Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (32 page)

“You were both dead once before. Don’t you remember? Killed in the dungeon of that cult leader’s house? Luca, or
The Light
as you call him, brought you back. You know what I’m saying is possible. Your daughter’s soul is safe and sound, in here with me. You can be together again, Mary. Only your fear of the unknown is stopping you.”

Tears welled in the corners of Mary’s eyes. The grief she’d driven into the depths of her soul — into a place where she could no longer feel — began rising inside her, consolidated in physical form as a giant ball in her throat. She swallowed, painfully, but could no longer drown her grief.

It felt as if her body was on fire, her flesh unknitting in the flames of her pain. Soon, there would be nothing left but a husk.
 

The alien stood, eyes boring into Mary’s.

“You’re hurting,” it said in Paola’s voice.

She wanted to look away, not give it the benefit of seeing its words undoing her resolve.
 

“You don’t have to hurt any longer,
Mommy.
”

Her daughter’s hand reached out, touched Mary’s cheek.

She fell against the touch, into Paola’s embrace. “It hurts so much.”
 

“I can make it all better,” Paola said, stroking her hair.

“How?” Mary pulled away. “You want to put an alien inside me? Take over?”

She covered herself with arms, hating the alien even more for using Paola to reduce her to such an emotional mess. For using her willingness to see her daughter alive to undermine her resolve.

She wished it would go away.

But at the same time, she wanted to hear more. Wanted it to tell her the one thing she could believe without feeling like a fool.

Give me a reason to trust you.

“You still don’t trust us?” The alien stared at Mary as if reading her mind. Maybe it was in her head, even though she couldn’t feel it.
 

Mary felt at a crossroads, that the next thing she said would choose her path forever. The wrong choice might be her death. She had to get ahold of herself, control her emotions, bottle the grief. She had to figure out what the alien wanted and play along enough to buy more time.

Buy time for what? You think Team Boricio is coming to save you? They don’t even know you’re here!

“It’s okay.” The alien nodded. “I think I can help.”

The alien stepped closer.

Mary tensed, backed up again, her foot hitting the bed.
 

“It’s okay.” The alien smiled. “I’m going to show you that everything I said is true. Your daughter is still here, and you can be together again.”

Paola began to yawn. At least that’s what Mary thought at first. She fought back her own urge to do the same.
 

Her daughter’s lips began to vibrate.

Mary couldn’t do anything but stare at the light burning inside the girl’s throat.

What the hell?

Dozens of tendrils of blue light spilled from Paola’s mouth like floating filaments in a slow current, swimming past her lips, followed by the rest of the alien’s body, a bulbous sheer sack of iridescent blue flesh rippling with thousands of tiny bright lights.

While The Darkness had been an almost inky, smoke-like creature, this thing seemed more organic, more like something you’d find in the deep sea, more fragile, lighter, dancing on air above them.

Mary was so entranced by the thing’s wonder and beauty, she’d almost forgotten the point of the show.

Paola gasped.

Mary looked back at her daughter, choking, trying to catch her breath.

“Mom?” she cried.

Mary met Paola’s eyes, and in a heartbeat knew she was no longer staring at some hijacked husk controlled by the aliens. No, this was her daughter.

Mary threw her arms around Paola and hugged her tight. “Oh, God, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

* * * *

CHAPTER 12 — Boricio Wolfe

They searched the entire ground floor and hadn’t found any sign of foul play, or a note left behind to indicate that Radio Bob had headed somewhere else.

As they climbed the circular staircase in the back of the church toward the belfry, Boricio kept thinking about the stupid dog outside. Just staring at them, blue eyes, so peaceful. He wondered if the dog had any idea that the world had gone to shit. Maybe it was young enough that it didn’t remember the world as it had been. For the dog, it had always been this — scumbags and aliens destroying everything they touched. As tough as it was to survive now, during some months in the beginning, Boricio’s team had been on the verge of starvation before they’d learned to do some rooftop farming and got a bit luckier on food runs. This dog seemed like he was living on easy street.

Boricio wondered if the dog could be domesticated. Maybe Luca would like having a dog around. Maybe Emily would, too.

They reached the belfry and saw Radio Bob sitting in the darkness, his back to them, facing the wall. Shafts of light seeped through the wooden shutters, illuminating just enough of the short bald man to show it was him, but not whether he was dead or alive.

Boricio took the lead, approaching with his pistol drawn.

Closer, Boricio smelled piss and blood.

He reached the man but didn’t bother to touch his shoulder. Instead, he circled and saw through the light streaming up at Radio Bob.

Fuck.

“His throat is slit. We need to get the hell outta here.”

Boricio went to the closest shutter to look out, to check if either bandits or alien fucks were closing ranks.

At first, he saw nothing.
 

Then Boricio saw something he wished he hadn’t.

The dog was no longer sitting there. It was lying on the ground in an awkward position, facedown in the parking lot, clearly dead.

Boricio wasn’t sure what it meant but knew it wasn’t good.

The sound of doors exploding inward erupted downstairs, followed by the all-too-familiar shrieking and clicking of aliens.

Double fuck!

Boricio went and looked along the north-facing shutters and saw something worse than the dead dog — a horde of aliens, too many to count, moving too fast to escape.
 

“Hey, guys,” he said. “We’ve got a problem.”

Keenan and Lisa raced to Boricio side and looked down.

