Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (19 page)

Why do you heal all these people? Why did you heal me, when you knew it would only age you?

Because they needed my help. You needed my help. What’s the use of a gift if you keep it to yourself?

You are a good person, Luca.

“Thank you,” he said aloud. “You are too, Emily.”

Thank you.

“Now go to sleep. We’ll try to contact your father again in the morning.”

Goodnight, Luca.

Goodnight, Emily.

* * * *

CHAPTER 11 — Mary Olson

Mary watched from a dark room in a two-story apartment building across the street from the warehouse.

She stood by the window, staring through parted curtains, watching Boricio pace the rooftop. The warehouse was taller, so she could only see him when he edged the roof, looking around.

Mary knew he was looking for her, and it killed her to cause him so much pain. But she had to leave. Had to distance herself from the others. She had a bad feeling that taking Emily into the group would be disastrous. She’d watch them from afar, to look out for them, until she was sure they were safe.

She hadn’t really given much thought to the plan. It seemed like a good idea: get pissed at Boricio, which she already was, and storm away in a huff. Nobody would miss her for a while. She could lie low, watch the surrounding area for the telltale sign of Guardsmen approaching.
 

But there were a few flaws in her impulsive plan.

First, she’d not had time to gather supplies. She needed a rifle with a scope, not the Glock in her holster.
 
If shit hit the fan, a pistol would be useless from this range. Second, she’d not figured sleep into the equation. She was wired now. Might even be able to go another twenty-four hours, but eventually, she’d fall to exhaustion. If the enemy hit while she snoozed, her plan went to shit.

There was also a third option she’d been stupid not to consider. The one that distressed her while watching Boricio on the rooftop. What if he came looking for her?

Mary hated to think that she’d put his, or anyone on the team’s, life in danger.

His voice crackled over her radio again.

“Mary? You copy?”

A part of her wanted to ignore the transmission. Let him stew in his guilt — if he was feeling any — for failing to back her. She wondered what was wrong with her, why she needed him to repent, to admit he was wrong. She’d never been one for head games, so why start now? Especially when her actions could put him in danger.

“Copy,” she said over the radio.

Boricio had backed away from the edge. Mary imagined his relief, and maybe a smile when he realized she was safe.

“Where are you?”

“Close.”

“Listen,
Lucy
, I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s okay,
Ricky
. I’m not …
that
mad.”

“Are you on your way back?”

“No.”

“Why? You’re not really going solo, are you?”

“No, I just needed time to think. I’m heading to The Farm for a bit.”

“Let me come with you.”

“You really don’t get the whole
I need time to think
thing, do you?”

“It’s not safe out there.”

“It’s not safe anywhere. Besides, I’m a big girl. I don’t need you looking out for me.”

“I like looking out for you.”
 

Mary closed her eyes, remembering some of their tender moments together. For all his crassness, for all Boricio’s bravado and bluster, for all his disgusting past, he was a different man now. He
liked
being needed by her. And it wasn’t some
damsel in distress
thing, so much as a
we’re in this together
mindset. Boricio had spent his life not giving a fuck about anyone but himself. The events following October 15, 2011 had given him a sense of purpose, an identity, a role other than monster —
protector
. And she felt bad stealing that from him.
 

“You need to look after Luca.”
 

That was something he could still feel good about doing, and a priority if they ever hoped to defeat the aliens.

Mary wondered if she should tell him that she was keeping an eye on them from afar. But her cautious — or paranoid — part, heightened in recent years, said not to. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him so much as she didn’t trust the others not to fall under the girl’s influence. Mary had little doubt that the girl was somehow in contact with her father, feeding the enemy information. It was best to let the aliens think Mary was gone. Not someone to consider or plan for.
 

Surprise was the key to any attack, and could be critical to an excellent defense.

“I need to go.”

“I … ” Boricio paused.
 

She wondered if he was going to finally say the three words she’d never heard him say.
 

She hoped not.

The last thing Mary needed was an overdose of emotion. They knew how each other felt. It didn’t need to be said. She liked that about their relationship. And here it sounded like he was about to go and ruin it.

“I’ve gotta go.” Mary cut him off before he could find the words which escaped him. “Seeya soon. Over.”

“Over.”
 

Boricio appeared at the edge of the rooftop again, looking out. He looked down, right at her window.

She ducked out of the way.

Did he just see me?

Shit.

Her heart raced, standing out of sight, trying to work up the courage to peek through the curtains and see if he was there. The jig was up if he’d seen her. There was no way he wouldn’t come after her. And if he did, there was little chance she’d be strong enough to push him away again.

She crept closer to the curtains’ slight part. Boricio was still there, staring off in a different direction.

Mary sighed with relief.

**

Mary didn’t remember falling asleep.

She hadn’t felt especially tired.

One moment she’d been sitting in a chair, watching the street below, then her eyes had climbed to the skies before she was out — until the gunfire opened her eyes.

She jolted out of the seat, hand on her gun, looking around the room. But the threat wasn’t there. It was across the street, an alien shuttle on the warehouse roof.
 

She didn’t see anyone there. That, along with the gunfire, meant the aliens were in the building already, mounting their attack on her friends.

