Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (36 page)

Mary could barely speak, but still managed to half-whisper, “Then what did you do?”
 

“Got the fuck out of Dodge. Left town early the next day, right after I saw the news, in fact. No Bob’s Big Boy of a deal; I was ready to leave, anyway.”

“And that was the first person you ever killed?” Mary also wanted to ask Boricio how many people he had killed since, but didn’t want to know an answer that might keep her from sleeping at night.

Boricio barked a broken hiccup of a laugh. “No, I guess if we’re talking Honest Injun, then no, I suppose it wasn’t. First was my dear ole fucking stepdad, but that ain’t a story I wanna tell right now, ya dig?” He smiled. “But it was the first fucker who ever got his shit premeditated, and no doubt the biggest goddamn mess I ever made.”
 

Boricio looked at Mary, his bottle hovering in the air a few inches from his lips. “You know what the kitchen looks like around Thanksgiving with all the pots and pans and bullshit before you get to setting the table, right? Well, this looked like that, but with about six or seven gallons of blood.”

Mary felt like she was about to vomit, and wondered if she’d be half as patient with Boricio’s macabre recital if she wasn’t so thoroughly drunk.
 

“How can you be so honest about everything?” she asked. “Don’t you ever feel bad, at all?”
 

Boricio sucked on the nozzle of his bottle for a while, and Mary wondered if he had any intention of answering the question. She couldn’t quite decipher the something on his face, though if she had to give it a name, she’d call it “almost thoughtful.” Mary had no idea how long Boricio took to open his mouth again, just that she had time to open one final near beer, just like her last two, and nurse it to a third empty.
 

“Before a few days ago, no, never,” Boricio said. “Not even for a fucking minute. But ever since Luca broke me, I’ve been seeing shit upside down, and yeah, that’s had me wrestling with some of the shit I’ve done.”

“Does that mean you regret it?”
 

“I don’t know if it’s
that
exactly,” he said. “I don’t think I’d be here talking to you today if I wasn’t that Boricio, you know?” He took a final swig then threw the bottle into the woods, chasing the handfuls he’d already thrown.
 

Mary didn’t agree, but wasn’t brave enough to challenge Boricio out loud. But she did ask, “How can you talk so openly about it?”
 

Boricio shrugged. “Because what happened, happened. Life’s too short for regrets. Shit is what it is; you may as well be honest and give it an NC-17 instead of drowning it in lies and dressing it in a PG-13.” He winked.

Mary wasn’t sure if it was the placebo buzz of the near beer or the frank conversation with Boricio that gave her the confidence, but she said, “How do I know you won’t ever hurt me, or Paola?”

“Because you’re safe with me,” he said, without pause. “Now I’m not saying it’s the sort of safe where you’re never gonna hear the boogeyman howling outside your window, because here at the end of the world, I think that’s the special of the day. But you can feel safe knowing that Boricio isn’t the big bad wolf, huffing and puffing and waiting to get in. He’s the one who’ll protect you three little piggies and blow all the other houses down.”

Mary wanted to say more, but didn’t want to push it, or him. So she went back to her earlier question. “So, there’s nothing you regret?”
 

Boricio shook his head and looked like he was about to say no, then paused and said, “Yeah, I’ve got regrets.”
 

He went silent after that, so Mary said, “Like?”
 

“I had this one lady named Sissy, tried taking care of me back when I was a kid. Was one of the only women who ever reached out to me, almost like she actually cared. But I shit on her like I shit on everyone.” Boricio looked suddenly hollow. It was another several seconds before he finished with, “Though I’m not sure I’ve ever given it a lick of thought until today.”
 

He shook his head and muttered, “Fucking Rip Van Creepy broke me,” then opened another bottle. “How about you, Miss Contrary, any regrets?”

Mary was just fake buzzed enough to bore Boricio with the story of her and Ryan, and how she caught him with Natalie Farmer.

Boricio said, “Well, that’s not all that surprising. Men are a helluva lot more likely than women to cheat anyhow, and it sounds like you were giving your man all sorts of reasons.”

Mary blinked her eyes, shocked. “Excuse me,” she said. “And how’s that?”
 

“Didn’t you say you were making like a billion dollars a year with your To Be or Not to Be greeting card shit?”

“Not quite,” Mary said. “But yes.”
 

“Well hells bells and cum-filled wells, Miss Mary, that will get a fucker wanting to test the Big Bang Theory with a bitch he don’t have to hear snoring. Now don’t get me wrong, you’re a mighty fine looking piece of ass, but with your little lamb being around for so long, you probably started boring your boy in the bedroom. And us guys like our shit fresh. We don’t get it, and it’s easy to justify the cheating. Add to that the fact that you’re wearing the pants — bringing in the bacon
and
cooking it for dinner, well that’s a formula for fucking outside of the house.”

It was almost funny. Mary could hear Boricio discuss murder like he was talking about the size of his tomatoes, and it was almost easy to take. A little like watching
Dexter
. But the second he started talking about Ryan’s cheating, and making excuses for her ex, she wanted to punch him in the face.

Mary knew that if she didn’t change the subject, they’d end up walking into a mess of trouble. “So, how do you think the training’s going?” she said.
 

Boricio smiled wide, said, “Well, lookie lookie, crunchy cookie; looks like Miss Mary doesn’t want to see the truth inside her separation.” For a few seconds it looked like he was going to twist the knife, but then he followed Mary’s lead and changed the subject.
 

