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

  Desmond waved a hand to the new people to indicate that everything was fine. The morning light poured through the window as if Luca were drawing it in and turning up its volume until it obscured him, and Scott, in its brightness. The air crackled with electricity, making the slightest of hums. This was the second time Mary had seen Luca work his magic, yet it seemed no less amazing than when he’d saved her daughter.

  When he finally stood, Luca was a full foot closer to the ceiling.

  Luca’s hair, cut by Mary just three days before, fell in wild tufts to the base of his neck. A thin line of stubble lined his upper lip and the base of his chin. His baggy pajamas were now long shorts, straining their seams. No one could say when his shirt had fallen to the floor, but Luca was bare chested. Strong, tight muscles replaced the soft flesh of moments ago. Luca faced the onlookers, embarrassed, then walked slowly to Desmond, slipping his arm awkwardly around his waist.

  Scott stood, still bloody, but only on the outside. “Wow,” was all he managed to say.

  The front door slammed downstairs, sending a roll of thunder through the awkward silence. There was no pause, just a single set of footsteps from the front door to the stairs, ending with a face in the hallway that made Desmond and Mary gasp in unison.

  “Hello,” John said, “It’s been much, much too long.”

  * * * *

  2 - BRENT FOSTER

  Manhattan, New York

  March 20

  Manhattan was surreal from the interior of a chopper.

  All the intricate plumbing systems man had set into place to keep the island dry had surrendered within days. With nobody left to keep nature at bay, much of the city looked as if it were a Venetian waterway. Except Venice had boats. Manhattan was riddled with floating bodies and the rotting remains of humans and animals. The only living things were the aliens, which was the unofficial label that Black Island Research Facility had given the creatures.

  Some of the carnage came from whatever happened on October 15; some of it was from the nuclear fallout that happened after the nuclear power plant meltdowns that began shortly after Brent arrived at Black Island. The fallout and acid rain dangers had subsided considerably, but there were pockets of the world that would be uninhabitable for centuries due to radiation leaks, which poisoned land and water for miles.

  They hadn’t found a single soul for months, yet the Black Island Guard continued to send teams into the city once a week in hopes of finding survivors, a hope that dulled by the day.

  The strange fog which had hovered above the city for several weeks after The Incident had cleared, but the city still seemed off, as if something had permanently shifted the New York he once knew into an alien landscape he could barely fathom. It would be easy to blame it on the city being underwater, submerged up to the second floors of most of the downtown buildings, but that wasn’t it and Brent knew it. There was something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Something else crawling beneath the city’s landscape, like spiders under a rock, which made it far more sinister.

  “You regret coming?” Michael asked from the seat across from Brent. Michael was one of the first Guardsmen to befriend Brent when he first arrived at the island. Michael was in his mid-40’s, a pudgy police officer from Brooklyn before October 15 and one of the first to get drafted into the Black Island Guard, which now stood 30 strong, including Brent, the latest recruit.

  “No, I had to see for myself,” Brent said through a lie. He did regret it. Whatever hopes he had that they might find Gina and Ben standing on top of a building, waving for help, were murdered the second he saw the vacuum of life.

  No people, and no red on the chopper’s infrared screens. At least nothing human.

  This is what was left. Nothing.

  Brent had become almost numb to this new reality without his family, but it didn’t make the realization easier to swallow. It was another nail in two coffins he had tried to bury months earlier.

  “I’m sorry, Brent,” Michael said. “I know how hard it is.”

  “It is what it is,” Brent said, staring out the window. He caught movement out of the corner of his eyes, a pack of aliens scrambling across the rooftops, fleeing the chopper. They moved fast, leaping with almost graceful execution like a herd of gazelle.

  “You hear that the alien they had in Level Seven is dead?” Michael asked.

  “No. What happened?”

  “Just died. Nobody’s sure why. Pembrook said the scientists want two more caught and brought back. They’re gonna send a unit out tomorrow. Probably gonna send half the squad to make sure there’s not a repeat of last time.”

  “Last time?”

  “Two months ago. We lost four guys on that mission.”

  “I had a friend, Luis, who took down a pack of them in Times Square all by himself,” Brent said with a slight smile. It was the first time he’d spoken of Luis since arriving on the island, but probably the hundredth time he thought of the man who’d saved him more than once, and in more than one way.“He would’ve been one helluva Guardsman.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He got bit and the Guardsmen killed him on sight.”

  “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “Like I said, it is what it is.”

  **

  He was an hour late, and the moon was already peeking over the horizon when Brent arrived at Jane’s house for dinner. The house, one of 50 on the island officially known as Black Island and unofficially called New Eden by some, was where the civilians lived. He, however, stayed inside the underground base - a sprawling bunker and laboratory, most of which extended several levels beneath the sea floor - along with the other Guardsmen, scientists, technicians, and the defacto President, Andre Pembrook..

  New Eden was, at least as far as Pembroke said, the last place on Earth to have power, water, and enough supplies to last at least a hundred years. Brent wasn’t sure what supplied the power. There were solar panels on the homes and atop the research facility’s ground levels, and rows of them on the East end of the island, but he couldn’t imagine that these alone could supply such an immense operation.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he said as Jane answered the door in a floral print dress.

