Yesterday's Gone: Season One

about to jump down, he saw Luis’s eyes widen, staring behind Brent.
    The alarm! They heard it!
    “Run!” Luis screamed, already hopping from car to car. Brent didn’t want to turn back to see what Luis saw, but couldn’t help himself. He glanced over his shoulder and nearly froze on the spot.
    Dozens of the creatures came spilling from the wall of fog behind them: running, clicking, and shrieking.

    * * * *

CALLIE THOMPSON

     
    October 18
     
    Mid-morning
     
    Pensacola, Florida
     

    Callie woke up feeling as though she’d been kicked in the head by a team of horses.
    Dizzy and confused, she stared through the gauze of the faded white curtain blowing softly in the breeze thinking, for just a moment, that she was back home, the world hadn’t vanished and it had all been a bad dream.  
    “Oh, you’re up?” a familiar voice said next to her.
    She felt thin fabric brushing against her nipples and realized she was naked in bed. Naked and smelling of chlorine. She lifted all hundred pounds of her head, then slowly turned toward the voice. It was Bob, also naked.
    She wanted to jump up, run, vomit, anything as long as it was something far, far away. But her body refused to budge. Instead, she fell back on her pillow, trapped by inertia. She closed her eyes and swallowed, gathering her strength.  
    She sat up. “What the?” she said, her voice as slurred as her mind felt.
    She turned to Bob, who was strobing between full-on asshole and fuzzy blur. “You drugged me?” she asked, her voice somewhere between accusation and confusion.  
    The last thing she remembered was waking up, looking for Charlie, then drinking beer with Bob. After that, she had no memory at all. Given her state of undress, and sore vagina, she was sure she’d been raped. Rage, hurt, and fear flooded her system as she struggled to keep calm and avoid a full-blown panic attack.
    She would have accused him; hell, she would have found something nice and blunt to bash Bob’s fucking face in, but her head was a dumbbell’s worth of hurt and she was far too dizzy (and defenseless) to risk provoking the savage animal he so clearly was.
    She’d have to play it cool, bide her time, then escape.
    “Drugged?” Bob said, laughing, “Girl, you were down with it. You asked for it . Not gonna say you were begging, but just between me and you, you kinda were.”  
    It took everything she had, and then some, not to knock the smirk from his face.
    “What did you give me?”
    “I think the kids call it ‘G,’ it really fucks you up sorts of good.”
    The date-rape drug?
    “How ya’ feeling?” Bob asked, reaching over to cup her breast.
    She pulled away, covering herself with the sheet.
    “Oh, you’re gonna play shy, now?” Bob asked. His voice was playful. He reached over again with one hand, the other playing Jaws beneath the sheet.
    “Not now,” she said, “I feel like I’ve got the worst hangover ever. My head is killing me.”
    “Want some water?” he asked, getting up from the bed, his cock pointing straight. She fought the urge to vomit.  
    “Yeah,” she said, “JUST water.”
    Bob laughed.
    Asshole.
    Callie didn’t wait for the water. She jumped out of bed, head spinning, and stumbled to the bathroom, then shut and locked the door and fell to the toilet and vomited. She took the longest shower of her life, not caring that the water was almost ice.
    She sank to the floor of the shower, her bottom on the freezing tile and her head in her palms. She would have given anything if tears would finally fall, but they were trapped, burning her lids in horror and shame.
    She hadn’t cried once since the world went to hell.
    She thought about everything that had happened since the world went away. Watching as her neighbor was torn to ribbons, missing her mother with a bottomless depth she didn’t even know she could feel, and now getting raped at the hands of a creepy white trash old man. She should have been a broken mess. As water from the shower streamed down her face, her mouth opened in anguish, trying to open a spigot of tears that simply refused to flow.  
    She’d always been strong, had to grow up that way being a mixed girl in a lily-white neighborhood with fat pockets of deep-rooted, if slightly closeted, racism. But she wasn’t heartless, far from it. She loved her mother more than life; so why wasn’t she able to cry for her absence?  
    What kind of daughter am I?
    She wished, not for the first time, that her