Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (39 page)

Whatever had been left of the woman he loved was gone — and replaced by a hulking black monster with a long head, large black eyes, and a wide mouth filled with rows of jagged teeth. Her body had become as unrecognizable as her face.

Boricio cried out, “Rose!”

The thing that had been Rose looked up at him and for a moment, he thought she recognized him across the room. Then she backed up and ran toward the glass wall of her cell. Hard. She bounced off the wall, leaving a slimy black and red residue — blood, perhaps.

The men scrambled, Sullivan rushing toward the door panel.

“No!” Will shouted, “It’s too late.”

What’s too late? Saving the man in the hazmat suit?

Boricio then noticed that the man’s mask was broken, his face a bloody pulp.

Oh God.

Boricio cried out, “Rose!”

Keenan looked up at Boricio, glaring, accusation in his eyes saying,
this is your fault.

Rose slammed into the glass again. And again. Cracks began to spread from the points of impact.

“It’s going to break through!” Keenan shouted. “Hit the gas.”

Sullivan pressed buttons on the door panel which sent a sleeping gas into Rose’s cell.

Rose crashed into the glass again, the gas having no effect on her yet. The glass cracked further, this time sending a chunk to the floor.

Rose saw the hole and started bashing her giant mutant arms into it, sending more chunks of glass to the ground, creating a small hole large enough to stick a hand through. It wouldn’t be long before she broke out of the cell.

“It’s not working!” Sullivan said.

“Initiate Burn Protocol!” Will yelled.

Sullivan looked at him, and then Keenan, who nodded to confirm the decision.

Boricio’s heart sank.

No, they can’t.

“No!!” he screamed. “No!!”

“Burn Protocol?” Sullivan asked, seeking a second confirmation.

Boricio slammed his fists on his cell and screamed for Will, “No, Dad, don’t!!”

“Yes,” Will said. “Do it! Now!”

Rose slammed against the glass again, and then something caught her attention, and she looked up at the ceiling.

Boricio cried out, “No!! Dad!!”
 

The flames came on.

Rose screamed, her shrieks gurgling in the speakers as her black form was engulfed in flames which filled her entire cell.

Boricio cried out, watching helplessly as Rose writhed in agony.
 

Will suddenly reached into his pants and retrieved something from his pocket and then thrust it through the hole in the glass into the fiery cell.

“What was that?” Keenan asked sharply.

“The rest of the vials,” Will said. “I’m ending this now.”

Both Keenan and Sullivan’s mouths were agape.

Keenan screamed at Will, “Why?!”

Will got in Keenan’s face and screamed, “We should’ve done this from the start!”

Rose’s screams died with the flames a moment later.

In the center of the room, the love of his life, along with the vials, had been reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes.

Boricio fell to the ground, screaming, his world shattered.

He noticed Will approaching his cell.

Boricio looked up at him, barely able to quell the rage simmering inside.

“I’m sorry, Son,” Will said.

Boricio slowly stood up and met his father’s red eyes.

Whatever love and light that the man had ignited in Boricio’s life so many years earlier had been snuffed out and replaced with cold, unending darkness.

* * * *

CHAPTER 11 — Boricio Bishop

Somewhere in Alabama

September
 
2011

ONE MONTH BEFORE THE EVENT…

Fuck Black Island,
Boricio thought as he hopped out of the truck that had driven him the last stretch of miles and thanked the man who’d given him a lift.

Boricio had been gone from New York for two weeks, slowly making his way down south to New Orleans, where he planned to get a job as a chef in a restaurant, and hopefully disappear in his work.
 

He would be thrilled if he never thought of Rose again, or if Will could never find him, and he never had to look at the murdering fuck’s face.

Boricio would happily settle for one of the two.
 

He wandered south for several days, alone and desolate, with nothing but the pack on his back, caretaker of the last vial left, which he’d managed to sneak off the island thanks to Luca. Boricio was surprised that Luca had helped him, and was certain that Luca would be in huge trouble. When Boricio asked Luca if there had been another vial, as Will suggested another had been taken, Luca pleaded ignorance — which either meant the boy was lying, which Boricio doubted, or someone else had taken a vial. Boricio wondered for a while, but then stopped caring.

Not my problem.

Boricio wasn’t sure why he had taken the last vial, other than he felt he had to protect it. Will wanted to destroy them all. And while the vials had turned Rose into a monster, Boricio knew that they were also capable of incredible good.

Someday, Boricio would find a way to start a new project. Perhaps he’d go to Black Mountain, which was run by a more daring group of scientists who often found themselves at odds with the Black Island faction.

But for now, Boricio just wanted to get lost.

Without a car, he hitched his way south until he found himself in Alabama.
 

He was walking along a road in the middle of nowhere, wondering if he’d even see another car to hitch a ride from, or if he should look for someplace to sleep for the night. He had a decent stash of cash to last him a while, so all he needed was to find a hotel.

Searching the horizon, he looked up and happened to see a sprawling cross standing tall and proud against the bruised purple sky.
 

Boricio stared up at the cross feeling an odd sort of promise, an oath strong enough to pull him from the road, through an ornate gate opening, where he met a smiling woman in a long blue dress, and past some houses and through the church’s wide open wooden doors on the rear of the sprawling property.
 

