Yesterday's Gone: Season One

by Platt, Sean

  “Lunch!” Paola’s mom called from the bar.

  “What do you think we’re having?” Luca asked.

  “Not sure, but I’m guessing something from a can.” Paola gave Luca a weak smile, then said, “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Luca slid from the chair and started walking toward the bar beside Paola, when John and Jimmy entered the lobby from the hallway.

  Dog Vader started barking again.

  BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF

  Luca pet Dog Vader. “It’s okay, boy” he said. “Everything’s okay.”

  “Maybe we should put the dog in one of the rooms,” John said.

  “No, he’s okay, right, boy?”

  BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF

  Desmond said, “Maybe John’s right. Just for lunch. Okay, buddy?”

  “Okay,” Luca looked down, then over at Dog Vader. “Come on,” he said, leading him away by the scruff of his neck.

  John said, “I’m going to keep watch on the second floor if you don’t mind. I’m a bit worried about what’s happening outside, and not too hungry.”

  “Sure thing, John,” Desmond nodded.

  Luca led Vader to the kitchen, opened the door, gave him a final pat on the head, then said, “See you soon!” and closed the door behind him.

  Luca returned to the bar and picked at his food. It would have been good if he was hungry, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Dog Vader, or tease his appetite long enough to swallow.

  “Food’s probably going to be a problem, isn’t it Mom?” Paola said.

  Mary said, “Maybe, but I think we’ll be able to manage. We have a ton of stuff in cans, and as long as the population is as small as we think it might be, grocery stores will have plenty. We’ll just need to stock up when we can.”

  “Are you worried?”

  Mary smiled at Paola. “Yes, of course, but I also think were going to get through this.” She shook her head. “No, I know we’re going to get through this.” She stopped spreading peanut butter and set the knife on the bar, then reached across the counter top and kissed Paola on her forehead. “I promise, everything will be fine and I’ll always make everything taste as yummy as I can.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about, Mom! You could make anything taste good, even if we have to start eating squirrel!”

  “I don’t think we’ll be eating squirrel any time soon, at least I hope not!” Mary looked at Luca’s plate. “You’re not eating anything, sweetheart,” she said. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll make you anything I can.”

  She leaned across the bar but Luca only shook his head and said nothing.

  Mary’s voice dropped to a whisper and she put her hands over Luca’s. “It’s okay,” she said in a nice mom voice. “Everything will be fine. Are you worried about your dog?”

  Luca nodded.

  Mary smiled. “How about I make a delicious meal for Dog Vader and something else for you? I’ll put his food in a doggie bag and yours on a tray, then you all can eat in the kitchen with him. Or,” her voice dropped even lower, “if he’s stopped barking, you can bring him out here and he can eat next to you on the bar. Sound good?”

  Luca smiled and said okay, then made small talk with Paola while Mary gathered food for the boy and his dog. Cocktail wieners and canned ham for Dog Vader, Mac N Cheese and chips for Luca.

  “Thanks, Mom. That was really cool of you,” Paola said.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Mary.” Luca said.

  “Just Mary,” she said, pushing the lunches across the counter.

  “Do you want to come with me to get Dog Vader?”

  “Of course!” Paola said.

  They crossed the lobby and entered the kitchen, but Dog Vader wasn’t inside.

  “Lord Vader!” Luca called.

  Nothing.

  “Where do you think he went?” Paola asked.

  Luca looked around the room. Dog Vader wasn’t sleeping, and he wasn’t hiding. The freezer door was sealed, but the door leading outside looked like it was open a crack.

  “Look!” Luca pointed at the door.

  “I see it,” Paola said, her tone making his sad spiders start to crawl.

  They heard noises from the other side of the door.

  No barking, no growling and no whines. Only the sounds of tearing, like reams of paper being pulled apart, punctuated by splashes from something thick and wet, and... chewing.

  “Do you want me to go get Desmond?”

