Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (11 page)

But this wasn’t some fucker who had it coming. This was a young girl, someone’s daughter. And while Boricio had killed all sorts who didn’t deserve it, including daughters, he’d never murdered a child.

Someone should throw me a hero parade!

The look in her eyes scared Boricio. He’d not seen Mary this filled with rage in a couple of years. There had been a while, after their return to this world, when Mary had run on nothing but hate and vengeance. She’d killed hundreds — of aliens, bandits, and any motherfuckers that crossed them. She’d become a regular Britany Badass. And he liked it, even if not the horrors that broke her. But this …
this
was something else entirely.

“Show yourself!” Mary shouted.
 

No one was coming.

If there was anyone waiting to take them out, they would’ve showed their faces already. Boricio had to end this bullshit before Mary killed the girl.
 

“It’s not a trap,” Boricio said, approaching Mary. “See? Nobody’s shooting. No ships in the sky. I know you don’t wanna hurt her, Mary.”

Her face looked blank, as if Boricio’s words were hitting a wall. Her eyes were wild, searching for enemies, something to kill and absorb her deep well of rage.

The girl whimpered, the sound of her pain making Boricio wince.

He waved his hands in front of Mary like a magician showing the nothing up his sleeve, trying to snap her out of whatever the hell kind of PTSD she seemed to be suffering.

When her eyes finally stopped on Boricio, seeming to register him as a friend, he said, “Please, Mary, let her go. She’s just a kid.”

Mary met his eyes. “So was Paola. And they took her.”

Boricio turned to the girl. “Hey, honey, what’s your name?”

“Emily,” she said, voice shaking.

“You hear that, Mary? Her name’s Emily. Emily didn’t do nothing to Paola. Emily is not your enemy.”

Mary looked around again, searching for enemies that weren’t coming. “You have five seconds to show yourselves! One!”

“Come on, Mary,” Boricio said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Two!”

“Listen to me, Mary. You’ve gotta let Emily go.”

“Three!”

“Mary!” Boricio yelled.
 

“Four!”
 

The girl cried, “Please, I’m not an alien!”

Could Mary really do this?
 

Was this a bluff to get the enemies to show themselves? Maybe get Emily, or one of the other kids, to reveal their true selves?

“Mary!” Boricio waved his hands, begging her to look at him.

“Five!”
 

The girl cried out.

Mary’s eyes darted back and forth then up to the skies.

She met Boricio’s eyes. In that look, he could tell that Mary finally realized she was wrong. This wasn’t a trap. Nobody was coming to get them.

At least he thought that’s what he saw.

Mary slit the girl’s throat.

TO BE CONTINUED …

YESTERDAY’S GONE

::EPISODE 32::

(SECOND EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)

“Hell”

* * * *

PROLOGUE —
It

Four years ago
 

When the mothership arrived,
It
had been no less surprised than the Earthlings.

It
had watched the mothership obliterate cities. Had watched the virus, presumably unleashed by the ship’s occupants, wipe out most of humanity.
It
had watched and wondered what
Its
purpose was in this invasion.

Why hadn’t
It
felt the aliens’ thoughts as they floated overhead laying waste to the world? Was it not part of the collective that
It
had unleashed when
It
got the final vials? It had to be. Nothing else made sense.

If that were the case, why was the virus also killing many of the new creatures
It
had unleashed, along with hybrids
It
had created?
 

Something wasn’t adding up. As weeks went by,
It
wondered if this was a separate alien invasion.
Its
human part — Desmond, as he called himself — laughed at the irony.
 

You’ve taken over the world, and for what? Another race to claim your prize?

It
sent pain through
Its
body to silence the human.
 

It
tried probing the minds aboard the alien ship. But like its brethren calling itself The Light,
It
couldn’t connect. Couldn’t even sense anything aboard. The ship’s inhabitants were different than
It
.

Six weeks after the mothership appeared in the skies,
It
was beckoned to The Island where the ship had
docked
high above.

An unmanned shuttle came down to retrieve
It
.

It
went aboard and was ushered to the mothership. Doors opened into a dark bay where
It
was met by something unfamiliar, yet oddly felt like home.

A large red creature, roughly eight feet high — like a centipede mated with a moth — standing upright, like a human, somehow supported by two dozen or so spindly, sharp, shiny black legs along the lower third of its body. More legs ran along its length, though what use they served was beyond
It
. They were short and had only tiny pincers, rather than digits designed to hold and manipulate objects. Its face was a stub with a gaping maw and giant black eyes that offered no reflection. This was what reminded
It
of a moth most, besides the large papery wings that were sheer enough to see through.

The creature was beautiful
and
hideous.

“What are you?”
It
asked.

The creature spoke without its mouth, inside
Its
head, and in Desmond’s voice, as if accessing the language and voice
Its
host preferred.