  “Brent!” Emily cried out, running toward him, pigtails bouncing.

  He swept the girl in his arms, pulling her into a hug as she plastered his face with kisses.

  “How was your day?” Jane said, as he made his way to the dining room, the table set and ready for dinner. The house smelled delicious, like lasagna, which sat in a casserole dish on the table. Jane was incredibly resourceful, and it was amazing what she could do with the food rations and canned food allotted each island home.

  “Good. Dinner looks great!” he said, taking a seat at the end of the table across from Jane. Emily, her daughter, sat in a chair between them. Though the house was in great condition, especially compared to the city, it reminded him of a home straight out of his childhood in its out of style furnishings. It was as if all the homes on the island were decorated in the 80s and never upgraded.

  “Are you ready to say Grace?” Jane asked, and Emily began reciting a prayer.

  Brent clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, going through the motions. He might not believe in prayer, but he didn’t want to offend his hosts or interfere with how Jane was raising Emily.

  “How was your day?” he asked as Jane scooped pasta onto Emily’s plate.

  “OK. The kids were good.”

  Jane, who was a teacher in her former life before she quit two years ago after her heart attack, taught the kids at the island’s daycare/school. There were six children on the island other than Emily, and Jane taught and looked after them until everyone else returned from work. Everyone on the island was assigned a job based on their skills. There were cooks, maintenance people, farmers, a medic, a seamstress, mechanics, welders, custodial and laundry workers, an electrician, tech people, and others whose jobs helped keep the island running.
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  There were also a group of scientists Brent had heard of but never met. They never surfaced from Level Seven. Their work, and existence, were shrouded in mystery.

  Not everyone was suited for their jobs, but the island was stocked with training materials for nearly everything you needed to know about anything. There was little, if any, need for a journalist in the post-apocalypse, so Brent wound up working with the island’s Guardsmen, thanks to Michael, who helped ensure he was up to speed on gun training. Michael was no Luis, and given his laid back personality, Brent didn’t think he’d fired too many rounds in the line of duty, but he was a decent shot in practice.

  “We painted pictures,” Emily said, with a big smile. “I made something for you. May I get it, Mommy?”

  “Yes,” Jane said, handing Brent a plate of lasagna. “It’s still warm; I got a late start.”

  Brent scooped a forkful of lasagna into his mouth as Emily ran to her bedroom. “This is delicious,” he said.

  “Thanks, though I would kill for some fresh mozzarella.”

  “No, it’s perfect as is.”

  “Here you go!” Emily said, running to the table with a huge smile and a painted picture in her hands.

  The painting was of a man and woman on a playground with a little girl in a swing. He recognized the blue swing as the playground on the island they’d gone to every weekend since their arrival. “It’s Mommy, me, and you!”

  Emily stared at him, eyes glimmering with joy, waiting for his response.

  “Thank you,” he said. “This is great work. I’m going to hang it in my room.” He gave Emily another big hug, and caught Jane giving him a weird look, as if to apologize for Emily’s exuberance.

  “OK, eat your dinner before it gets cold,” Jane said.

  “I like it cold,” Emily said, smiling.

  “Should we get some ice cubes for your lasagna, then?” Brent joked.

  “Yeah! That would be yummy.”

  Brent shook his head, laughing, then took a sip of wine. Despite all that had happened in the world during the last five months, Emily was resilient, often silly, hyper, and at times, pouty like any normal little girl. While Jane put on a good show, he could tell that she was having a tougher time. But she was practical, and appeared upbeat most nights when he came over for dinner.

  Brent enjoyed being with them, though at times like this, he worried that Emily was looking to him as a father figure. They’d grown close over the past few months, bonded by shared tragedy and the human need for companionship in a world circling Hell’s drain. But there was no romance between Brent and Jane. They were good friends, with similar interests in books and movies. That was it. But Brent wasn’t certain Emily understood the distinction. And he wasn’t about to say anything to either the girl or her mother for fear of alienating Jane or crushing Emily. So, he simply enjoyed the relationship for what it was, a quasi-family unit that they’d successfully avoided discussing or delving into with any depth at all.

  “What did you do today?” Emily asked from behind a mouthful of lasagna.

  “Michael and I flew over the city looking to see if we could find any other people.”

  “Did you?” Emily asked, half-chewed lasagna rendering her question barely intelligible.

  “No,” Brent said, “Not this time.”

  “Do you think your family is still alive?” Emily asked.

  Jane’s face went red, “Emily Rose!”

  “What? I was just asking . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Brent said, “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anyone else out there; at least not in the city.”

  Emily’s eyes were big and sad, “Are you going to keep looking?”

  Jane’s face grew redder, but it was too late to say anything, so she said, “I’m sorry, Brent. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “She’s curious,” Brent said in the child’s defense. “It’s okay. I don’t think the helicopters are going to go out too many more times. And it’s too dangerous to go by myself. From what Michael says, they’ve pretty much scoured the city and gotten everyone they could.”

