Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) (26 page)

Mother didn’t wait for Rebecca to respond, just ducked from the car, slammed the door behind her, and marched toward the community center doors in her pajama bottoms and a sweater. Alexis would die of embarrassment before she even had a chance to be punished.

 
Even though Mother was acting mad at her, Rebecca knew it was really because she was so mad at Alexis, who was probably sinning all over the place. Rebecca hated that Alexis always got in trouble, even if she sometimes told on her. She hoped maybe this time her punishment would be so serious that it would put an end to her sister’s sinning. They had their differences, but that didn’t mean Rebecca wanted her sister to burn for eternity in The Lake of Fire. And like Mother said, Alexis’ soul was definitely at risk. Ronnie was a sinner for sure, but just because he was willing to sell his soul to the Devil didn’t mean he had to take her sister’s, too.

Rebecca’s thoughts were shattered by sudden shrieks from Alexis, growing louder as Mother dragged her by the hair toward the Camino.
 

“AHHHH, MOTHER! That HURTS!” she screamed. Mother’s fist was curled inside Alexis’ hair.
The DREAM!
A dreadful chill charged through Rebecca’s every nerve..
No, this can’t be happening.
 

“I will NOT raise a harlot!” her mother screamed, cigarette dangling out of her mouth as she shoved Alexis forward.
 

Alexis was as red as the county fire truck, and getting redder as the small huddle of kids, mostly boys, laughed and pointed at Alexis as she was dragged toward the Camino. Rebecca felt a small but undeniably sharp pain, a stabbing wound slipping into her guilt.
 

Mother opened the passenger door, shoved Alexis inside so hard that the girl’s head hit the outside of the door with a loud thud, which made her cry out even louder as she fell into the seat next to Rebecca.

Mother walked to her side of the car, climbed inside, started the car, then peeled out from the lot.

A long minute of silence smothered them before Alexis turned to Rebecca and hissed through tears, “What are you smiling at, brat?”
 

“I...I wasn’t,” Rebecca said truthfully.
 

Mother snapped toward Alexis. She looked so mad, Rebecca was sure she was about to slap Alexis across the side of the face. Rebecca felt the usual fear growing fat. She didn’t mind if Alexis got in trouble, but she didn’t want the hitting to start.
 

She quietly prayed that it wouldn't and was glad when it didn’t.

“You should thank your sister,” Mother said. “She’s looking out for your soul.” With that, she snapped her attention back to the road.
 

“You
told on me?
I can’t believe it, you little BITCH! You are so dead.”

Mother reached across and backhanded Alexis across the face, her elbow hitting Rebecca along the way. Mother didn’t allow swears.
 

“If Rebecca hadn’t told me when she did, Good Lord knows what would have happened to you tonight.”

“Nothing would have happened to me, Mother!” Alexis glared, defiant. “The problem isn’t me, it’s that you don’t trust me.”

Rebecca waited for Mother’s hand to redden her sister’s face again and prayed it wouldn't.

“Of course I don’t trust you,” Mother said. “Nothing separates a child from God like the evils of their own will. And I know exactly where your will would like to lie. Any sort of sinning could have happened tonight. You could have done drugs, or worse, you could have gotten knocked up.”
 

“Like you did?”
 

The back of Mother’s hand found the side of Alexis’s face again, but harder, the slap a thunderclap within the Camino’s interior. Rebecca could tell that her sister wanted to scream, but muffled her cry. With her left hand steady on the wheel, Mother let her hand fly once more to underline her point, more violent and practiced than the prior strike.

Rebecca turned her watering eyes away from her sister, and stared at the road ahead, wondering when the evils of her own will might separate her from God, and Mother.

* * * *

DESMOND ARMSTRONG: PART 1

March 25

Kingsland, Alabama

In the woods near The Sanctuary

11:11 a.m.

“We’re all trying to survive and make the most of this.
 

Breathe in, breathe out, be merry.”

Desmond hated Jimmy’s words falling from John’s mouth. It was an unnerving he couldn’t pinpoint. And he HATED being unnerved.
 

Those words had been playing on infinite repeat in Desmond’s head as they crunched through the carpet of drying leaves in search of Rebecca and Carl. The pair had marched through the forest and over the hill looking for the two missing children, but there was still no sign.
 

Desmond kept the gun in his waistband. He didn’t trust his trigger finger, or the man up ahead making it itchy. Desmond couldn't explain why he thought Jimmy’s words in John’s mouth sounded so wrong, and felt so ominous. They just did, like some sort of weird impression more than a mimic. People picked up idioms and expressions all the time.
 
And Jimmy and John had been neighbors for years, not to mention all that time they’d spent side-by-side at the Drury, back in the beginning of the end of the world. So, it would be natural for John to adopt Jimmy’s telltale expression, right? Maybe it was even intentional
–
John using Jimmy’s phrase to show Desmond he was relaxed. Maybe he was trying to put him at ease as they searched for the missing children, alone in the woods crawling with unknowns and, possibly, “Demons.”

Or maybe he was just trying to repair old wounds.

Or maybe, not.

Desmond wished it felt right, but it didn’t. And he couldn't ignore it. He had thrived in life via his sharp instincts. It was difficult, if not downright impossible to shake the vibe that something was
off
.

 
“Are Rebecca and Carl an item?” Desmond asked, trying to ease the tension, even if it was only in his head. “I mean, I know they’re both a bit young, especially Rebecca, but do you happen to know if the two of them are sweet on one another?”

 
John turned back to Desmond and frowned. It wasn’t an accusing frown, so much as surprise by the audacity of the suggestion. “No, of course not. That sort of behavior is forbidden at The Sanctuary. The Prophet would be terribly upset if something like that were to happen.”

