Yesterday's Gone: Season One

shopping plaza to their house, the emptiness got louder. The always-full parking lot had been reduced to just three cars. Bob pulled right up to the first spot in front of the Save-A-Lot.
    “Let’s go shopping,” he grinned.
    The store was dark inside, but not so dark you couldn’t see between the daylight and the store’s huge glass facade. The automatic doors were dead, so Bob went back to his truck, opened a side panel and retrieved a crowbar.  
    “Stand back, kid, I’ve got a door to open.”
    Charlie thought Bob would pry the doors apart. Instead, being the subtle kinda guy he is, Bob smashed the glass with the crowbar, until he’d made a big enough hole for them to climb through.

    **

    The store was dark and damned creepy without people inside. While Bob grabbed a shopping cart and headed straight to the beer aisle, Charlie was tasked to fill another cart with as much water and food as he could fit. If any other people were left, it wouldn’t be long before they’d be looting the store too, Bob warned.  
    “Anyone too stupid to loot was just smart enough to die,” he said.
    As Charlie navigated the aisles, he couldn’t help but feel a thrill from the all-you-can-grab shopping spree. Anything he wanted in the entire store — for free! He imagined Bob was filling his cart with nothing but beer. Maybe some canned meat products and pork rinds too. The idea made him laugh. He could hear Bob on the other end of the store singing some country song about beer, which made him laugh harder. If Bob weren’t such an asshole half the time, Charlie might actually get along with the prick.
    He loaded up on water and soda on one aisle and was shoving every battery pack, flashlight, and battery powered gadget he could find into his cart when he heard a noise one aisle over.  
    He froze, listening. All he could hear was Bob’s obnoxious singing. He was in the middle of his aisle, ready to run in either direction. He crouched down and moved closer to the source of the noise and then he heard footsteps.
    Shit.
    The barren store, hell, the barren town , the lack of power, and the general creepiness convinced Charlie he was about to come face-to-face with a zombie.  
    Shit, shit.
    He crept toward the front of the store, abandoning the cart.
    The footsteps, which were at the back of the store and heading away from him, reversed course, and were now following his path in the next aisle. He stopped. The other person stopped one step after.
    Charlie was frozen in place, Bob’s drunken singing sounded as though it were a mile away.
    He scanned his aisle, looking for something, anything he might be able to use as a weapon. He wished he were in the cutlery aisle, but the small tool aisle would have to do. He grabbed a generic-looking hammer, orange with a black handle. It wasn’t heavy, but it was metal, and he figured it could do a fair amount of damage.
    He started toward the front of the store again, this time on tiptoe, hammer ready. Silence on the other aisle. He wondered if his stalker was staying put or creeping along with him. He gripped the hammer as he approached the end of the aisle. Once there, he’d have to make a decision whether to round the corner and confront whoever was there or start running and yell for Bob. He’d hate to be imagining things, then go running for Bob like a big baby, so he decided he’d turn the corner and let fate figure it out.
    Bob was still singing, but now it sounded like the out-of-tune was coming from a mouthful of food. Fucker was probably chowing down on raw steaks.
    Charlie inched toward the soda display at the end of the aisle, his heart in his throat as he rounded the corner. His shaky hand clutched the hammer, as he considered the ways he might use it when needed. Swinging it would require getting in close, and if the other person — or persons — had a better weapon, he was screwed. He could throw it, but if he missed, he’d be empty-handed. And he’d be facing an angry attacker.
    He sat frozen and crouched at the end of the aisle, weighing his decision, and glancing toward the other end of the store to see if Bob was in sight. He wasn’t.
    Charlie heard the footsteps, now in full sprint toward him.
    He ducked down, and got ready to swing the hammer. As trouble ran toward him, he cried out, “Bob!”
    He stumbled back just as the figure in blue jeans and a black hoodie shot past him and darted toward the front doors.  
    Bob came running, crowbar in hand, and