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

the Audi. John punched the accelerator, swung a right out of the hangar, and headed away from the compound, all the while Desmond scanned the courtyard in search of Mary.  
      Desmond had already decided to bury the hatchet with John before they started talking. Whatever was happening at The Sanctuary wasn’t John’s fault. He was the symptom, not the disease. John was a good guy before October 15 from what Desmond knew, even if he was a little annoying. And really, after losing your wife alongside the rest of the world, who wouldn’t be looking for a few magic beans? You never knew what people were really going through until you were lacing up their boots. So who was he to judge John for taking off and leaving them stranded? People did bad shit when they were at their lowest. Hell, Desmond had ruined the wedding of the one serious girlfriend he’d ever had. It didn’t even make sense; he had been genuinely happy for her. But he drank too much and said a lot of stuff he shouldn't have said, at the wedding or anywhere else. He’d thought about it with Redwood-thick regret maybe once a week since. And the end of the world hadn’t stopped it. John had his own shit to think about, too. No one could argue; he saved them back at the house and brought them to where he thought they’d be safe. Even if he was misguided, John’s intentions were probably good.  
    “I’m sorry,” Desmond said, “about everything. Not just about lately since we came to The Sanctuary, but all of it. Back at the Drury. Hell, back on the bridge. I’m sorry.”
    John kept driving and Desmond kept talking.
    “It was hard, you know, after you left. Mary and the kids were scared out of their minds. And Jimmy . . .” Desmond had forgotten about Jimmy for a moment. He felt a cold chill run through his body and hoped John hadn’t noticed his bristle. “It was all too much at once. Then you disappeared. And the next month, well, it was awful.”
    Desmond didn’t want to dive into deeper detail; in fact, he wanted to leave the conversation right there and never pick it up again. Fortunately, John swung off the highway and into a thatch of woods on the right.  
    “Rebecca loves this patch of woods,” John said, diverting the conversation. “Before last October, she used to live just on the other side.” John pointed through the windshield, toward a rolling hill dotted with the first promise of spring. He decelerated, killed the engine and stepped from the car.  
    Desmond followed, gun drawn. “You won’t need that,” John offered. “I can’t feel a single Demon right now. We’re safe.” He cupped his hands next to his mouth and screamed. “Rebecca!”  
    He turned to Desmond. “No worries, Desmond. I understand how you feel.” He held out his hand. Desmond shook it and John said, “We’re all trying to survive and make the most of this. Breathe in, breathe out, be merry.”
    They checked the surrounding woods and were all the way up the hill, ready to descend the backside, when Desmond’s thoughts derailed. He’d heard that last expression from John before. But not from John. It was out of place coming from him, eerie even. Not just the words, but the tone. The echo was odd, and ominous. He felt like he was pulling splinters of thought while trying to place it.  
    They were at the top of the hill, looking at the horror on the other side when Desmond realized with a sick, slippery dread where he’d heard that expression before.
    We’re all trying to survive and make the most of this. Breathe in, breathe out, be merry.  
    That was something Jimmy had said.

    * * * *

7 - RYAN OLSON: PART 2

    Brookdale, Tennessee
    February 17
    morning

    “How long will this medicine last?” Ryan asked, inspecting the pills as they headed up the street toward Carmine’s apartment in the opposite direction of the drug store. Ryan didn’t want the kid walking back there alone with those ass clowns still out there. The more he thought about it, the more Ryan wished he’d shot the bastards when he had a chance. He pissed them off, so they’d likely want vengeance, against him or Carmine, or both.
    “I think he takes one a day. There’s 100 in each bottle, so a while.” Carmine answered.
    “How bad a shape is he in?”
    “He’s in a wheelchair; lost a leg to diabetes a few years back.”
    “Shit,” Ryan said. “Does he have diabetes medicine?”
    “Yeah, he’s good on all that other stuff. I got those last week. Those men