Yesterday's Gone: Season One

 
    Nope, they’d have backup generators up the ass and back. Something is definitely sideways.
    The voice in his head told him to get the hell out of the store and back on the road. Because at this hour only stoners with the munchies and cops frequented gas stations. He needed to find a highway and head to Florida, A-fucking-SAP. First, though, he had to figure out where he was. A newspaper rack at the front counter spilled the beans – he was in Ohio. Made sense given the girl’s sweater in the photo.
    He grabbed a five-pound spiral book that included a map of the United States. He glanced around the station, then outside again. Still no signs of another soul. He went behind the counter and approached the register. It ran on power, and was off, but when he twisted a key in the bottom, the drawer sprang open. Inside the drawer he found four stacks of bills, from 20’s to singles. He grabbed them all, shoved them in his pocket, figured there was about $250 total. He was about to leave, when he spotted a black backpack nudged in the corner, probably belonging to the missing cashier. He glanced around again, then retrieved the bag. There it was — a Smith and Wesson 9mm. Automatic in a holster.  
    He was surprised to find such a decent gun just laying out in the open.
    Ed grabbed the backpack, a few snacks and drinks for the road, and got back in the SUV. He was about to reverse, when he realized the Honda was gone.
    What the fuck? It must’ve left while I was in the back of the store.
    He spun around, scanning the parking lot and the street. No sign of the car. He glanced back to the parking lot behind the station. The blue car was still there, seemingly empty. He didn’t know what was happening, but knew enough to know Ohio was creeping him the fuck out. He had to bail. Now.  
    He put the truck in drive and hit the gas.

    **

    Ed had driven nearly three miles and the entire town was pitch black, save for the occasional emergency lights at gas stations. Nobody was on the streets, in car, or on foot. He found the freeway ramp that would take him out of state, and merged in a hurry. The lights along the highway were dim, but not out, also running on backup power, he figured.  
    How big is this blackout? Something’s not right.
    His head was still pounding, and his thoughts still jumbled from the crash. Once he got some sleep, he’d be able to think more clearly, suss out what the hell was happening. Falling planes, blackouts, missing people — this wasn’t all coincidence. Something bigger was in play. And while he could see someone downing the plane to free him — he still had some fans at the agency and killing a bunch of innocent people was nothing to them — a second plane and the blackouts made no sense.
    Something big is happening.
    Maybe he would call Jade — if he could find a working phone.  
    Would be nice to know she’s okay.
    He’d been driving nearly 10 minutes and had yet to see another driver, but was careful to keep under the speed limit, anyway. He let the radio continue its scan, waiting for something other than static.  
    White lines raced by as the sound of rain splattered against the thumping of his windshield wipers. The quiet drone threatened to send him into sleep. His eyes were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to pull over and grab a quick nap. But he couldn’t stop. He had to press the advantage of his newfound freedom before they came looking for him.
    His eyes grew heavier as he strained to see through the thickening rain, which was now a blinding white squall in front of him. He had to slow the truck to ensure he didn’t run off the road. His eyes were dry, and he wanted to close them, but had to concentrate on the rain to see anything in this mess.
    That’s when he heard it.
    “sssaaiirr,” a voice echoed in some faraway place over the radio waves.  
    Ed’s eyes shot wide open and he sat upright, attention on the radio’s face as the numbers escalated from the 101s to the 105s, and then the voice again.
    “...again...”
    There! The word was clear as day. The digital channel locked on a station. 88.8 FM, a spot on the dial reserved for public airwaves, religious stations, and talk radio. Ed hit the button to stop the scan, waiting for another sound. Still static, but busy static, something just out of range, trying to come through.
    His eyes were glued to the radio as if he’d see whoever it was he was waiting to hear. So he didn’t see the car until it