Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 8

John was silent. Desmond thanked Mary with his eyes then opened his mouth. "I suggest we're packed and ready to hit the road hard in 30. Take only what you know you need. No computers or large items. I only have so much room in the cargo van for our supplies. We can also use the Escalade."

John said, "I'll go. We can take my Suburban. Just cleaned it yesterday."

Desmond smiled. "Okay then, let's hustle. Everyone back here in 30."

"Why the hurry?" Jimmy wasn't being flip, just wanted to know. "Looks like we've got all the time in the world."

A shadow smudged Desmond's face. "Time might not mean what it used to. But if the sky is falling, every minute matters."

Mary and Paola went back into the house. Paola ran upstairs to pack clothes; Mary stayed downstairs in the kitchen tossing a medley of foods into two 30 gallon trash bags. She packed all the dries, then made a cooler of perishables and set it by the front door beside the two plastic bags.

Paola met her mom at the front door with two suitcases, stuffed with Mary's favorite jeans, cammies, and sweaters with 15 minutes to spare.

"Anything else?"

Paola was sweet this morning. And it was early.

"Not sure. Other than are we dreaming, is this real, or any other way of saying, this can't be happening. Most of all I just want to know you're okay. Are you?"

Paola smiled. "Would it be weird if I said yes?"

"A little," Mary hugged her daughter and laughed. "But you've always been a little weird and a lot tough!"

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think happened?"

Mary had no idea and couldn't possibly guess. "I don't know, but I think we'll be okay. That feels right. And you know I'd tell you if it didn't. Whatever happened, we're okay. That has to be enough for us right now, got it?"

Paola gave her mom her hand. "Pinky promise."

Mary wrapped her pinky around Paola's. They spent several minutes rocking back and forth, then opened the door to the sudden future waiting outside.

Desmond's cargo van was nice but nondescript from the outside. New, tall and s.h.i.+ny. Black. The back doors were open. Mary saw custom cabinets and shelving inside, sitting beside a small bank of computers, every screen black. Her face must have looked louder than she thought.

"I'm not crazy," Desmond laughed. "I'm just always prepared and can afford to do it well. Come on, let's get packed." He took the bags from Mary and Paola and loaded them into the van.

"Mind if I take a look?" Mary asked.

"By all means," Desmond stood behind the swinging door and bowed his head.

Mary climbed in and started opening cabinets. They were packed with an end of the world picnic: juice, dried fruits, condensed milk, canned meats, peanut b.u.t.ter, jelly, crackers, granola bars, baby food, coffee, tea, hard candy, cereal, salt, pepper, sugar. There was a giant first aid kit, the biggest Mary had ever seen, a portable toilet, light sticks, a stack of 5-gallon buckets, plastic trash bags, bleach, a disaster supply kit, and tons of water, though it looked like it would run out quick.

Mary looked at her two plastic bags and felt like she was watering her lawn while looking at Desmond's copper piping.

"One more," Desmond said, straining to lift a small footlocker into the van. A padlock secured the lock.

"What's in there?" Mary asked, even though she antic.i.p.ated the response.

"Guns," Desmond said matter-of-factly.

"Who's riding with me?" John opened the door to his Suburban and climbed in. Mary and Paola climbed in back.

"I'll go with Desmond," Jimmy said.

Desmond shook his head. "You should ride in the Suburban. I'll hit the frontline."

Jimmy didn't disagree, just opened the pa.s.senger side of the Suburban and climbed inside.

The cargo van left Warson Woods. The Suburban followed.

The Suburban was a coffin of silence as its occupants surveyed the city beyond their neighborhood.

It was gone.

In its place, torn trees jutted up from the debris-strewn earth consisting of splintered remnants of houses, destroyed vehicles, broken gla.s.s, and paper. Lots and lots of paper, as if a million office buildings exploded, and paper rained from the sky, as if a super tornado had wiped out miles and miles of the city.

Paola burst into tears, and Mary hugged her tight.

"What happened?"

"Jesus," John said. "Everything is ... gone."

Mary held Paola tightly, unable to think of anything to say that would soothe her this time. As they drove along, Mary saw that Jimmy, who had his face buried in a fantasy book, was starting to tear up. She turned away, so as not to embarra.s.s him.

Fortunately, the on-ramp to the highway was intact and the streets remarkably, and eerily, were free of vehicles. If a ma.s.s exodus occurred, everyone either got out in time, or took other means of escape.

And the sky had a gauze. It made her think, opposite of Colorado and that managed a smile. They'd driven nearly 20 minutes before the trees began to appear along the side of the road again. The tornado, or whatever it was, hadn't reached this far. In another 15 minutes or so, they would reach the next major city. She hoped it was still standing.

As they drove in relative silence, something gnawed in Mary's brain. Something she should either remember, or notice. That's when it occurred to her - something was off about the trees. She realized what it was before Jimmy said a thing.

"You hear them?" Jimmy turned to the back seat.

"Who?" Paola asked.

"The trees."

Paola did, though she hadn't realized it until that moment. That they were able to hear anything from inside the cabin of the Suburban, let alone trees, confused her. That she and Jimmy agreed it was the trees they heard, even odder.

"Yeah," Jimmy drummed his fingers on the dashboard, "they're definitely talking."

John turned his head to the right and raised an eyebrow. "The trees are talking? What are you smoking?"

"Nothing yet," Jimmy laughed. He pulled a small Ziploc baggie from the inside of his jacket and opened it. The sweet, skunky scent of herb filled the Suburban."

