Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (28 page)

Brent had to be careful. The wrong move would get them all killed.

He wondered if Sammy was ready to move.
 

He saw himself lunge, saw himself miss, saw the disaster he rained into the container. But he had to do something now. Could not let Tommy take the kids or Teagan.

He put both hands behind his back, passing the razor carefully from his left hand to his right — the one closest to Tommy.

Teagan lost it, screaming, “You leave them alone!”
 

Tommy laughed, slapped Teagan across the face, then caught her with his right arm as she slouched toward the floor. He came just close enough for Brent to finally strike.
 

Tommy’s left fist balled, ready to assault her. The other two bandits dropped Wilson’s body outside, running in.

Brent lunged at Tommy, razor tight in his fingers, aiming for Tommy’s neck.

The pervert twisted like a sprinkler head as Brent tried getting the razor to his neck. He grabbed Brent by both wrists, shoving him back against the wall so they were both standing just inches apart.

From the corner of Brent’s eye, he saw Teagan throw herself between them and the other bandits, screaming, “You stay away from my kids!”
 

It took both of them to grab her and contain her thrashing body.

Sammy started toward them, but Purple Hair put a pistol to Teagan’s head. “Step back!”

Tommy’s eyes burned into Brent’s, laughing as he kept pressing him against the wall as if he was about to shove him through the steel container. “Ah, someone’s balls dropped!”

The asshole squeezed Brent’s wrists so tight that Brent thought maybe the man might snap them off.
 

Tommy’s eyes widened as he realized that Brent was holding a razor. “You fuck!”

Something burned inside Brent. He tried to twist the blade to cut at Tommy’s hand.

This ends now.
 

Whatever that meant.
 

“You’re dead,” Brent snarled.
 

“One of us is.” Tommy gripped Brent’s wrist tighter, pulled it forward, then slammed it back, repeatedly.

Pain shot through his wrist. Brent dropped the blade.

Shit!

Tommy’s knee found Brent’s gut, twice.

Brent groaned, falling forward, seconds from vomit.

Tommy dropped to the ground and grabbed the razor.
 

Teagan screamed louder, flailing and writhing in the bandits’ grip. Becca was screaming, Ben was crying. The slaves all stayed frozen.
 

Brent looked and saw Teagan stomp on Skull Tattoo’s foot.

He fell back, and Teagan made a run at Tommy, screaming as she grabbed his hair and ran him straight into the wall, face-first.

Sammy leaped into action, going after Purple Hair before he could fire at Teagan.

Purple Hair saw the big man approaching and turned the gun on him.

Sammy barreled forward, nearly swallowing the man.

Brent’s eyes scanned for the razor that had fallen from Tommy’s fingers. He saw it, fell on it, and grabbed it. He looked up and registered two things at once: Skull Tattoo pulling Teagan off Tommy, and a gunshot thundering through the container.

Another two more followed.

Brent’s ears screamed as he stumbled back, disoriented.

Sammy fell backward, bleeding from the chest and face.

Brent looked down at the razor then looked back up.

Skull Tattoo was holding Teagan at gunpoint.

Purple Hair was aiming at Brent.

Tommy glared, mouth bleeding, fists clenched, hate burning bright in his eye. He was going to make Brent pay. He was going to make them all pay.

“Want me to shoot him?” Purple Hair asked.

“No, no, no, I want him all to myself. I’m gonna fuck him up then make him watch as we fuck his kids and his girl.”

Adrenaline and hate coursed through Brent. Sammy was down, Teagan had a gun to her head, and the kids were crying, huddled on the floor. It was down to him against the bandits. And not just the three in the container but the countless number waiting outside.

They wouldn’t survive the night.

No way in hell.

Brent asked himself:
What would Ed do? What would Boricio do?

His answer:
Survive as long as you can.

He swiped the razor in a wide arc toward Tommy.

Tommy jumped back, smiling, bobbing and weaving like a boxer, eyes watching Brent’s every move, smiling like a maniac.

“Try again, tough guy.”

Brent did, this time leaping forward as he swung, aiming at the man’s gut.
 

Tommy fell back but held his balance.
 

Brent barely had any and stumbled past him into the opposite wall, tripping over Meghan’s and Lara’s dead bodies.
 

Tommy delivered two blows at once, to both of Brent’s ears.

Pain exploded in his ears and his head. He fell to the ground, dizzy, nauseated, and feeling like he was going to die.

His razor fell to the ground.
 

Despite Brent’s ringing ears, he heard the bandits’ maniacal laughter. Blinking through blurred vision, he saw them close in around him.
 

His heart was pounding; this was the end.
 

Brent imagined the horror of what they’d do: strip him naked, beat him senseless, force him to watch as they did the unthinkable to Ben, Becca, and Teagan.
 

Teagan.
 

Before Brent realized what she was doing — before any of the bandits realized what she was doing — Teagan grabbed Purple Hair by the back of the head and slammed him into the wall, just as she’d done to Tommy.

He cried out and dropped his revolver.

Teagan grabbed the gun.
 

He twisted on her, hands raised to strike.

She fired three times, twice into his chest and then into his face.

Purple Hair slumped down.

She turned the gun onto Skull Tattoo and Tommy, who both stared at her, flabbergasted.

“Let us go,” she said, eyes wild, blood covering her face, chest, and arms.

“No.” Tommy sauntered forward, gun still in his holster.

