Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) (41 page)

Boricio cranked
The Mummies
and whipped the Z8 to 110 mph.
 

It felt great to be out on the prowl. Truth was, ole’ Boricio felt better in flight than out of it, his nose in the air and hairs up on end, the taste of prey teasing his mouth.
 

The thought of prey in his mouth smeared a smile across it, then put a thick on his dick as he thought about a prime piece of prey he once had named Pepper, a Puerto-Rican chica who had actually been quite tasty and not spicy at all. Boricio sunk his teeth into her two years earlier when the both of them were nice and drunk and she wasn’t expecting a thing, least of all the flood of blood soaking the bed just a few seconds after Boricio filled her with white honey. She was still shaking from all the shudders he’d sent into her body with his few final thrusts that she didn’t realize it was a knife he’d slipped in her gut right there at the end, at least not until she was swimming in the crimson bath.
 

Boricio eased on the gas and started rubbing his cock through his jeans.
 

There hadn’t been a struggle. Her eyes just went from wide to not even there. Boricio had to leave town the next morning since he’d made things so messy. He was usually cleaner than he’d been that day, but Boricio was never at his best when hungry, and it had been far too long between snacks.
 

Control was the golden key to never getting caught, and Boricio knew himself well enough to fuck his worse habits in their ass, as long as he made the time to do it. So he kept himself on a tight schedule and vowed to never go hungry again. And he hadn’t, at least not until the world went away and left him with nothing to fuck.
 

Soon as he found the Merry Band of Fuckalls, Boricio would maybe take Maid Marian Callie in a room with no windows and make her do every unladylike thing he could think of. He had the rest of the drive to imagine the specifics, but he could already guarantee it involved his pecker, her face, and a happy fucking ending. He wouldn’t kill her, of course; that would be bad for business. But he’d spent enough time laying off, pretending that Charlie was hitting that. She had to be craving some cock by now.

Boricio slapped the steering wheel, suddenly pissed, thinking about the day he shat away after sucking down those trippy pills and dreaming again about some
Damien Omen
-looking kid that creeped him the fuck out.
 

Blind with rage and cruising near mach 1, it was a miracle Boricio saw the curly Q of white smoke snaking on the dark horizon, but there was no doubt about what he saw. Boricio flipped a bitch and shot the Boriciomobile back toward the belching chimney.
 

It probably wasn’t Charlie, or any of the Merry Band of Fuckalls, but it might be better. There was a 50/50 shot that whoever put the smoke in the chimney was wearing a furbox between her legs, and that made her ripe to make Boricio’s acquaintance. And considering there might be more than one person in a house with a fire, Boricio figured his odds were even better than that.
 

There’d probably be at least one bitch good looking enough for Boricio to get on down and pray to the divine scar, fill her with milk, then drop her in the trunk and take her home for seconds. Shit, she could be homely as a mud fence, that wouldn't matter much these days. Ole’ Boricio would simply make her face the other way. He could still barrel down Boscoe Boulevard, splatter her sphincter, then leave her in a heap and hit the road. Maybe even leave her breathing, in case he wanted to swing that way again.
 

He pulled the Boriciomobile to the edge of a clearing, then took his binoculars from the passenger seat and pointed them toward the massive house sitting squat in the middle of nowhere. Boricio never could make sense of why people lived in those sorts of huge ass houses, in the capital of nothing, far enough from everything to be Ma and Pa Kettle hunting for their meals, but with marble and granite and Dom Pérignon. Who delivered the Dom out to the middle of Fuckall?
 

He stared through the binoculars for a long while, unmoving and seeing nothing. There was a massive window looking half a mile wide running along the front of the house, so Boricio figured it was a matter of time before someone would walk in front of it. He was right. And when he finally saw what he wanted to see, Boricio wanted to whoop and holler at a Christmas come early.

