Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 4

f.u.c.k that.

Boricio hit the bottom stair and opened the door. He could smell the beer-battered bulls.h.i.t before it was halfway open. Yup, the restaurant was dead. The restaurant hadn't been empty once in the four months he lived upstairs, but Boricio could see through the gla.s.s: No cooks, no customers, no servers. He walked outside into the night.

And on the corner, Lucy was gone, which was equally weird. Lucy was never gone. f.u.c.king mystery when she slept; stood on the corner day in, day out, except if cops were on the beat or she was filling the mayonnaise jar. Even then, she was only gone for five to nine minutes at a time. Lucy had a way of taking guys into the room and giving them more than they expected in less than a quarter of the time.

Like his apartment, the motel across the street was dark. But the humming light from the restaurant's sign (which was lit) illuminated the split crack of Room #112. Boricio crossed the street, then opened the door the rest of the way to a whole mess of what-the-f.u.c.k?

The room was neat. Ready for the next 59 minutes neat anyway. And the air was so cold, it wasn't like Lucy had stepped out so much as she'd never even been there. Boricio had smelled that room most days ending in Y for four months straight and it had never smelled like that.

The motel room was dead. Just like the alley. And the stairwell. And his f.u.c.king apartment. And just like that, the restaurant sign went dark, the humming ceased, leaving everything quiet. Like no animals or insects quiet. The kinda quiet you sometimes got right before a hurricane, but even quieter.

A flirt's worth of fear fluttered through Boricio's body. It almost made him smile; it'd been so long since he'd felt it, but his beading temple kept the grimace fixed. Boricio stepped back into the alley, drawing a deep breath and inhaling a perfumed gust from the Mississippi.

The river.

f.u.c.k yeah, that's where he'd go. Something had happened and he'd missed it. People were evacuating and would have to meet in one place. The river made sense. Besides, if it really was the end of the world, the Mississippi would look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

Boricio crossed the street, hopped in his 10-year-old, 2-ton Ford, then gunned the engine and tore into the street with a roar thundering over dead earth. He was only a half mile from the river but didn't even make it a block before braking hard enough to burn his nostrils with the scent of burned rubber.

f.u.c.k.

Maybe the world had been shingled in s.h.i.t and maybe it hadn't, but a sudden memory from his previous night's adventure filled Boricio's brain with a planet and a half's worth of f.u.c.k this!

The world had disappeared. The thought of her disappearing, despite the neat slit that ran beneath her chin from ear to ear, was about as much as Boricio could take. He flipped the pickup in a U and sent it flying toward the Village de L'Est where that little b.i.t.c.h Brianna had kept her tidy apartment, at least until he'd made her breathing impossible.

He'd see if the body was still there. If so, he'd deal with it.

Him, too.

Boricio coated the back of his hand with brow sweat and pushed the pickup harder. Less than a mile to go.

f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h. I wanted to wait until Christmas. She was my present. And if it wasn't for that ancient f.u.c.k, or the punk a.s.s with the pink gla.s.ses, I would've. Still, she'd been yummier'n a Hurricane and a heap of hot wings. Didn't even scream. Not once. Just wheezed at the end a little, like a dying vacuum cleaner.

Boricio broke into a cracked laugh at the memory.

Punk a.s.s with the sungla.s.ses, though, he cried like a stuck pig. Would've died fast no matter, but the squealing made it easy. She was worth savoring every second. Too bad about the rush. Happy f.u.c.king Halloween.

Now I need something new for Christmas.

Boricio rounded the corner at Dauphine and killed the engine at the second curb so he could walk the rest of the way. Like always. Just in case. From a block back, he knew everything he needed to, but kept on going anyway. The old man, same f.u.c.ker who had been sitting on the stoop since early September when Boricio first started scoping the place, was gone. He'd been half the reason Boricio had to hurry his Christmas, and now he wasn't even around to celebrate the end of the world.

The door to the apartment was unlocked just as he left it. He could almost smell her as he crossed the apartment toward the bathroom where his first surprise was waiting. Boricio had left precisely one body in the bathtub with all its limbs in place. He'd even left the head on since an extra body was all the cops needed to open-and-shut his ritual into an easy-to-swallow murder-suicide.

The punk a.s.s dude had bled out, coating the tub in a thick mottle of red, but his body was gone and the gallons of blood looked like they'd been replaced with fresh water.

The f.u.c.k is this?

And she was missing too.

The bed was rumpled from where she'd been taking her final nap, but the buckets of blood that were beneath her when Boricio closed the door three hours earlier, now looked suspiciously like bleach stains. Same for the drops leading from bed to bathroom. The white against the brown of the hard wood was clear, even with only one light working.

Someone turned the world inside-f.u.c.king-out...

