Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 3

Ed made his way toward the kitchen scanning outlets for any sign of plug-in lights. Finding nothing, he rifled through drawers until he found a flashlight heavy with batteries. To his relief, they weren't dead, and the light was bright. He waved the spotlight around the kitchen, finding the phone. A f.u.c.king cordless, meaning it wouldn't work with the power out.

He tried it anyway, just in case.

Nothing.

f.u.c.k, doesn't anyone use regular phones anymore?

He clicked the light off, thinking about his next step, then headed back upstairs, light on. Two doors were on either side of the hall, and a large, double door was at the end, which he a.s.sumed would take him to the master bedroom.

The first two rooms weren't bedrooms at all - one was a converted office. The second was a monument to clutter, tons of boxes leaving little room to walk. Finally, he reached the double doors, drew a deep breath, and pushed one of the doors open, training his light on the king-sized bed.

Unmade, n.o.body in it.

He figured whoever lived here was out of town, maybe on vacation. But something reflected back as he swept his light over the nightstand - a gla.s.s of ice water. As he moved closer, he saw beads of sweat, a small pool of water around the gla.s.s, and the last remnants of ice floating.

His heart stopped as he spun the light around toward the bathroom door, which was shut.

Had they heard him and ducked inside?

Ed squinted his eyes, searching for any signs of movement. He was too old for this s.h.i.+t. And not at all ready to die at the hands of some yuppie with a Beretta playing Die Hard.

He considered turning around and leaving, but something rooted him in place.

The house was empty. He could feel it. And he was never wrong about these things. Yeah, the loss of power might have been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with his instincts, but he didn't think that was the case. Whoever was here was gone.

He clicked off the light and began to creep toward the closed bathroom door. A closet was to his left, but it was open, and he could see it was empty. If anyone was with him, they were likely in the bathroom.

He was nearly five steps away when he rolled his neck again, then spoke.

"h.e.l.lo? This is officer Grant. We're investigating a break-in at your neighbor's house and we saw your front door was wide open. You okay?"

Nothing.

He turned on his light again.

"I'm coming into the bathroom now. My partner is in the hallway, checking out your other rooms. Do NOT shoot me. I repeat, do NOT shoot."

He twisted the k.n.o.b, pushed open the door, and thrust his light into the bathroom.

Nothing.

He caught his reflection in the mirror, dirty, banged up, b.l.o.o.d.y, and a huge knot sticking out from his closely-cropped dome. He laughed grimly at the reflection, then checked the closet for clean clothes. He would be stuck with his dark trousers, but he grabbed a black tee from the closet which he'd put on as soon as he got the cuffs off. The s.h.i.+rt looked like it would be tight on his muscular build, and a bit short, but it would have to do.

Ed returned to the bed and felt the sheets. They weren't warm - whoever had been sleeping in them had been gone at least a few minutes before he'd entered the house. He grabbed the gla.s.s, picked it up, cool to the touch. He took a long drink, the water soaking his dry throat. He chewed the remnants of ice, placed the gla.s.s down, and opened both nightstands, hoping to find a gun. No luck.

Ed moved from room to room, searching the house for anybody. At last, he reached the door leading to the two-car garage. If anyone was here, this was the last place they could be hiding, unless they sneaked into an attic or something. He did the police routine another time, with the same lack of response, then opened the door. Clutter filled one side of the garage, though more neatly arranged, and all of it boxed. The other half of the garage housed an SUV.

He flashed his light to make sure the vehicle was empty, then doubled back to the kitchen, found a pegboard with keys and an automatic car lock, alarm attached. He glanced at the fridge, where a photo in a magnetic frame showed a middle-aged guy, a middle-aged woman, and a 20-year-old girl wearing an Ohio State sweater. He pocketed the keys, headed back to the garage and was relieved to see a workbench on the far wall with a large red Craftsmen toolbox beside it.

Thank G.o.d some people still do s.h.i.+t themselves.

