Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

it was the same one The Prophet saw from skeptics all the time.
    “So, what? You’re gonna give me a guided tour of Bumfuck Egypt?” Boricio said. “You mean to tell me that my Motel 6 isn’t Studio Fucking 54?”
    The Prophet ignored the man’s vulgarity. God had tested him with far worse. Vulgarity was often a defense used by those living in fear. The time for fear was over, though.
    “Not a tour,” The Prophet shook his head. “More like a particular place I’d like you to see. A place that might just change your life.”
    Boricio grinned, “You’re not gonna take me up to Mount Diddle-Me, are you? ‘Cuz while I might be pretty, Boricio don’t play for that team.”
    The Prophet laughed, genuinely, “No, as hard as it may be for you to believe, you’re not my type.”
    “Too old?” Boricio asked.
    “Nah, too ugly,” The Prophet joked.
    Boricio looked at him for a moment, and for that moment The Prophet was afraid he’d mistaken the man’s temperament. Then Boricio laughed and said, “Okay, let’s go for a ride. Just gimme a minute to wash up.”
    “I’ll be waiting in the truck,” The Prophet said, then returned to his F-150, and sat with the engine idling and the A/C on full blast, keeping his eyes at the front of the Motel 6.
    Boricio’s New York rental was the only car in the lot. In a few hours, once night fell, the place would be hopping with drug abusers and prostitutes like it always was. Some meth addicts were likely shut inside their rooms during the day, seeing as how this motel let a true Devil’s den worth of sin to happen behind its aging walls.
    The Prophet’s face soured at the thought of so many lost souls, so close to salvation and yet still so far away, then wrinkled further at his mind’s movie of the motel’s owner, an old Russian man, profiting on the misery of so many. While The Prophet felt genuine sympathy for the lost souls, and their fates in the Eternal Fires of Hell, he felt no such sympathy for the man who made his living from the weaknesses of others.
    If The Prophet weren’t such a holy man, he would have happily delivered justice to the old Russian with his own hand, taking the life from his beady, soulless eyes.
    Justice would come to all soon enough, though.
    On October 15, the sinners would pay — each and every one.
    And while He might have mercy on the weak, He would have no mercy on the profiteers of evil.
    Oh, what a glorious day that will be!
    It was what his visions had told him. And as the day crept closer, The Prophet’s spirits rose in anticipation.
    Boricio emerged from his room carrying a black leather backpack slung over his shoulder, pulling The Prophet from his thoughts.
    As Boricio climbed inside the truck, The Prophet said, “Whatchya’ got in the bag?”
    “Just my valuables,” Boricio said, “No way I’m leaving my bag in this shit hole.”
    The Prophet smiled and pulled the F-150 from the motel lot.

    **

    They arrived at Lake Wilton about 10 minutes later, a thickly wooded grove of serenity — home to a glassy beautiful lake, miles of nature trails, several summer camps, and immaculate camping grounds.
    They parked near one of the nature trails, then got out of the truck and headed down to a path which offered one of the lake’s best views. On the far side of the lake, the sprawling back yards from a few of the richer folks’ homes were visible.
    “You brought me to a lake?” Boricio said, his backpack still slung over his shoulder. “I told you I’m not making out with you, Father.”
    “Yes, this is Lake Wilton, one of the most beautiful lakes in all of Alabama. My Daddy used to bring me here to fish when I was just a boy. Like his daddy took him before he took me. Generations of folks from Kingsland, Alabama call this lake home to some of their most cherished memories. It was such a beautiful place.”
    “Still is,” Boricio said, casting his eyes across the water.
    “Yes, it is.” The Prophet agreed, nodding as he turned his eyes to Boricio. “But you should’ve seen it 15 years ago.”
    “Why’s that?” Boricio asked.
    “About 15 years back, this company in Georgia started dumping all sorts of pollutants into the lake upstream,” The Prophet pointed north. “Pretty soon, fish were dying by the thousands. And of course the birds had to keep their bellies full, so they kept eating the fish even though it was killing them by the barrel. The EPA declared Wilton a toxic dump and demanded it get