  “I don’t want you to go back there,” Emily said. “They’re probably in Heaven, anyway.”

  “Emily!” Jane said, “I want you to apologize to Mr. Foster right now.”

  Emily looked at him, confused at what she’d said wrong, doe-eyed and adorable. It was impossible to get mad at a face like that – for him, anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  Brent leaned over and hugged Emily, his eyes welling up. Jane’s eyes were red, too, as she excused herself and went into the kitchen, out of sight.

  “It’s okay, Emily,” Brent said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Wait here, I’m gonna get some more to drink, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, pushing the food around on her plate with the fork.

  Brent went into the kitchen and found Jane leaning against the fridge with her face in her hands, shuddering. She hadn’t noticed Brent in the room yet, and he worried that maybe he should go back into the living room so he wouldn’t embarrass her. She obviously wanted privacy. Before he could leave, she turned, looked at him, eyes red, cheeks wet, and blew her nose into a napkin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  The awkwardness of the moment deepened. He had no problems showing affection to Emily, but he and Jane were more like two male friends, avoiding anything close to intimacy. As she stood there, vulnerable and crying, he felt stupid not embracing her. He surrendered to his instinct, walked to Jane, and put both arms around her.

  She fell into his chest, crying and sniffing louder. Her warmth and lightly perfumed scent reminded him how long it had been since he’d touched another woman. He thought of Gina and how much he missed her, then found himself inappropriately aroused. A flush of guilt flooded his body.

  Jesus, Brent, what the hell?

  “Are you okay, Mommy?” Emily asked, standing at the kitchen’s entrance.

  Jane pulled away, leaned down, then hugged her daughter, “Mommy just got sad. I’ll be okay.”

  Brent stared at his “family” as they held their embrace and felt even more like an outsider.

  **

  After Emily went to bed, Brent and Jane sat on her couch together watching a DVD of some comedy show neither of them had ever seen, nor remembered being on the air. He had no idea whether the show was funny or not because all he could think about was the fact that Jane was just inches away. He grabbed a few looks at her whenever he could, trying not to be too obvious, something Gina said he was horrible at hiding whenever he’d look at another woman on the streets.

  Brent was surprised that he’d not really noticed Jane’s beauty before now. He’d recognized that she was pretty, of course, but dismissed it as one might recognize their sister as pretty, yet not be attracted to them. But he hadn’t really thought of her sexually until their embrace in the kitchen. He hadn’t thought of any woman other than Gina, in fact. But now, he found himself intoxicated by the woman’s beauty as if she’d just removed a mask and was revealing her true self for the first time. Jane’s father was Irish and mother Japanese, leaving her with beautiful fair skin, long dark hair, and oversized, but gorgeous brown eyes.

  As he was looking at her eyes and trying to figure out if it was merely his imagination that had filled them with flecks of gold, she turned and caught his gaze. He meant to turn away, flushed with embarrassment, but instead leaned over, cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her. Softly at first, then passionately, as she fell back and he, on top of her, hands running down over her breasts, down her sides and back up again, kissing her the entire time.

  Neither said a word. She let out a sigh as his mouth found her neck. He licked, sucked, and nibbled as his hands moved down, hiking up her dress, then unbuttoning his pants. He was about to slide her underwear aside when Emily screamed.

 
Jane bolted upright, eyes wide and darting back and forth, avoiding eye contact with Brent. “She gets real bad dreams, sometimes,” Jane said, even though Brent knew it, and raced into Emily’s bedroom.

  Brent buttoned his pants and sat up, uncomfortably, on the couch, wondering what the fuck he was doing.

  They’re still out there.

  He closed his eyes, trying to will the nagging thought into submission.

  No, they ARE gone.

  Stop it. Just . . . stop.

  Jane’s voice carried from her daughter’s room and cut through the inner battle in Brent’s head, “It’s okay, baby,” she said, “Mommy’s here.”

  Brent stood, went to the doorway, and peeked into Emily’s room. A blue nightlight lit just enough of the room for him to see Jane sitting at the edge of Emily’s bed, stroking her daughter’s hair as the girl lay on her side, facing the wall. Jane looked up at him. Again, he felt like an outsider.

  He whispered that he needed to go.

  She nodded, then waved awkwardly.

  Once outside, Brent locked her door with his copy of her key, then headed toward headquarters, a quarter mile away. He wished he’d thought to bring an electric cart, but then again, Brent didn’t want to push his privileges too far as a recent recruit.

  The air was crisp, cool, and the wind tinged with salt from the ocean, reminding him of the few times he’d taken his family to the shore. And how much more often he wished he had.

  * * * *

  3- CHARLIE WILKENS

  Dunn, Georgia

  March 20

  8:40 p.m.

  Three flashes of light were followed by a second set before they went black.

  The signal outside the gate was Adam’s code to enter, but the vehicle wasn’t the truck he and Jeremy had left with. Charlie stood from his chair on the second floor balcony where he’d been waiting nearly two hours for the guys to return.