Yesterday's Gone (Season 5): Episodes 25-30 (44 page)

The Guardsman was standing still, staring at his tablet. Had he already called reinforcements? Was he studying blueprints of the old house and planning an attack?

Brent had to move fast.

He decided to cut through the woods and flank the man, hoping he was alone as he appeared. Brent raced as fast as he dared until he drew close enough for his footfalls to reach the Guardsman, then slowed down until he saw the man about ninety yards ahead.

Brent drew the gun, taking aim, and slowly approached from behind, his heart slamming against the walls of his chest.

He walked slowly, carefully, avoiding branches and dead leaves as best he could, pistol trained on the back of the man’s head as he went.

Brent misstepped and cracked a branch.

The Guardsman spun around and dropped the tablet, hand reaching for his gun.

“No!” Brent yelled, firing a shot that echoed through the woods.

He hoped the kids didn’t hear it, but couldn’t imagine that they hadn’t. He hoped Teagan could keep them calm, keep Ben from freaking out, having flashbacks of his mother shot dead in front of his eyes.

The Guardsman froze, hand inches from his gun.

“Hands up!” Brent said.

“OK, OK, no need to shoot,” the man said, voice calm.

“What are you doing out here?” Brent asked.

“A survey of the property, that’s all. Who are you? You living here?”

“I’m asking the questions,” Brent said sharply. Better to show no fear with the Guardsman. “Give me your radio, and the tablet … and your gun.”

“You’re making a big mistake.” The man bent down to retrieve his tablet.

“Keep your fingers away from the screen!” Brent demanded with his gun.

The Guardsman put the radio, and the weapon, on top of the tablet and shakily started to hand them to Brent.

Brent’s heart raced faster as he looked up from the man’s shaking hand to his eyes: cold, calculated, fearless. The man was planning something. 

Brent backed away, now holding his gun with both hands. “No, put them on the ground, slowly, and back away.”

The man did as instructed, eyes on Brent the entire time as if he controlled the situation. His cocky look made Brent want to squeeze the trigger.

“Who else knows you’re here?”

“Everyone. I’m part of a four-man unit surveying the island’s neighboring properties. If I don’t meet up with them, they’ll come looking for me. Why don’t you let me go, and I’ll pretend I never saw you.”

Instead of responding to the offer, Brent ordered the man to back up, then went and picked up his radio, gun, and tablet. Brent put the man’s gun in his own holster, shoved the tablet under his arm, then looked at the radio. It was a phone radio, similar to the one Brent had before he ditched it earlier to avoid tracking. He wondered if the communications of this one was also limited to the island.

He decided to call Ed.

“What are you doing?” the Guardsman asked.

“Shut up,” Brent said, dialing.

He listened as the phone rang.

Hope swelled in his chest as the phone continued to ring. If he could reach Ed, tell him what was going on, he’d feel a million times better about their odds of safely fleeing the island. As the phone continued to ring, Brent was faced with a new quandary — should he tell Ed about Jade? 

Ed needed to know, and Brent had wanted to tell him since the moment the man’s daughter was killed. But might that knowledge cloud his thinking? Make him less likely to help them defeat Desmond?

The phone continued to ring.

A new fear crept into his mind. What if they’d taken care of Ed already?

The line then went dead.

Brent dialed again, to be certain he called the right number, then waited through too many rings.

The Guardsman stared at Brent with that icy glare that made Brent want to shoot him in the face.

The ring again fell into silence. Brent sighed. 

Dammit.

If Ed’s dead, we’re screwed.

Brent wondered if he should try to call Mary, see if there was any update on her situation. But if he called her, especially from this Guardsman’s phone, and she hadn’t yet acted, and Desmond picked up the phone, the jig would be up.

The Guardsman continued to glare at Brent as Brent racked his brain trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t take this Guardsman hostage, could he? And if not, what were his options? Kill him? The man had done nothing to him, and didn’t seem infected.

Everything inside Brent felt tight as the world narrowed around him, thinning his choices, and chances to do the right thing. 

“Dammit!” 

“You OK?” the Guardsman asked.

Brent looked up at the man to see his same infuriating expression of calm.

