Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) by Sean Platt, David Wright Page A

a shot lined up before firing.”
    They met up with Sanchez and Turner of the Alpha Team just outside the rooftop doorway leading to the stairwell.
    “We’ve got two infected trapped in the elevator on the ninth floor,” Turner said to Ed, “We dropped gas on them 15 minutes ago, so they should be out. We cleared most of the hostiles, but there’s a few we missed, so be prepared to shoot.”
    “You got the gear?” Keenan asked Michael, who patted the big black black bag strapped to his back like camping gear.  
    “OK, let’s do this,” Keenan said, then stepped out of the morning and into darkness.

    **

    The emergency lights that once lit the hallways had burnt out, so the men used lights attached to their rifles, which added to the claustrophobic feeling of the walls closing in around them as they navigated their way down the stairwell to the ninth floor. The sound of their boots echoed and carried the length of the stairwell, which was sure to draw the attention of aliens, were there any inside.
    Once they reached the ninth floor, Ed instructed Brent and Michael to stay behind and guard the stairwell door. One of the men took the backpack from Michael and carried it with his left hand, his rifle in the right as he and the remaining men headed down the hall toward the elevator, about 12 doors down.
    “You okay?” Michael asked Brent. “You look sick.”
    “I used to live across the street.”
    “No shit?”
    “Yeah. And I know it’s crazy as fuck, but I feel like if we just went over there, maybe Gina and Ben will be in the apartment waiting for me.”
    “You know that’s not possible, right? We haven’t run into anyone in a long time. The odds that anyone is left here are next to nothing.”
    “I know,” Brent admitted, frustrated, “At least logically. Yet, being here, so close to home, it feels like I should at least try to go over there.”
    “No way Keenan’s gonna let you do that. You’d be putting this whole operation, including all our men, at risk. So unless you want us to leave you behind - and by the by, I’m not letting you do something that fucking stupid - you need to get your head in the right here, right now. Okay buddy?”
    Michael’s voice was firmer than Brent had ever heard it, but still compassionate, showing that he was looking out for Brent’s interests even if Brent was getting a bit loco.
    “You’re right,” Brent said. Besides, Brent didn’t think he could take another disappointment so soon after yesterday’s helicopter ride over the dead city.
    “FUCK!” someone screamed in the hallway. Gunfire exploded and echoed like thunder, followed by more gunfire and the unmistakable, unholy shrieks of the aliens.
    “Shit!” Michael said, swinging the door all the way open and storming into the hall. As Michael lifted his rifle, dark arms and claws appeared in the gun’s light moving swiftly, ripping, tearing, and shredding, blood splashing the wall behind him as Michael’s cries faded into a gurgle. Michael’s gun fell as the doorway faded to black, even as the sound of chaos travelled into the stairwell.
    Brent’s heart froze in his chest as he brought his gun and light up, illuminating the carnage. The alien deftly turned its slick, black head and opened its maw, shrieking and clicking.
    For a moment that seemed to stretch into infinity, Brent froze, unable to move.
    The alien dropped Michael’s corpse to the ground, then turned, its body moving impossibly fluidly, raising its claws as it descended on Brent. His finger found the trigger and he squeezed off a burst of gunfire that sent the alien sprawling back against the wall.  
    The clip went silent but the chaos continued – more gunshots, screams, and alien shrieks. Worse, the unmistakable sound of more aliens approaching.
    Fuck, fuck, fuck!
    He struggled to pull the empty clip from the rifle and replace it with one of three more he had. The new magazine clicked into place just in time as another alien