Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) (27 page)

Ed waited for a response.

“What are you saying?” Brent finally asked.
 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but considering all we’ve seen, please just hear me out.
This
isn’t our Earth. It looks the same, feels the same, and has a lot of the same history, but this is not our world. It’s a parallel world, and on October 15, something happened here that killed millions in an instant. That same something pulled us over from our Earth to this one. You, me, and everyone you’ve met on the island so far are all from our world, snatched over at the exact instant that The Vanishing happened here.”

“Wait a second. So people here, on this other Earth, vanished too?” Brent said, “I’m confused.”

“Millions died in an instant, all at once. We’ve seen their corpses. But there’s a hell of a lot more people that vanished. They went somewhere; maybe to our planet, or maybe taken away by some giant spaceship; who knows?”

“So, what does this have to do with Gina and Ben?” Brent asked, his eyes scared and confused as he tried to work out what Ed was saying. If he even believed Ed.

“The Gina and Ben that are on Level Six, the infected people we found, they’re from this world, not ours. Everyone we’ve found that are still alive from this world are also infected with this alien parasite; the same aliens we’ve encountered. They’ve infected all who remained here.”

“I know my wife and son when I see them!” Brent said, eyes red with emotion and struggling to hold back the tears.

“Yes, but they’re not
your
wife and son; they may look the same, sound the same, and maybe even have the same histories, but they’re alternate versions of your Gina and Ben, or what we’re calling parallels.”

Brent shook his head, “No, this is all crazy Twilight Zone shit. You’re either insane or fucking with me.”

“All the things you’ve seen since October - the dead bodies, the aliens, the weird weather - and you choose to close your mind now?”

“Listen, I love science-fiction. I get the idea of alternate worlds as a concept, but the reality of it is impossible. To suggest there’s millions of different realities based on each action we take, branching and spinning off new worlds, that’s all bullshit theory, not fact.”

Ed sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but he thought Brent would be easier to convince. “I’m not saying there’s all these different worlds, different versions of us, and all that. I don’t know what there is. Hell, the scientists here don’t even have a grasp, so far as I can tell. All I know is that there are two Earths in question; two versions of us all. I met my parallel when I got here. He’s one of the scientists, hell of a lot smarter than I am, so obviously this isn’t an exact duplicate of our world. But it’s as real as you and me sitting here, and that broken beer bottle you dropped that’s stinking up the room.”

Brent sighed with a slight shake of his head, then a gentle nod.

He’s getting it. Just a bit more convincing.

“OK, let’s say you’re telling the truth, or the truth as you see it, anyway. How do you know that Ben and Gina didn’t come over here with me? That they aren’t my family?”

“There are slight chromosomal differences, the scientists said, between our two peoples. Like I said, I’m not a scientist, and I didn’t understand what they told me about that. Something about their people being slightly different, maybe more evolved, but whatever it is, they know the difference. And they tested the woman and child on Level six. They’re not yours.”

Brent looked like he was staring at a crossword puzzle perfect but for a missing word. He was close to being won over; he just needed the last piece.

“Trust me.”

Brent ran his hands through his head so hard, Ed couldn’t tell if he were trying to pull his hair out or keep his brains in. He looked up at Ed a few times. Ed kept silent, allowing Brent time to finish processing the information.

“So, if they’re not my family,
where
is my family? Are they still alive.”

Good man. Now we’re moving in the right direction.

“I presume they’re still on our Earth, and
probably
alive, though I can’t be sure. Nobody here knows much about what happened, why it happened, or how we were all brought over. Well, someone here might know, but they didn’t tell me.”

Brent stared straight ahead, at Ed, but not really. He looked exactly like Ed expected a man to look who’d been told that his wife and son, practically given up for as dead, were really alive.
Maybe.

Finally, after several minutes, Brent found his next question.
“Why did they tell you any of this? Why not tell everyone?”

“There are very few who know. Very few. I’m the only one from our world who knows. Well, now I’m the only other one from our world. I ask you this: why does the government ever lie to its people? Two reasons, to maintain control and to maintain safety. In this case, both.”

“How the hell would knowing we’re on another planet, dimension, whatever, change how we act?”

“The less the others know, the better. Black Island Research Facility is attempting to figure out what happened, how to defeat the aliens, and repopulate the planet. If everyone suddenly thought this world wasn’t theirs, they might just storm the palace, so to speak, demanding to be sent back. There’s something to be said for keeping people in the dark about some things.”

“I still don’t get why they told you.”

“Because on our Earth, I was one of the people who worked in the shadows, keeping the government’s secrets. I was good at my job. They need me.”

“So, why are you telling me?” Brent asked.

“Because I need you. I need you to help me do something. Michael was going to help me, but he’s dead now. You’re the only one I can trust.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain more tomorrow. Let’s just say that I’m not willingly working for them. They’ve got my daughter, and possibly someone else I care about.”

Brent stared, shocked. “They’re holding them hostage?”

“Something like that. An insurance policy so that I do what they need me to do, something only I can do.”

“What’s that?” Brent asked.

“Find someone from our world. Someone who may hold the key to many of these mysteries.”

“Who?”
 

“A man named Boricio Wolfe. And you’re gonna help me find him.”

* * * *

RYAN OLSON: PART 1

Brookdale, Tennessee

February 17

late morning

“You okay?” Carmine asked as Ryan limped into the mammoth apartment building.

“Twisted my ankle, but I’ll live,” Ryan said, making his way through the front door which was battered and blue, with peeling paint and a giant window where someone had thoughtfully drawn a giant penis in thick, black marker. Below that, what looked to be a gang sign. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” Carmine said. “Come on; I’ll introduce you to Gramps.”

