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

had even started looking for a house. They were comfortable in Rose’s place, where Boricio had been staying recently — though he still kept the place on Black Island for nights he worked late — but if they were going to raise a family, they’d need a bigger place, something Boricio had considered a few weeks before he had seen the blue line neatly dividing the center of the white plastic.
    Boricio found a pair of houses that would be perfect for the two, and now three, of them. Both lay in Paddock island’s interior, where houses were much cheaper, though Boricio thought buying a house somewhere else, off the island, would be better. Boricio’s work at Black Island wouldn’t last forever, and Rose could write anywhere in the world, though she preferred to live near the water. But the US of A was a mighty big place, with several long coastlines to choose from. Besides, who said they had to stay in America? Boricio would live anywhere with Rose, wet or dry; red, white and blue, or any color of the rainbow.
    Only one dark cloud sat in the middle of Boricio’s otherwise perfect blue sky. But it was ink black, and held every memory of his monster father, the demon who murdered his childhood, then flooded it with ghosts who never stopped haunting.
    The ghosts were still there; they lived in the cave with the bear. But they were afraid of the air around Rose, which was one of the million reasons Boricio wanted to draw his breath beside her. On the short drive to Schooner, those wretched memories were only a flutter, flickering through his mind like the final shot in a fading reel.
    He would be a great father. All Boricio had to do was be the opposite from the heap of unspeakable that had been his father. Boricio wouldn’t tell his son to be a man; he would show him how to do it. And if he had a girl, well then, he’d spend the rest of his life loving his junior Rosebud more than any other girl in the world, except for her mommy.
    Schooner or Later was one block away, nestled between calm water and the rest of Boricio’s life. He looked over at Rose and wondered what she was thinking and if she had any idea what was going to happen, any clue about what he’d been planning.
    “We’re going to Schooner or Later?” She said as she realized where their route was taking them, then shook her head. “I thought we were doing something different this morning. A surprise? I’m not even sure I’m hungry.”
    “That’s okay,” Boricio said. “Order something sweet to pick at, while I mow on the mizithra missiles in my breakfast bomb.”
    Rose took off her seat belt, then turned to Boricio.
    Boricio turned to meet her gaze and caught the widest smile he had ever seen.
    She knew , and something was so beautiful in her knowing, Boricio couldn’t break her stare. She held his gaze and wouldn’t release. Boricio surrendered inside it.
    By the time Boricio realized he was driving off the road, Rose’s Mini-Cooper was crashing through the first table, flying half way across Schooner’s relatively small Patio. The first table was empty, but the second wasn’t.
    Boricio swung the steering wheel hard to the right, narrowly missing a pair of brunchers sharing a waffle before crashing through the wood and lattice separating Schooner from the water.
    The Mini-Cooper landed on a boat, then tore into the cabin’s interior. Boricio looked to his right as Rose was thrown hard from her seat. Her head smacked the dashboard, which launched a fat chunk of blood from her throat onto the windshield.
    Another jolt lurched the car back then forward and sent a piece of the boat crashing through the glass. Boricio felt a sharp pain stab his left eye and hot blood gushing down his cheek.
    He turned to look at Rose — to see if she was okay — but the crunch of metal, shatter of glass, and water rushing into the cabin around him sent the world to black before he could see her.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 2 — Charlie Wilkens Part 1

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

    Charlie woke naked in a glass cell, without any memory of falling asleep. He was lying on a mattress, with no blanket or sheets. One pillow, no case.
    The cold floor was gray concrete, just like the ceiling and the one wall without windows. The ceiling wore a blanket of ominous looking holes, and a metal toilet sat in the far corner of the 20 by 20 cell, though it offered no walls for privacy. A metal band separated the longest width of glass