Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

to command them no different than he commanded his hand to pick up a drink, or his arm to bring it to his lips. The creatures were an extension of him, a deadly appendage, but they had grown dangerously restless, craving more strength in their numbers. They were gathering together in the world outside The Sanctuary, infesting new hosts, and spreading like wildfire through a bed of broken branches.
    The Prophet had started the fire; he had been tricked into opening the vial and setting this life free – this life that feasted on death; this life that would erase the old.
    The pieces were settling into place — until this morning.  
    Until John sensed the thing in the woods, watching them.
    It was human, but not like the others. It was something more. Something John felt he should comprehend, but didn’t, couldn't, even though he clawed inside his mind searching for the answer. Though the answer lay hidden, he had no more time to search. That something was standing in the snow, waiting at the gates of his death camp. That much John knew for certain.  
    A knock on his door confirmed what he knew.  
    “Brother John,” Brother Rei called from the other side of the door, “We have a visitor.”
    John stood, allowing the morning sun to warm his nude shell, then slipped into his pants and shirt, then a robe over both. Humans felt the need to wear so many clothes, almost as if the layers could disguise the lies inside them.
    John opened the door and saw the red fear brewing in Brother Rei’s eyes, “He’s still outside the gate; Brother Linc hasn’t let him in yet. The man just showed up out of the blue this morning, saying something about God calling him here. I don’t like the look of him.”
    John walked past Brother Rei, then descended downstairs, out the front door, and over to the wrought iron gate, where Brothers Linc and Ed stood guard with their rifles. The thing John had sensed stood calm behind the gate; this man who was not quite a man. The voices had said it was coming. Was this it ? Was this the thing that would usher in the darkness?
    “Hello, brother, my name is John. What brings you to The Sanctuary?”
    “God sent me,” the man said. The lie was revolting. But it was a different stench from the delusion the rest of The Sanctuary’s willing prisoners had been telling themselves about a so-called “God” who cared about them. The “man” at the gate held no such illusions. He was smart enough to use God as the golden key to gain access. The question was, why?  
    Was he what John had been waiting for? Or was he another obstacle?
    Though John wasn’t quite ready for someone to jeopardize what he’d so carefully built, perhaps this was exactly how it was supposed to be. He never questioned the voices. They’d yet to steer him wrong.
    “And who might you be, Brother?” John asked.
    “The name’s Boricio,” he said with such boldness that it seemed he were waiting for applause.
    “Welcome to The Sanctuary, Brother Boricio,” John said, his plastic grin upon his face, then directed the men to let Boricio inside. “You’ve arrived on a rather unfortunate day. We’re having a funeral.”
    “That is most unfortunate, indeed,” Boricio agreed without a whiff of agreement, stepping through the gate and into The Sanctuary.  
    John bristled. Another piece of the puzzle had slid into place, but he had no idea who the piece belonged to.  
    And the voices weren’t telling.  

    * * * *

WILL BISHOP: PART 1

    Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
    November 10, 1995
    8:40 p.m.

    Will sat behind the counter at Hidden Wonders, one of the last decent bookstores downtown, staring at the calendar on the wall. He couldn’t believe tomorrow was a year to the day since he found the loophole.
    For the four months prior, Will had been dreaming of Sam’s accident happening on November 11, last year. He couldn’t tell Sam, of course. For one, Sam would think he was crazy. For two, fate — or whatever it was that pulled the strings, yet also tormented Will with glimpses into the future — didn’t appreciate mortals like Will trying to intervene.
    Will spent months searching for a loophole — a way to save Sam, without telling him what was going to happen. According to the dreams, which always had the same ending, no matter how they started, Sam was injured badly in a car accident. He was struck by a drunk driver at 2:15 p.m. on his return trip to the bookstore they owned together. Sam would cross the street