"What is that?" Paola asked.

"Nothing," Mary said. Then, after a second, "It's marijuana."

"Oh," Paola said. "It smells sorta good."

"Yes, it sorta does," Mary laughed, then traced the memory of her and Ryan in their old days losing hours to the fog.

"I don't want that in my car," John said, eyes on the road.

"Relax, yo. It's the end of the world. This might be the last baggie we ever gonna smoke... until we start planting it. Until then, I'm willing to share. You have the car, I bring the weed. It's fair. Besides, what're you worried about - getting a ticket?"

John didn't care anyway, but the argument turned to vapor when they saw the cargo van slowing to a standstill.

Desmond got out and the temperature in the Suburban rose a degree.

"I wish my brothers were here," Jimmy said. "Mom and Dad, too."

Mary and Paola exchanged the same knowing look: everything was different, except that they were all that mattered.

Desmond was looking down, his right hand raised at the Suburban in a silent stop. "What should we do?" Paola said.

"Nothing yet," Mary said, then, "Stay inside."

"I'm going to take a look." John put the Suburban in park, then climbed outside and headed for Desmond.

"Yee-haw. Me too." Jimmy opened his door and hit the concrete. John and Jimmy were just shy of Desmond when Paola opened the door and ran past the boys, in front of Desmond, then face first into a scream.

Desmond pulled Paola back, already hysterical. Mary rushed to her daughter. In front of the van, Mary saw what caused her daughter to shriek. It was all she could do not to follow suit.

The twitching creature on the highway was human - mostly. Its face was pale black, with bright white b.a.l.l.s of light pulsating under the glistening, mottled flesh. It had no mouth, eyes, or nose, and its legs were longer than they should've been. The body was moving, gasping in its death throes.

The sky got ashy and the twitcher started twitching more. As the sky grew darker, the thing's jaw began to push out, stretching its head until a slash ripped horizontally above its jaw - forming a rudimentary mouth. From its newfound orifice, it gasped and groaned, as if trying to form words.

Desmond stepped toward the creature, and turned to Mary, "Cover her eyes."

Paola buried her face in her mother's shoulder as Desmond aimed a pistol, a Glock, Mary believed, at the twitcher.

"What are you doing?" John screamed, knocking his hand away.

Desmond lowered the gun, then turned to John with a glare, "You won't be touching me when I'm aiming a loaded gun."

"He needs help. You can't just kill whoever you want. None of us agree to that."

Desmond raised the Glock and pulled the trigger. Twice. The light in the creature's body seemed to flicker just before its head exploded in gore. Then, the lights went out and its body went limp and still.

The shot sounded like a rolling detonation as it caromed across the emptiness.

"This is the Apocalypse, not a democracy," Desmond said, "Let's go."

Desmond got back in the van and drove around the body without another word.

Nothing but silence in the Suburban for several minutes. Mary wondered what Desmond knew that he wasn't telling anyone else.

Sure, people had vanished, and an entire town wiped off the planet, but who said anything about an Apocalypse? There was no way to know how far spread this event was. No reason not to think that once they reached the Army base, they'd be transported somewhere where everything was still normal.

Apocalypse?

As much as she wanted to believe her hopes, something told her she was wrong, that Desmond was right, and everything had indeed changed. Forever.

She wanted to cry too, but she had to be strong for Paola. And for Jimmy, to an extent. Though he was practically an adult, so much about him was still a child. An orphan.

"Where do you think everyone is?" Jimmy asked, breaking the silence.

"I dunno," Mary said. "I'm thinking of some sort of evacuation or something."

"No," John said, "I mean, maybe if everyone from the same homes were gone. But my wife is gone, Jimmy's family is gone. There's no way the Army or anyone would be able to evacuate half of a family without waking the others. It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe they all raptured?" Paola offered. "G.o.d called all the believers home?"

"That's all bulls.h.i.+t make believe," Jimmy said, "And besides, if there was a heaven, no fu... friggin' way my dad was on the list. Believe you, me."

"Maybe aliens?" Paola said.

Jimmy thought on that for a moment. "Now, that, I wouldn't rule out. Though, that would be an awful lot of UFO's to take all those people away."

"Maybe they didn't take them away?" Paola countered. "Maybe they just killed everyone."

Mary flinched, catching a look from John. She made an "I'm sorry" face and his expression changed from scorn to understanding.

"Let's change the subject, huh? Why don't we talk about ... I dunno, you all pick a topic."

Before they picked a topic, John slowed the Suburban. Desmond had stopped again, in the middle of a bridge, which ran maybe fifty yards, a few hundred feet above ground.

"Why's he stopping here? We're nowhere near Fort Leonard Wood."

Desmond got out of the van and was looking up at the sky. And that's when they saw them - birds. Lots of them, swarming and diving overhead and to the river below. Desmond walked toward the guardrail and looked down, then turned back to the Suburban and held up a hand, telling the others to stay put.

Jimmy ignored the signal and jumped from the car. John followed. Mary looked at Paola and told her to stay put, she'd be right back. Surprisingly, Paola didn't argue, and Mary stepped out of the car and joined the rest of the gang looking down over the guardrail.

As she drew closer, she noticed an overpowering sickly sweet smell that seemed somehow familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. The sound of a river rus.h.i.+ng beneath them was barely audible over the squawking of birds as they continued to circle and dive.