat pressed against his skull.

  “Gonna need your gun,” Boricio said.

  Boricio held his hand out and Manny filled it without argument. Boricio handed the gun to Jack, then turned to Manny.

  “Despite that little bullshit back there, I’ve every intention of letting you live. However, I sure as hell don’t want my biggest critic holding a gun and walking behind me. We get more weapons, maybe you get to earn yours back. Besides,” Boricio patted his bat. “If I can go without one, you can, too. Now, chop chop.” Boricio waved his hand toward the hallway.

  They stepped into a short hallway without any doors or windows. On the far side was a set of six steps leading to an angled wooden door.

  They’d been held in a basement.

  Whatever ugly the end of the world hadn’t managed to kill was waiting right on the other side of the cellar door.

  * * * *

  TEAGAN MCLACHLAN

  Oct 17

  morning

  Winding, Georgia

  “What do you mean your father murdered someone?” Teagan asked. Jade was sitting on the bed next to her, cross-legged. “You mean he’s not a cop or government agent or something?”

  Jade shook her head. “He was a mid-level manager at an investment firm. He was a workaholic, burned out, barely present at home most of the time. Then one day out of nowhere, he started talking about people following him. He said he was worried about us, and that we needed to be careful. Said there were ‘agents’ watching him and if anyone came around asking questions or asking us to go with them, to say nothing, and escape the second we got the chance. One day he was at the office, and went totally ape shit. Didn’t just shoot one person, but four.”

  Teagan’s tongue wouldn’t work while her brain tried to make sense of what Jade was revealing.

  “It was all over the evening news. On a Friday afternoon, right there in the parking garage, he killed four people. He told my mom they were secret agents, but that part wasn’t reported. His lawyer claimed it was a psychological collapse caused by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from when he was in Iraq. It never went to trial. He copped an insanity plea and was placed in an institution.”

  Teagan found herself suddenly staring at her recent life through a new filter — had the men in the store been a genuine threat? What about the helicopter and the people aboard it? She’d had a hard enough time accepting that Ed had killed so many people to protect them from possible threats. But what if none of the people were really a threat to begin with? What if all the people he’d killed were innocent? All the people he’d killed for her? Her headache went from dull throb to roaring thunder as she sifted through what Jade was saying.

  “Oh my God. I don’t even know what to say... Did you and your mom visit him?”

  “We did at first, but then he ...”

  The bedroom door opened, it was Ed and Ken, severing Jade’s words mid-sentence.

  “We’re back,” Ken said. “We found a few guns, but not a whole lot of ammo.”

  Ed said nothing, eyes on Teagan, as if he sensed they’d been discussing him, that maybe his daughter gave him up.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jade asked.

  “I’ll go out there,” Ed said, “See if I can get to the SUV, and bring it as close to the front door as I can get. If they come at me, we’ll see how strong they are and adjust our defenses accordingly.”

  “What if they kill you?” Jade asked. “I don’t think you should go out there.”

  “We can’t wait here and see what they’ll do,” Ed said. “Better to act than react.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Dad.”

  “I’ll go,” Ken offered.

  “You ever fire a gun?” Ed asked.

  “Well, um... no,” Ken said.

  “Then you’re not going anywhere. That bat won’t be enough.” Ed said matter-of-factly, no insult intended, though the kid’s face went crimson all the same.

  “I haven’t seen you in three years and you’re just gonna run out and get yourself killed?” Jade said, voice going from serious young woman to scared young girl.

  “I’m not gonna get killed. I can handle myself just fine.”

  “You don’t even know what those things are; how can you say something like that?!” Jade turned, pouting.

  To Teagan, Ed looked like a beaten man, too tired to muscle through the motions of an old and weary fight reminiscent of ones he’d had too many times in the past, if not with Jade then surely her mother. Teagan wondered why he didn’t go to his daughter and give her the hug she so clearly craved. For all his so-called talent at reading people, he sucked at reading women. Or perhaps Iraq had rendered him incapable of showing emotion outside machismo.

  “Trust me,” Ed said, “I can handle anything that comes my way.”

  Jade shook her hea
d and Ed left the bedroom.

  Jade stared at her lap, trying not to cry, slowly failing. Teagan felt uncomfortable, but forced herself to lean over and hug the girl.

  “I’m sorry,” Teagan said.

  “He’s so fucking stubborn,” Jade said, surrendering into Teagan’s embrace. Ken, also uncomfortable, left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Jade pulled away, “He always does shit like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He takes unnecessary chances, puts himself at risk to be the big fucking hero.”

  Teagan was confused, “What do you mean?”

  “Even though he wasn’t a cop or agent or whatever the hell he told you he was, he was always stepping in whenever someone was in danger or if someone had done something bad. Like when I was nine and we all went out to eat in New York City. We were walking back to our hotel when some guy snatched a woman’s purse right in front of us. The guy took off running while everyone on the street just stood around. Well, everyone except my dad, who, without a word to my mom or me, took off running, chased the guy down the block, caught him, and then beat the hell out of him. He came jogging back a few minutes later with the woman’s purse and handed it to her.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Teagan asked.

  “Well, at first, I thought it was kinda of cool. Like he was my dad, the super hero or something. But he started doing this shit all the time. And then it got worse. He would start acting if he thought someone was gonna do something. He’d jump them or scare them off. And when we asked why, he just said he knew the person was gonna do something. He felt it, he’d say, like he’s some kinda psychic or something! It got to the point that we never knew what he was gonna do and we were scared to even go out with him. Even more scared when he was out by himself. Because then he’d be out late, and my mom and I would be worried that he’d done something stupid and gotten hurt, or worse. And then, a few years ago, when he started talking about the agents and stuff, we should have known it had gotten worse, whatever it was. But I don’t think there’s any way we could have known he’d go that far.”