Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

by Platt, Sean;Wright, David

  Boricio opened the door to a thundering snore. Tanya was buried beneath the covers, rising and falling in time with her snoring. He closed the door then crossed the hall, passing the stairs on his way to Jenna’s room.

  There was a slight squeak as the door swung open, but it was dead silent inside. No snoring, no drawn breathing. Only the stillness of nothing. Boricio crept closer to the bed as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

  Just as Jenna’s shape started to form, she said, “I’ve been waiting for you. What took you so long?” Her voice was breathy and Boricio’s hairy hot dog was begging to get buried in a bun. He slipped into bed and shoved his mouth on hers.

  Jenna kissed Boricio hard and spun herself on top of his body. She was hot and wet, Boricio could feel it and smell it. He closed his eyes and waited. She could do whatever she wanted. Girls who had waited a long time were always extra juicy, and they knew exactly what they wanted to do.

  Boricio leaned back and closed his eyes, ready for Jenna’s opening act. That’s when he felt the blade at his throat.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Jenna said.

  Well, FUCK me.

  Boricio edged back against the headboard as Jenna nudged the knife deeper in his flesh. He felt a trickle of blood drizzle down to his collarbone, and registered a rare moment of fear.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she repeated.

  Boricio tried to speak but he had to swallow, which made his Adam’s Apple nick the knife. Jenna pulled it a centimeter back and said, “Last chance. Who. The fuck. Are you?”

  Boricio had no idea what Jenna had heard, and the throb in his cock was shooting through his body and making it impossible to think clear. He said, “Name’s Boricio.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing you don’t wanna give me, sweetie.” He smiled. Jenna made him pay with a gash across his neck. Boricio didn’t cry out, though he wanted to, figuring the cut wasn’t that deep since he wasn’t gushing from the new seam.

  “I know what happened,” Boricio said. “In October. I know why things went crazy. And I’ll tell you everything. But it’s hard to think with that shit at my throat. So do you mind?”

  Jenna moved the blade back an inch, keeping it trained on Boricio’s jugular. “Spill it,” she said.

  An inch was enough for Boricio. His hand flew to her throat. Jenna dropped the knife to grab for breath, fingers at her throat as Boricio’s brought the fallen blade to the side of her face.

  “Well, how about that,” he said mockingly.

  Jenna was dangerous, no doubt, so Boricio sank the knife into her belly while slapping his other hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. He watched her bleed, pissed that he’d barely enjoyed the kill, and still had a rager to satisfy.

  He’d take care of that in a minute, hopefully in between Tanya’s titties. Soon as Jenna’s heart stopped, Boricio went down the hallway to Tanya’s room, cock throbbing with every step. He opened the door to an empty room, no snores coming from the vacant bed.

  Fuck!Are these bitches psychic or something?

  Boricio stormed from the room and searched the house in a hard-on rage, but didn’t find dick.

  Where the FUCK did she go?

  His cock couldn’t wait.

  He went back into Jenna’s room, spread her legs, and slipped his cock inside her. She was still warm, and wet. He pumped, staring into her dead eyes, still filled with her final gaze of fear.

  Seconds later, he exploded inside her, spilling every ounce of his seed.

  “Oh fuck, yeah,” he sighed, collapsing on top of Jenna’s body, embracing her, not at all caring about the blood. He’d wash that off later.

  “Why’d you have to go and do that, baby?” he whispered to her in the dark, caressing her face. “Hot as hell and deadly, what a combination. We coulda’ been something. We coulda been unstoppable.”

  He decided to sleep with his arm around Jenna’s corpse, hoping that Tanya would be crazy enough to come back and try to fuck with him. Just thinking about it made him hard again. He fell asleep happy, a thick on his dick and a smile on his face.

  * * * *

  CHARLIE WILKENS: PART 2

  Charlie woke to the sound of fire crackling, warmth bleeding across his blanketed body. He was wearing sweats and a shirt which he didn’t recognize. The scratches on his arms had been cleaned, and scarred over. A roaring fireplace greeted his eyes as he rubbed the sleep from them. He was in a dark living room, in what appeared to be a cabin. Across from him lay Adam, his eyes barely open, until he noticed that Charlie was awake.

