Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 18

A man's voice, loud and strong: "Attention, survivors. The Department of Homeland Security has set up a safe zone on Black Island. We are running ferries from East Hampton Docks every four hours starting at 8 a.m. We advise anyone traveling to do so only during the day. We've had reports of strange sightings at night. Repeat: It is not safe to stay in the city. If you are indoors at night, we advise you to wait until morning to travel."

A long pause followed, then the recording looped and started over.

"Black Island?" Brent said, "That's the place where Homeland Security has a complex and research facility, right?"

"One of a few islands like that out there, I think."

Luis picked up the two-way radio again, "Okay, Stan, we're gonna drive around the park once more, then head back if you all want to get ready to go with us."

"Melora isn't sure," Stan said, "She's thinking we should stay."

"Jesus," Luis said, venting the frustration Brent was already feeling with the woman. "You've gotta do what's right for you, Stanley. You think on it; try to talk her into coming. I'll call back in half an hour. If you haven't made up your mind by then, we're going without you."

Luis looked at Brent, as if only realizing at that moment he'd forgotten to ask if Brent was coming along.

Brent nodded, but as Luis ended the call, he remembered his midnight commitment.

"s.h.i.t, I can't go. Not tonight, anyway. I left a note for Gina saying I'd be back at midnight."

"Yeah, but if she's not there when you get home, you know she didn't see the note, and you can leave a new one telling her where we went."

"Yeah," Brent said, "but what if she came and then left? And she came back again at midnight looking for me?"

"You don't think she'd leave a note, or h.e.l.l, just wait for you?"

"I suppose," Brent said. Luis made a good point. If Gina had come home, she wouldn't leave. And if she did leave, she would definitely write a note updating Brent on her status. She left notes for everything; she'd definitely leave one when the world was circling the drain.

Yeah, well where's the note when you woke up?

Not the same - she was probably outside when s.h.i.t went down.

Outside at 2:15 a.m.? Come on, face the facts.

Well s.h.i.t for dinner, you got me there.

"I'll think on it and have my mind made up by the time we get back. Worse comes to worse, I'll catch up with you next day."

"Um, h.e.l.l no," Luis said, "We're in this s.h.i.t together. You wait till tomorrow, I wait."

Brent smiled, "Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

Not seeing anyone, they decided to drive back to Brent's, listening to the radio the whole way, even if it was the same message on repeat. Something was rea.s.suring about authority establishing some form of control and safety.

"Why do you think that's the only safe zone?" Luis asked. "I mean, there's a million easier places to get to than Black Island, right?"

"Maybe that's why. Maybe its remote location makes it the only safe place left? Maybe those creatures, aliens, whatever, can't cross water?"

"Can't cross water, but they can appear over people's beds and s.n.a.t.c.h them up in the middle of the night?"

"Well, that's a.s.suming we're not dealing with two different things altogether," Brent suggested.

"Or maybe the cloud things are like those things on Star Trek, teleportation devices? They zap us up to their s.p.a.ceships and then come down and hunt the rest of us?"

"I dunno," Brent said, shaking his head, "I'm just not thinking they're aliens. It just seems, I dunno, so unlikely."

"Any more unlikely than people vanishing?"

"No," Brent said, as they got out of the car and headed toward his building.

They glanced at Stan's apartment building. "Wanna meet me over there when you're done?"

Brent shook his head. "Nah, you can come up. Maybe you'll get to meet my family."

When they reached Brent's apartment, his heart swelled at the sight of his open door.

They're home!

He was halfway to the door when Luis yanked him back with one giant arm, "I take it your door was closed when you left?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Brent said, unable to wipe the goofy grin from his face.

"It might not be them in your house," Luis warned, his eyes void of any prior humor or warmth. Nothing but business.

Brent swallowed, embarra.s.sed by his childish optimism. He was normally a cynical b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and should have known better than to see an open door as a sign of fortune.

"Call to them," Luis whispered, gun ready.

"Don't shoot until you're sure it's not people," Brent said, stepping in front of Luis. "Please. No accidents."

"Don't worry," Luis said, "I won't pull the trigger unless one of them is on you."

"Thanks," Brent said, as he moved closer to the door, looking inside, but seeing n.o.body in his apartment. "h.e.l.lo? Gina? Ben? I'm home."

Nothing.

"h.e.l.lo?!"

He stepped toward the doorway, acutely aware of Luis at his back. He moved with slow intent, maintaining distance between Luis and his family, as he navigated the entrance hall.

