Read Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) for Free Online Page B

you’re gonna have to find a reason. And most times that reason boils down to whether your hard-on to live is fatter than the next fucker’s. So, are you two with me? You hunters? Are you gonna help me hunt these fuckers down, get our truck back, then shove a shit sandwich straight down One-Eyed Willy’s throat?”
    Charlie swallowed, “Yes.”
    “Definitely,” Callie said. Though she was tough, she wasn’t bloodthirsty. But seeing her friend Adam injured sparked her fiercely protective streak. “Let’s get these fuckers.”

    **

    midnight

    The house was silent. Callie had retired to the bedroom a half hour earlier. Boricio had been down for an hour or so while Vic was still upstairs in his spot, supposedly wide awake on red alert. Charlie found Adam alone, sitting in an overstuffed recliner in the living room, reading a book by lantern-light.
    “How’s it going?” Charlie asked. “Feeling any better?”
    “Yeah,” Adam said, “Feeling stupid more than hurt.”
    “Don’t let it get to you. I would’ve done the same thing,” Charlie said, sitting on the couch across from Adam. “No way you could’ve known they’d kill Jeremy.”
    “Worst thing is, Jeremy actually told me I ought to run them down.”
    “No shit?”
    “Yeah, but I didn’t want to tell Boricio or he’d blame me even more.”
    “Yeah, he can overreact sometimes,” Charlie said with a grin.
    Adam laughed, then coughed and winced.
    “Jeremy was a good guy,” Adam said. “I mean, I know he was kinda an asshole sometimes, and Boricio didn’t care for him, but he was always nice to me.”
    “I hear you,” Charlie said, though if he was being honest, he would have said good riddance. Jeremy was nice to Adam because Adam kissed his ass. Otherwise, the guy, a 38 year old former stockbroker on vacation when shit hit the fan, was a raging douchebag who always had to have his way. The only good thing the guy had ever done, as far as Charlie was concerned, was find the three story house they called, half-jokingly, their compound.  
    The home was huge, three stories, 12 bedrooms, five baths, and a separate five car garage, but it wasn’t a true compound like The Prophet’s where they’d been held as prisoners. The home had a wrought iron gate, a well, and a generator that they were able to use when they had fuel. Best of all, the home was located in the middle of nowhere, and they’d avoided detection by man or monster . . . until now, perhaps.
    Charlie wondered if Boricio was right. Had the bikers followed them to the compound? Were there enemies hiding in the dark, waiting to strike? Charlie wondered how the hell Boricio could sleep with all the uncertainty in the air. He considered talking to Adam about the matter, figure out whether or not Adam thought anyone had followed him, but the kid was feeling shitty enough without adding the worry of an impending enemy strike to his plate.
    “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Charlie suggested.
    “I’ve got lookout in a few minutes.”
    “I got it.”
    “You sure?” Adam said, “Isn’t Callie waiting for you?”
    “She’s passed out,” Charlie said, not bothering to clarify a misconception in the house that he and Callie were an item. Though they’d gotten close, and they slept in the same room, oftentimes in the same bed, Charlie was imprisoned behind the Friend Zone. And to be honest, he didn’t care. Having Callie in his life was enough. Or at least that’s the lie he kept telling himself. He maintained the lie partly to appear like less of a loser, but also as a way to protect Callie from the others. They hadn’t seen another woman in a long time. While Charlie trusted Boricio as much as a guy like Boricio could be trusted, and Adam seemed harmless enough, he didn’t trust Jeremy or Vic. Well, Vic, now that Jeremy was gone. None of the others needed to know the details of his relationship with Callie, so let them believe whatever they wanted if it kept them from