Boricio tore through the apartment, trying to pull sense from the impossible. He wasn't worried about getting caught at all. It hadn't happened in 20 years and sure as s.h.i.t wasn't about to happen an hour into the Apocalypse, but he wasn't a guy to flip a b.i.t.c.h on Answer Road.

After 15 minutes, Boricio couldn't find a single thing, except for the panty drawer he'd rifled through 73 times before.

Those aren't her panties. Ain't a single pair in that drawer was ever worn.

Thing about beer-battered bulls.h.i.t is it doesn't taste different until you spit it out, so Boricio threw a final scowl around the room, then headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. He could swear he felt faster, stronger. And not just like he usually did after a good kill and a great night's sleep.

Like a few lines of c.o.ke gone permanent. Must be the adrenaline. Feels good. Could get used to this s.h.i.t in a hurry.

Boricio bounded down the stairs and kicked the door with a giggle. Maybe it was the end of the world, and maybe that s.h.i.t wasn't too bad. Humanity was mostly made of a.s.sholes anyway, and that was scientific f.u.c.king fact.

Boricio was practically skipping across the street, but broke into a full run when he saw the police cruiser sitting in the ghost lot of a usually hopping Circle K.

The meek don't inherit s.h.i.t. Earth belongs to the wolves.

EDWARD KEENAN.

Darkness bathed every block.

Not a single light or car on the street. Nor a single person in sight.

The s.h.i.t was downright spooky. He followed the streets until they led him out of the neighborhood and into town, wherever the h.e.l.l he was. He didn't think to look at an address while in the house. That was the second mistake he'd made this evening. He'd have to stay sharp if he planned to get back home. He was about to lean over, open the glove compartment, and dig out whatever paperwork was in there, when he saw the glow of lights from a gas station's lit canopy ahead.

Excited, he floored the gas, and raced to the station. A red Honda was parked at the pump and a blue Mazda was parked in a s.p.a.ce at the back of the store.

The gas station was in the lot of a small shopping plaza, which had gone completely dark. As he got closer to the gas station, he looked inside the store. It was lit, but dimly. Backup lighting, no doubt.

Ed parked behind the Honda, hopped out of the SUV, and went inside the store, which was haunted by the same vacant feeling of the oddly abandoned house.

"h.e.l.lo?" No cashier at the register; no one in the store. He walked towards the walk-in cooler, which was muted from its usual hum, and peered inside the window. n.o.body in there, either.

He headed to the back of the store, checked the bathrooms and a back storage room, doubling as an office. He saw a closed-circuit TV, its broadcast dark. He was about to leave the back room when he spotted something on the desk - a phone! And not one of those wireless f.u.c.kers, but a landline.

His heart leaped in his chest. He raised the receiver to his ear, heart beating faster and excited fingers ready to dance the 11 digits on their way to Xavier.

Except he heard no dial tone.

He clicked the disconnect a few times, nothing in return. The line was as dead as the lights. It didn't make sense. Even during a total power outage, phone lines had enough power to make calls. Perhaps, he considered, the phone company's power was out?

Nope, they'd have backup generators up the a.s.s and back. Something is definitely sideways.

The voice in his head told him to get the h.e.l.l out of the store and back on the road. Because at this hour only stoners with the munchies and cops frequented gas stations. He needed to find a highway and head to Florida, A-f.u.c.king-SAP. First, though, he had to figure out where he was. A newspaper rack at the front counter spilled the beans he was in Ohio. Made sense given the girl's sweater in the photo.

He grabbed a five-pound spiral book that included a map of the United States. He glanced around the station, then outside again. Still no signs of another soul. He went behind the counter and approached the register. It ran on power, and was off, but when he twisted a key in the bottom, the drawer sprang open. Inside the drawer he found four stacks of bills, from 20's to singles. He grabbed them all, shoved them in his pocket, figured there was about $250 total. He was about to leave, when he spotted a black backpack nudged in the corner, probably belonging to the missing cashier. He glanced around again, then retrieved the bag. There it was - a Smith and Wesson 9mm. Automatic in a holster.

He was surprised to find such a decent gun just laying out in the open.

Ed grabbed the backpack, a few snacks and drinks for the road, and got back in the SUV. He was about to reverse, when he realized the Honda was gone.

What the f.u.c.k? It must've left while I was in the back of the store.

He spun around, scanning the parking lot and the street. No sign of the car. He glanced back to the parking lot behind the station. The blue car was still there, seemingly empty. He didn't know what was happening, but knew enough to know Ohio was creeping him the f.u.c.k out. He had to bail. Now.

He put the truck in drive and hit the gas.

