Yesterday's Gone: Season One

supply kit, and tons of water, though it looked like it would run out quick.
    Mary looked at her two plastic bags and felt like she was watering her lawn while looking at Desmond’s copper piping.  
    “One more,” Desmond said, straining to lift a small footlocker into the van. A padlock secured the lock.
    “What’s in there?” Mary asked, even though she anticipated the response.
    “Guns,” Desmond said matter-of-factly.
    “Who’s riding with me?” John opened the door to his Suburban and climbed in. Mary and Paola climbed in back.  
    “I’ll go with Desmond,” Jimmy said.  
    Desmond shook his head. “You should ride in the Suburban. I’ll hit the frontline.”
    Jimmy didn’t disagree, just opened the passenger side of the Suburban and climbed inside.
    The cargo van left Warson Woods. The Suburban followed.

    **

    The Suburban was a coffin of silence as its occupants surveyed the city beyond their neighborhood.  
    It was gone.  
    In its place, torn trees jutted up from the debris-strewn earth consisting of splintered remnants of houses, destroyed vehicles, broken glass, and paper. Lots and lots of paper, as if a million office buildings exploded, and paper rained from the sky, as if a super tornado had wiped out miles and miles of the city.  
    Paola burst into tears, and Mary hugged her tight.  
    “What happened?”
    “Jesus,” John said. “Everything is ... gone.”
    Mary held Paola tightly, unable to think of anything to say that would soothe her this time. As they drove along, Mary saw that Jimmy, who had his face buried in a fantasy book, was starting to tear up. She turned away, so as not to embarrass him.

    **

    Fortunately, the on-ramp to the highway was intact and the streets remarkably, and eerily, were free of vehicles. If a mass exodus occurred, everyone either got out in time, or took other means of escape.
    And the sky had a gauze. It made her think, opposite of Colorado and that managed a smile. They’d driven nearly 20 minutes before the trees began to appear along the side of the road again. The tornado, or whatever it was, hadn’t reached this far. In another 15 minutes or so, they would reach the next major city. She hoped it was still standing.
    As they drove in relative silence, something gnawed in Mary’s brain. Something she should either remember, or notice. That’s when it occurred to her —   something was off about the trees. She realized what it was before Jimmy said a thing.  
    “You hear them?” Jimmy turned to the back seat.
    “Who?” Paola asked.
    “The trees.”  
    Paola did, though she hadn’t realized it until that moment. That they were able to hear anything from inside the cabin of the Suburban, let alone trees, confused her. That she and Jimmy agreed it was the trees they heard, even odder.
    “Yeah,” Jimmy drummed his fingers on the dashboard, “they’re definitely talking.”
    John turned his head to the right and raised an eyebrow. “The trees are talking? What are you smoking?”
    “Nothing yet,” Jimmy laughed. He pulled a small Ziploc baggie from the inside of his jacket and opened it. The sweet, skunky scent of herb filled the Suburban.”  
    “What is that?” Paola asked.  
    “Nothing,” Mary said. Then, after a second, “It’s marijuana.”  
    “Oh,” Paola said. “It smells sorta good.”  
    “Yes, it sorta does,” Mary laughed, then traced the memory of her and Ryan in their old days losing hours to the fog.  
    “I don’t want that in my car,” John said, eyes on the road.  
    “Relax, yo. It’s the end of the world. This might be the last baggie we ever gonna smoke... until we start planting it. Until then, I’m willing to share. You have the car, I bring the weed. It’s fair. Besides, what’re you worried about — getting a ticket?”
    John didn’t care anyway, but the argument turned to vapor when they saw the cargo van slowing to a standstill.  
    Desmond got out and the temperature in the Suburban rose a degree.  
    “I wish my brothers were here,” Jimmy said. “Mom and Dad, too.”  
    Mary and Paola exchanged the same knowing look: everything was different, except that they were all that mattered.  

    **

    Desmond was looking down, his right hand raised at the Suburban in a silent stop . “What should we do?” Paola said.  
    “Nothing yet,” Mary said, then, “Stay inside.”  
    “I’m going to take a look.” John put the Suburban in park, then climbed outside and headed