  Adam sat up, a huge smile on his face, like a kid waking up to Christmas presents, “You’re awake!”

  Charlie eased himself up, his head pounding, and muscles achey, but otherwise feeling okay. “Yeah . . . Where are we? What happened?”

  “A cabin I found.”

  “How did we get here?”

  “I found you in a car, asleep. Your skin was blue and you wouldn’t wake up. I figured you for dead at first. But I a weak pulse. So I carried you until I found a car with some life still in it, then drove until I found this place.”

  “You carried me?” Charlie said, stunned, but also feeling guilty for practically wishing Adam dead.

  “Yeah. Not far though. There was another car close from where you were. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay,” Charlie said, “A bit out of it, but alive.”

  “I got this, too,” Adam said, holding up a shotgun. “And a whole bag of ‘em, in case anyone shows up.”

  “Did ya’ get ammo, too?”

  “Of course, duh,” Adam said with a grin. Then, just like that, the glow in his face was gone. “I’m...I’m sorry about Callie.”

  Adam’s eyes were sad and mopey, all apologies.

  “Don’t worry,” Charlie said, calling on his best reassuring voice. “We’ll find her. And it wasn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done without a gun, except maybe get taken, too. Or killed.”

  “I wish it were me instead of her,” Adam said. “I mean, she’s a girl. God only knows what they’ll do to her.”

  “She’s a tough girl,” Charlie said. “And if they were government people like you said, then they’re probably not gonna kill or rape her or anything.”

  “So, why do you think they took her?” Adam asked.

  “I have no idea,” Charlie said. “But when Boricio finds out, he’s gonna wage a goddamned holy war against them, don’t ya’ think?”

  “Oh yeah,” Adam said. And then after a long pause, he asked, “Do you think Vic made it out of the storm?”

  Charlie flashed back to the asshole’s shocked face, eyes the size of softballs, the instant before he slit his throat.

  Could Adam have seen me do it? Is he testing me, checking to see if I’ll tell the truth?

  Adam was likely too far away to have seen him do it, but maybe he had. The thought invited a chill back into his body despite the roaring fire. That left him with only one possible reply...

  “I killed him,” Charlie said, flatly, watching Adam’s face to gauge his reaction.

  Adam’s eyes expanded like a balloon for a moment. “Good. He was a dick.”

  Charlie laughed, laughed so hard it hurt his ribs, more relieved than amused.

  Adam caught the laughter bug and started howling too.

  When the embers of laughter died, Adam said, “Though, it would’ve been good to have his help getting Callie back.”

  “Yeah, probably, but I think Boricio is an army all his own, right? We don’t need Vic. The guy was a ticking time-bomb. If he didn’t make a move on us, he might have made one on Boricio. Guys like him aren’t loyal, not like you and me.”

  “Thanks,” Adam said, smiling sheepishly.

  “How long was I out?” Charlie asked.

  “More than a day. I was worried you weren’t going to wake up. I got you some clothes from another house. I hope they’ll work.”

  “A Day? Shit! We need to get going. How
far are we from the compound?”

  “About a half hour by car, I think,” Adam said.

  “OK, let’s go.”

  **

  They arrived at the compound just before dawn. The house was dark. Charlie flicked the lights to signal whoever was on watch, if anyone was. There were only two others left in their group, Boricio and Harry, the stoner mechanic who rarely did guard duty at night because he couldn’t be trusted not to get wasted or doze off.

  Charlie honked the horn and flashed the signal again.

  Moments later, the front door opened and Harry came running to the gate, flashlight bobbing up and down as he ran. Charlie noticed with displeasure that Harry wasn’t even armed.

  “Charlie, is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?” Charlie said, annoyed as he stuck his head from the Honda so Harry could see.

  “Shit, man, Boricio was wondering where you all were! He took off a while ago looking for you.”