“No, I’m
not
OK.” 

“I’m not sure what’s wrong, but you ought to consider coming with me to the facility. We can get you some help, sir.”

“No,” Brent said, “we’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t hold me forever. And if you shoot me, they’ll find you. Our uniforms are fitted with a biometric system that pings headquarters if something happens to me, or … if you attempt to circumvent it.”

Shit.

Brent hadn’t considered that. In his efforts to try and take matters into his own hands, he’d screwed himself, Teagan, and the kids.  

Brent suddenly had an idea he was surprised he’d not thought of before. Yes, Desmond was infected, but he wasn’t in charge of the island. 

“Get me Director Bolton on the radio.”

Incredulous, the Guardsman said, “What? Why?” 

“We’re all in danger. Are you familiar with the alien infection?”

“Of course.”

“One of your top men is infected,” Brent said. “I need to tell the director. Do you have a direct line? Not to his office, but to him?”

“Yes,” the man said.

“OK, I want you to call him. And don’t say anything about where you are or who you’re with.”

“I don’t even know your name, sir.”

Brent returned the Guardsman’s radio and waited while he dialed. “Director Bolton? I’ve got someone who needs to speak with you.”

Brent kept his pistol on the man as he took the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello, Director?”

“Yes?” Bolton asked, “Who is this?”

“My name is Brent Foster. I’m one of the people brought in by Desmond Armstrong, along with Ed Keenan to help you all.”

“OK,” the director said, clearly perturbed by the interruption. “How can I help you?”

“I need to tell you about an infection in your ranks.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brent wasn’t sure if he should tell him now or ask to see him in person. If he told him now, there was a chance it could get to Desmond.

“Well?” Director Bolton pushed Brent to spill it.

“Desmond Armstrong is infected with The Darkness. He’s kidnapped a child and is holding her on the facility’s eighth level.”

“Armstrong is infected? How do you know this? Do you have proof?”

“Yes,” Brent lied, “but I need to meet with you. I’m not sure if he’s infected anyone else, but you could have a coup on your hands, sir. You need to be careful who you trust.”

“Where can I pick you up?”

“It has to be you and someone you can trust.” Brent handed the radio to the Guardsman to tell Bolton the coordinates.

The Guardsman hung up. “Armstrong’s infected?” 

Brent looked at the man, uncertain if he could be trusted. Desmond could have infected him. Brent held onto his radio, tablet, and weapon. For now, the man was his prisoner.

“Come on.” Brent ignored the Guardsman’s question and led him at gunpoint to the house.

**

A black van arrived outside in less than twenty minutes.

Brent stood by the second-story window, watching as the passenger-side door opened and Director Bolton stepped out.

Brent turned to the hostage Guardsman and pointed his gun. “Looks like our ride is here.”

They headed downstairs where Teagan and the kids were waiting. Brent kept the gun behind him, so the kids wouldn’t see it.

He said, “OK, we ready to go for a ride?” 

“Where are we going?” Ben asked.

“I told you, we’re going to meet with a man.”

“So are we done playing hide and seek with Mary and Paola?” Ben asked.

“For now.” Brent couldn’t meet his son’s eyes.

Ben ran up to Brent. “Pick me up, Daddy.”

“Not now,” Brent couldn’t risk dropping his guard just in case his captive turned out to be infected.

“Will you hold Becca’s hand?” Teagan stepped in to save the day.

“OK,” Ben said, smiling.

They headed outside, the Guardsman in front.

Director Bolton approached, wearing a charcoal suit, offering his hand, “Mr. Foster?”

Brent shifted the gun from his right hand to his left behind his back, then reached forward and shook Bolton’s hand.

“Yes, good to meet you, Mr. Bolton.” Though Brent had seen the man a few times in person, they’d never talked.

The van’s driver’s side door opened, and a Guardsman stepped out, wearing a thick, full black uniform and dark-visored helmet, carrying a black duffel and a shotgun — likely Bolton’s driver and security.

Brent felt anxious as the man approached.

“Don’t worry, he’s just going to collect your guns, a security precaution.”

“You sure you can trust him?” Brent asked.

