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

things on faith. This is one of those things. New Unity knows what’s best, for you and for us all, Brother Desmond. New Unity is your new home, and you must let us help you learn to trust. We’re here to take care of you.” He smiled again, sickly sweet, then placed both his hands around Desmond’s right one, closing his fingers around the revolver. Rei leaned several inches closer to Desmond and said, “Be well, and travel safe, Brother Desmond. Please come back to us whole.”  
    The door swung quietly closed in Desmond’s face, followed quickly by the sound of the lock clicking into place. The situation wasn’t worth pressing. Not now. So Desmond descended the stairs, his insides a volatile cocktail of defeat and fury.
    Will was already in the back seat of the midnight blue Sequoia when Desmond climbed inside. They were being chaperoned by two of the Sanctuary’s soldiers, a loudmouth big guy named Paul and a near-mute skinny guy named Ricky. Flashes of Laurel and Hardy stormed in Desmond’s mind.
    “So what sorts of supplies are we gathering?” Desmond asked to the front seat.
    Paul was driving. He turned and said, “Food. There’s a CostCo not too far from here. It has everything we need.”  
    “Why keep making trips?” Desmond shrugged. “Can’t one of you big guys drive one of those 18 wheelers back to The Sanctuary? Seems like the smart thing to do would be loading one truck all at once, making just one trip to the old Big Box and back, and be done with it. But who am I to say, I never foresaw nothing worth foreseeing.”  
    Desmond smiled, winking at Will, then leaned in his seat while Paul glared at him in the rearview, silent. Will kicked Desmond on the ankle, hard, a slight scowl on his face saying, not now.
    Desmond figured they were getting close when a mile marker on the road promised civilization in four miles, but the sign was splattered with what looked like fresh blood, filling Desmond with a sudden wave of dread. He placed his hand over the revolver and said, “That sign look like that the last time you hit CostCo?”
    Paul said no, trying to sound tough, but his voice cracked through a gauze of panic.  
    A sudden, thick fear drowned the cabin as they took the highway exit and drove a couple of blocks to Costco’s giant, nearly empty parking lot.
    They proceeded to the front of the store and parked on the sidewalk.
    They were about to get out of the truck when Ricky screamed “Demon!” a split second before the first one flew into the passenger side door with a jarring thud. The beast cracked the window, coating it with black blood, before it skittered away, hunched over like a wounded dog running away to lick its wounds.
    Paul turned off the truck, his hand oddly calm.
    “What the fuck are you doing?!” Desmond shouted. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
    Paul ignored him.
    More of the monsters appeared, racing toward the truck, about 10 of them in total. They rammed into the truck at full speed just as the first one had done, cracking the windows and bashing in the doors. Desmond and Will took aim at the windows and held, waiting for one to breach. Desmond chanced a glance back to the front seat to see why Paul wasn’t driving away. The queer reality he saw took a full second to register;   the two men held hands in prayer, as still as statues.  
    Paul whispered fast: “In the name of the Good Lord and under the protection of The Prophet, His window to The Wasteland, I COMMAND every Demon that has followed me, was sent to me, or transferred to me, to depart my body now. In the name of the Good Lord and under the protection of The Prophet, His window to The Wasteland, I cover myself and all my property with the blood of Jesus. Demons as I sleep and Demons as I wake, I command you to stay away. Banish all evil thoughts from inside me. And as we step from this truck, I beg the Good Lord to build a Fiery Wall of Vengeance around us.”  
    Paul released Ricky’s hand, then turned to the backseat. “You ready?”
    “Let’s leave. We’ll find another store,” Desmond said.
    “No, we fight. We have the Lord on our side; we do not back down from Satan’s minions.”
    With that, he opened the door, stepped outside, and fired into one of the creatures.
    Desmond turned to Will, shrugged his shoulders, opened the door, and joined in the firefight. Will followed.
    Paul and Ricky were machines. Every bullet found its mark in a symphony of grisly screams, on a