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

is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.’ Buy this book. You will read it often.”
    Will handed the book to Sam. Their fingers touched, and Will felt a chill. The good kind, not the creepy kind he got from so many men.  
    Sam led him to the fiction section and picked out a book, The Sins of the Fathers. “You’ll love it,” Sam said. “Maybe?”
    Will smiled, “Maybe.”
    They met for coffee a week later so Sam could rave about cummings. Will read his book cover to cover, then picked up the next in the series. “Pretty damned good,” he said. “I’ve never been much of a fiction guy, save for some old science fiction stuff back when I was young. But I liked it; thank you.”
    Will hadn’t thought he’d like crime fiction. And he hadn’t thought he’d like a long-term relationship. He was happily wrong on both accounts.
    The coffee turned to dinner, turned to six years later, turned to now — Will standing in the ICU, watching his love leave the world of the living.
    He touched Sam’s arm, hesitantly, afraid he might set off alarms, or cause Sam to die on the spot.
    Sam’s eyes opened.
    Will’s heart swelled.
    The dream was wrong! Which means that . . .
    No, don’t jinx this.
    Sam’s eyes tried to surface through confusion, just like his tongue tried to get itself to talk. Maybe he finally realized that he was hooked to a ventilator; his eyes and tongue stopped trying at the same time.
    “You’re in the hospital,” Will said softly, “But I’m here now. So is Trudy.”
    Sam’s eyes filled with water. Will hoped he wasn’t feeling much pain.
    “Don’t try to talk; you’re hooked up to a ventilator. I should probably get the doctor.”
    Sam shook his head no, his eyes now tearing, and he spoke.
    “Don’t, Will. I’m dying.”
    Except he hadn’t spoken.
    He was thinking. And Will was hearing it.
    Will was certain he was imagining it, wanting to hear Sam speak to him, but no, Sam’s voice spoke again.
    “I’m scared.”
    Will turned to him, crying, “I’m scared, too.”
    Will turned, and called out, “Nurse! Doctor!” Then Will hit the alarm beside the bed.
    The monitor began to beep faster as alarms rang on the machines.
    “What’s happening?” Will asked the staff rushing into the room.
    “Sir, I’m gonna need you to wait outside,” a surgeon said. One of the nurses stepped in front of Will to push him away.
    “Will? What’s happening?” Sam called out in his mind.
    And then Will was outside the room, looking in through the window.
    That was the last thing Sam would say, if Will had even really heard his thoughts.  
    “Will? What’s happening?”
    He died afraid, as his lover was wrestled from him. Inside, Will died that night, too.
    He thought he’d found a loophole.  
    He’d saved Sam from one fate only to deliver him to a worse one.
    Will walked down the hall and found Trudy, but could not bear to tell her she missed Sam opening his eyes. Fate might be cruel, but Will was not.

    * *

    The Sanctuary
    March 25
    7:11 p.m.

    The cold night air was as cruel as the goodbyes, freezing Will’s joints even beneath the thick pants and jacket he wore. Will walked to the car, a black Honda which John said was his to keep, along with a bag of supplies.
    Will wished they hadn’t been waiting outside by the gate to see him off. Yet, there they were — Mary, Desmond, Paola, Luca, Linc, and even John. Brother Rei kept a respectable distance, surprisingly, back at the porch in front of the main house. He couldn’t tell for certain, but he thought the weasel was smiling.
    Desmond was first to say goodbye, reaching out to shake Will’s hand.
    “I’m sorry to see you go,” Desmond said, pulling Will into an embrace.
    “Luca told me. Don’t worry,” Desmond whispered.
    Will pulled away, and Mary came to him, tears in her eyes, “Thank you so much for saving Paola. I will never forget your selflessness and kindness. Or our many weird conversations where I always felt like a kid in grammar school pretending to keep up.”
    She laughed through the tears, as did Will.
    Paola hugged him, “Goodbye, Mr. Will. Thank you for everything.”
    “Anytime, sweetheart. You stay good for your mom, okay?”
    She smiled, wiping tears from her eyes.
    Luca was next, the closest thing to a son he’d ever have — this child turned teen in the span of months. Tears streamed