“I’ve had the same inner core for years,” Bolton said. “We’ve had two breaches, Sullivan and now Desmond Armstrong, both from that damned other world. But my inner core, four people, have never been alone with Sullivan or Armstrong. I believe we’re safe.”

Brent hoped so as he retrieved both his gun and the one he liberated from the Guardsman and dropped them into the duffle.

The helmeted Guardsman took the bag back to the van and climbed into the driver’s side. Bolton led the rest of them to the van.

As the Guardsman attempted to get in first, Bolton put a hand on his shoulder. “Your unit will come get you.”

“Can I at least get my stuff back, sir?” 

“Sorry, I put your gun in the duffle bag.” Brent handed the man his radio and tablet.

“I’ll see to it that your gun is returned, son,” Bolton said. “Go ahead and finish whatever you were doing here.”

“Yes, sir.” The Guardsman turned and headed toward the backyard, carrying his tablet.

“After you.” Bolton smiled and waved a hand toward the van’s open side panel.

Teagan, Becca, and Ben climbed into the van’s rear. Brent followed, sitting in the middle row of seats with the kids between himself and Teagan.

Bolton slid the side door closed then climbed into the front passenger side.

Nobody spoke as the van cut through the woods, not even the kids, who were looking nervously up front. 

Brent wondered if Bolton was saving conversation for when Teagan and the kids weren’t in the same close space, then grew nervous when he realized they were headed to the facility. He imagined them passing Desmond as they got out of the van. He’d be dangerous if already on to Mary’s knowledge of his infection. He might attack them, Bolton included, there in the open. It wasn’t as if anyone could stop him after he unleashed the aliens’ full potential.

“Sir,” Brent said, “are we headed to the facility?”

“Yes, Mr. Foster. We’re going to my headquarters.”

“Did you have someone pick up Desmond?”

“Mr. Armstrong is in custody, yes,” Bolton said.

“And what about Mary, and Paola?”

“They’re fine, sir.”

Brent sighed, hoping this ordeal was nearing its finish. If Bolton had managed to capture Desmond, and Keenan had secured the vials, perhaps the Black Island Research Facility could stop the aliens before they destroyed another planet. Perhaps he and Ben could live something resembling a normal life.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Brent felt hopeful.

Teagan looked over at Brent and smiled. Surprisingly, the kids had yet to ask any questions.

The van dipped into a parking garage on the facility’s ground level, and a large steel door clanged closed behind them. They drove until they reached a large elevator where two Guardsmen with rifles stood sentry. The van came to a stop, and Bolton got out, sliding the side door open.

Bolton nodded at the guards, one of whom held his hand over a security pad beside the elevator. 

They entered the elevator, Ben reaching up and grabbing his father’s hand, tight. Teagan carried Becca, staring back and forth between Bolton and her mother, likely trying to figure out the man’s identity.

The driver followed them into the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind him. He’d left the bag of weapons in the van. 

The elevator hitched, a hiccup to startle Ben before its descent.

“It’s OK, buddy.” Brent looked down, bent over, scooped up his son, and carried him against his chest. Brent looked his son in the eyes and smiled. “I promise everything will be OK.”

Ben leaned close to Brent’s ear and whispered, though probably too loud, “The man in the helmet is scary.”

Brent turned and saw his reflection in the man’s visor and figured the helmet probably
was
scary to a little kid. Hell, Brent would be frightened of an intimidating man in a helmet and black Guardsman uniform.

The Guardsman said, “Yeah, the helmet is a bit scary, Ben,” then reached up to remove it.

Brent stared in horror as Desmond smiled back. 

“Hello, Brent. You didn’t think I’d infect Desmond and not the Director, did you?”

Before Brent could move, he felt a gun in his side, Bolton pressing it into his ribs.

As the elevator held its descent, Brent felt certain that they were plummeting to their deaths, and he was responsible.

He’d failed them all.

Desmond smiled, pulling his own holstered gun on Teagan. “Don’t even think about doing anything stupid.”

* * * *

CHAPTER 21 — MARY OLSON

Mary woke to darkness, confusion, and a thousand nails hammering into her skull.

She reached up, felt a large, egg-sized lump on her forehead, then remembered Desmond hitting her with the gun.