Standing in front of the half mile window was a Holy Trinity of fuck yeah: Two girls and one guy, all of ‘em purty. One to cut; two to fuck. Boricio wondered whether he’d start with the brunette or the sandy blond, then figured he must’ve been an awful good boy all year for Santa to give him two to choose from.
 

Boricio tossed the binoculars on the passenger seat, exited the Z8, then peeled the shirt from his body and dropped it in the dirt, kicking it around on the ground and dragging it across the dirty sludge with his feet. His freshly dirtied shirt was now half frozen, sending a chill and a shudder through Boricio’s body when he put it back on.

Perfect.
 

His guise ready, he headed toward the house, whistling “
Here Comes Santa Claus
.”

**

He knocked, then waited a long five minutes, perking his ears, though he couldn't hear a thing on the other side, especially from behind his own chattering teeth. Then a faint, metallic click strummed his ears.
A gun?
He figured as much and was instantly proven right. A sharp order blasted through the door, still muffled but clearly coming from the guy. Then the door opened, barely. The girls must have been standing behind it because Boricio could hear them breathing. Could smell them.

The guy was the only one Boricio could see, though he couldn't get a clear view with the rifle aimed right between his eyes. “Who are you?” the man shouted. The way his forehead was beaded and neck veins twitching, there was no way he’d ever pulled the trigger on a beating heart before.
 

Boricio raised his hands slowly.

“Sorry, Sir,” he said, teeth still chattering. “I’ve been walking for days. You’re the first person I seen in I don’t even know how long.” Boricio scrunched his face, then said, “Since the second week of January, I guess, when Billy stopped breathing on account of it being so cold.”
 

Boricio’s hands went higher in the air. “I don’t mean no trouble at all, Sir. I know there ain’t nothing more important than staying safe. And I don’t mean to intrude. It’s just that, well, I saw the fire and thought maybe you’d spare some help for a fellow survivor. I don’t need much, maybe just a can of meat if you have it. Anything to take away the burn in my belly. Again, I don’t need much,” Boricio shook his head, even managed to force a rumble from his stomach. “I was hunting my own food, but then I ran out of bullets and now I’ve lost both my gun and my knife. I’ve got nothing, not even a jacket.” Boricio shivered.
 

Would-be Rambo said, “How’d you ‘lose’ your weapons?”

“Didn’t lose them so much as had them taken by the guy who killed my friend, Frank. It was just the both of us after Billy passed. We lasted about a month, up until last week when this guy, called himself Boricio, came from nowhere. Killed Frank like it was nothing. Never saw no one move like that. He told me I could live since I looked too pathetic to die. Then he took my gun and knife and left me for dead. That was two days ago, and I can’t see my way. Been wandering in circles since.” Boricio gave a hopeful smile. “Maybe you could see to help me with a way out of the woods along with that can of meat?” He lowered his hands, then held one out for the man with the gun. “My name is Tom, by the way, Tom Westin.”

The gun was still between Boricio’s eyes, but the asshole’s hand was already getting heavy. “Jenna, I got my gun on him. I’m gonna need you to make sure he’s clean.”

Boricio shook his head and laughed. “I’m afraid I’m far from clean, been a long stretch since I felt a hot shower. I’m sure I’m ripe and sorry all over the place for that, but you’re welcome to get as close as you need, to make sure I’m safe.”

Jenna, the brunette, appeared from behind the doorway. She looked good behind the binoculars, but goddammit if she didn’t look a heaping helping of tasty pussy salad standing just a few feet away.
 

Jenna frisked him up and down; Boricio apologized for his smell, which she said was nothing at all and that he smelled a whole lot better than she would if she hadn’t cleaned herself in that long. There was a chirpy laugh from behind the door, followed by a “That’s the truth!”
 

The rifle slowly fell from between Boricio’s eyes until it was pointed at the hardwood floor. Its handler said, “I’m Jesse,” then held his hand out for Boricio. “It’s good to meet you, Tom.” He opened the door wider to the sandy blond standing on the other side. “This is Tanya.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tanya said.
 

