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

with anticipation.
    “It’s okay, Mr. Olsen, I don’t mind,” Clarissa said as Ryan’s eyes locked with beefy baldy.
    Ryan sighed, “Okay. Thank you, Clarissa.”
    “Yes, thank you,” the woman said, glaring at Ryan.
    Ryan held his tongue. The taste of shit was familiar in this job; no use spitting it out now when he was about to assist a heist. Just keep things humming along. Ryan turned, reluctantly, and headed back to the front of the store.  
    That’s when all hell broke loose.
    Three men in black ski masks and matching outfits rushed through the front doors armed with shotguns.
    “Everyone on the fucking floor! You, take me to the safe!” one of the men yelled, staring straight at Ryan.
    Screams erupted along the front end as customers and cashiers alike stirred, confused, and were slow to fall.
    “Now!” one of the men said, firing a shot overhead. The shot punched a hole in the tiles, sending a rain of white dust to the ground. The cashiers and customers hit the ground. Ryan took some pleasure in seeing the annoyed and panicked looks on the couple he’d just argued with. Then he caught Clarissa’s face, struggling not to cry, and his stomach turned.
    “Come out of there, hands up!” a gunman shouted at the two cashiers at the customer service desk.
    The two women came from behind the counter and stepped to where the gunman was pointing, a front-row seat at the head of the express lane. One of the cashiers, Carolyn, caught Ryan’s eyes and nodded slightly, as if to indicate she already hit the panic button.
    Fuck, not much time now.
    “What do you want?” Ryan asked.
    “All your fucking money!” the man said, shoving Ryan toward the office, just past the customer service desk. “Tell your people to cooperate and nobody gets hurt.”
    “Do whatever they say,” Ryan said to his cashiers as one of the gunmen went to the cashiers with a black sack demanding they fill it up. “Remember your training. Your life is more valuable than any dollar amount the store will lose. So just give them what they ask for.”
    Well, that sounded stupid.
    “Let’s go. Hurry!” the gunman yelled at Ryan, leading him through the door to the manager’s office.
    Once inside the manager’s office, the gunman said, “Open the safe.”  
    Ryan realized then that it was Pete behind the mask.  
    Ryan hoped like hell Pete would keep his mask on, or not say anything stupid, as there was a security camera just above, filming their every move and sound.
    “Okay, okay,” Ryan said, as he removed the keys from his pocket, inserted it in the safe, then punched the security code into the safe’s keypad.
    “It’s gonna take 90 seconds to open,” Ryan warned as red numbers on the digital display began the countdown from 90.
    “Fuck, you didn’t tell us we’d have to wait!”   Pete said.
    Ryan’s heart nearly stopped dead. He pursed his lips and glared at Pete, hoping what the idiot had said so far wasn’t enough to implicate Ryan’s part in the robbery whenever the cops reviewed the security footage. Ryan couldn’t believe Pete could be so fucking stupid. He had to alert Pete to the camera’s presence before the fucker started using names, removed his mask, and invited Ryan to meet for drinks later.
    “Don’t shoot me,” Ryan said, “There are cameras in here and they’ll catch you.”
    Pete glanced around, then found the camera above them. He looked back at Ryan, eyes narrowed, then said, “Just hurry.”
    The clock read 20, 19, 18...
    Ryan’s heartbeat raced as he hoped to God that the cops wouldn’t arrive before he was able to give the men their money and get them the hell out of the store.
    14, 13, 12...  
    The clock is taking forever!
    Finally, it hit zero, then read, “SAFE OPEN.”
    Ryan turned the thick metal handle, pulled the safe open, reached inside, grabbed all three of the deposit bags, then handed them to Pete.
    “Anything else?”
    “Nothing of value,” Ryan said, pointing at the receipts and lotto tickets.
    “Thanks,” Pete said, turning around and leading the way out of the office.
    Just as he stepped through the doorway, gunshots erupted. Two quick ones from a shotgun. Then a third, deafening blast from another gun.
    Shit just got bad.
    “You stay here,” Pete said to Ryan. “We’ll call you when needed.”  
    Ryan stayed in the office listening to the volleys of gunfire from the other side of the wall, which were rapid at first but gradually slowed to a few