Little did the creature know that the last thing
It
wanted to hear was
more
from the human who had gone from being a barely there passenger to an increasingly annoying backseat driver in the past few weeks.
It
feared that like others,
It
was about to lose control of
Its
host body, or perhaps go mad. But
It
could say this to no one.
It
had to hide this deficiency — or risk ejection from
Its
role as de facto leader of the alien army
It
had unleashed.

The creature said, “Do you not recognize us?”

Three more beasts, all similar, though with minor differences in coloring, skittered forth. They seemed heavy yet moved with grace that belied their bulk.
It
figured their legs must be quite strong to move them so effortlessly. One, more gray than red, walked on all of its legs like an Earth centipede.

“No,”
It
said. “Though you feel familiar.”

A couple of the creatures —
It
couldn’t be sure which ones, as they all had Desmond’s voice in
Its
head — laughed.

“We are the Pruhm. Do you not recognize your creators?”

“Creators?”

“He doesn’t think he’s human, does he?”

It
shook
Its
head, offended by the suggestion. “No, I am
better
than humans, here to replace them! To evolve them —
us
— into something better.”
 

More laughter.

“What?”
It
said, angered by the tone of these giant fucking insects, as if
It
were a stupid child with insignificant plans.
 

One of the things said, presumably to the others, “You can’t blame him. It
has
been a long time since we sent them out.”

“Please,”
It
said, holding
Its
temper in check, “will you tell me what you’re talking about?”

One of the creatures obliged. “We made you then sent through the universe, to help us find a new home. To find a species we could implant, as you say, ourselves into. Your job was to thin the herd to a manageable amount. We arrived and unleashed a virus to eliminate all who wouldn’t be compatible.”

“I was
created?
What do you mean?”

“You are a tool. A fungus imbued with artificial intelligence. A rudimentary and somewhat uncontrollable tool, but an implement of our design nonetheless.”

“No, I am not a tool!”
It
shook
Its
head. “I am an evolved species, blending the best of my kind and humanity.”

“You may have evolved, but do not mistake your role.”

Its
body felt hot.
Its
heart raced faster. Human emotions surging through
It
— fear running rampant, short-circuiting
Its
ability to process what was happening.
It
finally managed to string a few words together.

“What
is
my role?”

“To find hosts for our species.”

“How? I know nothing of your biology. I’ve been preparing for
my
species, not yours.”

“Do not mistake our corporeal appearance for our true nature. This is but one of many bodies we’ve been forced to use since fleeing our world. We engineered you in our image. We can use the same bodies as you.”

It
didn’t like this a bit. These things, the Pruhm, were taking the wheel of his ship.
It
didn’t care if they created
It
or not.
 

But
It
had to be wise.

It
had to play the game, and make sure they still needed
It
.

“Whatever you need,”
It
said.

“How stable are these bodies?”
 

“We’ve had mixed results. There have been issues with the hosts rejecting us.”

“What happens?”

“In the worst cases, a complete psychological breakdown followed by suicide, usually leading to the death of our species.”

“What?” said one of the creatures, seemingly surprised. “It was our understanding from the transmissions that the humans were a match.”

While
It
didn’t know what transmission they were speaking about, now was
Its
chance to prove
Its
value.

“Well, finding a host is more than just finding a suitable physical specimen. We also need to find the right psychological makeup, to find a stable match. How many of you are there?”

There was a moment of silence.
It
wondered if they didn’t know their number or were trying to determine if it was wise to let
It
know. Did they view
It
as a threat with whom they shouldn’t share information or expose potential vulnerabilities?

“Nine hundred and fifty-eight. Though, once implanted, we can propagate our species. Like you, we reproduce by regenerative cell division. Can you find us stable humans to start our program?”

“Yes.”

It
would play ball … so long as their goals were aligned. But
It
would also seek a way to destroy all 958 lives aboard the mothership the moment the Pruhm’s goals branched from
Its
.
It
had come too far to abandon
Its
attempt to fulfill
Its
potential, regardless of
Its
design.
 

You may have created us, but you do not own us.

It
had
Its
own collective destiny to fulfill. And damn anyone, or anything, trying to stop
It
.

“Good,” the Pruhm said in unison.

The shuttle door opened behind him.

It
took that as
Its
cue to leave and turned.

A horrible pain seized
Its
body, as if someone had found every one of Desmond’s pain points and pressed them at once.
 

Desmond’s body moved on its own, without
Its
control.

For a horrifying moment
It
was certain the human inside had somehow seized control of
Its
shell at the most inopportune of times.
Its
usefulness would be questioned by the Pruhm, and then they would terminate
It
.

But then, as
It
was turned face-to-face with one of the grotesque insectoids,
It
realized that the aliens were somehow asserting control of their creation.

The gray one made itself taller, more intimidating.

The creature moved closer to
Its
face, so close
It
could hear the gnashing of the insect’s rows of needle teeth, could hear the sharp legs thrashing along its body like a rattler’s tail.

The creature spoke in
Its
mind, this time in a horrible screeching that was neither human in sound nor English in words.

But its message was clear:

We are superior to you. We own you.