The hallways were dark, except for the dim light bleeding from the windows at either end of each hall, providing just enough light for Ryan to see the shithole in all its glory. There were two kinds of public housing:
 
buildings where the residents worked to keep things repaired and as nice as possible, and
 
then there was this — housing so decrepit and uncared for, that you could sink a year’s worth of renovation and 10,000 gallons of paint into it, and it would still look ghetto. Even in the dark, the walls stunk of oppression and decay. Toys, sacks of trash, and discarded furniture littered the hall, as if the residents couldn’t be bothered to take their trash to the dumpsters. The hallway smelled like rotting food. Ryan hoped it was food, at least. Then again, everything was food to something nowadays.

Ryan choked back his belittling comments on the place. It wasn’t the kids fault he lived in a slum, and Ryan certainly wasn’t going to judge him or make him feel shitty. They reached the far end of the hall and Carmine fished a flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on, then pushed through the doorway.

“We’re on the fifth floor,” he said, almost apologetically.

“The higher you are, the less likely you’ll have to deal with those monsters, at least that’s what I’ve found,” Ryan said.

The stairwell was mercifully trash-free. The last thing Ryan needed was to trip and fall down the stairs. The notion of doctors died when the world turned out its lights on humanity. He figured his ankle would be okay in a day or so, but hoped he wouldn’t have to run anytime soon.

Be careful what you hope for; you’ll tempt that cruel bitch, Fate.

“So one of ‘em got away?” Carmine asked.

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed as they made it to the second floor.

“Think he’ll come back? Think he’ll bring others?”

“I dunno,” Ryan said, “But I think if there were others, they would have probably brought them this time. Unfortunately, he saw where you went. So if he does come back, you and your grandpa are sitting targets.”

“So, what should we do?”

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You either move, or prepare to defend yourselves. That means learning how to use the gun I gave you.”

“Gramps doesn’t much like guns.”

“Well, Gramps needs to recognize that the world has changed. If you’re not armed, you’re at the mercy of man and monster, alike.”

Carmine laughed, “Gramps still thinks he’s tough. A few months ago, we were at the park, and some crackhead came up with a gun and told Gramps to hand over his wallet. Gramps told the guy he had exactly 10 seconds to leave, or he’d whoop his ass so bad, his mama wouldn’t even recognize his ugly face.”

Ryan laughed, “What happened?”

"The crackhead just stared at him for a long time, and I was
sure
he was gonna just shoot us right there on the spot. But then he just backed off. Said something like, ‘It ain’t even worth it’ or something. Gramps used to be a semi-pro boxer and taught for years when he got back from the war. He never got too well known, but he’d taught a lot of the great boxers in the day. So, he’s kinda close to being a local celebrity. Maybe the dude recognized him or something. But, like you said, things have changed. People now, they don’t care who you are or what your rep is.”

“No, they don’t,” Ryan said, as he considered a third possible solution to their predicament. He could track Red Jacket down and finish the job. He’d have to wait until his ankle was better, and hope Red Jacket didn’t come back before then. But if he could find the bastard, he could make sure Carmine and his grandpa would be safe, from one asshole, anyway.

“Fifth floor,” Carmine said, as he pushed through the squeaky doorway and into the hall, lit by large grimy windows at either end. Ryan followed the boy to the fourth door on the left, noting that the hallway was in far better condition than the first floor. Gramps probably didn’t put up with trashy neighbors, Ryan guessed, liking the old brawler before they even met.

Carmine knocked on the door twice, waited, then twice again, and said, “It’s me, Gramps,” before sliding his keys into the deadbolt. He turned to Ryan, “Wait here, a sec, and leave the gun in the hall, okay?”

“OK,” Ryan said, leaning his rifle against the wall.

“I’ve got company,” Carmine said as he entered the apartment, and placed the flashlight on a small end-table beside the front door. “He saved me from some punks who tried to jack your meds. Is it alright if he comes in?”

From his spot in the doorway, Ryan could see into the small apartment, well-lit by open windows in the living room. Though the apartment was small, and looked as if it had been decorated in the 70’s, it was immaculate, orderly, and well-preserved.
 

Gramps wheeled into view, emerging from a bedroom in the back of the apartment. The man was stocky, bald, and looked like he was in his early 60’s. He was wearing powder blue dress pants that hung loosely over where the bottom of the man’s left leg had once been, and a dark blue polo shirt. He looked like he was about to head to the park for a Sunday stroll, but his face was stone-cold serious.

Gramps eyed Ryan up and down, “Why’d you bring a stranger here?” he asked Carmine, though his eyes never left Ryan. Though the man had no weapon, his stare was intimidating, as if he might leap right out of the chair and kick your ass, even if you had a weapon.

Ryan rolled his shoulders forward slightly, trying to appear less of a threat. He considered saying something, but kept his mouth shut and let the boy talk.

“He was walking me home when these two men came at me with guns. They followed us here and shot at us.”

“Yeah,” Gramps said, “I heard the racket outside. So, where is it?”

“Huh?” Carmine asked.

“Where’s this man’s gun? I heard three guns.”

“Out in the hallway, sir,” Ryan said.

“Get it,” Gramps said.
 

Ryan turned, heart in his throat, uncertain what the man intended to do. He retrieved the rifle, returned to the room and handed it to Gramps.

“A Nosler, eh? Good gun,” Gramps said, turning the rifle over in his hands before handing it back. For a man who didn’t like guns, he had no trouble making out the make and model.