Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 41

"There's a disorder called Progeria. It's a genetic mutation, hereditary but just barely. Kids who get Progeria rarely live past their mid teens or early twenties. And most of the minutes spent between birth and death are misery. The disorder's rare, but indiscriminate, hitting both s.e.xes and every ethnic group. There are other accelerated aging diseases, but what makes Progeria different is that while other diseases are caused by DNA damage in the body's cells, Progeria is caused by a gene mutation. With me so far?"

Mary nodded.

"Kids with Progeria show symptoms around a year and a half to two years old. These are the kids you've seen on TV: hair loss, crinkly skin, brittle bones. Even their teeth are mangled, either barely there or missing entirely. Sound like our boy to you?"

Mary shook her head. "No, not at all."

"If Progeria is a gene mutation and the other disorders are DNA related, and none fit with what's happened to Luca, where would you guess the problem lies?"

Before Mary could answer, John was three feet away, clearing his throat. "It's getting worse out there," he said. "Desmond's been watching the bleakers, and it's looking bad. Their numbers are growing and they seem to be moving faster and getting smarter. They're opening unlocked car doors and climbing inside. Desmond's getting worried about the cargo van, but still thinks we should wait until morning to leave. I'm not so sure."

He turned to Will. "I was thinking we could use the helicopter and shuttle out to the airport. You could fly us in turns. Maybe we could get a plane. What do you think?"

"Not gonna work. I don't think we should split up." Will said with a pleasant keeping-the-peace sort of smile. "I think that when we're ready to leave, we should all leave together. And besides, it's not as easy as grabbing a plane and getting it in the air. You've no idea how hard it is to find the right one, fuel up, make sure everything is working. It isn't like we have a ground crew. Took me a h.e.l.luva lot of prep to get us here in the first place. Plus, we have a lot more weight to handle now. Of course, we can find plenty of transportation at the airport, guaranteed, but it might be smarter to stay on the ground, at least until we know where we're going. Altogether, I'm not so sure the airport is the best idea. But," Will shrugged, "if that's where we elect to go, I'll get us there safe."

"You don't seem too concerned," John said, a hint of accusation in his voice which annoyed Mary, but seemed to bounce off Will. "You still operating on this hunch of yours?"

"For now, that's all I've got," Will said. "And as for my concern, well, no, I'm not, really. Don't get me wrong." he gestured outside. "There's a nightmare waiting, but it's not meandering around the parking lot of a Drury Inn, least not yet."

John stared at Will, as if he weren't sure whether he was dealing with idiocy or dementia. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Those things outside? They're more scared of you than you are of them."

"Bulls.h.i.t," John said.

Mary wondered how long Will would stay polite to John's growing b.i.t.c.hiness.

Will shrugged again. "You see it from whatever angle you like. But those 'bleakers,' as you call them, are just children. They'll grow up and get mean like most of us do, but right now, we need to let them be and get out of here precisely one second after it makes sense to do so. It's not like they're storming in here or organizing an effort to attack, right?"

"We're in danger every minute we're here, and it seems like common sense went the same place as the rest of the planet's pulse." John turned on a heel and headed back to his station by the front. Dog Vader barked from the other side of the bar.

"See," Will said with a wink to Mary, "even Dog Vader agrees."

"Your dog's name is Dog Vader?" Mary asked.

"Luca's dog, Luca's name for him."

"Ah," she said, "So where were we? I think you were trying to bore me with talk about DNA and gene mutation, right before you told me that none of it mattered."

Will laughed. "Right. Well, it doesn't, really. But rapid aging exists in science, and I wanted to ill.u.s.trate what science already knew, so I could paint an accurate picture of what it doesn't. I don't believe Luca's age has a thing to do with his DNA and I don't think he's suffered a mutation. I think it's all up here." Will tapped the side of his temple.

"What do you mean?"

"You've heard the urban legend that if you die in your sleep, you'll die in real life, right?"

"Yeah, I've heard that. But it's not true. Right?"

