Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 32

They raced over the last rows of cars and down the road, high with a confidence that could only come from living the action part of a popcorn flick while leaving a trail of dead monsters behind them.

As they approached Times Square, the silence was replaced by the sound of birds. Lots of birds. As if the entire city's avian populace had decided to flock to Times Square. Brent couldn't see the birds through the fog. Nor could he see the giant advertis.e.m.e.nts that usually greeted him at the world's most famous intersection. Without power, commerce was dead, and the giant LCD screens were just one more object barely visible in the fog. Even the solar and wind-powered Ricoh billboard was eerily dark and silent.

As they reached the corner of 7th Avenue and 42nd Street, the birds grew to a constant loud chorus of chirps, shrieks, and calls.

Luis, 10 feet ahead of Brent, stopped in his tracks.

As Brent picked up his pace, Luis turned, eyes wide, and said, "Go back."

"What?" Brent said, not listening, pushing past Luis. And then he saw for himself.

Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of human corpses were lining the thoroughfare, in 10-foot-high mounds, piled like garbage.

Brent's throat ached and his eyes welled. He stood, rooted to the spot, unable, unwilling to register what his eyes were clearly seeing.

"No," he cried, "No, no, no."

The bodies weren't rotting, burned, or emaciated, or in any way injured-looking to Brent, other than the torn eyes and flesh from the grazing birds. All were fully dressed, many in pajamas, as if plucked from bed and deposited right in the middle of the road. Dead.

Luis crouched on one knee, eyes bolted to the ma.s.s grave.

Brent raced forward and into the graveyard.

"Ben! Gina!" he screamed repeatedly, hoping they might be hiding somewhere amongst the dead.

His voice bounced off the buildings, bodies, and fog, sounding ever more desperate upon its mocking return.

He raced through the streets, among the bodies, screaming for his family until his throat was raw.

They have to be here. Ben spoke to me through Joe. He said Times Square!

Brent continued calling, running from pile to pile, searching for any signs of life among the rows of bodies. Not caring if he drew the attention of every f.u.c.king monster in the city.

"Ben!!" he screamed again, this time, crying more than screaming, as he fell to his knees.

"I'm sorry, man," Luis said, now crouching next to Brent and putting an arm on his shoulder.

"They can't be ..." Brent cried, his entire face hurting so much he thought it might crack open, "They can't be... dead."

Brent's mind flashed on the moments he'd held his son tight, tucked him in, played with him, read to him, played peek-a-boo. Thought of Ben's happy face and bright blue eyes. So full of life and innocence. He thought of the train in his pocket that his boy would never play with again.

They can't be gone.

Brent couldn't fathom a world where his son and wife were only memory.

Sudden recall hit Brent like a blade to the gut.

Last weekend, he was home, dead-a.s.s tired, and just wanting to chill out and watch TV. Ben came in asking him to read him a book. Stanley Train Goes To School. Brent said, "Tomorrow, buddy, Daddy's tired."

Brent dismissed Ben's complaints at the time, a temporary disappointment that Ben would soon get over.

"Please, Daddy."

"Tomorrow," Brent said. Of course, the next night, Brent was working, along with every evening after that. Now the look of sorrow on his three-year-old's face would be frozen in Brent's brain forever.

"I'm so sorry," Brent said staring at the bodies around him. "Daddy's so sorry."

Luis dropped his guns and hugged Brent. Both men cried.

CALLIE THOMPSON.

Callie held the gun against the back of the closet door, waiting for the creatures to make their way into the bedroom. She prayed there weren't more than two, three at most. She was confident she could take one of them out, maybe two. Any more than that, she was pretty sure they'd overwhelm her.

She heard the monsters stumble up the stairs, b.u.mping between banister and wall the entire way. Her heart pounded so loudly in her chest, she was sure they'd hear. As one of them pa.s.sed the bedroom door, Callie caught her breath and held it. The second creature didn't pa.s.s, though. It turned into the room and it was all she could do to hold the breath in her lungs.

The creature was similar to the others: long, dark, black, and wet looking with lights moving beneath its skin. Its face was an abomination of misshapen parts. It had just one eye, off to the side. It's nose was missing, with only two dark holes for nostrils. Its mouth was impossibly wide, almost so wide that if it chose to open it fully, the top of its head would probably fall back like a Pez dispenser. Rows of razor-sharp rotted teeth filled the creature's mouth.

The gun shook in Callie's hands as the creature stopped in front of the closet, lifting its head up and sniffed.

f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k.

