Yesterday's Gone: Season One

glanced down at Charlie who had fallen to the ground. The person had hopped into Bob’s truck.
    Bob raced from the store, yelling, “Hey, fucker!”
    Charlie followed, gripping his hammer. As Charlie pushed through the front door, Bob yanked the hoodie-wearing punk from the cab and threw him to the ground. He brought the crowbar up and swung. The guy rolled out of the way at the last second and knocked Bob’s legs out from under him. Bob fell to the ground.  
    The guy hopped up and raced across the parking lot. Charlie followed, driven by adrenaline, and a desire to do something good in Bob’s eyes by catching the bastard who tried to steal his truck.
    “Stop!” Charlie yelled, as he got closer, emboldened by both the hammer in his fist, and knowing Bob would surely be beside him in a moment and help him deal with the punk.
    Though Charlie couldn’t see anything beneath the hoodie, he could tell the guy was shorter and skinnier than him. So long as he didn’t have a gun — and Charlie didn’t see one — he figured he might have a chance to win a fight for once in his life.  
    Charlie was almost close enough to grab the guy. He considered throwing the hammer at the back of the guy’s head, but didn’t want to slow down as he was almost ... catching ... up.
    Just inches away, Charlie dropped the hammer, reached out with both hands and grabbed the hoodie, then yanked the guy back. They collided in a rough roll to the ground which lacerated Charlie’s arms and bruised his ribs and back, but he didn’t release his grip, and the two rolled until they’d come to a stop with the guy on top of Charlie. Only it wasn’t a guy, but rather, a young black girl, close to his age, with short curly hair and piercing , azure eyes.
    He let go immediately. She stood and their eyes locked in a tango of fear and survival. I’m not a threat, are you?
    Just then, Charlie heard Bob’s thundering footsteps, then looked up to see him running up behind the girl, screaming with the crowbar raised.
    “No!” Charlie screamed. The girl spun around just as the crowbar came down. It narrowly missed her head, but hit her hard in her right shoulder, sending her sprawling to the ground as she cried out.
    Bob immediately brought the crowbar up again and was about to take another, surely lethal swing, when Charlie leaped at Bob, pushing him back, and sending the crowbar back where it bounced off the ground with a hollow metal thud.
    “She’s just a kid!” Charlie yelled as Bob stumbled back, but didn’t fall.
    Bob’s bloodshot eyes were crazy, his nostrils flaring. He was out of breath.
    “She’s a kid, man. Relax,” Charlie gasped, leaning on his knees to catch his breath.
    Bob’s eyes relaxed a bit and Charlie turned to the fallen girl, lying unconscious on the ground.
    “Did I kill her?” Bob asked.
    “I don’t think so,” Charlie said, leaning down to feel for a pulse.
    Charlie wasn’t sure whether or not Bob was disappointed.

    **

MARY OLSON

    Desmond was a fun neighborhood mystery. Everyone loved to guess where he got his money. No one knew what he did, but everyone knew he had to be one of the best. His house, directly across the street from Mary’s, wasn’t larger than hers. But it was just as big and ten times as impressive. You could tell that she was someone who was struggling to stay in such a grand home; he was likely living beneath his means.
    Desmond rarely wore anything other than jeans and a simple shirt, but on him, everything looked custom tailored. Even jeans and tees. He always had new toys, including cars. And new women, or so rumor went. And the one time Mary had been inside his house, she left thinking it was the most beautiful interior she’d ever seen. And his garden inspired jealousy from everyone in the neighborhood. She’d dreamt of the garden more than once.  
    Mary had known a few guys who could mint money, all of them assholes. Desmond wasn’t. He was a good guy with a great sense of humor, though he spent most of the time quiet, at least at the neighborhood gatherings. He had honest eyes and was a great listener; rarely broke eye contact and usually waited his turn to speak. When he spoke, people listened.  
    “What do you mean the world is dead?”   John asked.  
    “Exactly that. May not be the entire world, but St. Louis is gone for sure. If there’s a rest of the world , we need to get to it now.”
    “People are missing, or do you mean the town itself?”
    “A