"No, not true at all. But the legend makes sense since the mind is the mother of everything. If you believe something strongly enough, you can sometimes will it to happen. Like sometimes you won't want to get sick before a big event or something, and sure enough, a day or two before it's set to occur, you've got the sniffles. You willed yourself to sickness, even though it wasn't intentional, and the last thing you wanted to do. You created the conditions to make it happen though, activated parts of your body, shut others down, and a bunch of stuff we don't even know we're doing. Now this doesn't mean you can get money to rain from the sky like those quacks from The Secret would swear, but the brain is amazingly complex and powerful. And as advanced as science is, in many ways, brain research is still in the dark ages. And I hate to say it, but it looks like research just slowed by a century or so."

"So are you saying Luca just made himself older?"

"Ha, if you want to reduce my theory to a simplified sentence, sure. Our bodies are capable of so much we don't even know. Unfortunately, we usually find out through accidental discovery like when people's skin turns to bone and the rapid aging stuff. I'm just saying, our bodies contain all sorts of b.u.t.tons and features we haven't even seen. Maybe whatever got inside your daughter and Luca hit a switch."

Desmond walked up, heavy breath and sweat on his brow.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, just playing a round of 'What The h.e.l.l Is Going On Here?'" Mary exchanged a smile with Will. "What's up?"

"Well, the bleakers are definitely more... confident, and it seems the later it gets, the more of them show up and the more energized they are." Desmond gestured nervously toward the front door. "John's edgy and wants to leave right now. I can see why; it's getting grim out there. But I'm inclined to think we should stay. What about you, Will? What's your gut tell you?"

"I'm still thinking morning. I won't argue if everyone else votes to leave now, but I don't think those gruesome uglies pose much of a threat."

Desmond raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"I think they will get dangerous, and soon, but I don't think they're there yet. And if their numbers are thinner and speed slower in the morning, as you all said they were, that seems like the ideal time to split. One more night in a comfortable bed won't make much of a difference, and might end up being what keeps us all alive."

"What makes you so sure?" Desmond asked. Mary noted that, as usual, curiosity, not confrontation, edged his question.

"I never claimed certainty, but it's what I feel inside." He turned to Mary. "Mary knows what I mean."

"Great, now there's two of them." Desmond raised his hands over his head in mock frustration. "I suggest we hunker down early and get as much sleep as possible tonight. We'll head out as early as we can in the morning. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," Mary said.

Will nodded.

Desmond saluted, then turned and went back to John.

"How many more interruptions you think we'll have?" Mary asked.

"Twelve." Will smiled.

"So, if Luca could make himself five years older, does that mean he can make himself five years younger too?"

"I don't think so. I mean, growing is a natural occurrence. His just sped it up. Growing backwards, though, not natural. I won't say it's impossible, but I think it highly unlikely."

Mary sank into the weight of what Will was saying, then changed the subject, pointing toward the trio of Uno players. "Think they're having fun?"

"You ever seen anyone not having fun with a deck of Uno?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Obviously you don't have children. Kids these days can look like they're not having fun while playing PS3 on the floor of a candy factory."

"Ah," Will said. "The old too much and not enough syndrome."

"Yeah, that's about right." She was still studying the group. "They look so... happy."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Of course," Mary said. "Just seems... unnatural. How can they laugh and smile with everything that's going on?"

"That's ridiculous, Mary, and you know it. Don't try and tell me you haven't found reason to laugh or smile or hope in the last few days, because I know full well you have. And I don't have to be in your dreams to see it, or to watch you light up every time Desmond Do-Right over there opens his mouth."

"Not true," Mary said, barely hiding a smile.

"Okay, whatever you say. But that's the beauty of the human condition; we're always able to see the spring on the other side of winter, so long as we're willing to try."

Will slid back in his chair. Mary sank into hers.

She allowed the old man's warmth to blanket her. Maybe he was right about Luca; maybe she had nothing to fear. But a new knowing was inside her, one that was only now starting to surface; seeds germinating in the silences of all that Will wasn't saying.

