Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30 (25 page)

Sometimes Boricio wished he’d had the courage to kill her and spare Rose a life as a host for some fucking parasite. He found it ironic that the one time he should have killed someone, he couldn’t. It was like a sex addict going to a hooker without getting a hard-on. 

If I could’ve done what I should’ve done, she’d at least be at peace.

Boricio again wondered if Rose was behind his escape and if she could’ve possibly infected him.

There’s no fucking way I wouldn’t know if some fucking goo monster was up in my head.

Boricio wondered if he’d been inoculated against an alien infection when Luca had gone inside him. The Boy Wonder had turned out to have been infected by the good aliens, after all. Boricio wondered if the prison guards — if Rose
had
infected them — had brought him out here, tried to infect him, then realized they couldn’t and left him alone.

But Boricio didn’t feel alone.

Someone, or
something
, was watching. 

He listened, trying to make out any sounds that might surrender his spy. Whoever it was they were too quiet to be one of the lettuce-licking yokels who’d locked his ass up. 

Boricio risked turning his head an inch, and heard a twig snap behind him.

He turned, fists clenched, ready to strike out, but was surprised at what he saw — a fox, lying on its belly, its paw caught in a snare trap, a rope noose around the animal’s front left paw, tied to a tree a few feet away.

The fox whined as Boricio sat up, golden eyes watching him, frightened. The fox was either too tired or drugged to growl. 

Or maybe it recognizes that we’re not too different.

Boricio moved toward the animal, admiring its silky red coat, and the streaks of deep black along its ears and paws. A beautiful creature and from what Boricio knew, a gifted predator. 

“Sorry, boy,” Boricio said, assuming it was a boy fox, he sure the hell wasn’t about to go checking for spuds. “I know how you feel.”

Boricio examined the rope, a thin yellow line around the creature’s paw, which was wet from chewing in attempt to escape.

It was a simple noose construction, and Boricio figured he could pull it off — if the fox let him.

“All right, Brer Fox, I’m about to
proclimate
your emancipation, but you bite me and I’ll have to snap your neck like a Pez dispenser.
Capisce?
”

The fox whined, brow furrowing as it looked at Boricio, its tail moving slightly back and forth.

“I’ll take that as an aye-aye, Captain,” Boricio said as he moved his hands closer to the fox. He figured foxes probably sensed fear like dogs, so he kept his movements slow and deliberate, showing no nerves as he set his hands near the animal’s razor-sharp teeth. 

The fox winced, then vented a low growl as Boricio touched its leg. Boricio could feel its hot breath on his arm.

“Now, now,” Boricio said, “you agreed to let me help you. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat you, wear your coat, or fuck you like some of these hillbillies might get to doin’. I’m setting you free, as you should be.”

The fox continued to watch him, but the growl faded.

Boricio found where the knot slid around the rope and pulled, loosening the noose enough to slide it off the fox’s leg.

“OK,” Boricio said. “Here we go, nice and slow.”

He lowered the noose, opening it more as he reached the fox’s thick wide paw, then pulled it off.

The fox stood, its ears at full alert as it looked around, then bolted off.

“What? No thanks?” 

The fox reached the thickening tree line and was about to disappear when a gunshot boomed like thunder.

Boricio watched in horror as the fox fell to the ground.

What the fuck?

Boricio spun around, seeing nothing but woods in every direction.

In front of him, Boricio heard the sound of hillbillies hooting and hollering. It sounded like a dozen, maybe more. 

“The hunt is on!” someone yelled in front of a cackle. 

Hunt? What the fuck are they talking about?

Then, Guard Tard’s familiar drawl: “You better run, boy. You is next!”

Another shot, though Boricio wasn’t sure where it landed. 

Not needing to be told twice, Boricio ran. 

* * * *

CHAPTER 9 — MARY OLSON

Mary woke to her child screaming. The clock read 2:15 a.m.

Even though in all likelihood, Paola was having another seizure, Mary’s first instinct screamed danger, so she grabbed the shotgun beside the bed and raced from the bedroom.

