Yesterday's Gone: Season One

while he was feeling hopeful, he went ahead and hoped Joe’s bite wouldn’t turn him into one of those fucking creatures.
    But Luis knew better than to get his hopes up.
    He had a bad feeling. And as the hours ticked, the certainty something horrible was going to happen grew even stronger in his gut. He grabbed a third granola bar, then returned to his post at the window.
    The car’s lights were off.
    He put the granola bar down, picked up the shotgun, and scanned the distance between the house and parking lot. He saw nothing but darkness. Perhaps the driver had finally decided he or she didn’t need the lights on and would simply sit and wait for morning. Luis would sit, too, and wait for the sun to come up so he could get a better idea of what he was dealing with.

    **

    Brent came down, dressed in black sweat pants and a grey tee shirt, two or three sizes too large with a picture of a golf ball on the front, as big as a target. Luis laughed. “Damn, bro. That is hideous.”
    “Wish I’d thought to pack some clothes,” Brent said. “Don’t worry, I saved all the cool clothes for you.”
    “Can’t wait to see what passes for cool in this house,” Luis said, looking at his bloodied jeans and tee shirt. “But I’m good, I’ve got some clothes in one of the bags.”
    “You fucker,” Brent said with a laugh. “You’ll be dressed like usual, while I’m wearing Oldy McOlderson’s tacky workout gear.”
    “I don’t know,” Luis said with a grin. “I think you make it work.”
    “Fuck you, sir. So, what’s happening with the car?”
    “Lights went out while I was in the kitchen, but I haven’t seen anyone, so I’m thinking they’re just waiting until morning when the ferry rolls in. Once the sun’s out, we can check it out, if you want.”
    “Alright,” Brent said, searching for something to eat in the kitchen. “Oh, man, you ate the last of the granola bars?”
    “Sorry,” Luis said, laughing. “Didn’t see your name on ‘em.”
    “That’s okay,” Brent said a minute later. “I found some Pop-Tarts. I haven’t had these in forever. Of course, it’s the damned unfrosted cherry ones.”
    “And without power, we don’t have a toaster,” Luis reminded him.
    “Oh well,” Brent said, returning to the window with a Pop-Tart and a bottle of water. “You gonna shower? I’ll stand guard down here.”
    “Alright, if anyone gets out of the car, come get me. Don’t go out there, or answer the door if they come knocking.”
    “Okay,” Brent said, sitting down.
    “And keep your gun ready,” Luis said, as he headed up the stairs with his bag, flashlight, shotgun, and one of the first-aid kits he’d grabbed earlier.  

    **

    The flashlight stood on the sink, its light bouncing off the mirror and ceiling of the bathroom giving Luis just enough light to bathe by. He stood under the shower, allowing the cold water to wash the blood and dirt from his body. Would’ve been better if the water were piping hot, but Luis didn’t care. After recent events, any water felt good. Cleansing. He leaned forward, allowing the pulsating jets to massage his shoulder blades. He glanced at his right arm. The bandages were soaked and sure to fall off soon if he didn’t do anything.  
    He remembered how Joe’s face had changed after he’d been infected. The black veins and splotches on his skin right before he turned .
    He continued staring at the bandage, wanting to change the dressing, but not wanting to see what lay beneath. If he was infected, he was as good as dead. He knew it like he knew the sun would rise. What he didn’t know, was how quickly the infection would spread. Would he even know it was happening? He remembered the look in Joe’s eyes — at first white, then all black, almost alien-like in the way they seemed to bore into Luis. Nothing was left of Joe in those eyes; it was all alien, monster, whatever the fuck the infection had put into him.
    Luis leaned against the shower wall and began to claw at the bandage with an immediate need to see.
    The wet bandage fell to the shower floor with a plop. Luis stared at his arm, not believing the dim light’s certain lie. He reached from the shower and grabbed the flashlight, and trained it on his arm.
    The bite was gone, completely healed, though the burning and pain were still present.  
    What the fuck?
    He put the light under his chin, and began to rub his other hand along the wound. The skin was smooth, as if never broken. He