Yesterday's Gone: Season One

around, and headed back as Joe continued babbling the word “square” on repeat.

    **

    They reached the corner of West 59th Street and 7th Avenue when they ran into their first major obstacle on the roads.  
    Rows of cars blocked 7th Avenue southbound. More cars blocked 59th Street going east, packed so tight they formed a sea of cars you’d have to climb over to cross. The cars didn’t appear to have been parked so much as placed to create a barrier. Luis spun the BMW around, but found both Broadway and 8th Avenue were every bit as barricaded.
    “It’s like someone deliberately blocked all street travel to Times Square,” Brent said.  
    “So, what do you wanna do?” Luis said, frustrated and driving back to 7th Avenue. “Lookin’ at a mile walk with God knows what out there.”
    “I don’t have a choice,” Brent said, “But you guys can wait here. I won’t take offense.”
    “Bullshit,” Luis said, “We’re in this shit together, bro.”
    “What about him?” Brent asked, nodding toward Joe, passed out and silent.
    “He’s probably safer in the car. It is bulletproof after all,” Luis said. “I’ll just park it up next to these others here so it blends in and maybe nobody notices him.”
    Brent grabbed a pen and paper from his duffel bag, leaving a note for Joe in the air conditioning vent. The note said not to leave the car; they’d be back soon. Brent was going to write something telling Joe to take the car and leave if they weren’t back by noon, but Luis only had a single set of keys and wasn’t willing to leave them in the car with a half-comatose old man.
    They stepped from the car and into the murky city, holding their gun-heavy bags.

    **

    Seventh Avenue seemed less like a street than a long hallway with a low ceiling of fog pushing down on them from 20 feet above. A long maze, with all the cars acting as obstacles. Visibility was limited to 20 feet in any direction, giving them little time to see any threats, especially if they came from above again. The only advantage they had, if any, was that the city was still impossibly silent, meaning they’d be able to hear the creatures even if they couldn't see them.
    It also meant the creatures would hear them if they weren’t quiet.
    They climbed over the first row of cars, careful to make as little sound as possible, watching for anything that might be hiding inside, next to, or near the vehicles. They were vulnerable; at least Brent was as he climbed over each car, awkwardly holding his gun so he could still climb without putting the gun away, and still managing to hold his bag of guns. Brent’s heart pounded in his chest, as he attempted to keep an eye on everything, in front of, behind, below, and above.  
    As they climbed over the eighth row of cars, Brent was out of breath and sweaty, wishing he’d been in better shape. He was relieved to see the barricade end. Though he couldn’t see more than 20 feet, it seemed unlikely they’d run into a second wall of cars.
    The walk, which should have taken 15 minutes or so under normal circumstances, would likely take an hour at the pace they were going, treading carefully along the right side of the road. Luis stayed in front, alternating his shotgun’s aim straight ahead and above, depending on the sounds around him.
    With the city so quiet, natural sounds seemed eerily amplified. Wind, birds in the distance — the first birds Brent could remember hearing, now that he thought about it — and other unfamiliar sounds he tried unsuccessfully to recognize. Sounds were all sinister when you couldn't see their sources.
    The duffel bag’s strap dug into his shoulder blade, so Brent stopped to switch shoulders. Ahead, Luis said, “Fuck me.”
    Brent looked up — another wall of cars spanning the street’s width.
    Luis went first. Brent followed, hoisting himself on top of the trunk of an old Cadillac and stepping gingerly on the roof, hoping he’d not fall through. The metal dented under his weight. He jumped from the hood. Luis was ahead, climbing the roof of a Hummer. Brent followed, just as Luis hopped down and onto the hood of a red BMW.  
    A high pitched siren wailed the minute Luis’s feet hit the metal. Startled, Brent raised his gun and fired into the fog above twice before realizing Luis had simply set off an alarm.
    “Sorry,” Brent said with a laugh.
    Luis laughed, as the alarm continued to wail. “Dumb ass.”
    As Brent climbed on top of the Hummer and was