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

if it were rocking gently back and forth in an ocean without a care in the world. He felt that if he kept his eyes closed, and allowed his body to float, it would eventually drift into the everlasting peace that the darkness promised.
    So easy. That’s it. Just let go.
    He wanted to more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. Let go. The smile on his face spread and he began to cry, at the thought of everlasting happiness.  
    Not a care in the world.
    Just let go.
    He thought of his dad, flashing back to a time when he was really young, sitting with his dad on the couch as he read him a story. Something about a train. A smiling happy train. He remembered looking up to his dad with such awe. This man was His Daddy! Daddies lived forever. They didn’t die. They didn’t leave you.
    Daddy.  
    Tears streamed from Charlie’s eyes.
    Let go, son. I’m here. Be with me. We’re waiting.
    “Dad?” he cried.
    “Hello?” a man’s cracked voice called out. Not in the darkness, but in the real world, where Charlie lay in a puddle of mud.
    “Charlie? Is that you?” It was Vic. He sounded bad.
    No, don’t go, Charlie. Stay. Close your eyes. Come back to us.
    If Vic were alive, though, perhaps Callie was too.
    Charlie turned away from the calm sea of ghosts and sat up, pain pinching his ribs, chest, back, and head simultaneously. He opened his eyes to the blinding white light of what was left of the morning. Assuming it was still morning. He had no idea how long he’d been out.
    His eyes adjusted to the milky gray fog hanging thick around him. Wisps of gray thinned, allowing him to see maybe 40 yards in any direction. That’s when he saw that the ground beneath him was all dirt and mud. No grass. No vegetation. No asphalt. No debris, even, as if the storm had lifted the top layer from the ground and delivered it to hell. He looked around, trying to see beyond the fog, but could find nothing to indicate where he’d been dropped. He assumed if Vic was close by, they couldn’t be too far from the store, and maybe Callie and Adam.
    “Vic?” he called out as he stood up, triggering an injection of pain throughout his body. He was banged up, but nothing that would keep him from walking.
    “Cha-Charlie?” the man said, from somewhere in the fog. His voice sounded pained, but there was something else there, too. Joy that Charlie was there. That he wasn’t alone. So Vic did need others.
    “Is anyone else with you?” Charlie called out as he stepped toward the direction of Vic’s voice. “Have you seen Callie or Adam?”
    “No, I ain’t seen nothin’,” Vic said. “Please, help me.”
    Charlie saw Vic on the ground, sitting up, but holding his left forearm, bleeding onto the man’s pants.
    “You okay?” Charlie asked as he stepped forward.
    Vic looked up, the giant bald steroid case suddenly seemed fragile, eyes worried. “Something cut me, but I think I’ll be okay. I need to find something to stop the bleeding. You got a knife or something? Can you cut my shirt, tie it around my wound?”
    The knife.
    Charlie reached into his pocket, felt the blade and pulled it out. “You think that’ll work?”
    “Yeah,” Vic said, “I’ve had worse than this. We’ll just need to get home or find a place with equipment, and I’ll show you how to stitch this up.”
    “Stitches?” Charlie said, “I don’t know how to do stitches!”
    “Don’t be such a pussy, man. Just cut my shirt before I bleed out, okay?”
    “Yeah,” Charlie said as he walked behind Vic and leaned down, looking at where the man’s shirt ended and his massive biceps began.  
    What would Old Charlie do?
    Fuck that; what will New Charlie do?
    He pushed the small button on the knife and the blade popped out with an inviting click.
    “Come on, man, hurry! I’m gonna bleed out,” Vic said, turning back and looking up at Charlie.
    Charlie dropped to a knee, grabbed Vic under the chin with his left hand, and twisted Vic’s head back, exposing his neck.
    Vic tried to escape, but he was too late.
    Charlie dug the blade deep into the man’s Adam’s apple, and then jerked the blade sideways, as hot blood shot all over his hand.
    “Wha . . .” was all Vic could manage as he slumped forward clutching the blade.
    Charlie let go, stood up, and stepped back, afraid he’d not mortally wounded the man - that Vic would pull the blade out, stand up, and come after him like some kinda Terminator or something.
    Oh shit, what did I