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

the door in a floral print dress.
    “Brent!” Emily cried out, running toward him, pigtails bouncing.
    He swept the girl in his arms, pulling her into a hug as she plastered his face with kisses.  
    “How was your day?” Jane said, as he made his way to the dining room, the table set and ready for dinner. The house smelled delicious, like lasagna, which sat in a casserole dish on the table. Jane was incredibly resourceful, and it was amazing what she could do with the food rations and canned food allotted each island home.
    “Good. Dinner looks great!” he said, taking a seat at the end of the table across from Jane. Emily, her daughter, sat in a chair between them. Though the house was in great condition, especially compared to the city, it reminded him of a home straight out of his childhood in its out of style furnishings. It was as if all the homes on the island were decorated in the 80s and never upgraded.
    “Are you ready to say Grace?” Jane asked, and Emily began reciting a prayer.
    Brent clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, going through the motions. He might not believe in prayer, but he didn’t want to offend his hosts or interfere with how Jane was raising Emily.
    “How was your day?” he asked as Jane scooped pasta onto Emily’s plate.
    “OK. The kids were good.”  
    Jane, who was a teacher in her former life before she quit two years ago after her heart attack, taught the kids at the island’s daycare/school. There were six children on the island other than Emily, and Jane taught and looked after them until everyone else returned from work. Everyone on the island was assigned a job based on their skills. There were cooks, maintenance people, farmers, a medic, a seamstress, mechanics, welders, custodial and laundry workers, an electrician, tech people, and others whose jobs helped keep the island running.
    There were also a group of scientists Brent had heard of but never met. They never surfaced from Level Seven. Their work, and existence, were shrouded in mystery.  
    Not everyone was suited for their jobs, but the island was stocked with training materials for nearly everything you needed to know about anything. There was little, if any, need for a journalist in the post-apocalypse, so Brent wound up working with the island’s Guardsmen, thanks to Michael, who helped ensure he was up to speed on gun training. Michael was no Luis, and given his laid back personality, Brent didn’t think he’d fired too many rounds in the line of duty, but he was a decent shot in practice.
    “We painted pictures,” Emily said, with a big smile. “I made something for you. May I get it, Mommy?”
    “Yes,” Jane said, handing Brent a plate of lasagna. “It’s still warm; I got a late start.”
    Brent scooped a forkful of lasagna into his mouth as Emily ran to her bedroom. “This is delicious,” he said.
    “Thanks, though I would kill for some fresh mozzarella.”
    “No, it’s perfect as is.”
    “Here you go!” Emily said, running to the table with a huge smile and a painted picture in her hands.
    The painting was of a man and woman on a playground with a little girl in a swing. He recognized the blue swing as the playground on the island they’d gone to every weekend since their arrival. “It’s Mommy, me, and you!”
    Emily stared at him, eyes glimmering with joy, waiting for his response.
    “Thank you,” he said. “This is great work. I’m going to hang it in my room.” He gave Emily another big hug, and caught Jane giving him a weird look, as if to apologize for Emily’s exuberance.
    “OK, eat your dinner before it gets cold,” Jane said.
    “I like it cold,” Emily said, smiling.  
    “Should we get some ice cubes for your lasagna, then?” Brent joked.
    “Yeah! That would be yummy.”
    Brent shook his head, laughing, then took a sip of wine. Despite all that had happened in the world during the last five months, Emily was resilient, often silly, hyper, and at times, pouty like any normal little girl. While Jane put on a good show, he could tell that she was having a tougher time. But she was practical, and appeared upbeat most nights when he came over for dinner.
    Brent enjoyed being with them, though at times like this, he worried that Emily was looking to him as a father figure. They’d grown close over the past few months, bonded by shared tragedy and the human need for companionship in a world circling Hell’s drain. But there was no romance between