Boricio smiled. “Thanks so much. It’s good to finally see someone else. I worked construction before all this. I’m used to good folks, great conversation and constant noise. The quiet’s been killing me.”

“Well come on in,” Jesse said. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and fill your belly with a lot more than a can of meat.”

Too fucking easy
.
 

Boricio was careful to keep the saunter from his step, entering the oversized living room with shoulders hunched, which was how he’d stay until it was time to make the layup. It was a bad time to be stupid, people being an endangered species and all.
 

“I’m glad you’re hungry,” Jenna said. “It’s my turn to cook and I make amazing pasta.”
 

“That’s all you make,” Tanya said.

Jenna led Boricio upstairs and to a bathroom where he could clean up, then showed him to a room where he was welcome to stay “at least for the night.” There was a closet of clean mens clothes about Boricio’s size. Jenna told him to help himself, then headed back downstairs. He was upstairs for a while, trying to glean as much information as he could, which amounted to approximately dick. But he figured he’d have plenty of time to dig later after the fuckforall. Once clean, Boricio went downstairs where Jenna led him to the kitchen table, sat him down and started fattening him up immediately.
 

The bitch wasn’t kidding; her pasta was a fat plate of fuck-yeah. He could’ve made better, though maybe not anymore considering ingredients were scarce. It wasn’t like fresh tomatoes or cream were falling from the sky. Considering it was winter at the end of the world, the sauce was damn fantastic, but Boricio wished she hadn’t used whatever 21 Season Salute had shit the sauce, since he tasted a touch of anise, and it clearly wasn’t right for the dish. He was considering asking where the taste of anise was coming from, but Boricio figured it wasn’t the sort of thing a guy like “Tom Westin” would wonder.
 

“This is the best thing I’ve had since my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary last August. I really can’t thank you enough,” Boricio said, gobbling pasta and thinking of a half dozen or so ways he could show his appreciation, though there wasn’t really much variety. Everything he thought of had some sort of sticky ending.
 

Then again, Boricio could always use more able bodied men on Team Boricio. But Jesse didn’t seem like much of a hunter given his shitastic instincts to let some rogue like “Tom Westin” in the front door, so Boricio would have to end his days here. Plus, Boricio had had enough disappointment with his team making piss poor decisions lately.
No more minor leaguers on Team Boricio!

Fortunately for Boricio’s mood, Jenna didn’t seem too cautious at all. She wanted what Tom Westin had in his pants, and Boricio could smell it. He could’ve had her, even before his shower, but Boricio knew she’d be much tastier later, after Jesse was out of the way.
 

“How long have you been here?” Boricio asked between mouthfuls.

“Since the beginning,” Jesse said. “Third week of October.”

“Did you all know each other before then?”
 

Jesse shook his head. “No. We met at a community center, about 20 miles north of here. We waited a day. Then, when it was just us, we figured we should find a place to stay. Tanya knew about this place, and sure enough it was empty. We loaded the place with as many supplies as we could find, including 1,000 or so boxes of Barillo for Jenna. We stay mostly inside, though we’ve gone out looking every Saturday to see if there’s anything out there worth seeing.”
 

“You seen any of them monsters?” Boricio wondered if the version of the afraid face he was wearing looked as funny as he imagined it might.

“A couple of times when we were patrolling, but we stay in the car and they’ve never come near. And they’ve stayed away from here entirely, least as far as I know.”
 

How about that, they’re living all Gilligan’s Island in the middle of the woods. Well, it’s time to rewrite the scene – get rid of the Professor so I can make a sweet tasting sandwich with Ginger and Maryanne.
 

Boricio only pretended to get excited about the after dinner game of Monopoly, but then found himself genuinely enjoying it, the way Jenna kept flashing her smile, hinting she had something under the table, getting slick just for him, not to mention he ended up with Park Place on his second trip around the board, then Boardwalk just two times after that.