He found a hacksaw, fastened the blade on a C-clamp, then proceeded to saw his restraints away. Once he had the middle part cut, he found some bolt cutters, sheared the bracelets the rest of the way, and ma.s.saged the red from his wrists. He slipped on the tee s.h.i.+rt, which fit him better than he thought it would, and balled up the s.h.i.+rt he'd been wearing and tossed it in the SUV.

Ed went to the fridge. Stuff was still cold. He inhaled a c.o.ke, then grabbed a box of cookies from the pantry and threw them on the pa.s.senger seat of the SUV as he climbed in the driver's side. He turned on the radio to a static a.s.sault and hit the scan b.u.t.ton, watching the digital display race through the FM spectrum without slowing.

All the stations are down?

Something was very wrong.

Ed hit the garage door opener before remembering it ran on electricity. He hopped out of the SUV and flashed the light at the ceiling, finding the motor for the garage door opener. A red cord dangled from the center. He yanked it, disengaging the opener, opened the door manually, got back in the SUV, and backed out of the driveway.

He figured he had maybe two hours until the state was crawling with feds.

LUCA HARDING.

Sat.u.r.day October 15, 2011 morning Las Orillas, California Luca's skin was burning. He opened his eyes and put an end to the dream where Mommy was making eggs on his arms.

But he was still too hot. The sun outside was brighter than it was supposed to be. It looked like the last day of school, but it was already a week before Halloween. Light poured through the window like Daddy was hosing it down with sunlight like he did with water sometimes when he washed the car.

Luca never slept past six but it definitely felt later than that. Dad got up at 5:30, even when he wasn't working. Luca had been no more than a half hour behind him for all but one of his eight years.

I don't like the feeling in my arms. Tingly bad and burny. I want to scratch them but maybe it's like the bites that Mommy says I shouldn't scratch because it always makes it worse. The itchy hot burny will probably go away if I ignore it.

His Cars alarm clock wasn't working and the screen on the computer was black. The house sounded like when mommy went across the street to talk to Mrs. Susan, only quieter. Luca went to the closet and peeled off his Lego pajamas, replaced them with jeans and his favorite Star Wars T-s.h.i.+rt, then went to the window and stared at the rainbow.

It was brighter than usual. Most rainbows looked like they were already erasing. But this rainbow looked like someone just plugged it in.

The sun was past the start of the rainbow, so it was maybe as late as eight. Mom was gone, he could tell. But he couldn't hear his dad either, even though it was his day off. Anna should be up, but he couldn't hear her either. And he could always hear his sister.

Luca left the bedroom and looked around the house, even though he knew he'd find no one. "Mom, Dad, Anna?" Luca waited for an answer, counting to 10 as he always did when Mom said to wait.

After 10 seconds of less than nothing, Luca opened the door to a blanket of heat. The air felt like hot sand and made his hot burny feel worse. Something moved at the corner of his eyes. He turned to see his cat, Lucky, leap to the front porch where it settled a stare on Luca and licked it paws. The cat looked somehow different than it did the day before. Luca would swear. But he didn't know how.

Inside out. Yeah, the cat feels sorta inside out. It looks normal, but feels like someone made all its thoughts go on the outside.

Luca crossed the street to Mrs. Susan's house, put his nose to the window, and saw exactly what he expected. Since Mom didn't like him on Mrs. Susan's side of the street unless he was visiting Mrs. Susan, he went back home.

Instead of going back in the house, Luca decided to walk to the mailbox under the stop sign all the way at the corner. That's where Mr. Ha.s.sell lived. Mr. Ha.s.sell probably didn't know everything about the entire world, but he knew a lot of things about people on Oregon Avenue. That's probably why he was always talking about it.

Mr. Ha.s.sell's empty house was the farthest Luca had ever walked alone. Mr. Ha.s.sel wasn't on his porch like usual, so he rounded the corner and kept going, all the way around the block. When he got back to his own number at 314 Oregon, he sat on the stoop and looked at the rainbow.

