Yesterday's Gone: Season One

does. But she died a year to the day my dad did; a stroke.”
    “Jesus,” Luis said.
    Brent stared at Stanley’s smiling face, and told himself he wasn’t going to cry even as he felt his chin quiver.  
    “So, that’s why you worked so hard and never saw your family?” Luis asked, “To prove to yourself that you were the man your dad was? To be a good dad like him?”
    “Ironic, eh?”
    “No doubt,” Luis said.
    They passed the next several minutes in silence until Brent fell asleep in his chair.
    He woke in the darkness to the sound of a car outside.

    * * * *

LUIS TORRES

    October 16
    5: 40 a.m.
    East Hampton, New York

    Luis woke about five minutes before Brent, having heard the car stop across the street at the docks, where it had sat since, two spots from his own, with the lights on. Luis grabbed a chair and his shotgun, then sat in the darkness, watching and waiting.
    Though he could only vaguely see the taillights through the dark and fog, the car looked like a Toyota.  
    “What’s it doing?” Brent whispered, yawning as he took a seat next to Luis.
    “Maybe waiting for the ferry too.” Luis said.
    “Another survivor? Well, shit, they ought to turn off the lights and not call so much attention to themselves!” Brent said.
    “Maybe they haven’t seen the aliens or monsters, or whatever the hell those things are,” Luis said.  
    “Think we should go out there?” Brent said. “Let ‘em know there’s at least two more people and tell them to turn out the lights?”  
    “I dunno. Shit could go south real quick if we approach the car in the dark, even if they’re friendlies. We’ll wait. Besides, we don’t know if they’ve attracted any unwanted attention. So we stay put until we need to move.”
    “So, we use ‘em as alien bait?” Brent asked.
    “Well, not intentionally, but it’s a good way to see if there are any out there before we go out.”
    “We’ll step in to help if we need to, right?” Brent said.
    “As long as I don’t see Red Sox bumper stickers on the car,” Luis said with a smirk. “Otherwise, they’re on their own.”
    “What time is it?” Brent asked, yawning.
    Luis glanced at his watch, and through a yawn said, “Five forty. Got another hour or so before the sun is up.”
    “Mind if I take a shower?” Brent asked.
    “Go ahead, but take your gun. You’ll hear me shooting if I need you.”
    Brent paused before he started up the stairs, “How’s the arm?”
    “Stings like a bitch,” Luis said. “I’ll check it out when I shower.”
    “You’re not feeling weird or anything?”
    “If you’re asking am I gonna turn into a zombie, I’m not getting a craving for brains or anything ... yet.”
    Brent laughed, if a bit nervously, then went upstairs with a flashlight in one hand, his gun in the other.
    Luis turned his attention back to the car, wondering if he should take a chance and head outside. He didn’t like having unknown variables in play. And not knowing who was in the car when they needed to get to the docks shortly, was a pretty big variable as far as he was concerned.
    “Why don’t you turn your damned lights off?” he whispered before getting up and heading toward the kitchen. He was famished and craving junk food, something he rarely allowed himself back before the world flushed its people. He found a box of granola bars in the pantry. Chocolate chip peanut butter. Close enough to junk, he supposed. He ripped the foil from the bar and took a bite.  
    Wow, this is like the best granola bar ever!
    He downed it in seconds, then gobbled another. He went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water from the more than 20 that filled the bottom crisper bin. He wasn’t sure how long before the plumbing stopped working in a world without people to power the water plants, but figured they probably had enough bottled water to last a few hundred years. He never saw sense in paying for bottled water, but was glad enough people had been frivolous enough with their cash to create a demand that might supply survivors for a century.
    Of course, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that, hoped Black Island would offer hope, to let them know this event, whatever it was, was localized. That the rest of the world was alive and kicking, thank you very much, and the prophetic dreams Luis had been having, along with the other 215ers, were just a weird ass coincidence.  
    He also hoped his daughter and Brent’s family were still out there , too. And