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

religion was all the man had to hold, who was Ryan to take it away or question it. So he nodded and said, “Maybe.”
    “Or maybe God meant for you to save me,” Carmine offered.
    “Well, I’m glad I was useful to someone,” Ryan said, as he stared out the window, wondering how long until Red Jacket came back seeking vengeance.  

    **

    Ryan stayed for dinner, which Carmine cooked with a portable gas stove. They had tomato soup and old crackers. They were on the stale side, but it was good to have hot food for a change. Ryan had been existing solely on a diet of chips, cold canned meats, and warm cans of soda.
    After dinner, Ryan asked what the bathroom situation was. He wasn’t surprised to find it was more or less the same as his. They used buckets, dumped outside daily. Water had stopped flowing a week or so after the Vanishings, so they’d been using bottled water ever since.
    Ryan felt weird using someone else’s bucket to do his business, but this was the new reality, and there was no place for shyness over bodily functions in the world anymore. He made his way into the bathroom, lit by a small window that looked out onto the street behind them, squatted, and pissed and shit. He grabbed some squares of toilet paper and wiped, dropping it all in the bucket.  
    Now, what? Do I bring the bucket out, or leave it and expect someone else to clean up my mess?
    Until now, he’d been on his own, so piss and shit bucket etiquette questions weren’t something he’d given much thought to. He washed his hands using water from a gallon, which sat on a shelf behind him, and a blue bar of soap on the sink. He dried his hands on a towel hanging on the door, then opened the door gingerly, carrying the bucket awkwardly and painfully aware of the smell of his own waste.  
    “Where should I bring this?”
    Ryan got his answer, took care of the bucket, then came back in the apartment. “How bad you hurt?” Joe asked, giving him the eye.
    “Hurts when I walk, but I’ll live,” Ryan said. “Probably be better in the morning, or maybe the day after that.”
    “Why don’t you stay the night? I’d hate to send you out and have something happen and you can’t run.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan said, “I don’t want to put you out.”
    “Nonsense, you wouldn’t even be hurt if you hadn’t helped my boy.”
    “Thank you,” Ryan said.
    “Besides, we might need your help if that thug comes back lookin’ for trouble.”

    * * * *

CHARLIE WILKENS: PART 1

    Dunn, Georgia
    March 24
    6:20 a.m.

    It was only in the quiet moments when Charlie felt he could see the world as it truly was. He lay in bed watching the morning sun spill through the window and creep across Callie’s soft cheeks. Though he lay beside her, and both were in their underwear and tee shirts, he may as well have been sleeping outside. Charlie was still in the “friend zone.”
    He’d gotten used to being consigned to the role of friend, and most times, was cool with it. Having Callie as a friend was better than not having her in his life. She was, in fact, one of the closest friends he’d ever had. But times like this, laying close enough to smell her, wanting so much to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her — times like this were tough as hell.  
    She said it was “better this way.” Things were too complicated in the world now to get involved. Better for her, maybe. But not for him. He wondered if things were normal, if the world hadn’t vanished, if she’d feel any different? Would she even talk to someone like him? She was as geeky as he was, liking all the same TV shows, books, and comics. Hell, she even drew him a killer version of The Maxx . But she was still a hot girl. And social law said girls like her didn’t go for guys like him, even if it were the end of the world.
    But he’d be damned if someone like Vic would get her.  
    Vic had been eying Callie like a dog looking at an abandoned burger left on the table. The worst part was the asshole didn’t even have the decency to hide his ogling from Charlie. It was as if he was daring Charlie to say something. Even though Charlie wasn’t really with Callie, Vic didn’t know that. So to ogle her was a clear “fuck you” to Charlie as far as he was concerned. Last week, the fucker even licked his lips when Callie was bending over outside. Charlie pretended not to see the bald steroid case, because if Vic knew he’d seen, and Charlie had done nothing, it would’ve