But a small part of her could hear it, and that part sensed how terrible it was.

BRENT FOSTER.

October 16 2:14 p.m.

East Hampton Docks East Hampton, New York They spent nearly five hours getting to the docks, after first stopping at a clinic and bandaging Luis's arm, then grabbing some medicine and first-aid supplies for the road. They ran into a wall of stalled cars blocking pa.s.sage to the bridge, so Brent had to get out of the BMW and move nearly a dozen cars. They all had keys dangling from ignitions, but the majority were either out of gas or dead as the world, and needed to be pushed aside.

Fortunately, they'd not seen any other aliens along the way.

Unfortunately, the fog had grown so thick and dark, their visibility was even worse on the coast than in the city. And the coast was just as much a ghost town, if not more, due to its lack of skysc.r.a.pers. While Brent half expected to find a bunch of people waiting at the docks for the ferry, or cars left by people who'd taken it across already, they found neither.

Instead, they saw a large yellow cardboard sign with big black letters, reading: "FERRY WILL RESUME TOMORROW at 8 A.M."

"What the h.e.l.l? I thought they were supposed to run until nighttime," Luis said. "Now we're gonna have to find somewhere to stay."

They had no shortage of homes to choose from, and most were quite nice. They grabbed the duffel bags from the car and headed across a field toward a two-story house, which probably cost more than Brent would have made throughout his entire career.

"Anyone home?" Luis said, knocking on the front door. No answer, so he tried the doork.n.o.b. It was locked. But the front window wasn't, so they slipped inside like burglars.

The house, while nice on the outside, was a letdown inside. The owners were an older couple, judging by the photos, and it looked like they hadn't redecorated since the Clinton Administration, maybe even the first Bush. The only new item in sight, standing bold amid the dated furniture and faded paint, was a large flat-screen TV.

"Mind if I stay in this one?" Luis asked, glancing out the window. They had a decent view of the docks from where they were, probably the best view on the block given the thickness of the fog.

"We can stay here," Brent said.

"No," Luis corrected him, "What I'm saying is do you mind if I stay here. You should find another house, preferably one I don't know where you are."

"What are you talking about?" Brent asked.

"That thing bit me. It's only a matter of time before I turn, just like Joe did."

"You don't know that. That thing didn't bite Joe, it... I dunno, dug its fingers into Joe's skull. It left marks. You didn't have any marks on you, other than the bite."

"I might now, though," Luis said, holding up his bandaged forearm. "For all we know, it could be a whole mess of nasty under here. I'm thinking we should split up, just in case I go full zombie and s.h.i.t."

"No," Brent said, "I'm not leaving you. Remember? We're in this s.h.i.t together. You said so yourself. Don't fight me on it, either, or I'll have to unleash my Fists of Journalistic Fury on you again."

Brent smiled, waving his fists like an old time boxer from silent movies, and Luis broke into a laugh.

As the day surrendered to darkness, Brent and Luis sat in the living room kicking back warm beers as the sound of ocean waves and salty breeze washed through the Colonial-styled front windows, which they left open. Brent had never been much of a beachfront guy, seemed like a lot of expense for not much return. But as the music of the lapping ocean waves relaxed him, he could see the appeal.

Brent sat in an ugly, but comfortable recliner, while Luis lounged on an even uglier, if it were possible, checkered beige sofa. They didn't want to risk using flashlights any more than necessary and potentially alerting any creatures that might be lurking outside along the coastline, so they ate and drank by the bright moonlight which bathed the living room in blue.

The conversation had moved from why the Mets sucked, to whether the Jets had a shot this year, to what kinds of dads they had growing up. Luis had a strict Catholic father who died when he was young, so he was mostly raised by his mother, forced to be the man of the house and look out for his long-deceased younger brother, Ricky.