No one in the hall.

Paola’s door was closed.

Mary burst through the door, hoping it was only a seizure.

But her daughter wasn’t in the room. 

Instead, there were two large men wearing blue Black Island Research Facility overalls. Behind them, the window was wide open, curtains blowing in the cold ocean breeze.

The men’s eyes were dark, their mouths agape, faces not at all responding to Mary’s gun. While their bodies were not decomposed or changed in any visible way, she could somehow sense their infection. 

“Where the fuck is she?” Mary screamed.

Both men rushed her at once.

Mary shot the first in the gut and sent him to the ground. As he fell, she turned the gun toward the other man, but not fast enough.

The man grabbed the shotgun and whipped it from Mary’s hands with surprising speed and powerful force.

He tossed the gun to the ground and reached for her throat.

Desmond bolted through the doorway, pistol in hand, and fired point blank at the man’s face, shooting twice, not taking any chances. As the second man dropped, Mary pointed out the window, “She’s gone!”

Mary grabbed the shotgun and raced out the window.

“Paola!” she screamed repeatedly, turning in the loneliest of circles, desperate for any sign at all of her daughter.

Cabin lights lit up, shadows falling across windows as the island’s civilian residents looked to see what was going on. Mary scanned the windows, searching for anything that would lead her to Paola. 

This can’t be happening!

Desmond followed her outside, on his phone, barking urgently into the receiver.

Mary cried out, “Paola!!” and listened, hoping her daughter was still close enough (or alive) to answer. 

Desmond, now off the phone, set a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

“She told us The Darkness was coming!” Mary spat. “She told us, and we — no, you — ignored her.”

“I’ve got all available Guardsmen on this. We’re on an island, Mary. There are only two ways off, and we’ve both docks on lockdown.”

“They could’ve taken a rowboat for all we know!” 

“There are two choppers on the way. There’s no way they could reach the mainland before we caught them.”

“I can’t believe this is happening again.” Mary shook her head. “We were supposed to be safe!”

“We’ll find her,” Desmond repeated.

Mary didn’t want to hear anything from Desmond. He said they’d be safe, and they weren’t. His words were empty and his promises hollow. She could count on no one but herself — same as it ever was.

Mary brushed by Desmond, back into the house, and threw on her black pants, boots, shirt, and jacket. She holstered a Glock to her hip, grabbed a few magazines, and shoved them in her pocket, along with a box of shells. 

“What are you doing?” Desmond asked.

“What’s it look like? I’m going to find my daughter.” Mary marched toward the front door, stopping to grab a heavy black flashlight that doubled as a baton.

“I’ve got my people out. We should stay here in case she comes back.”

Mary spun around and met Desmond’s eyes. “Do you really expect me to
sit here
while my daughter’s out there with those …
things?
”

Desmond looked lost for words. “No. Of course not. I’ll come with you.”

Desmond was still in his pajamas, and Mary wasn’t about to wait for him to get dressed and ready. “I have my phone. You can come and find me.” 

Mary slammed the front door then marched down the dirt road between the cabins. Guardsmen appeared at people’s doors, knocking, asking residents what they’d seen. She held no hope on someone seeing anything worth a damn. These things worked in the shadows, invisible to everyone — but Paola. 

Maybe that’s why they’d come after her.

They knew she could see them coming, and that made her a threat.

“Wait up!” Mary heard a man calling.

She turned, expecting Desmond, but instead saw Brent, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, holding a pistol. Jade was trotting behind him, in black leather pants and a matching shirt, flashlight in her hand and a gun on her hip.

“We heard someone took Paola. We’ll help you find her,” Brent said, catching up.

“What about Ben?” 

“I left him with Teagan.”

Mary glanced up the dirt road and saw truck lights slicing the night to the east and south. Docks to the mainland were on the island’s south side. Another dock serving the ferry to Paddock Island was on the east end. 

 Both seemed like improbable places for the infected to take Paola, because they were on lockdown. That left the island’s west and north ends, the darker forested parts, left unaccounted for. 