I should go to Coach Michael's. Mommy and Daddy said he's safe. And he is driving close. We even walked there two times before, like that time last June. His house will be easy to find because the rainbow is pointing right at it.

The rainbow was pointing toward the coach's house, but it wasn't the big bright one Luca saw when he first woke. This smaller rainbow was brighter, and sat just beneath its big brother, spilling sideways instead of south.

Luca went back in the house and filled his Star Wars backpack with two granola bars, a banana, and two bottles of Smart.w.a.ter from his mom's side of the refrigerator. The house was getting warmer, a lot warmer, but it was still cooler than it was outside.

Luca started walking toward the rainbow. He made it six blocks before he felt the headache start to hammer his skull. At least he thought it was a headache. The ouchy tingle sure seemed like the stuff mommy was always talking about.

It was easy to keep from getting lost with the rainbow showing him where to go. Luca pa.s.sed all the places where no one was anymore on the way to his coach's house. But the only things home at the corner of Appian and Monrovia were the coach's collection of vintage cars.

Luca looked in the window. The lights were on, like most of the houses for the last few blocks. A purr at his feet pulled Luca's attention to Champion, the coach's cat, rubbing itself on his ankle.

Champion felt weird just like Lucky had. Comparing the two led Luca to realize that besides Lucky and Champion, he hadn't seen a single animal since waking. Which was weird since some dog in the neighborhood was always barking.

All Luca wanted was someone to explain what was happening. Like his dad always did. In simple sentences that would be easy to understand. But no one was around, and after following the rainbow 17 blocks to the coach's house and not seeing anyone, Luca felt the sad spiders start to crawl inside him. His mom could usually get them to leave with tickles, or the promise of a salami sandwich. But his mom wasn't there to make him a sandwich any more than his dad was standing by with an explanation.

Luca leaned against the door, slid to his bottom, put his face in his palm and cried. He tried rubbing the headache from his head but the headache said no. A dog cried out from somewhere in the distance. Luca was glad to hear it.

He felt a sudden icy chill beneath his burning skin, but shrugged it off and stood.

Luca looked around the neighborhood. White spots were everywhere, but he looked past them to get a good look at the brand new rainbow. It was telling him to listen to the trees. And though Luca was old enough to know that trees couldn't talk, they did seem to be whispering something or other.

Trees aren't supposed to talk, but they keep telling me to follow the wind. And the wind won't stop talking about the water. I think they like the place we go each summer, the beach in Mexico where the man makes the lobster tacos.

Mexico it was. And it made perfect sense. His parents were probably there at the small house already that's what the rainbow said. And rainbows were too colorful to lie.

Luca didn't know how to drive, but he did know a car was better than walking. He would've gone back to his house, but his dad's truck was way too big and his mom's car was a stick s.h.i.+ft she'd had since her 20s. He definitely didn't think he could drive that.

One of the cars in Coach's collection was a red Porsche that looked like a bathtub. Luca had ridden in it before. It was parked on the street and he needed it, so Coach Michael would understand if he took it. His mom said that in emergencies, like when you're bleeding or vomiting, there were special rules. Luca wasn't bleeding or vomiting, but he was definitely having the biggest emergency of his life.

Luca looked but couldn't find any keys. They weren't in any of the cars, even though people in movies found them tucked inside the thing you use to keep the sun from getting in your eyes. Then, he tried Coach's door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He went inside and called for Coach, but n.o.body answered. Luca started searching for the keys.

He looked for over an hour, until his skin was burning and head pounding enough to make him stop. He was about to walk back home when he heard a meow coming from the kitchen. He went to the kitchen where Champion sat beside the cooking island, patting his paws against the wood.

Luca walked straight to the drawer above Champion's head, slid it open, and removed a small, rectangular cobalt blue box with three keys inside. He removed the middle key, because it was the one that worked in the small Porsche that looked like a bathtub. Luca knew it, just as he knew what was in the box as soon as the cat told him.