  “Fuuuuck!” Charlie said as he pulled the car inside the gate.

  “Don’t lock it,” Charlie said to Harry, “We’re gonna head back out. We need to get supplies, then find Boricio. Do you have something gassed and ready?”

  “Yeah,” Harry said in his drawl, “Got the F-150 gassed and ready to go if you want it. Where’s Vic?”

  “Vic was held up,” Charlie said. “We’re gonna get some shit from inside. We’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes, okay?”

  “Alright,” Harry said with a smile. He took the Honda as Charlie and Adam darted to the house.

  “What are we getting?” Adam asked. “I got a whole bag of guns in the car.”

  Charlie grabbed a flashlight from just inside the front door, clicked it on and headed upstairs to his room, Adam on his heels.

  Charlie pulled out the bottom drawer of his dresser, reached his hand into the back, found what he was looking for, then pulled it out.

  “What is it?” Adam said, stepping closer.

  Charlie pulled out a small wooden cross that Callie had carved for him two months ago. He’d hidden it not out of shame, but because it was his most valued possession — the first gift anyone had made for him since he was a child.

  “A cross,” Charlie said as he slipped out of his borrowed clothes.

  “I didn’t know you were Christian,” Adam said.

  “I’m not, well, not much, anyway,” Charlie said, as he slipped into his jeans, tee shirt, black jacket, and sneakers, then slipped the cross into his jacket pocket. “Callie made it for me. For luck.”

  Adam went to his room and changed into some fresh clothes, then they dashed downstairs and headed out the door. Charlie froze in his tracks, heart flatlining, at the sight of a red Mustang just inside the gate, parked with its lights off. The F-150 was running idle in front of the garage, lights illuminating the inside of the empty Mustang. Shadows came from within the garage. Someone was with Harry.“Who’s that in garage?” Adam asked. “Is Boricio back?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said, a nervous chill slithering through his gut, as they moved toward the garage

  The bag of weapons in the car punctuated Charlie’s thoughts; he wished he’d thought to bring a gun with him into the house. And he never thought to ask Adam where his knife went after Adam saved him. He looked at Adam, who was also unarmed.

  Shit.

  They approached the garage with practiced caution.

  His ever sense in alert-mode, Charlie nearly jumped out his skin when Harry came bolting into view. “Hey guys, guess who’s back!” the mechanic said with a smile.

  Charlie felt a swell of hope rise in his heart.

  Boricio’s back. Time to go get Callie, right now!

  Except, it wasn’t Boricio.

  Seconds after Harry spoke, something black pierced him from behind, ripping through his back and out his stomach, followed by a river of gore.

  Harry’s eyes widened, his smile a memory, as he looked down and saw the dark, glistening alien hand which was twisted into a large blade jutting from his stomach as his guts spilled onto the ground. The blade retracted and Harry fell to the ground as the owner of the dark alien blade stepped out of the shadows, a smile on his face and a scar across his neck.

  “Hello, boys! Miss me?” said Vic.

  * * * *

  EDWARD KEENAN: PART 2

  When Ed awoke, the morning sun was bleeding through a sliver of the slightly parted curtains, and Brent was gone.

  He grabbed his Remington 870, and was on his feet in seconds. He was already dressed; all he needed was his tactical vest, which he quickly slipped on and fastened. Fully armed, he approached the hotel room door like a ghost, silently opening it and slipping into the hallway. Brent was at the end of the corridor staring out the window.

  “What you looking at?” Ed asked, surprising Brent, who looked pale.

  “Come look,” Brent said, keeping his voice low, and waving his hand in a “come here” motion.

  Ed jogged to the end of the hall and joined Ed at the window. Someone was in the parking lot. Not just one someone, but several someones — three men and one woman, walking between the cars, searching for something. They were identically dressed — camouflage pants, shirts, jackets, hunting gear. Each carried a hunting rifle and had a backpack strapped to their back. They were a serious bunch, but not military.

  “Are they Black Mountain?” Brent asked.

