Yesterday's Gone: Season One

Jersey, senile and in a home. Well, she had been in a home. She was probably gone now, which was for the best. He didn’t want to think about his grandma being eaten by zombies.
    He liked the idea of just driving until something spoke to him.  
    More than that, he liked the idea of starting over.
    Where nobody, assuming there was anybody left, knew him. Where he could reinvent himself as a stronger, cooler guy. The guy that got the girl. The guy who wasn’t too pussy to go after what he wanted.
    Someone other than Charlie Pussy Ass Wilkens.
    “My name is Boricio,” he said into the mirror, rolling the ‘r’, even though the guy in his dream didn’t seem Spanish.
    If anyone asks, my name is Boricio. Heh, I kinda like the sound of that.
    Charlie was speeding along the highway screaming out the lyrics to Eulogy when the car started acting weird, as if the engine had just been cut off.
    He turned down the music as the car coasted to a stop. That’s when he saw the red gas light on the dashboard.
    Fuck me!
    As the car died, he stared out his window along the long rural stretch of road. Nothing as far as he could see ahead. And behind him, it had been at least a few miles since he’d passed any signs of what was left of civilization.
    As if on cue, the sun was eclipsed almost all at once by dark, angry looking clouds.
    So, what you gonna do now, Charlie Boy? Only it wasn’t his inner voice that mocked him. It was Bob’s.
    “Fuck you, Bob.”
    He thought about getting out of the car and walking back the way he came until he found a place to hole up for the rest of the day and night, or maybe find a new car. But as he was about to get out of the car, he was interrupted by the loudest thunder he’d ever heard. It sounded as if someone were tearing the roof from the top of the world. Lightning flashed not too far ahead.
    Rain followed, hitting his windshield in fat, loud drops that sounded like rocks.
    Charlie reached into the duffle bag, found a book, a collection of P.K. Dick stories, and eased his seat back. He was going to be in the car a while.

    About an hour into this book, he saw headlights in his rearview mirror.
    He pulled the seat back up and threw his book on the seat, then reached into the duffel bag for the Glock. He checked the ammo, made sure the safety was off, and put the gun in his lap as the lights drew closer.
    His first thought was that Bob and Callie had come after him. But as the vehicle got closer, he saw that it wasn’t a car, but rather a van.
    It parked right behind Charlie’s car.
    Oh shit.
    Charlie sat, frozen, unsure what to do.  
    It was too dark and the rain falling too hard to see the driver of the van.
    The van’s lights flicked on and off twice.
    He wants me to get out?
    The lights flicked again as if in response.
    Charlie put the gun in his waistband and stepped from the car, instantly drenched by the rain. He ran to the van’s driver side, relieved as he got closer and saw that the driver was a woman. She looked a bit older, a little heavy, with long, dark red hair.  
    She rolled down the window a bit, “You okay, honey?”
    “Ran out of gas!” Charlie yelled over the howling wind.
    “Get in,” she said, pointing to the empty passenger seat.
    “Okay, lemme get my bag,” Charlie said, running back to the car, putting his book in the bag, along with the pistol from his waistband.
    He eyed the shotgun sitting in the back seat, but would have to leave it. If he came running to the van with a shotgun, the lady would probably freak out and drive away.
    He grabbed the Tool CD from the player and put it in the bag, then ran to the van and hopped into the passenger’s seat.  
    “Where ya’ headed?” she asked as he got situated, putting the bag down between his feet. A black curtain separated the front of the van from the back.
    “Wherever,” he said. The van moved forward and that’s when Charlie noticed that they weren’t alone. The curtain parted and a man with red hair and a scruffy beard appeared, wearing all black, with something behind his back. As Charlie was trying to figure out what it was, the man quickly wrapped his arms around him and injected something into his neck before Charlie even had a chance to fight.
    Seconds later, Charlie hit the dashboard and was out cold.

    **

    The first thing Charlie noticed when he came to was the shaking. And he couldn’t see a thing, blindfolded and arms bound behind him. He was in the back of the van.
    A woman was