Free Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) by Sean Platt, David Wright Page B

We’re human.”
    “Show yourselves — slowly ,” a man’s voice commanded.
    Charlie pushed Adam’s headless body out of the way and onto the slaughterhouse floor of the truck, swallowing his need to vomit, distinctly aware that puking might make him a target of the three men in black uniforms holding their guns steady on his crawl.
    The men were also wearing masks with air breathers on them, like he’d seen in post-apocalyptic movies. Charlie held his hands to the roof and stood, coated in blood which was not his own. The boy stood too, shaking, looking up at Charlie’s face, and then over to the gunmen. His face was streaked red with tears and blood.
    Charlie immediately wondered if these were the men who had taken Callie. Then, in a second disgusted moment, wondered if Callie was among the bodies in the truck. He wanted to look, but didn’t dare turn his eyes from the men. He still couldn’t believe Adam was dead, and the reality made his heart heavy in his throat. He couldn’t stand to consider the possibility that Callie was also dead.
    “What happened?” one of the men asked.
    “I dunno,” Charlie shook his head. “We were all asleep inside and the truck was stopped. Next thing I knew, I heard these things outside, and then all hell broke loose in here. I think one of them got inside the truck somehow.”
    Charlie didn’t dare say the monster he’d seen wasn’t just a monster, but half-human. It was becoming clear that these things could somehow take over people’s bodies, like in those Aliens movies. Or maybe they were killing real people and replacing them with pod people like in some Invasion of the Body Snatchers bullshit. Either way, Charlie didn’t want the men in black having any reason to suspect him, or the boy, of being one of the creatures.
    “Did you see what happened to the Guardsmen transporting you?” the man to the far right asked.
    “No,” Charlie said, looking down at the boy. He was blonde, freckle-faced, and wearing a dirty blue New York Mets tee shirt and jeans, all covered in blood, most of it probably Adam’s. He looked terrified, but was staying still and mute.
    “Step down,” the same man instructed. “Slowly.”
    “Thank you for saving us,” the kid said, his voice hoarse from screaming. He looked up to Charlie, “And thank you, mister.”
    Charlie smiled, both at the kid’s thankfulness and for calling Charlie ‘mister.’
    Nothing ages you quite like the end of the world.
    They stepped out of the truck and onto the road where Charlie saw two matching black vans parked about 100 yards away. He remembered Adam saying that Callie had been thrown into the back of a black van.
    How many black vans were rolling around nowadays? The odds were too slim for coincidence. The people had also taken him, Adam, and presumably all the people in the truck. But why?
    One of the Guardsmen, as they called themselves, climbed inside the truck and surveyed the damage. He then climbed back outside and turned to the man who’d been doing most of the speaking, “They’re all dead, sir, including the two infected.”
    Infected. So, they know.
    “Shit,” the man on the right shook his head.
    Charlie could now see a small silver tag on the man’s vest which read, “Foster.”
    “Test these two,” Foster instructed the man who’d been looking in the truck.
    That man, whose badge said, “Lennox,” pointed his assault rifle at Charlie and the boy, “Walk.”
    The boy immediately started walking, while Charlie was inclined to go a bit slower, annoyed that Lennox felt the need to give instruction with the end of a gun. Charlie was getting a bad feeling about whatever was about to happen next.
    They walked to the closest of the two vans while the other men, Foster, and the one whose name Charlie had yet to see, followed. Foster opened the back doors and Charlie felt hope swelling in his chest that he might see Callie sitting in the back. But the van was empty, except for some