The creature's face inched closer until it was maybe two feet from the closet opening. It sniffed again. Its eye widened as it stepped back, and pointed at the closet, letting loose with a ear piercing scream that sounded like an alarm.

Callie let out her breath and slid open the door so hard it nearly bounced back and hit her as she stuck her arms out and fired two rounds at the creature's head. The bullets sank into its skull like she were shooting a slab of beef. The first creature fell to the ground just as the second stormed into the room. She raised the gun to fire, but the creature's arm was too quick. It slammed hard into her hand and knocked the gun to the ground. The creature charged at Callie, mouth gnashing and open. Callie stumbled back into the closet, gripped the inside of the door and slammed it shut.

The creature shrieked and clicked as it hit the door with its body.

Callie cried out, the closet doors shaking in her hand. Another hit made the doors rock in their track. She wasn't sure how long she'd be able to hold the doors shut before the creature either ripped them open or pushed them off the tracks.

Another hit. And then more clicking and shrieking as one hit against the door was followed by another and another, and in such quick succession, Callie figured three of them had to be outside the closet working together.

Callie's inability to cry had found its cure. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, "Please, no! Don't kill me!"

She didn't even think about whether or not they'd understand her, let alone listen to her pleas. But those were the only words that would fall from her mouth between cries and gasps for air.

The closet door kept rocking in its frame as she desperately clutched them, trying to keep them together. The bullets in her pocket mocked her as the gun lay just outside the closet. No way would she be able to get to the gun before one, or all the monsters got her.

Another hit.

She cried out.

Another hit and she heard something a horrible wrenching sound above as the doors broke loose from the track. The right door fell in and on top of her as a long black arm reached in and swiped at her, its dark claws sinking into the meat of her forearm.

She screamed again, falling down and kicking out. Her foot found what seemed to be one of the creatures' knees, and it cracked with a sickly wet crunch, but the monster was unfazed, taking another swipe at her. Instead of hitting her, it lifted her last bit of protection, the door that was on top of her. Now it was just her and them. Her eyes darted around the room, but couldn't see the gun.

Three monsters surrounded her, each with a differently-misshapen horrifying face, and all of them shrieking like banshee vultures ready to feed.

"I love you, Mommy," she said and closed her eyes.

A shot rang out. Callie's eyes opened just as one of the monster's chests exploded and hot black blood splashed onto her.

She spit out the rancid liquid, glanced up as the other two creatures looked back to the doorway, where Bob stood with a shotgun. He shot again, blasting another of the monsters, then dropped the shotgun, raised a pistol and fired four times until the last creature's head was gone and its body was left twitching on the ground.

Callie, still lying on the ground covered in black gore, stared in disbelief at Bob, who stared down at her with a look she couldn't quite comprehend.

Is he mad? Does he know I drugged him? He's going to shoot me, isn't he?

"You okay?" Bob said, reaching out to help her up.

"Thank you," she said, still stunned, and nervous. She hugged him, breaking down in tears. Real tears.

He didn't embrace her, which caused her to pull away. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Why'd you leave?" he asked, a flash of anger ... or maybe confusion ... in his eyes.

"I wanted to find Charlie," she said. "I thought I saw someone peeking out the window here."

"Probably one of those f.u.c.king things," Bob said, picking up her pistol and handing it to her.

"Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here. Charlie is on his own now. He chose to leave."

Bob started down the stairs, Callie following slowly behind.

"Did you want to go after him?" Bob said, "You're free to go if you want, but I'm not gonna be there next time some of these creepy crawlies come a calling."

She was trapped. He knew it. She knew it. The only thing in question was whether or not he knew she'd drugged him. Apparently the drug didn't do much to dull his senses. Or perhaps, he never even finished the laced beer. She would give anything to know, but couldn't think of a way to ask if he'd drank the beer without calling unwanted attention to what she'd done.

She'd have to play dumb, go home with Bob, and hope he didn't have a clue.

BORICIO WOLFE.

Dead Guard Walking would be back in no time, so Boricio kept his stint as team captain short, telling the prisoners to keep still no matter what. Everyone needed to act like they were still bound, and stay that way until he made his move.

He finished just in time.

The door whined open and Dead Guard Walking sauntered inside. He was alone, but his feet clopped on the concrete with the rhythm of a man looking forward to detonating a two-ton dirty bomb of downright nasty.

"Miss me, f.u.c.ktard?" Dead Guard Walking was inches away, circling behind Boricio, trying to make him nervous. But Boricio was all calm with steady breath - in and out, in and out, in and out...