“Fuck,” they said together.
 

TO BE CONTINUED …
 

YESTERDAY’S GONE

::EPISODE 35::

(FIFTH EPISODE OF SEASON SIX)

“The Belfry”

* * * *

PROLOGUE — Edward Keenan

Two years ago

First Lutheran Church

Las Orillas, California

Ed put the gun against his temple, ready to end it all in the belfry’s heavy shadows.
 

But instead of pulling the trigger, he lowered the gun, hands shaking, sweat drenching his shirt.
 

Again, he couldn’t do it.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

Why can’t I do this? It’s not like I’m afraid to die. Or have anything worth living for.

Why can’t I end it?

Ed had once been known as a man without conscience — a black ops agent who could be counted on to act without hesitation. No matter the target, from obvious enemies of the state to a seemingly innocent person whose crimes Ed couldn’t imagine rising to the level of assassination, the soldier followed orders and did his job. He pulled the trigger and did what had to be done.

He’d never been particularly proud of his reputation. Nor had he ever been ashamed, until some time before the end of everything, when he started to question his government’s role as the good guy — after Ed realized he was working to perpetuate some of the very crimes his government claimed to be fighting. Until then, he’d never blinked before pulling the trigger.

There was a small part of Ed that
did
take some pride in the workman-like quality he brought to the job. He didn’t break or get overly emotional on assignment or when odds were stacked against him. He kept his shit together whether he was being held against his will or facing insurmountable odds behind enemy lines. Ed got shit done. He was the perfect killer — be that to praise or damnation.

He’d once been celebrated, and feared. Now he was nothing — a shell of himself, a loner in the dark, contemplating the best way to end it all.

He looked up at the bell, which hadn’t rung since The Fall, and fought the urge to ring it now. Announce his presence and let his enemies come — bandits, aliens, or hybrids —
come and fucking get me.

That would be a proper way to go out, fighting, doing what he did best. Of course, he’d be putting the sanctuary at risk. And as the sole guard working it, he couldn’t be that selfish.
 

The church served as a refuge — a place for rebels to go if they got lost in the field. It was usually manned by one person who kept lookout in the belfry and radioed the bases each morning with an update.
Yeah, we found your guy. Come and get him.
The rebels would send Luca and Boricio to make sure the rebel hadn’t been compromised, or infected. It was a decent system that protected the hidden locations of rebel camps in The City. Keenan couldn’t leave the job empty without risking the lives of others.

The last guy working the belfry had gone stir-crazy and requested reassignment. Ed had gladly volunteered to take the open spot, even though his talents were wasted.

He thought working at the sanctuary would give him some desperately needed alone time. Ever since Jade’s death, he’d found it harder to be around the others and stay civil. The church gave him space to rebuild what was left of his life.

But since he’d taken the position three months ago, Ed found that the solitary confinement had only hollowed him further. He felt scooped out like a gourd. And with that emptiness came a bleaker series of thoughts:
 

Why go on?
 

What was the point of fighting an impossible battle?
 

Weren’t they all just delaying the inevitable?
 

Ed had no answers, and saw little reason to go on. At least not for himself. Maybe for Brent and Teagan. They had children to protect. And in a way, Ed felt responsible for their safety. But at the same time, how long could they delay the inescapable? Someday, death would come for the kids, for Brent, for Teagan. Death would come for them all.
 

The enemy was too many, and there weren’t enough people to fight it. No matter how many aliens or bandits they managed to kill, there
always
seemed to be more.

There was no way around it. The end was as inevitable as the night.

And Ed didn’t want to be there when it happened. He couldn’t stand to see another situation where he was helpless to prevent the unpreventable.
 

As he sat there, gun in hand, an idea found shape. Ed would call home base tomorrow, tell them to send someone new, because he needed to follow a lead — he’d figure the specifics later. Then he’d go off, somewhere where he wasn’t compromising their network’s security, radio home one final time to let everyone know they shouldn’t come looking for him, then he’d end it.

On his terms.

For the first time in two years, Ed smiled.

Soon, it’ll all be over.

**

From his makeshift hunter’s perch in the thick tree line, Ed scanned the slaughterhouse grounds, watching the alien shuttle land on schedule.

Once a month, the shuttle dropped off fresh workers for the slaughterhouse, one of the mainland’s few structures with working power. The rebels had been wanting to hit the slaughterhouse for a while — to interrupt The Island’s food supply. But following rebel attacks on factories and farms, the aliens had beefed up their security. Now the place was a fortress, turning any attack into a suicide mission.

Which, of course, was why Ed was here.

There were four towers, one in each corner of the high-gated perimeter. Three of the four were occupied by Guardsmen, with black helmets but no visors. The men closest to Ed, on the west side, were staring ahead. That left the man in the rear free to eliminate without Ed being noticed — hopefully.

He lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger, hitting his target with the first suppressed bullet.

The guard fell in the tower, thankfully not out of it. Ed scanned the other two towers, ensuring that neither man was alerted. Both were oblivious to their fallen comrade. Ed lined up his next shot, taking out the farther of the two men. Again, he hit his target with a single bullet. This Guardsman, however, fell forward and plunged to the ground.

Shit!

Ed swung the rifle’s scope to find the final guard. The sentry’s movements were panicked, raising the rifle and scanning his surroundings in search of the shooter.