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

got lookout in a few minutes.”
    “I got it.”
    “You sure?” Adam said, “Isn’t Callie waiting for you?”
    “She’s passed out,” Charlie said, not bothering to clarify a misconception in the house that he and Callie were an item. Though they’d gotten close, and they slept in the same room, oftentimes in the same bed, Charlie was imprisoned behind the Friend Zone. And to be honest, he didn’t care. Having Callie in his life was enough. Or at least that’s the lie he kept telling himself. He maintained the lie partly to appear like less of a loser, but also as a way to protect Callie from the others. They hadn’t seen another woman in a long time. While Charlie trusted Boricio as much as a guy like Boricio could be trusted, and Adam seemed harmless enough, he didn’t trust Jeremy or Vic. Well, Vic, now that Jeremy was gone. None of the others needed to know the details of his relationship with Callie, so let them believe whatever they wanted if it kept them from sniffing around her like dogs in heat.
    “You sure?” Adam asked.
    “I’m up,” Charlie said, “No problem. You catch some z’s and get better. God only knows when Boricio and Vic will want to hunt down the fuckers who did this to you.”

    * * * *

4 - RYAN OLSON PART 1

    October 15, 2011
    Brentwood, Missouri  
    6:27 p.m.

    Ryan Olson knew shit would splatter fan blades the second he saw Pete’s car mulling about the Shop N’ Save parking lot.
    What the hell is he doing here?
    Ryan glanced back at the registers; five lanes open. While the lines were maybe a little longer than they were supposed to be, and two cashiers had called in sick, he didn’t need to take a register yet. Plus, Becky and Rosa were due back from break in 10 minutes. So, things should be cool, and he could slip outside without it turning into the end of the world. Of course, when it came to the grocery store, the end of the world happened at least twice a shift.
    He grabbed the intercom microphone on the wall and called for the head stock boy, Bill, to come to the front end.  
    Bill appeared a few minutes later, mopping a hand across his sweaty brow. “What’s up, Ryan?”
    “I’m taking my lunch break now, I need you to watch the front end, okay?”
    “Sure,” Bill said, eagerly peeling off his blue apron, and tucking his white shirt over his big gut and into his pants. “Who’s on break?”
    “Becky and Rosa; they should be back soon, then Dex will probably want his break. But if we’re in the weeds, he can wait.”
    “K,” Bill said, taking over the captain’s spot on the front end, the one that allowed him to see the entire front of the store. Though Bill didn’t know it, he would never make management. Despite being a great worker and always on time, he was too sloppy and awkward with people, especially women. He was a 35 year old who still lived at home with his mother and lacked the skills needed to be much more than a cog in the retail machine. To be management, you had to be great with people. Bill was scared of them. However, his eagerness to rise from the ranks of stock boy, where he’d been for 11 years, meant he would do whatever was asked, eager to prove himself to management, even the Assistant Manager, Ryan. Which was great when Ryan needed to break for longer than usual.
    Ryan clocked out, but instead of heading straight out the front doors, he took the long way. Murphy’s Law: When employees saw you were about to go on break, they quickly developed last minute emergencies requiring urgent response.
    Ryan, a customer said the strawberries taste off.  
    Ryan, the bathroom is flooded; we need to call a plumber.  
    Ryan, my baby’s got a sore throat; I need to take off, and no, it doesn’t have anything at all to do with that concert I have tickets for.
    That was just the employees. Customers were worse. Ryan was amazed that most people managed to get through the day without his help.
    Ryan slipped on his black jacket and made his way to the back of the store before sneaking out the front doors. He found that the fewer people who knew he was on his way to lunch, the quieter his break would be. And when it came to dealing with a problem like Pete, the less attention on Ryan, the better. Once he was certain the cashiers and stock-boys were otherwise engaged, he made his way out the front doors and scanned the parking lot for Pete.
    Pete was sitting in his black sedan about 10 rows back, listening to loud rap music, bouncing his