"Where'd that smart mouth of yours run off to? I didn't beat it out of you yet, did I? Figure I'm not quite ready for you to quit." Boricio heard a dull thawp and peered between the narrow slit he'd made in his blindfold and saw the baseball bat Dead Guard Walking was smacking into his open palm.

Bullies hate to be ignored, so I'll just keep right on ignoring him, least until it's time to shove the fat side of that bat right up that f.u.c.ker's bunghole. He ain't gonna be walking for long. He'll be a Dead Guard With Bleeding a.n.u.s Crawling in minutes.

"Well, truth of the matter is I don't much like tugging my p.e.c.k.e.r myself. s.h.i.t, that's the only reason I got married. And since you seem inclined to give me the ole frosty, how about we play a little game to loosen your juices? We'll call it 'Wheel of Misfortune,'" Boricio heard another thwap, then the sound of the bat dragged across concrete.

"Here's how we'll play: I'm gonna circle myself round the room like I'm playing Duck Duck Goose, 'cept when I get round to choosing a duck, I won't be patting no mop tops. What I'm gonna do instead is take this bat and make me a fresh batch of brain stew. See, me and this bat have been through some times together, what with me being a bouncer at the c.o.c.k Pit and all. Difference is, the c.o.c.k Pit had a lotta rules. My boss Jeff didn't want no lawsuits or police who weren't there to drink. So Robin here," another thwap as the bat hit his palm, "well, he was just for show. Get it? A bat named Robin? Ha! Oh, yeah, you all can't see Robin, can ya? Well, now that Jeff's gone, Robin can finally come out to play. Because I'm the boss and the motherf.u.c.king law."

Robin dragged across the concrete. Dead Guard Walking started speaking in a delighted whisper. "Duck...duck...duck... duck...duck... duck...duck..."

He circled the room, lingering behind Boricio a bit longer each time, but never doing more than giving him a gentle tap on the head. Boricio was glad the a.s.shole was too knee deep in being a d.i.c.k to pay attention to the prisoners, at least anything below their heads, otherwise he'd have noticed their lack of restraints.

"Looks like you might make a good goose," the voice came from a few feet away, though he wasn't sure if Dead Guard Walking was referring to Adam or the new kid, Charlie.

"I didn't like this game in kindergarten," Charlie said, "And I hate it right now. If you're gonna kill me, go ahead and do it. Or tell me how I can help you. I'm happy to do that, too, but I can't do it if I'm scared."

Boricio bit his lip to keep from laughing. Holy s.h.i.t, the kid has b.a.l.l.s. Boricio wondered if the little f.u.c.ker knew he had leverage because he was the freshest in the box, or whether the end of the world had just put an inch on his p.r.i.c.k.

"Well how about that, ladies and gentleman," Dead Guard Walking said. "We have today's first contestant on 'Wheel of Misfortune.'"

Boricio actually heard Charlie swallow.

"Do what you need to," Charlie said. "But I'm done being afraid and wondering what's the worst that can happen to me. If this is it, well alright then. Looks like there's not much else going on out there anyway."

A long pause followed: probably Dead Guard Walking figuring how he could punish the rule breaker without actually killing him. Boricio tensed. The reel wasn't supposed to roll just yet, but if the movie was gonna play, well f.u.c.k it if Boricio wasn't ready to be the star of the show.

"Ha, I like the way you play, kid," Dead Guard Walking said. "How about I give you a wild card?"

Charlie said nothing.

"What? You don't want a wild card? Well, that's probably 'cuz you don't know what a wild card is! A wild card means you get to pa.s.s your turn to another player. I'm happy to let you live, seeing as how you're the only one who seems to possess both b.a.l.l.s and brains. Now you can take the wild card I so generously gave you and pa.s.s your turn to someone else." Dead Guard Walking's voice dropped an octave. "That means you can pa.s.s your brain stew to whoever you want. Course, you get to choose, it being your wild card and all, but I'd suggest this p.u.s.s.y licker over here with the mouth big enough to drive a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.g's worth of c.o.c.ks inside."

Boricio felt the end of the sentence with a hard kick to his knee. Pain radiated through his body, but it was nothing compared to what he would soon deliver. Keep adding fuel, buddy.

Adam said, "Why don't you just leave everyone alone?"

s.h.i.t!

f.u.c.king kid. You're 'bout to get yourself straight dead. You can question a bully, but you can't tell 'em to stop. Charlie rode the edge without falling. You're tumbling into nothing fast.