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

salvation for the suckers willing to drop their hard-earned dough into your collection box, Prophet. Or is that Profit with an F? ”
    Boricio turned from The Prophet and began to walk back up the trail.
    The Prophet had clearly erred in his persuasion. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    Boricio stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn.
    The Prophet said, “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just that I can see your heavy heart sinking from guilt, and I want you to understand that God forgives. Everything.”
    Boricio turned and stared at The Prophet for a moment, as his eyes filled with water. Finally, he swallowed and spoke. “I was trying to save her,” he said. “I thought I knew the right treatment. I thought I knew what to do to save her, but I only made it worse.”
    The Prophet wanted to know what Boricio was talking about, and was inches from asking, but he didn’t want to make another mistake by interrupting the man in the midst of confession and risk him shutting down.
    As Boricio told the story of his girlfriend, Rose, the woman he wanted to marry, and the car accident that had killed their unborn child along with their future together, The Prophet walked to him and found his eyes drifting past the man, settling on the black bag Boricio had yet to let out of his sight.
    Something was in the bag — something more valuable than money.
    Something which beckoned The Prophet as sure as the Good Lord Himself had been whispering his name since as long as he could remember.
    Boricio continued, “My Dad wanted us to go with one course of treatment, but I went over his head, reached out to another doctor, and asked him to try an experimental procedure. It was supposed to have worked, but … it didn’t.” His voice was right at the edge of cracking. “Rose died, and I killed her,” he said.
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” The Prophet shook his head. He was going to tell Boricio that Rose was in a better place, as was their unborn baby. But he knew that doing so would lose Boricio for good. Instead, he said, “You did what you thought was right. Correct?”
    “Yes,” Boricio said.
    “And you feel like maybe you were arrogant to go over your father’s head, right?”
    Boricio met his eyes in a moment of challenge, then looked to the dirt, nodding.
    “Let me ask you this, Boricio: Did you act out of love? Did you try to save Rose from a life in pain and endless misery?”
    “Yes,” Boricio said, trying not to cry.
    “Then you did right by her, and by The Lord.” The Prophet said. “He knows you did right, and He forgives you. Now, you must realize you did the right thing too. You must forgive yourself.”
    Boricio said nothing. He turned and followed The Prophet back to the truck, but then left him standing by the open driver’s side door as he kept walking back down the road they’d taken to the lake.
    “Where are you going?” The Prophet asked.
    “Back.”
    “That’s a long walk, Son. Do you even know where you’re going?”
    “I’ll find my way,” Boricio said as he continued to walk, taking the bag and its mystery away from The Prophet.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Ryan Olson Part 1

    Black Mountain, Georgia
    March 31, 2012
    FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

    Ryan’s head ached as he woke, feeling like he’d had way too much to drink, even though he couldn’t remember the last time he had.
    He vaguely recalled a nightmare — one he didn’t want to think about now.
    Mary was sleeping in bed beside him. He felt the cool breeze blowing in through the open window and watched as she breathed, her breasts rising and falling along with the soft white comforter that half covered them. He stretched out, feeling the softness of the sheets, happy beneath their comfort and warmth.
    I don’t ever want to leave this bed.
    Every morning should be like this.
    Nowhere to go, no rush to wake up.
    He reached out and touched Mary’s shoulder — soft and warm — then traced his fingertips along her neck until she opened her eyes and looked at him.
    “Hi, Baby,” she said.
    “Hi.”
    “What do you wanna do today?” she asked.
    “Would it be horribly rude if I said ‘you’?”
    “Ha, ha. Didn’t you get enough last night?”
    Somewhere in his brain, a memory stirred from the nightmare — something hideous, chasing him.
    No, don’t think about the dream. This is reality.
    Don’t think about what happened.
    Mary reached up and ran her palm over Ryan’s face, then through his hair as he