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

staring at a crossword puzzle perfect but for a missing word. He was close to being won over; he just needed the last piece.
    “Trust me.”
    Brent ran his hands through his head so hard, Ed couldn’t tell if he were trying to pull his hair out or keep his brains in. He looked up at Ed a few times. Ed kept silent, allowing Brent time to finish processing the information.
    “So, if they’re not my family, where is my family? Are they still alive.”
    Good man. Now we’re moving in the right direction.
    “I presume they’re still on our Earth, and probably alive, though I can’t be sure. Nobody here knows much about what happened, why it happened, or how we were all brought over. Well, someone here might know, but they didn’t tell me.”
    Brent stared straight ahead, at Ed, but not really. He looked exactly like Ed expected a man to look who’d been told that his wife and son, practically given up for as dead, were really alive. Maybe.
    Finally, after several minutes, Brent found his next question. “Why did they tell you any of this? Why not tell everyone?”
    “There are very few who know. Very few. I’m the only one from our world who knows. Well, now I’m the only other one from our world. I ask you this: why does the government ever lie to its people? Two reasons, to maintain control and to maintain safety. In this case, both.”
    “How the hell would knowing we’re on another planet, dimension, whatever, change how we act?”
    “The less the others know, the better. Black Island Research Facility is attempting to figure out what happened, how to defeat the aliens, and repopulate the planet. If everyone suddenly thought this world wasn’t theirs, they might just storm the palace, so to speak, demanding to be sent back. There’s something to be said for keeping people in the dark about some things.”
    “I still don’t get why they told you.”
    “Because on our Earth, I was one of the people who worked in the shadows, keeping the government’s secrets. I was good at my job. They need me.”
    “So, why are you telling me?” Brent asked.
    “Because I need you. I need you to help me do something. Michael was going to help me, but he’s dead now. You’re the only one I can trust.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’ll explain more tomorrow. Let’s just say that I’m not willingly working for them. They’ve got my daughter, and possibly someone else I care about.”
    Brent stared, shocked. “They’re holding them hostage?”
    “Something like that. An insurance policy so that I do what they need me to do, something only I can do.”
    “What’s that?” Brent asked.
    “Find someone from our world. Someone who may hold the key to many of these mysteries.”
    “Who?”  
    “A man named Boricio Wolfe. And you’re gonna help me find him.”

    * * * *

RYAN OLSON: PART 1

    Brookdale, Tennessee
    February 17
    late morning

    “You okay?” Carmine asked as Ryan limped into the mammoth apartment building.
    “Twisted my ankle, but I’ll live,” Ryan said, making his way through the front door which was battered and blue, with peeling paint and a giant window where someone had thoughtfully drawn a giant penis in thick, black marker. Below that, what looked to be a gang sign. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” Carmine said. “Come on; I’ll introduce you to Gramps.”
    The hallways were dark, except for the dim light bleeding from the windows at either end of each hall, providing just enough light for Ryan to see the shithole in all its glory. There were two kinds of public housing:   buildings where the residents worked to keep things repaired and as nice as possible, and   then there was this — housing so decrepit and uncared for, that you could sink a year’s worth of renovation and 10,000 gallons of paint into it, and it would still look ghetto. Even in the dark, the walls stunk of oppression and decay. Toys, sacks of trash, and discarded furniture littered the hall, as if the residents couldn’t be bothered to take their trash to the dumpsters. The hallway smelled like rotting food. Ryan hoped it was food, at least. Then again, everything was food to something nowadays.
    Ryan choked back his belittling comments on the place. It wasn’t the kids fault he lived in a slum, and Ryan certainly wasn’t going to judge him or make him feel shitty. They reached the far end of the hall and Carmine fished a flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on, then pushed through the