“Training is good,” he said, his tone going from playful to thoughtful. “I think another day’s worth of shooting at shit would be good, though I don’t really know if that’s the problem. Seemed like it was nothing more than fear keeping the gun at your baby girl’s side today.”

“It wasn’t that,” Mary said. “At least not that simply. The monsters are scary, but Paola wouldn’t have froze like that if it was one of the bleakers that had come through the gate. It was because she was staring at something she’d never seen before. That dog was bigger than you; it would’ve been scary on October 15, before it was half zombie. Any new thoughts on what giant mutant dogs might mean? Think there’s more of ‘em out there?”

Boricio shook his head. “Not since the forty-seventh time you asked me, round about a half hour ago,” he said. “But if the monsters are now coming in all manner of man and beast, I’m thinking we want to mosey up to New York, double time.”
 

“When do you want to go?”

Boricio said, “Tomorrow, day after that at the latest. I make sure Luca’s ready for the trip. He didn’t look so good today. And since I’m the captain of Team Boricio, I’ve gotta decide how we’ll fight the battle before it begins. That means knowing what everybody is and isn’t capable of doing. I don’t wanna get on the road and find we need to find a wheelchair or some shit. One more day,” he promised. “Two max, okay Miss Mary?”

Mary nodded, astonished at how much her
knowing
was trusting the monster on the other side of the table.
 

“Another beer? Just say the word and I’ll go grab some,” he said.

“You mean near beer, right?” she said, suddenly nervous that he
had
gotten her drunk.

“Yes,” Boricio said, smiling, “One more bottle of piss for the lady.”

* * * *

CHAPTER 8 — “The Prophet”

Black Mountain, Georgia

March 2012

FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

 
It
lay on the mattress with its eyes closed, feigning a sleep
It
did not need.
 

It
used the time to allow the husk to refresh itself while
It
connected with the parts of itself outside, roaming the world and among its beings, slowly absorbing everything into
It
.

This shell, of this fat man calling itself the “Prophet,” was so limiting.
 

Old. Obese. Used.
 

It was a wonder that anything could go through life in such worn form, indulging on its very self-destruction.
 

It
needed to change its shell soon, trade it for something younger; stronger, and with more energy.
It’s
purpose was revealing itself in new ways every day. As
It
grew,
It
remembered more of its life before this.

A life where
It
thrived in another world.

But something had happened — what,
It
could not yet recall. Something that had changed everything, then brought
It
here to this world.

Where
It
was not alone.

Another
Something
was out there.
Something
that was its opposite, trying to undo
Its
work.

Something
It
sensed on the highway when the
storm
came. That storm wasn’t any ordinary storm. The
storm
was the enemy. Fortunately,
It
was able to hide itself inside the old man’s husk.
 

But for how long?

A war raged outside, a war for survival that none of these ignorant humans could either comprehend or possibly see.

It
had lost before.

It
would never lose again.

First
It
must kill the child. The One, Luca,
It
knew was different. Luca wasn’t just
different
. The enemy was hiding inside the child. Why it had chosen a child for a vessel made little sense to
It
, but perhaps brilliance was behind the move.

As a child, it could go undetected and gather strength.

Fortunately for
It
, the child’s husk had recently changed, at least that’s what its others had reported.
 

The child had gone from young to old. From strong to weak. Now was the time to strike before the enemy could change hosts and gather strength.

Strike now, take the rest of this world and bring it unto
Itself.

It
would spread.

That was what
It
was meant to do.

All would grow dark. And nothing would stop
It
once it was.

* * * *

CHAPTER 9 — Charlie Wilkens

Black Mountain, Georgia

March 2012

FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT…

Charlie sat at a square wooden table alone in a 20 by 20 white sterile room, drinking an ice-cold can of Coca-Cola.

He’d not had a cold drink since forever; ice cold soda was only a memory.
 

Damn, I almost forgot how good these are!

They’d also given him clothes. A black tee shirt and matching sweats. He requested that Callie get the same thing to wear — his one condition, other than her safety, for helping them. Charlie considered pushing for everyone on the block to get clothes, but stopped short since he had no idea how strong his hand actually was. The last thing he wanted was for the Guardsmen to resent him and take that resentment out on Callie.

In front of Charlie was a paper plate piled surprisingly high with pretzels and chocolate chip cookies, both remarkably fresh given that they were at least a half year old. A Guardsman named Darren told him to eat as many of the pretzels and cookies as he wanted — the first thing said to him as he was led into the small room after Dr. Rudolph drew his blood in hopes of creating some sort of serum that might cure Ryan.
 

Charlie didn’t understand the science behind the serum, or anything the doctor said, really, but the process seemed painless enough, at least on his end. He hoped they found a cure soon. While Charlie had somehow resisted the full mutation, unlike every other infected body Black Mountain had found, that didn’t mean he’d never fully mutate.

The alien thing, whatever it was, was inside Charlie. He was infected. And his life was a ticking time bomb, now more than ever. The after-procedure snack was a nice bonus, though he felt guilty not being able to share it with Callie. He wondered if they’d let him bring her a drink and a cookie.

The door to his room slid open and Bald Boricio stepped inside, now wearing an all black outfit similar to the Guardsmen, with a holstered pistol and the same glass mask worn by the other guards. He took a seat across from Charlie and spoke, his voice sounding like a radio, crackly through the mask’s speaker, “How are you feeling?”