 
“But they’re kids,” Desmond said, “Kids are going to do what kids are going to do. Thousands of years of evolution aren’t going to change that innate drive just because The Prophet wants to keep everyone tucked in their beds with God in their hearts. It has nothing to do with the end of the world, that’s just the way people are wired. And kids, well, you remember puberty, right? Kids don’t care what grown-ups say. They’re gonna try and get away with whatever they can. Least that’s the way it was for me, my friends, and everyone I knew.”

John shook his head and set his jaw. “It is
our
duty as The Chosen adults to hold kids in our charge to a higher standard. The old way went to Hell because the adults who knew better didn’t.” He raised his hand in the air. “Maybe everyone is burning in the Lake of Fire because they didn’t hold themselves and their children to a standard as high as ours. Is it so inconceivable that this happened because of our soft morality and bottomless capacity for sin?”

Desmond wasn’t sure what he should say, but figured nothing was best. He was creeped beyond belief and in mild shock that John bought into all the Bible thumping. He bought the bullshit wholesale. He and John may not have gotten along before, but Desmond figured him for a sharp guy, and was surprised by his clear lack of judgment of basic human nature. Then again, if John had lost his grip on sanity, then maybe that would explain the weird vibe he was giving off.

And if there’s any place to lose one’s sanity, it’s back at The Loony Farm.

 
If John needed to clutch the Bible to get him through the night, who was Desmond to scoff? You didn’t tell an alcoholic that the 12 steps were bullshit, if it was working for them. It was a matter of belief. John needed to believe, too. He had lost Jenny, and the rest of the world. He didn’t have the strength to survive without something.
That’s gotta be it; it’s his crutch.
And Desmond wasn’t the kind of guy to kick away one’s crutch, even if he didn’t see a need for it. He was a guy, however, that would fight back if you tried to push your crutch on him.

Yet, that’s exactly what Desmond was having to do at The Sanctuary; sit on his hands and bite his tongue while playing out the role he’d been cast into. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a smile on his face before he snapped and spoke out. If it were just him, Desmond would have
maybe
followed John to The Sanctuary, then left about five seconds after the so-called “Prophet” started passing out the Kool-aid.

But Desmond wasn’t alone. He had a new family; Mary and Paola and Luca and Will, plus Linc and Scott. And while he could’t tell what was going on in the back of Will’s mind, the rest of the group obviously felt safe, at least safer than they had. If they didn’t mind the heaping bullshits of dogma, not to mention the prison-like rules, so be it. He would eat shit and smile when he swallowed, at least a little while longer, or until a better opportunity came along.
 

“Up here,” John called. Desmond re-calibrated his senses, turned and saw John pointing toward the wide and tall opening of a cave. A dozen paces later Desmond was standing beside John, looking into the darkness.
 

“Think they went inside?” Desmond asked.

John shrugged. “No way of knowing. Can’t think of a reason
not
to go inside and look. Can you?”
 

John glared at Desmond, almost accusingly. Desmond shook his head and stepped past John, into the permanent night of the cave. Desmond wanted to mend fences, so he played along. While John seemed a bit wacky, he didn’t seem like a threat. John wasn’t the most masculine of men, and his prowess with a gun seemed ineffectual enough that if he went postal, Desmond would be able to protect himself with little difficulty.

 
“I’ve got the light,” John said, flicking his Coleman flashlight to life and stepping in front of Desmond. He bounced the beam around the cave’s interior, highlighting the dingy gray of the rocky walls, plastered in damp moss and a wretched scent. Something slick squished beneath their feet, maybe molding leaves blown in from outside. But probably not, Desmond figured. It felt 20 degrees colder inside the cave than a step outside, and it seemed to grow colder with each echoing step.

“How deep do you think it goes?” Desmond asked.

John stopped.
 

“Not sure,” John said, kneeling and shining his light into a wide fissure. “See that?” Desmond didn’t, so he kneeled, too. John kneeled another few inches forward lowering the light’s path to something Desmond couldn’t see.

Desmond said, “I don’t . . .”

John’s flashlight went dark and the pair was plunged into darkness.

Something moved behind them. Something that sounded large.

Desmond threw his hand in front of him to feel for John, but it fell through air. He stood, swallowing panic.
 

“JOHN!”
 

His call echoed and caromed across the walls of the cave and came back to mock him. Desmond called again, but heard nothing as he reached out, moving forward.

He pulled his pistol from his waistband and slipped his itchy finger over the trigger as he stepped forward, trying to retrace his path back to the mouth of the cave.

Something moved again, this time closer.

“John!” he cried out.

His cry was answered by the sound of clicking, echoing against the cave walls.

* * * *

EDWARD KEENAN: PART 1

Black Island, New York

March 22, 2011

8: 58 p.m.

“What?! What do you mean
we’re
the ones who vanished?” Brent asked, his eyes staring at Ed as if he’d just told him the moon wasn’t real.

“What were you doing at 2:15 a.m. on October 15?”

“Sleeping. I woke up sometime in the morning, and my wife and son were gone.”

“Right. But it wasn’t they who vanished. It was you. You, me, and everyone else you’ve met on this island.”

“What are you talking about? We didn’t go anywhere.” Brent said, his exasperation clearly rising.

“You know how you’ve felt
off
since the vanishings?” Ed said, “Like the world around you isn’t quite right?”

“Well, yeah, but look around. It’s not like things are exactly
normal
.”

“More than that. Deeper. Anything unusual, about the world itself? Something slightly off - like the feeling you get if someone’s been in your house when you weren’t home, or when you’re trying to remember something but can’t, or even déjà vu? It’s like all of that, but different.”