Yesterday's Gone: Season Six
Read Yesterday's Gone: Season Six Online
Authors: Sean Platt,David Wright
Tags: #post-apocalyptic serial
To YOU, the reader.
Thank you for taking a chance on us.
Thank you for your support.
Thank you for the emails.
Thank you for the reviews.
Thank you for reading and joining us on this road.
* * * *
YESTERDAY’S GONE: SEASON SIX
THE WAIT IS OVER.
The stunning series finale to the bestselling
Yesterday’s Gone
series is here.
On October 15, 2011 a handful of people wake in a post-apocalyptic landscape to find that most of the world’s population has vanished in a mysterious event.
NOW THEY ARE HOME
And they are not alone.
The Darkness has killed nearly everyone on our planet. But it is no longer the biggest threat to humanity.
THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE
Can the survivors of October 15 overcome the new threat before all is lost?
ONE LAST BATTLE
ONE LAST SHOT TO SAVE THE WORLD
ONE LAST WTF ENDING
Yesterday’s Gone: Season Six
YESTERDAY’S GONE: SEASON SIX
(Episodes 31-36)
Copyright © 2015 by Sean Platt & David Wright. All rights reserved
Edited by: Jason Whited
jason-whited.com
Email at:
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The authors have taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
The authors greatly appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about
Yesterday’s Gone
, to help us spread the word.
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Published by Collective Inkwell
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eBook Edition -
June 27, 2015
Layout and design by Collective Inkwell
* * * *
WARNING: This book is intended for mature audiences. It is a dark book with many disturbing scenes and mature language.
* * * *
YESTERDAY’S GONE
::EPISODE 31::
(FIRST EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)
“Wounds”
* * * *
PROLOGUE
PAUL ROBERTS
Three and a half years ago
Paul knew he wasn’t alone in the dark alley.
He could feel the presence of something lurking in the shadows. The only question was whether it was human or alien. He picked up his pace, stolen antibiotics tucked into the pockets of his jacket, pistol in his right hand. If he didn’t make it home, his daughter, Emily, was as good as dead.
The cold sweats, puking, and 104 fever weren’t a normal illness. No, it was
the plague
that had killed so many — including his wife — since the aliens landed six months ago. Paul had hoped they were immune, seeing as they’d survived the first outbreak. But maybe the illness had mutated. If they’d had a natural resistance, that no longer mattered. It was back to finish the job.
If Paul lost Emily, he’d have no reason to go on. No reason to hide from the roaming aliens, or worse, the savage humans left behind. A bullet in his head would be better than another day alone. He was only alive and fighting to keep Emily safe.
She can’t die now.
Paul chided his own lack of preparation.
He’d built a secret shelter in his apartment building’s basement then stockpiled food, weapons, and emergency medical equipment. But he’d failed to replenish the stash of antibiotics after Jane died, and now his daughter might follow her to the grave. And just like that — the power and money he’d acquired as a TV producer of hit reality shows like
The Box
,
Sing for It
, and
American Adventure
was all for naught.
Paul was two blocks from home when the men appeared, spilling from a building’s rear door, holding guns and bags of loot. All four saw him immediately.
Their guns were aimed before he could raise his.
He was outmanned and outgunned. At their mercy.
He put his pistol down on the asphalt and raised his hands, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. He had a second gun in a back holster beneath his jacket, and a knife strapped to his wrist — both last resorts.
Three of the men might’ve been brothers. They were all within a few years of each other. Lean but muscular, broad shoulders, dark hair, brown eyes, scruffy beards. Paul pegged them for partly Italian. The fourth man was older, heavyset, graying hair and a ruddy face. Maybe German. Paul wondered if the eldest man was their father. It seemed odd that an entire family could survive the sickness, but a shared genetic trait, or whatever the hell it was, could’ve spared them like it had for Paul and his daughter.
Ruddy Face spoke first. Stern and calm, aiming a shotgun at Paul. “On your knees.” This was all business, at least to the older man, but he could feel the others’ anxiety, visible in their bright-red auras. If he weren’t careful, this robbery would turn to a murder.
Judging from their duffels, they’d already loaded up from whatever shop they’d just left — a bakery, an electronics boutique, or a clothing store, Paul figured, assuming he remembered the shops’ locations correctly.
Paul went down on his knees, keeping his arms high, eyes on Ruddy Face.
“I don’t have anything worth taking.”
One of the young men came over, bent down, and grabbed Paul’s pistol. “I wouldn’t say nothin’.”
“Empty your pockets,” Ruddy Face said.
Paul had nothing in his pockets, save for a small lock picking set and, of course, the medicine.
He placed the lock picking set on the dark wet asphalt, followed by the medicine. Four large bottles of antibiotics, one hundred pills in each one.
“Whoa, those pain pills?” the guy said, holding Paul’s gun with his eyes on the bottle.
“No, they’re antibiotics.” Paul thought about explaining that they were for his sick daughter. But he didn’t yet know these men, and letting them know he had a young girl at home, unprotected, might lead to an uglier death for Emily. In the invasion’s aftermath, people hadn’t come together as they had after September 11. They’d turned on each other instead, committing the worst of atrocities.
Paul had tried plugging his ears but heard it all the same: a paralyzing aria of murder, rape, and God knew what else might have been happening beyond his protective shelter, where predators surely ripped prey to pieces. Mankind’s history repeated. If anything, the recent era of relative peace was an anomaly. Before then, before
civilization
, mankind had been cruel, barbaric, worse than animals. Now society’s shackles were gone; mankind at his worst was free to do what he did best — kill. Survival of the fittest. Or cruelest.
While Paul didn’t consider himself a cruel man, he
would do
whatever it took to protect his daughter.
The young man bent, retrieved the pills, then studied the labels.
Paul waited, hoping the man would see they weren’t Oxy or some other recreational drug, and would toss them back.
Ruddy Face intervened. “Give those here. We can use ‘em.”
“Please,” Paul said, meeting the man’s eyes, “please leave me at least one bottle. I’ve got a sick one at home.”
“A sick
what?
” one of the young men asked. Unlike the older man, his voice
was
cruel, as was the scar running down his right cheek. He stared down at Paul, his trigger finger itchy.
He heard the scarred man’s thoughts as clear as day.
Maybe he’s got a bitch we can take.
Judging from their new clothes in a mishmash of styles, these men weren’t used to money. Their shoes had no scuffs: shiny black boots, expensive loafers, and dress shoes, none suited for the apocalypse. Ruddy Face was dressed in older clothing — jeans, dark shirt, a well-worn leather jacket, and comfortable-looking sneakers.