Even though they were supposed to have sticks in the middle like his mom's car, the coach's Porsche didn't. That was because it was a model car for grown-ups. And it wasn't as old as it looked. Coach said it was a replica. It had a Volkswagen engine and an auto something transmission. He said that even though it was all sizzle and no steak, he loved driving it just the same.

Luca opened the door, sat behind the wheel, turned the engine, and scooted down until his foot was on the brake. He put the car in drive and moved his foot to the gas. The Porsche lurched forward and threw Luca against the seat. He had to scurry down to hit the brake before the car rolled too far.

He tried a few versions of the same thing several times before realizing that though he was big enough to ride in the Porsche, he wasn't yet tall enough to drive it.

He returned to the house and ran upstairs to Matthew's room. Matthew had more Legos than anyone Luca knew. He pulled the largest bucket from Lego Island, the one with all the odds and ends and oversized pieces. For five minutes, he didn't think about burny skin or white spots in the sky or rainbows. For five minutes, he did nothing but stack legos, wearing a rare smile for that morning, on a face that usually looked naked without one.

Once he had created two neat cubes about 15 bricks high, Luca went to Matthew's closet and grabbed a pair of shoes, size 12, same as him. He used duct tape from the garage to tape the two cubes to the bottom of Matthew's shoes. He put them on and smiled.

Luca climbed into the car and drove toward the end of the smaller rainbow at a comfortable 20 mph. He was a robot, with super cool handmade ninja robot feet.

He drove slow but exactly where the rainbow told him, winding down the hill until he hit a mostly empty Pacific Coast Highway where he made a left. Luca wove through the occasionally idle traffic as if playing a slowed down PS3 game with his daddy.

He had driven for three hours and 41 miles when he noticed the animals. At first, it was just a cat or two, then three. The math got harder as he drove, and by the third hour Luca was noticing all sorts of animals trotting along both sides of the highway.

Like animals that aren't really animals anymore.

BAM!!!.

Luca was lost in thought when he smashed the back of a pitch-black truck dead on the highway. Luca hadn't seen a car for two miles, just long enough to send his attention elsewhere.

The empty hood of the bathtub crinkled like paper and threw Luca back hard against his seat and out cold on impact. The last thing he sensed as he slipped into darkness was the fire, not on his skin, but starting in the back of the car.

BORICIO WOLFE.

Sat.u.r.day October 15, 2011 1:17 a.m.

New Orleans, Louisiana There were no explosions. No cras.h.i.+ng concrete, crackling electricity, or menacing reverb to blanket the city. No screams. Just that hollow pause that sits in the seconds between ignition and detonation.

Except this one came and never left.

Boricio woke a second after It started, wide awake even though he'd been tangled in a fat thick of sleep - the kind you get after a night spent doing all the things he'd just finished doing. He wasn't sure how he knew the end had begun. He just knew.

His feet hit the floor and felt colder than they should have. That didn't bother him. At least not like the air. Stale. Though he could still smell the restaurant below, there were no sounds. And there were always f.u.c.king sounds.

This is some beer-battered bulls.h.i.+t.

Boricio looked around the loft - nothing out of place, at least not that he could put his finger on. Just the smell that didn't smell right and the crazy feeling of empty that seemed to swallow the entire apartment like the fat lips on a French Quarter wh.o.r.e.

And the crazy as a cat on crack dream.

Boricio looked outside. Sky wasn't right.

He opened the window, and yup, same beer-battered bulls.h.i.+t outside, but stronger. He didn't bother to shut the window, heading outside and grabbing a beer from the fridge on the way out instead. The fridge was still cold, though it'd gone as dark as the always-blinking alarm. Boricio stepped into the hallway and grabbed the time from the beat-to-s.h.i.+t clock with the three missing Romans - 2:17 am.