Desmond finally caught up with the huddle, holding a shotgun with a mounted light in one hand and his phone in the other.

“I just spoke to Bolton. He issued an emergency order to everyone in the facility. They’ll all be joining the search. We’ll find her, Mary.”

“OK, I think we should split up.” Mary swallowed. “Are you two OK to go on your own, either north or west?”

Brent said, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Yeah,” Jade nodded. “We’ll take the west end, unless you want it.”

“That’s fine,” Mary said. “We’ll take the north end. And be careful, I think these people are infected — working with the aliens.”

Desmond said, “Be careful out there. I’ll let the Guard know not to go shooting civilians, but if you run into Guardsmen, don’t raise your guns.”

Mary turned to him, “What if the Guardsmen are infected? The two men who broke into the house were wearing facility coveralls. How do we know they didn’t infect Guardsmen, too?”

“It’s not likely,” Desmond shook his head, “but do keep a look out for suspicious behavior … from anyone.”

“Gotcha,” Jade said, and headed off.

“Good luck.” Brent turned to follow Jade.

Mary looked north into the dark woods and wished she could feel something, anything from Paola that might tell Mary if she were alive. Usually, she could feel her daughter, much the same way some twins were said to sense one another, or know when the other was suffering. Mary had that bond with Paola. She could often tell what her daughter was thinking, even if she was nowhere nearby. Mary could also tell when something was wrong.

But now, she felt nothing but a black vacuum where her child had been.

She headed north, shining her light into the trees, with Desmond beside her, flashing his alongside.

“We’re going to find her,” he said, as if repetition might make it so.

“We don’t even know if she’s alive.” 

“If they meant to kill her, don’t you think they would’ve just done so and left her there for us to find?”

Mary hadn’t considered that. Perhaps. But it also begged another question. “So if they don’t want to hurt her, what
do
they want with her?”

A stretched silence, then Desmond said, “I don’t know.”

Mary wanted to yell at him some more, blame Desmond for not listening to Paola’s warning. She wanted someone to wag a finger at besides herself. But she had only herself to blame. Desmond wasn’t the boss of her. She could have demanded a ferry to the mainland. She could have left, but chose not to.

That was on her.

Mary prayed that her mistake wouldn’t cost Paola her life.

* * * *

CHAPTER 10 — BORICIO WOLFE

Boricio scrambled through the underbrush like an animal, ignoring the branches, brambles, rocks, and other sharp bits of debris that kept tearing into his naked flesh like a bitch in heat.

The hunters were close behind. 

How close, Boricio wasn’t sure. He didn’t dare look back.

He could hear their footsteps like galloping thunder behind him, along with the hillbilly hoots and hollers of fevered excitement. In his head he heard the sound of a half-wit strumming his banjo.

Boricio kept running, eyes darting across the landscape, searching for any possible advantage. He’d spotted a few large branches that looked like they could serve as a bo staff for close combat, but they were either too far out of reach or it would take too long to drop or wrest them from the underbrush.

He couldn’t stop.

Had to keep going.

Every time Boricio considered slowing down or reaching for something, the noises behind him grew louder — closer.

He kept running.

His chest burned like fire. His heart was an engine on the verge of blowing. 

After days in a straitjacket, and without much sobriety prior, Boricio was surprised that his body was able to chug. His pursuers were more Special Olympics than Special Forces, but they had guns and if the dead fox was any evidence, the tater ticklers knew how to use them.

He’d managed to stay ahead, but Boricio wasn’t sure how long his luck would hold. They knew the woods better than he did. And the mere fact that they freed him for a hunt meant they were confident in their ability to track him.

And what then?

How many other prisoners had they brought out to the woods for their redneck reindeer games? There had to be a trail of paperwork. You couldn’t just go into a jail and vanish forever,
could you?

Boricio had thought himself a ghost, but they had evidence tying him to crimes outside their little neck of the woods. Someone somewhere with indoor plumbing had to be looking for Boricio. The guards had to know that. They couldn’t just lose a prisoner as notorious as Boricio Fucking Wolfe without having to answer some questions.