Ed had driven nearly three miles and the entire town was pitch black, save for the occasional emergency lights at gas stations. n.o.body was on the streets, in car, or on foot. He found the freeway ramp that would take him out of state, and merged in a hurry. The lights along the highway were dim, but not out, also running on backup power, he figured.

How big is this blackout? Something's not right.

His head was still pounding, and his thoughts still jumbled from the crash. Once he got some sleep, he'd be able to think more clearly, suss out what the h.e.l.l was happening. Falling planes, blackouts, missing people - this wasn't all coincidence. Something bigger was in play. And while he could see someone downing the plane to free him - he still had some fans at the agency and killing a bunch of innocent people was nothing to them - a second plane and the blackouts made no sense.

Something big is happening.

Maybe he would call Jade - if he could find a working phone.

Would be nice to know she's okay.

He'd been driving nearly 10 minutes and had yet to see another driver, but was careful to keep under the speed limit, anyway. He let the radio continue its scan, waiting for something other than static.

White lines raced by as the sound of rain splattered against the thumping of his windshield wipers. The quiet drone threatened to send him into sleep. His eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to pull over and grab a quick nap. But he couldn't stop. He had to press the advantage of his newfound freedom before they came looking for him.

His eyes grew heavier as he strained to see through the thickening rain, which was now a blinding white squall in front of him. He had to slow the truck to ensure he didn't run off the road. His eyes were dry, and he wanted to close them, but had to concentrate on the rain to see anything in this mess.

That's when he heard it.

"sssaaiirr," a voice echoed in some faraway place over the radio waves.

Ed's eyes shot wide open and he sat upright, attention on the radio's face as the numbers escalated from the 101s to the 105s, and then the voice again.

"...again..."

There! The word was clear as day. The digital channel locked on a station. 88.8 FM, a spot on the dial reserved for public airwaves, religious stations, and talk radio. Ed hit the b.u.t.ton to stop the scan, waiting for another sound. Still static, but busy static, something just out of range, trying to come through.

His eyes were glued to the radio as if he'd see whoever it was he was waiting to hear. So he didn't see the car until it was nearly too late.

On the side of the highway, the soft red glow of taillights broke through the white wall of rain.

"f.u.c.k!" Ed screamed, yanking on the steering wheel sharply, sending the SUV sliding.

Ed rotated the wheel in the direction of the spin, praying the SUV wouldn't roll. The truck spun, faster out of control, as it crossed into the opposite lanes. Ed's eyes were wide, adrenaline shooting through every cell, as he somehow turned through the skid and managed to come to a full stop.

His body shaking, he let out a deep breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and glanced ahead, his car now facing the original direction. Twenty yards ahead, a light colored Buick sat on the side of the road, its front pa.s.senger side crushed against the side rail. Its front driver light and taillights were on, but the cabin was dark.

Ed leaned forward, trying to see into the car.

Is there someone in there?

He thought he saw movement, but couldn't be certain.

Every instinct told him to get the h.e.l.l out of there, but something else tugged at his brain, pushing him forward. He grabbed the gun from the backpack, checked the clip, made sure one was in the chamber, and the safety off.

He drove toward the car, slowly, with high beams on. n.o.body was in the driver or pa.s.senger seats.

He saw movement again. This time for certain. Someone was in the backseat, just out of view. He pulled the SUV in front of the car, aiming the lights inside, and stepped from the truck, into the rain, gun in hand.

He approached the car carefully, eyes on the backseat and its just out of sight inhabitant. He brushed the hard-falling rain from his eyes, and inched closer to the car until he saw a shape in the back seat. He trained the gun on the vehicle as he approached the back driver's side door and peered inside. As he moved closer, his eyes widened.

Sitting in the backseat, with her hands over her pregnant stomach was a ghost-white girl, no more than 16.

LUCA HARDING.

Luca woke alone, sore, and somewhere with a lot of confusing. Trees surrounded him, but he could still hear waves from the Pacific. The rainbow was gone. His Lego shoes had been taken off, his other shoes sat beside him. A dog, a husky, was panting beside him.

Luca grabbed his shoes and started to put them on. His head was still pounding, though less than before. His arms were painted in purple and a long gash ran along most of his right leg. It was bigger than the cut on his left ankle, though the cut on his ankle hurt a lot, lot more.

It was painful to stand, so Luca stayed sitting, rubbing his wounds. The heat in his body was easing the pain. So was the air, which had cooled down enough to feel a little like a kiss.

The Husky didn't seem weird like the other animals he'd seen; it was pretty normal. The dog whimpered and nudged his nose at the bottle of water beside him. It was warm, but Luca drank it all in a few furious swallows.

"Did you help me?" he asked, half expecting an answer. The husky nudged him and Luca looked up. The rainbow was back, still pointing south, slightly brighter.