  “No, just civilians, probably looking for supplies or a place to stay.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We wait. As long as they don’t touch our van, we let them pass.”

  “And if they don’t pass? If they come in here?”

  “Then they’ve got a problem,” Ed said.

  “I don’t think they’re looking for supplies,” Brent said. “I think they’re looking for someone.”

  Ed watched as one of the men squatted and peered beneath a truck, his rifle muzzle leading the way.

  “You know; I think you’re right. The question is who?”

  “They’re looking for me,” a scared voice said from behind, jolting both Ed and Brent.

  Ed spun, gun aimed, and saw a young boy, maybe 12, eyes wide and scared, teetering toward terrified. The boy was dressed in jeans, a red tee shirt, and dark blue jacket. No gun. With his big blue eyes, mop of brown hair, and dirty face, he didn’t seem much of a threat, but Ed kept his gun on the kid just the same.

  “Please, don’t let them find me,” the boy said, voice raspy.

  “Who are they?” Ed asked.

  “I don’t know. I woke up yesterday and they’d killed the man I was living with. I tried to hide, but they saw me, and now they’re after me.”

  “Why?” Brent asked.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know what they want.” The boy was on the verge of tears.

  Ed lowered his gun, then looked back down to the parking lot, but didn’t see them anymore. Where are they?

  Seconds later, breaking glass answered the question.

  “They’re inside,” Ed said to Brent, who already had his pistol ready.

  “Hide in here. Do not leave until we come get you, okay?” Ed said, ushering the boy into the room at the end of the hall, not the room they were in. He didn’t trust the boy enough to put him in a room with their supplies and weapons.

  Ed closed the door with the boy inside, then turned to Brent. “You ready?”

  “Ready for what? Are we gonna shoot them?”

  “You want to talk it out over canned spaghetti?” Ed asked.

  “I’d like to know what’s going on before we shoot them; maybe it’s a misunderstanding.”

  Ed stared at Brent hard, “We are not really having this conversation, are we? I don’t need to convince you of the threat these people pose, do I?”

  Brent looked chagrined, “No.”

  “Good. Follow my lead, and don’t shoot until I do.”

  Ed ducked into their room, grabbed a couple of grenades from his weapons bag and a
ttached them to his vest. Then they slowly approached the stairwell. He doubted he’d need explosives with these people, but you could never afford to underestimate an unknown enemy. He would have waited in the hall to ambush them, but the door leading into the stairwell had a window, stripping the element of surprise.

  Ed eased the door open and they stepped into the stairwell, which was lit by daylight from the skylight on the roof. The stairwell was empty, which meant the people were probably still circling the lower floors. Brent didn’t say a word, watching Ed and waiting for cues.

  A door opened in the stairwell, two floors down.

  “We know you’re in here, you little fucker!” a man shouted, voice fat with anger.

  Ed put a hand up, telling to Brent to stay put as a single set of footsteps echoed up the stairwell. They stopped one landing beneath, then opened the door and went through.

  “Let’s go,” Ed mouthed, and they descended the stairs quickly. When they reached the sixth floor, Ed peered through the door’s window and saw the man stepping into the first room across the hall.

  “Open the door, softly,” he told Brent.

  Brent did as instructed and stepped into the hall, his shotgun lowered at an angle. As Ed reached the door, the hinge behind him squeaked. The man spun around, but was too late. Ed fired, sending a round of buckshot into the man’s chest. He fell to the ground, killed in an instant.

  Ed slipped another shell into the gun and turned back to Brent, “Good chance the rest of them gonna be coming up those stairs. Stay behind me; watch my back.”

  “OK,” Brent said as Ed went down the stairs. One of the men came into the stairwell, looked up, and rushed a shot. A miss. Ed returned fired, a hit, shearing the man’s head off in one shot. Ed kept moving, not missing a step, flying down the remainder of the stairs, over the corpse, and into the hallway beyond, searching. Nobody. They were likely still downstairs. He ducked back into the stairwell, looked down, saw movement on the bottom floor, and took aim.