Boricio sat in a pew at the back of the church, listening to the pastor as he paced the pulpit, hands raised in the air as he delivered a sermon.
 

“Ours is not to question His will. He works in mysterious ways, as the saying goes. Ways that we mere mortals cannot even hope to understand. Most of human misery comes from us trying to make sense of God’s will, to put a human face on divine reason, rather than just accepting His gifts.”

The pastor found Boricio’s eye, and in that moment, it felt as if the pastor was speaking directly to him, offering a light in the dark nightmare that had become Boricio’s life.

The pastor continued, “There will come a time in this earthly life when The Good Lord will see fit to take someone you love, someone you simply cannot bear to live without. And when that happens, it will feel as though your heart can no longer beat, and your head can no longer think, and the breath inside you feels more like a curse than a gift.”
 

The pastor took a moment to pause, casting his eyes across the room, his soft stare settling again on Boricio’s, as his hands continued to hover. He finally dropped both arms to his side, then started to pace the pulpit again.
 

“I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that you will likely never get over your loss, not all the way, anyhow. It simply hurts too much, and our hearts are too tender and loving. But the good news is that The Good Lord loves you, and if you let him live forever in your broken heart, you will be mended! You will be enlightened, because you understand that He only asks us to suffer through the sour of this world so that we may fully appreciate the eternal sweet of His Kingdom. For even though death leaves a heartache that no one and nothing will ever be able to heal, at least not in this life, The Good Lord offers a salvation and everlasting eternal joy that no one can ever steal.”

Boricio was in no way religious, yet he found an odd comfort in the pastor’s words, and felt surprisingly at home with his back resting against the freshly polished pew. Boricio didn’t move an inch for the remainder of the sermon, or even after it was finished. He sat safely out of sight in the back of the church until the pastor finally stopped shaking hands of the men, women, and children who filed out. The pastor looked up at Boricio and walked over and took a seat next to him.

Normally, that would have been Boricio’s cue to leave.

But he stayed.

“It looks like you could use a bit of the Good Lord’s light,” the pastor said, slapping his hand on the back of Boricio’s shoulder. “Welcome to the New Unity Church.” The pastor smiled kindly at Boricio, then added, “We’re here for you, Son. You can call me The Prophet.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

YESTERDAY’S GONE

EPISODE 17

“a priori”

 
* * * *

Yesterday’s Gone: Episode 17 “a priori”

CHAPTER 1 — Luca Bishop
 

Our Earth

Las Orillas, California

April 2, 2012

SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

Luca’s life before October 15 was only a shadow.

He could easily ignore the day’s shadows. But at night . . .
 
at night, they demanded his attention.

Luca and Anna were lying together on their L-shaped couch watching
The Incredibles
. Neither had picked the movie, since no one seemed to agree on whose turn it was to choose. Luca was certain it was his turn, and he wanted to watch
Return of the Jedi
again. Anna said it was her turn — she wanted to watch
Tangled
for the bajillionth time. Mom had a headache and didn’t feel like hearing another argument, so she compromised with
The Incredibles
, which both Luca and Anna loudly complained about, even though they both loved the movie, and it was even one of Luca’s three favorite Pixars.

As the movie was ending, and the clock on the cable box was nearing 9 p.m., Luca knew their mom would be in the living room any minute to pick up a few stray kernels of popcorn from the carpet and announce bedtime. Luca glanced over at Anna, lightly snoring above the pool of fresh drool on her pillow. He closed his eyes and pretended to be sleeping too, hoping their mom might leave them there for the night.

 
Ever since arriving in the other Luca’s world, and claiming his spot in Luca’s family, he had grown to hate bedtime. Sometimes, when he and Anna fell asleep together on the couch, their mom would leave them through the night. It was these nights, lying beside his sister, when Luca felt the most safe, comfortable, and, oddly enough, most loved.

When he had to sleep in his bedroom, all alone, he felt like the impostor he was.

“Time for bed,” Mom said, spoiling Luca’s hope.

Luca rose from the couch, dejected, hoping to win some sympathy and be allowed to maybe sleep in the living room. Anna was already standing, and hugging their mom goodnight, resigned to her fate — and resigning Luca to his.

Luca hugged his mom goodnight, but pushed his face into her harder than usual.
 

“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked.

“Just sad,” he said.

“Sad? You can watch
Return of the Jedi
another night, maybe even tomorrow.” She patted him on the shoulders.

Luca was going to tell her that it wasn’t
The Incredibles
that had made him sad, but decided not to. Because what could he say? That he was sad because he’d taken her
real son’s
place? That he left his family behind as monsters tore through his home world?
 

Luca couldn’t even start to explain what he only sort of understood. So he said the only thing he could.

“Thank you, Mom.”

His mom hugged him harder before Luca trudged off to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and went pee, then headed to his father’s office.

His dad was tapping away at a thin aluminum keyboard, his eyes centered on the screen. It took him a moment to notice Luca. Once he did, Luca’s dad looked up, without smiling. He seemed more distracted than happy to see him. Luca figured he must be working on something extra special important.
 

“Goodnight, Buddy,” his dad said, hugging him goodnight.

“Goodnight, Dad,” Luca said, head down as he shuffled to his bedroom where his mom came inside to tuck him in a few minutes later.