  Luca shook his head and started walking toward the door.

  “Are you sure?” Paola repeated.

  Luca didn’t answer, just kept inching toward the door a half-step at a time until he stepped outside to find his dog.

  Outside, Luca didn’t cry. He couldn't; the horror was too much to react in any way other than stare.

  Dog Vader was in a dozen pieces, with everything from his head to paws getting torn, chewed and mangled, before being cast to the concrete in bits of meat and bloody fur. Two of the monsters were fighting over what looked like Lord Vader’s front leg, while another was crouched on its knees, dipping its face into the dog’s guts.

  Pools of blood ran from Vader to Luca’s feet.

  The monster who was eating Dog Vader’s stomach, stopped, then looked at Luca and smiled, revealing dozens of sharp, blackened, blood stained teeth. It suddenly shot up to a standing position. It was at least seven feet tall.

  Paola screamed. “Come on, Luca, we have to go now!”

  Luca stood frozen.

  Paola wrapped both arms around him, pulled him into the kitchen, then slammed the door behind them and slid the lock closed.

  “Mommy!” she screamed.

  Luca sank to the floor and cried.

  * * * *

  EDWARD KEENAN

  Ed opened his eyes to a new visitor.

  Two people were in his room, Sullivan and someone new. The new man was short, older, with graying curly hair and dark, brooding eyes beneath thick dark glasses. He wore a long-sleeved light blue shirt with gray slacks.

  Scientist. Name is Williams.

  Wait, how the fuck do I know that?

  “Hello Mr. Keenan,” said Sullivan. “How are you feeling today?”

  Today? A day has passed?

  “This is Mr. Williams. He’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “Great, my favorite game,” Ed said, as he pondered how he knew the man’s name. “And I’m still waiting for answers. Where is my daughter? Where is...”

  Shit, what is her name?

  Ed’s head was fuzzy. The pregnant girl’s name was on the tip of his tongue.

  Tongue... Tuh... Teagan!

  “Where’s Teagan?”

  “I’m afraid we had to move her somewhere ... safer.” Williams said in a slight British accent. “As for your daughter, she’s nearby. Don’t worry; we’re taking great care of her. We told her you were receiving a few medical tests and some treatment, so she isn’t too worried.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Ed said. “Where are we? Where’s Teagan? What’s the danger here?”

  “In due time, Mr. Keenan. It is Mr. Keenan, correct?” Williams said, peering down at his clipboard and flipping to the next page.

  “Yes, Edward Keenan.”

  “And you’re certain of that?”

  “Of course,” Ed said, annoyed, rubbing his temples raw.

  “Are you okay?” Williams asked.

  “Just a headache, it’ll pass.”

  “Do you get headaches a lot,” Williams asked.

  “What are you, some kind of doctor?”

  “Actually, yes,” Williams said, “you can say that. Now, about those headaches. Do you get them a lot? How long have you been getting them?”

  “I dunno, on and off most of my life. Migraines, a doc told me. Used to be worse when I was younger.”

  “Do you have any other symptoms?”

  “Is this a fucking physical?” Ed asked, agitation growing. “I told you my name. Said I
’ll cop to whatever you want. Toss me in lockup; throw away the key. I don’t give a shit anymore. Let’s get on with it already.”

  “Why would we want to lock you up?” Williams asked.

  Ed stared, confused. His head felt like it was going to crack from the growing pressure. His vision blurred and for a moment, Williams had become two rather than one. Ed squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, then opened them back to minor blurring.

  “Are you serious?” Ed said. “You don’t have any idea who I am or what I’ve done?”

  “No. Why don’t you tell us.”

  “Everything, from the beginning,” Sullivan added.

  “My name is Edward Keenan, I work for The Agency. Well, I did, until something happened.”

  “The Agency?” Sullivan asked, “You mean the C.I.A.?”