Brent cracked another beer and said, "My dad was a tough blue-collar guy that worked at a steel mill. He hated every f.u.c.king minute of it; I could tell, but he never let us know how much the job was busting his a.s.s. I was too stupid to appreciate how hard he worked at the time. I was more concerned with having fun, buying s.h.i.t we didn't need, and stuff. We were in the suburbs, and I'd been hanging out with the preppy crowd."

"No s.h.i.t, you?" Luis said, laughing.

"Yeah. I had these grand schemes that I'd be this famous writer; I'd make my first million by the time I was 22. I wasn't gonna bust my a.s.s for some job that would dry up when the company shipped all the jobs overseas. I wasn't willing to be anyone's schmuck. I'd make my own living, thank you very much."

"So how did your dad feel about your career plans?"

"Actually, he didn't want me to follow in his footsteps. He had a hard job because that's all he could get at the time. He wanted me to have the opportunities he didn't have. He wanted me to go to college and make something of myself. But when I was in high school, college was the last thing on my mind. I wanted to goof off and have fun, you know. In my junior year, I was on the verge of being held back. Then one day, I was waiting for my mom to pick me up from school. I was hanging out in the front of the school with these girls who were way out of my league. I was doing my best to impress them, and being pretty d.a.m.ned charming, if I do say so myself. Anyway, here I am, about to win over this girl I'd been l.u.s.ting after for two years, when all of a sudden, my dad shows up."

"So?" Luis asked, "That a bad thing?"

"Oh yeah. You see, my mom had the 'good car.' While my dad had this beater car, biggest piece of s.h.i.t to ever roll off a factory floor. I was mortified. I couldn't let these girls know I was poor and that my old man drove the s.h.i.tmobile 3000. And G.o.d forbid he got out of the car looking all dirty and s.h.i.t. I would have died right there on the spot. Fortunately, he hadn't seen me, because we were standing in this alcove near one of the doorways. The minute I saw him, I told the girls I had to go to the bathroom, then ran to the other end of the school, out the side doors, and started walking home on the road where I knew he would pa.s.s me."

"Oh s.h.i.t," Luis said.

"Yeah, so I was walking for about 10 minutes when my dad pulled up beside me, and opened the door. I got in and he asked me why I was walking. I told him some lie about how I didn't think anyone was gonna pick me up because it had been late, so I figured I'd walk. He told me that my mom's car was broken down and that he had to take time off work to come get me, which meant he'd have to make up the hours on the weekend. He wasn't complaining, or anything, just telling it like it was. He seemed more concerned that I'd had to walk. He reminded me it was dangerous to be walking alone on the road. Man, I felt like such a s.h.i.t heel. How the h.e.l.l could I be embarra.s.sed by my own dad like that? So, as we were driving home, I found myself watching him, seeing him for the first time like the real man he was - a guy who took care of his family and always did the right thing. And I started to see how insignificant I was, and how lazy, and I vowed right there not to waste any more time and to work as hard as I could to get ahead."

"Wow," Luis said. "That's some heavy s.h.i.t. So, was he proud of you when you got your first job?"

"Yeah. I got a job at this small paper in our hometown. A s.h.i.t paper with 20,000 readers, maybe, and I was writing obits and cats-in-tree stories for the first year, but whenever I saw him, he'd comment on whatever story I wrote no matter how insignificant. He was connecting with me through stories I was writing about other people. It was weird and completely cool at the same time."

"That's awesome," Luis said. "What did he think when you had a kid?"

"He died of lung cancer, even though he never touched a cigarette, a month before Ben was born," Brent said, starting to tear up. "I know he was looking forward to having a grandchild more than anything, though. He kept going to the store, even when he was sick, and buying stuff for Ben. He bought him this, actually," Brent said as he pulled the blue train out of his pocket and held it up so the moonlight captured the train's big smile. "Stanley Train, Ben's favorite toy ever."

"What about your mom?" Luis asked.

"My mom got to see Ben. She loved him and doted on him like a good grandma does. But she died a year to the day my dad did; a stroke."