Yesterday's Gone: Season One

by Platt, Sean

  John’s heart melted and broke all at the same time. Happy that she’d found the heart to forgive him, but then sad in the realization that this was surely just a dream. And when he woke, the world would continue to decay without her.

  “You don’t have to go back,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You can wake up now. And be with me.”

  “What do you mean?” John asked. “If I wake up, I’ll be back in the hotel.”

  “No,” Jenny said, “That is the dream. This is a dream. But in reality, I’m at home, in bed, waiting for you to wake up. Right now.”

  John’s head was pounding in confusion, trying to make sense of what she was saying. It didn’t seem right. Everything that had happened the past few days, that was reality... he thought. But the more he considered events, the less sense that world made. A world where everyone vanished, where bodies floated down rivers, and monsters attacked you. A world where a little boy comes and saves the day but ages in the process. Maybe that was the dream world.

  “How do I wake up?” he asked.

  “Just let me in.”

  “What?”

  “Just open your mind. Open your heart, and let me in.”

  “How do I do that?” he asked, now crying and more confused than ever. His head felt like it was in a vice, being squeezed tighter and tighter. He was so afraid to make the wrong choice and risk losing her forever.

  “That headache you’re feeling right now... that’s your dream self trying to stay in the dream.” Jenny said. “Don’t let your fear keep you from waking. Reality is waiting. You just need to let go. Come to me, John.”

  She held her arms open.

  Tears streamed down his face. But they weren’t just tears of love or joy at being reunited with Jenny. Something else was there which he couldn’t quite place.

  “Just let go,” she whispered as he fell into her embrace and kissed his cheek.

  She brought her lips to his, then reached her hands up his back, and found the back of his head. Her fingers swept through his hair in that way he loved, swirling and massaging, and then... tightening.

  What the?

  Her fingers began to dig into his skull, feeling like several bits drilling through his flesh and bone. He tried to scream, but couldn’t. Nor could he move.

  And that’s when he recognized the true source of his tears — the realization that he was about to die.

  * * * *

  MARY OLSON

  October 18

  Dawn

  Belle Springs, Missouri

  Mary woke feeling happy.

  She couldn’t wait to smell the fresh air of the open road. She was sick of the hotel and sick of the waiting. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand John’s urgency; she wanted to leave every bit as much as he did. But she wasn’t willing to put her daughter in danger or leave before everyone was ready. And she trusted Desmond’s judgment completely, Will’s, too, even though she met him just the day before.

  The last few days had been long, but the sun was breaking, and in an hour they would be on the road to whatever was next. Desmond had stayed up all night on guard and finalizing plans with Will. Desmond had to be exhausted, but he kept going like he thrived on exhaustion.

  “I was just thinking of you,” she said as Desmond approached.

  “Have you seen John?” he asked, minus his characteristic smile.

  Mary shook her head. “No, why?”

  Because I can’t find him anywhere, and he was in bad shape last night. I’m trying not to worry, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t.

  “I imagine you’ve checked his room?”

  “Yeah, I went through all the rooms on the first floor, but didn’t see a thing. Mind helping? I don’t want to tell the others because I don’t want anyone to worry.”

  “Of course, what can I do?”

  “I’m hoping he crashed in one of the upper rooms, trying to get as far away from the rest of us as possible. I’ll start on the top floor if you start on the second. We can meet in the middle. Sound good?”

  Mary nodded. Desmond handed her a gun.

  “Do you know how to use this?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Good,” Desmond said, “Just shoot or scream, and I’ll come running.”

  She took the stairs to the second floor, stepped off, then started opening doors. The first three rooms were empty, but Mary opened the door of the fourth and saw John lying motionless in bed.

  Her heart nearly stopped when she saw him.

  He was face down, motionless, his bare feet caked with dirt, as were the ankles of his jeans.

  “John,” she said tentatively. For a sick moment, she was certain he was dead.

  Then John rolled over, sat up, and opened his eyes.

  They stared at one another for 10 full seconds of silence, and Mary felt a vacuum of recognition as if he had no idea who she was. Goosebumps prickled her skin.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Never been better.” he smiled, all teeth. “Today’s the first day of the rest of my life.”

  TO BE CONTINUED...

  ****

  EPISODE SIX

  ****

  JOHN

  John saw from behind a thick stew of growing fascination and utter disgust.

  Who are these foul, repugnant creatures, and why are they so...unstable?

  Their minds were all so disparate, yet each seemed to ignore their true selves so they could fade into the background of collective humanity. Empty echoes of obsolete originals, mocking distinction by granting themselves individual names, and walking through life as if they had free will; like they were snowflakes rather than seeds.

  It stared at Mary, one of the humans and the mother of the girl Paola, whose mind and body had been too immature to occupy. The exploration was entertaining, but she wasn’t a suitable host: too soft where it mattered. Of course, the human called John was also soft mentally, still swimming in the primordial ooze of self-discovery.

  It didn’t concern itself with such self exploration. Not when so much was out there to ingest, absorb, and assimilate. It found its purpose, and first suitable shell. This shell was good enough, with access to everything It needed to grow: the dark light of the planet’s spreading disease, and the collective memory from her most repellent species.