His heart choked when he saw the disaster scattered in his living room. The dining room table was on its side, chairs were everywhere, some broken. It was like a rugby team had run into the living room, trampled the table, grabbed a few chairs and threw them across the room, smashing his TV along the way.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Brent said, unable to make sense of the scene.

Luis pushed past Brent, gun raised, and stepped into the hall. "Stand back," he said to Brent.

"Be careful," Brent pleaded, getting his own gun ready.

Luis pushed open the first door, the bathroom, then headed to the master bedroom with the fluid movement of a well-trained SWAT officer. He left the bedroom, still intact, then headed toward Ben's room. Brent rushed to Luis's side and stepped in front of him, "Wait," he said, "I'll go."

Brent pushed the door open with the gun, and prayed his son wouldn't run out.

He'd never been so glad not to see his family.

"Whatever was here is gone," Luis said.

As if on cue, his radio beeped.

"Yeah?" Luis asked.

"Wh... where are you?" Stan asked, his voice at a whisper, packed with fear.

"Across the street, why?"

"They're in here."

"Who's in there?"

"The creatures. I heard them in the hallway, making this G.o.dawful sound."

"You have the guns, right?" Luis asked.

"Yes," Stan said, "Can you see anything outside?"

Luis and Brent rushed to the window in Ben's room and were met with wisps of white fog brushing the window panes.

"Can't see s.h.i.t in this fog," Luis said.

"How many are there?"

"I dunno, sounds like a lot," Melora said.

"Wait, wait," Stand whispered loudly, "I think they might be leaving. Hold on, I'm gonna try and look through the peephole."

"No," Luis said, "Just stay put. Do NOT make a sound."

Too late, no answer.

Brent and Luis listened as silence seemed to stretch to eternity. Brent was pretty sure he could hear Melora's breathing over the light static.

And then all h.e.l.l broke loose.

"s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t! s.h.i.t!" Stan screamed, as something pounded like thunder.

Melora screamed.

Stan's next scream was followed by the sound of ripping flesh and a rising chorus of "Click, click, click, click" sounds.

"Stan!" Luis yelled into the radio.

"They're eating him!" Melora screamed, but from a distance, as if she'd dropped the radio and was running into a room.

She fired two shots, three, and then screamed.

More flesh ripping, followed by what sounded like the splashing of blood and Melora's gurgling death cries.

Then nothing but silence, except for the clicking, like animals celebrating a kill.

Brent's heart felt like it missed every other beat as the drama played out over the radio, just a couple hundred yards and another world away.

"Stan!" Luis screamed, and suddenly the clicking stopped.

Brent's eyes shot wide open, waiting for what would come next over the radio as if he would see, not hear it. But they were met with silence.

They heard us!

And then footsteps.

Then the sound of a hand fumbling with the radio, followed by a ragged racket of breathing as it pulled the radio closer to its mouth.

Brent stared at Luis, as both men waited for the next sound.

"Click, click, click, click," from one, at first, and then many.

MARY OLSON.

It looked more like demolition than disaster.

The debris was centralized in a towering core, piled skysc.r.a.per-high in the center of the blackened tundra. Power lines, cars, splintered lumber, slabs of concrete, even cracked airplanes, and what looked like an entire freeway were laying in ma.s.sive oversized chunks.

Mary's voice was a prisoner in her throat. Jimmy's, as usual, wasn't. "Holy s.h.i.t b.a.l.l.s, this is some Roland Emmerich s.h.i.t right here."

"Who?" It was amazing Paola cared.

"He's a s.h.i.t director," Jimmy said laughing. "c.r.a.p movies, but cool looking most of the time. Aliens must've been looking at his storyboards."

John turned and glared at him, then pulled to the side of the road. All four survivors stepped from the SUV, wordless. Desmond was already out of the van.

The destruction gathered in the middle made no sense. It was as though the area had somehow imploded and exploded at the same time. Impossible, sure, but the reality was giving them the stink eye all the same.

It looked like the world had exploded before a ma.s.sive tornado came and picked everything up then deposited it in a single location. No bodies were there, but no rubble was there either. Not exactly. The gravel and detritus that should've carpeted the ground wasn't there. Instead, they were ankle deep in some sort of charred rock, surprisingly uniform and each roughly the size of a golf ball, though the debris was angular, not round - volcanic looking, and almost beautiful.

"Do you think this is Ground Zero?" Mary asked.