  “Yes. Well, a division within it, which you probably never heard of. If you want to know more than that, you’ll need to speak to my superiors. Assuming any are left out there. By the way, while we’re in the Q & A section of this game, mind telling me what the hell happened out there to everyone?”

  The two men stared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.

  “What do you think happened?” Williams asked.

  “Jesus Christ, can’t you people answer anything?” Ed sighed, rolling his head back.

  “I was on a plane,” he said, trying to remember exact details, but his thoughts grew fuzzier as the pain in his head intensified. It sounded like bees were buzzing behind his ears.

  “When?” asked Williams.

  “When what?” Ed asked, confused.

  “When were you on the plane?”

  “I don’t know, a few nights ago. Late Friday, early Saturday morning.”

  Williams flipped some papers on his clipboard, then said, “On the 15th?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Ed said, thoughts slurred like he was drunk or something.

  The two men exchanged another glance. Though his head was pounding and the men who grabbed him were with the government in some capacity, Ed no longer thought they were Agency. At least not his division. Their confusion seemed suddenly sincere. Knowing that made it easier to comply and answer their annoying questions.

  “I fell asleep. When I woke, the plane had crashed and I somehow survived. When I went to see if anyone else had made it, there was no one. No bodies, no survivors. It was like I was the only one on the plane when it crashed.”

  “Then what?” Sullivan said.

  “The world was a ghost town, no matter where I went. I grabbed a truck and started to drive. That’s when I ran into the girl, Teagan. She said she was in the back seat while her parents were driving home from vacation. Something happened, she said, this black cloud or something in the car, and the next thing she knew, her mom and dad vanished.”

  “Vanished? Can you elaborate?” Williams asked.

  For a moment, Ed was drawing a blank, as if someone had deleted the memory from his head. And then, the next moment, it was back, in full clarity.

  Ed continued, “One second there, and when the cloud disappeared, so did they. Anything more, you’ve got to ask her. Like I said, I wasn’t there. And I didn’t see anyone on the plane vanish, though I assume they did, because I was sleeping.”

  “What else can you tell us about yourself, Mr. Keenan? Are you married?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your wife’s name?”

  Ed paused for a moment, not sure why it was important. But the intel wasn’t classified, and their split was public record in the Agency. “Julie. We split a few years ago.”

  “And Jade is your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  The two men looked at each other again, and finally Ed ran out of patience.

  “Okay, I told you everything you’ve asked me. Now, it’s your turn to answer some questions.”

  “Fair enough, Mr. Keenan,” Williams said, “But we’re not at liberty to say much more than we have.”

  “Fuck that,” Ed said, “Then find me someone who can answer questions.”

  “We’ve arranged that,” Williams said, “Someone will be in to speak with you shortly, and they’ll answer all your questions. In the meantime, I’d like to thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Can you at least tell me where the hell we are?” Ed asked.

  Williams looked at Sullivan, who nodded.

  Williams said, “You’re at Black Island Research Facility.”

  * * * *

  BRENT FOSTER

  Brent had never been happier to see a ferry.

  They raced to the docks, duffels in hand, loaded with supplies and the smaller weapons Luis had on hand. They weren’t carrying weapons on their person for fear of being mistaken for threats in what would likely be a clamped-down ferry ride to Black Island.

  They were met by four armed men in black uniforms with unfamiliar emblems on their shoulders, standing guard at the end of the dock where the ferry was tied. The men were wearing some sort of masks. They seemed like military to Brent, which was a good sign because they could likely handle the aliens, if any more showed up.

  But something about the soldiers caused an uneasy feeling to creep through Brent’s insides.

  “Please put your bags down and stand with your arms in the air,” one of the men said through his mask.

  All four rifles were on them.

  “We’re just here for the ride to Black Island. We heard the radio broadcast,” Brent explained.

  As they set their bags down, one of the soldiers stepped forward, rifle no longer aimed at them, but at the ready.

  “Have any of you been bitten?” the soldier asked.