  It would be John, at least until its strength expanded enough to make titles pointless.

  John rubbed its temples. The shell’s memories were occasionally painful. It was different with the girl; she hadn’t been carrying nearly as many, and the ones she had, were wrapped in a sort of delicate innocence. The shell’s memories were different. Even the best of them bled with a darker edge, as though the simple act of living had marred all purity and sewed misery into even the most joyous memories. And while the girl’s feelings were sweet, they were too sweet. Sickly sweet. John preferred the dusk of depression. The shell’s emotions were murky and though it pretended to be strong, it was weak. Weaker than the child had been. That weakness coupled with a desire to cling to his own darkness is what made it so easy for It to summon John out of the hotel and to infiltrate.

  “John, it’s time to go.”

  It was the woman, Mary, still standing in the doorway after waking him. She was eager to leave, and was hurrying everyone along, even though it had been she who caused them all to stay behind in the first place, at least according to the sharp memory in the shell’s bank. But that was the thing about these human’s memories: constant prejudice made them impossible to trust.

  The rat dog snarled.

  Growl....Growl....Growl....

  John looked at the filthy four-legged rat with two narrowed slits of brewing hate, then turned his attention to the woman.

  “You sure everything’s okay?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” John nodded. “I’m ready to go, too. It’s been a long few days.”

  He got out of bed and followed Mary downstairs and into
the lobby where all the others were standing around. John sorted through the memories he’d collected from both John and Paola, so he could relate to each of the humans in an appropriate manner.

  The dangerous one, Desmond, was speaking with the man-child, Jimmy. Both wore the loathsome look of concern, making them look even more like the weak, pathetic creatures they were. They were discussing him, or at least the shell that was once the man John, their conversation a miserable blend of worry and disquiet. John wished his shell wasn’t so limited. It could not hear thoughts, nor could it even hear the wide spectrum of sounds that It could normally hear in its native form. John wondered how humans had gotten as far as they had with such limitations.

  The dangerous one nodded, slapped the man-child on the shoulder, then headed toward the lobby doors. The man-child headed toward John.

  John’s shell was suddenly hot. Scorching. It looked at the shell’s limbs but they weren’t burning, weren’t even red, even though they felt like they were on fire. It wondered if this was a normal condition humans all shared or if it was some sort of limitation to inhabiting their shells. Whatever the case, John was not pleased with yet another limitation. But It would have to continue inhabiting this shell, or another, if it were going to fulfill its destiny.

  “Sorry about last night,” the man-child said to John. “I was out of line.”

  John filed through a sliding bank of the shell’s possible responses.

  Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.

  You’re just a kid; you don’t know anything.

  It’s fine, Jimmy. Let’s just get going. You were only trying to help.

  Thanks, Jimmy. Everyone needs me. Thanks a lot for helping me see that.

  Though John was all but evicted from his mind, It could still access how John would respond to stimulus. It was intrigued that John would have probably throttled his instincts, choosing what he should say, rather than what he wanted to.

  How weak, pathetic, and temporary. Thoughts built from bent willow could barely stand against a breathing wind. This species deserved its departure.

  “Thanks, Jimmy. Everyone needs me. Thanks a lot for helping me see that.”

  John smiled, keeping his nature buried, though he could tell that the man-child felt a bristle at the base of his neck.

  “Thanks for saying that, man. Really. I appreciate it,” Jimmy said with a nervous grin. “You know I’ve nothing but respect; I just want us all to get along. And it kills me to see you throwing down shots like you were last night. Reminds me of my Uncle Micky, and believe me, you start drinking like Uncle Micky, nothing ends well.”

  John stared at the man-boy, transfixed. He should have been filing through verbal records so he could fill the air with blather, but he had wandered down an unexpected memory.

  The shell is just a boy. His father is drinking. His eyes are red and hair a mess. The woman beside him, the shell’s mother, is holding her nose.

  The atmosphere is lead. The sorrow thick. Air sour.

  “Hey Jimmy,” Desmond said, approaching from behind. “I need you on the second floor while we start moving out. Eyes out the window, okay.”

  Growl....BarkBarkBarkBark...Growl... The dog was barking.

  The dog could see that John was not himself. Fortunately, the people didn’t understand the dog’s warnings.

  “Thanks, Jimmy.” Desmond turned to John. “Everything okay?”

  Get the fuck out of my face, Desmond.

  Sure thing, boss. Just taking a minute to mourn, if that’s okay with you.

  I’m great, thanks.

  Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?

  “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, you had a pretty rough night last night, and you seem...I don’t know, off this morning. I’m sure it’s a massive migraine on an empty stomach, but I’ve not seen you eat anything. Like I said last night, I just want to help. You think of a way I can do that, let me know, and it’s half-done already, okay?”

  What’s your endgame, boss? What’s in it for YOU?

  You could pay more attention to getting us out of here than you do to Mother Mary.

  Thanks, Desmond. I’m good.