She had to move.

Mary raced down the steps, two and three at a time, nearly falling more than once but somehow maintaining her balance thanks to the adrenaline flooding her system. She reached the first floor and slammed through the lobby doors.

She spun, gun scanning the dark street, glad to see that no one was waiting.

She headed across the street, feeling exposed to any aliens on the rooftop looking down below.

She reached the entrance to the warehouse without drawing attention.

She stopped at the door, listening, but heard only silence.

Why can’t I hear anyone?

Her heart was racing, her stomach on the precipice of a high dive, fear coursing through her. Was the gunfight over already?
 

Why is it so quiet?

If Team Boricio had dusted the floor with a bunch of aliens, hybrids, or whatever attacked them, there would be celebration, not silence.

Maybe they’re being quiet, in case there are aliens lurking.
 

Mary realized that she’d left the radio on the windowsill back in the apartment. Just as well, considering she couldn’t risk calling one of the team if they were in hiding. She’d seen countless movies where the woman or child in jeopardy was clutching a ringing phone and broadcasting their location to the enemy.
 

She stood at the doorway, afraid to open it.
 

Terrified to find a massacre.
 

She imagined opening the door only to have her friends mistake her for an alien and blast her to nothing.

Time seemed to slow, yet Mary realized she had precious little to make an impact if the others were in danger. Hell, the aliens could be dragging them all up to the rooftop now.

I have to move.

Now.

Mary opened the door.

Her friends weren’t there.

Several Guardsmen were. Including one to her left. She didn’t see him until the butt of his rifle thunked into her head.

Oh, fu —

TO BE CONTINUED …

YESTERDAY’S GONE

::EPISODE 33::

(THIRD EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)

“Fates Worse Than Death”

* * * *

CHAPTER 1 — Emily Roberts

Emily didn’t remember falling asleep, but she’d never woken to the sound of gunshots.

She opened her eyes to see lights — too many — aimed at them from every direction. She made out a few Guardsmen uniforms beyond the blur.
How many Guardsmen are there?
They’d found the rebels and were coming to rescue Emily, or, as Mary had accused earlier, coming to kill everyone else. Maybe both.

She saw movement to her right. Boricio running out, guns blazing, screaming as he went.

Then bullets found him, blood streaming in arcs from his flesh, as he staggered, still shooting.

The others were screaming, either firing their guns or already wounded.

Emily tried to stand, to wave the Guardsmen off, to let them know she was okay and there was no need to kill the others.

The sounds of screams became twisted, as if coming from some faraway place as lights exploded around them — pink, purple, and blue, like millions of tiny detonating stars.
 

Then the warehouse was gone.

They were in a long, dark tunnel about twelve feet high and ten feet wide. The others kept firing until they realized they were no longer in danger, or in the warehouse.

“What happened?” Emily asked.

Boricio and Lisa both looked down at themselves, their ripped, bloodstained clothes, marveling over their healed wounds. Surely, they would’ve been dead if not for Luca.

Where’s Luca?

Emily looked around, pulse racing.

He wasn’t there.

“Where’s Luca?” she cried out.

And then, as if in answer, a burst of more lights among them, forming a floating, glowing bright-blue ball of brilliance.

Something dark was shrouded in its center, like something about to hatch from an egg. The lights hissed, crackled, then died all at once, dropping the object to the ground.

A fetal Luca, gasping for air.

Emily fell to his side and shouted, “Luca can’t breathe!”
 

Keenan, Boricio, Barrow, Jevonne, and Lisa all rushed over. Keenan dropped to his knees on the other side of Emily. Luca’s body started shaking, his eyes rolling back, thick white slobber foaming from his mouth.

“What’s happening?” Emily prayed he wasn’t dying.

Keenan held him down. “Get the needle!”
 

Lisa reached into a black pouch on her belt, retrieved a hypodermic filled with some sort of dark-red liquid.

Keenan bit the cap off the needle and met Emily’s eyes. “Can you hold his arm still?”

She nodded then put all her weight on Luca’s frail left arm. His flesh and muscles felt like a bird in her clutch. She was afraid to hold on too tight for fear of snapping his limb but had to apply enough pressure and keep him still.

But his arm was wildly thrashing, even beneath her weight.

His legs kicked hard against the ground, and his eyes kept rolling up. More white spittle flew from his mouth.

Emily couldn’t look.

She turned her head.

“Outta the way, Sister.” Boricio shoved her roughly aside.
 

Emily fell back, pride wounded.

Boricio straddled Luca’s frame to stabilize his arm, doing a far better job than Emily. “Go!” he said to Keenan.

Keenan injected the needle, then both men fell back.
 

Luca’s body went limp.

Emily was sure he was dead.

She stared at the old boy, waiting for some sign of life. Finally, his chest rose and fell.

Emily stood. “What happened?”
 

Boricio got up, ignoring Emily’s question, and went to Lisa, Barrow, and Jevonne.
 

Keenan felt for Luca’s pulse then took off his jacket, balled it up, and put it under Luca’s head as a makeshift pillow. He stood and met Emily’s gaze. “Every time he teleports us, or heals someone, it takes a lot out of him. Sometimes, more than usual.”