  Jane and Emily shook their heads and said “No.” Brent did the same. Luis had no response.

  What? Why is he saying no?

  “Sir, please respond; were any of you bitten?”

  Luis glanced at Brent, then shook his head no.

  Why are you lying?

  Brent’s uneasiness escalated.

  “I need you all to remove your clothing, all of it, and step forward, to this man right here,” the soldier said, pointing to a fifth man in black, who was standing at the dock entrance. The man had no gun, but instead, some sort of high-tech looking flashlight. “Step forward one at a time, as I call you,” the man said.

  “Our clothing?” Jane asked, “Why?”

  “Just do it,” one of the men snapped, in a voice unwilling to compromise or coddle.

  Jane undressed Emily, who asked, “Why are we getting naked?”

  “It’s okay,” Jane said. “It’s okay, baby.”

  Luis glanced at Brent, shaking his head, almost in accusation that Brent should have let him leave.

  They undressed, each of them stripped not only of their clothing, but their dignity at the hands of the soldiers. Brent’s guts were turning as he exchanged another glance with Luis, trying to apologize with mere expression.

  A soldier came and collected their clothing, throwing it into a large thick black plastic bag. “You’ll get assigned new clothing on the ferry,” a soldier said.

  Assigned? Like prisoners?

  “The kid.” A soldier barked. “Send her forward.”

  Emily took a hesitant step forward and Jane attempted to follow.

  “Just the girl,” the main guy snapped, aiming his rifle at Jane.

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” Emily called out, not wanting to move.

  “Go!” the soldier snapped, pointing for Emily to step forward.

  “It’s okay,” Jane said, clutching her arms across her chest. “Mommy’s right here.”

  Emily approached the man with the weird light device. He turned it on. It seemed like a black light, except the light was a deeper, truer, brighter blue. He waved the wand over Emily’s entire body, head to toe.

  “She’s clear,” the light-wand guy said. One of the armed soldiers put a black gloved hand on Emily’s shoulder and led her to a spot right at the steps. The man handed the girl a bla
ck blanket to wrap around herself.

  “You,” the guy in charge said, pointing at Jane.

  She stepped up, then closed her eyes. As the wand went over her chest, something buzzed and a light on the device went red.

  The gunmen immediately turned to Jane, rifles aimed at her.

  Emily cried out, sensing the danger, and tried to run toward her mom. The soldier next to her grabbed her, dropped to a knee to lower himself, and held back the child.

  “What’s wrong?” Jane cried.

  That’s when Brent noticed the scar running down the center of her chest; Brent figured from heart surgery.

  The soldier with the light turned some dials on the device, then ran the light over her again, slowing when he reached her chest. The red lights didn’t go off this time.

  “Okay,” he said, “clear. Please move forward.”

  Jane joined her daughter, face red with either anger or embarrassment. Jane took Emily from the soldier’s arms and picked her up, holding her tight. She was also given a blanket to wrap herself in.

  Luis stood in front of Brent, next in line. Brent looked over Luis, trying to see any signs of the things Luis had seen under his skin. Luis’s left arm spasmed, twice. Luis stared straight ahead, either not noticing or trying to hide the spasms.

  Brent’s heart pounded hard as he glanced around at the gunmen, each of their rifles aimed at him and Luis. If something went down, they couldn’t do a thing. No Rambo-like theatrics or last stands in Times Square. They’d be shot down like prisoners in old war footage Brent had seen years ago.

  “Okay, you’re next,” the man in charge said, using his rifle to point at Luis, and then to the man with the light.

  Brent swallowed.

  Luis glanced back at Brent. “Keep believing,” he said to Brent.

  “Sir, please step forward.”

  Keep believing? That he’ll be okay? Or is that a goodbye message, to keep believing I’ll find my family?

  This was all happening too fast. Brent glanced at Jane and Emily, standing helpless, rifles aimed at them, the girl crying and clutching her mother, who could do nothing to truly protect her against men with guns.