  I appreciate your concern and will work harder to be one of the team from now on.

  “I appreciate your concern and will work harder to be one of the team from now on.”

  The dangerous one took a step back, wrestling his expression.

  Being a human required more than words and motions. John had yet to absorb the subtleties. What he was trying to say wasn’t getting the reactions he expected.

  “How about we get you something to eat. An empty stomach can’t be helping.” Desmond said.

  Is that why I’m burning? Because the shell is famished? How useless — a mind dependent on a bottomless shell for survival.

  The dangerous one disappeared, then returned a few minutes later with a banana, crackers and a bottle of water. “Here you go,” he said, handing them to John. “Sorry about the banana. Nothing we can do about fruit getting old, except maybe get out of here and start growing our own.” He smiled awkwardly. “Alright, be ready to leave in 10 minutes, okay?”

  You can kiss my ass in 10 minutes.

  Thanks for the banana. I’ll never be hungry again.

  Sounds good.

  Thanks for everything, I feel much better now. Ready to go when you are.

  “Sounds good.”

  The man-boy ran into the lobby. “You guys are gonna want to see this,” he said. He turned, ran back toward the stairs, then sprinted a flight to the window on the other side of the second floor door. The dangerous one, the old man, the mother and daughter, the boy-child and the dog all followed, with John close behind.

  Why am I burning. It shouldn't be this HOT.

  “Christ on a cross,” the dangerous one said. “When did this happen?”

  “I’ve no idea,” the man-child shook his head. “They’ve more than quadrupled in the past half hour.”

  Everyone stared as what the humans had called “bleakers” had packed the parking lot hundreds strong.

  John smiled. His legion was growing stronger by the second.

  They know; that’s why they’re coming. To help usher in the change.

  But he wasn’t ready, not yet.

  The dog: Growl....BarkBarkBarkBark...Growl...

  Furious shrieks were followed by a low growl of uncurling hatred.

  Will said, “Looks like Lord Vader doesn’t like them bleakers at all!”

  But the rat wasn’t looking out the window, its snarl was curled at John; teeth bared, saliva pouring from the open side.

  “Luca,” Will said, “would you mind taking the dog downstairs so we can figure out what to do?”

  “Okay,” the boy buried his fingers in the dog’s coat and led it toward the stairs. The daughter followed.

  “So what do you think?” The old man, the one who sometimes saw things, was looking at the dangerous one as though he was the only one in the room. The shell’s disdain for Desmond tainted Its perception of Desmond, also. An unsettling realization for John, that the human’s feelings could effect Its perceptions. How limiting, to be so easily swayed by perceptions. Maybe I can use that to my advantage in dealing with these creatures.

  The dangerous one shook his head. “I don’t know. Seems like it’s too risky to leave now. But if they’re growing that fast and have us in their sights, maybe it’s a bigger risk to stay.” Desmond looked out the window again, then tilted his neck and peered as far as he could in the other direction. “Christ, I can’t even see where they end.”

  BARK...RUFF RUFF...BARK...RUFF RUFF

  John could still hear the dog barking a floor below. He wondered why the dog had not just attacked him the moment it noticed the ruse. Do dogs also throttle their desires?

  The room rained with flames only John could feel. His head was in pain and he felt like the contents of his stomach might spill out at any moment.
<
br />   The man-boy spoke. “It’s not just me. You guys all feel that, right? Like something really, really bad’s about to happen.”

  Mary turned to the old man. “Still think the bleakers aren’t much of a threat?”

  The old man shook his head. “My theory just expired.”

  “What changed?” The dangerous one’s mouth was open, but the man-boy made the words first.

  “I don’t have a foggy,” Will answered. “But something definitely has. Their power is growing, and so are their numbers. We all feel it. What I don’t like is the tone.”

  Perhaps the humans aren’t as deaf to such things as they seemed.

  “The tone?” Desmond said.

  “Yeah,” the old man nodded, “the tone. It’s different. I always felt like they were waiting, but now I feel like they know what they’re waiting for. Like they were lost. But now they’re found.”

  “Amazing grace,” Desmond said with a sigh.

  “Will’s right,” Mary said. “I feel it too.”

  The dangerous one looked helpless. He turned to John.

  “What do you think?”

  Thanks for giving a shit about my opinion when there’s no right answer.

  It never mattered before. Why bother to ask now?

  I think we should stay a little longer and see what happens. Please excuse me; I need to use the restroom.

  You know best. We should probably stay, but if you think we should go, I’m right there behind you.

  “I think we should stay a little longer and see what happens. Please excuse me; I need to use the restroom.”

  Everyone stared at John, mouths open as he turned and headed for his room.

  John went into the room, closed the door, then into the bathroom where he plugged the tub and filled it with water.

  He peeled the clothes from the shell then stepped into the bath, letting water flood the shell’s face as John went underwater.

  Finally.

  The water was cool against its skin. The shell was over-heating. John was over-taxing its available memory. The water soothed John, cooled the body several degrees, clearing his mind long enough to let him see his next move with clarity. John sat up in the tub.