Skull Tattoo aimed at Brent’s head. “Why don’t you put your gun down, Missy.”

“I’ll shoot. I mean it!” Teagan’s gun shook wildly in her hands.

“No, you won’t.” Tommy inched toward her.

“Stop!” she screamed as he drew closer.

What the hell is he doing?

Tommy said, “You ain’t got no bullets left.”

Teagan stared down at her gun in horror then pulled the trigger, repeatedly.

Empty.

Tommy grabbed the gun then swung, hitting her across the face with its butt.

Brent jumped to his feet.

Skull Tattoo pressed the gun harder into his head. “Sit, bitch; we ain’t done with you.”

Brent looked up to see more bandits streaming into the container. And in the middle of the pack, Marcus, the Reaper.

* * * *

CHAPTER 6 — Emily Roberts

The basement was surprisingly large, divided into makeshift rooms, with many of the home’s furnishings brought below to make the place feel more like home. Luca slept in the dark bedroom, with Emily lying beside him. Boricio sat in a chair at the end of the bed, waiting for Emily to “work her magic,” as he'd said.

Seeing the hopeful look in Boricio’s eyes, Emily wished she’d not made the offer to enter Luca’s mind. She’d shatter that hope if she failed, and Boricio would probably be mad at her again.

But if I
can
do it, then maybe he can find out what happened to Mary. And if he brings her back, maybe she’ll stop being mad at me, too.

Emily closed her eyes, feeling for the threads of thought surrounding Luca’s aura, swaying like a sea of grass caught in currents of wind.

She had to find the right one, or
a
right one, to tug. Pull the wrong one, then all the thoughts would unravel in a spool of futility. Find the right one, and she could grip and pull herself inside, deeper into his mind.
 

She’d practiced a few times with her friend, Sami, one of her closest friends at school, and one of the few people she could be certain wasn’t hosting an alien. Emily had never told him what she was doing, for fear he might think her a freak, but she’d been able to do it enough times to develop the skill.

Finding the thread was tricky enough in a serene environment. But here, in this basement, with a swell of emotions surrounding her — fear for Luca, fear of being caught, fear for Mary, and fear for herself, along with psychic stains in the walls of the house from years following the invasion — made her job all the more difficult. Traumatic memories competed with breathing thoughts, sometimes drowning them down to a barely audible echo.

Emily focused to find what she was seeking.

Then she felt it — a memory of himself walking along the beach. An old man selling lobster tacos. Will was his name.

Emily grabbed the thread with her mind and pulled herself into his headspace.

Then she was sharing the beach with Luca.

Unlike other memories she’d experienced through Sami, which felt artificial, fluttering with change and the imperfections of recall, Luca’s memories were vivid enough to make Emily swear that her toes felt the sand, and her skin the kiss of a sun so bright she had to squint. Gulls cried. Boats bobbed in the distance. Music blared from radios. A salty scent stung her nostrils. She could even hear chatter from people. Not just chatter, but threads of conversations.

This wasn’t now. This was
Before.

Emily had never experienced anything so intoxicatingly immersive. There was a part of her that wanted to live in this memory. Spend the day with Luca, in his younger form, hanging out, talking — doing the sorts of things normal kids used to do. The sorts of things she’d never known.

Luca looked at her, surprised.
 

“Emily?”

“Hi, Luca.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to find out what happened to Mary.”

Luca looked up, as if trying to remember. Smiling, he said, “I don’t know. Would you like a lobster taco?”

Her stomach growled, mouth salivating at the heavenly scent.
 

“Here ya go, ma’am.” Will smiled and handed her a foil-wrapped taco.
 

Emily lifted it to her nose and inhaled. She’d never had lobster, but from the bright scent of its grilled flesh, she could tell it was going to be delicious before it touched her tongue.
 

This feels so real.

Emily took a bite of taco. Lobster and salsa, melting with avocado on her tongue.
 

Oh, my god.

“This is amazing,” she said, surprised after she swallowed.
 

A group of girls walked by in tiny bikinis. Emily was surprised that neither Will nor Luca checked them out. More surprising was that she could smell coconut and other sweet fragrances as they passed. She could hear their thoughts. One of them, Missy, was thinking about Kim, and what a bitch she was being.

This can’t be real.

I’m not really here.

I’m lying in a bed beside Luca in the basement of a house in The Wastelands. None of this is real.

Luca broke into a run. She was about to pursue him, but realized he was chasing a dog.
 

“He’ll be right back,” Will spoke into her mind.
 

Are you telepathic, too?

He smiled.
Yes.

“This isn’t real, is it? I’m not, we’re not really on this beach, are we?”

Will took a bite of taco.
We are indeed here. Right now.

“No,” she said. “It’s impossible. None of this is here. These people are all dead. There are no radios playing music. This is a dream.”

You’re looking at time and space all wrong, young lady.

Emily’s head hurt, trying to decipher the old man’s odd words.
 

Luca came running up to them, the dog trotting at his side. He grinned, petting the dog between his big, fluffy ears.

“This is Dog Vader,” Luca said. “He’s not really a dog, though.”

“Hi, Emily,” the dog said, also in her mind.

No, this isn’t happening. Luca is having the weirdest freaking dream ever. I’m caught inside and can’t get out.

Emily felt dizzy, almost delirious. The world felt topsy-turvy. She reached out to grab the cart to settle herself but missed and stumbled backward.