Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 23

The Chinese had a weird a.s.s ching chong ramma lamma ding dong of a language, but there was s.h.i.t about it that just made good sense, way it was once explained to Boricio. Like the way they used the same words to mean different things, difference being in tone.

"Tiger" "four" and "death" were all the same exact f.u.c.king word in Chinese, just the tone the c.h.i.n.ks said it that made the difference. Most people in America would be too stupid to hear that s.h.i.t; everyone would end up confusing one another all the time. But if a f.u.c.ker can learn how to listen over there, then they can do it over here. Boricio knew everything he needed to know 99% of the time, and he got there with his ears and his eyes, and sometimes his nose. That's what instincts were: listening to the music of the world around and never missing a note. When it came to hearing the fear in another man's throat, Boricio had perfect pitch.

Silent Bob was scared as f.u.c.k about something.

He saw something out there that he don't know how to explain. His mind is turning it over and trying to measure it, but there's too much and not enough and he can't stir that s.h.i.t up enough to make no sorta sense. And it's mixed with the kinda fear a man gets when there ain't no way he's got more than 100 breaths left inside him.

Whatever he saw, there was a chance it wasn't human. A week ago that would've sounded like some science fiction bulls.h.i.t to Boricio, but not anymore. Something soured the planet to memory - had to be global, otherwise some sort of cavalry would've been rolling in by now.

Something pointed the barrel at humanity. And it forgot to empty the chamber, or ran out of bullets. Either way, aliens, government, who-the-f.u.c.k ever - someone let the fries burn. And Boricio had a feeling that something was being done to clean up the mess. That something is probably what Silent Bob saw. It was something that Boricio had sensed more than knew, as a predator senses when a new breed has risen to the top of the food chain.

Whatever Silent Bob saw, must've f.u.c.ked with his head big-time. Made sense. Boricio's head was f.u.c.ked with, above and beyond his usual internal bulls.h.i.t transmissions. It felt real, sure, but he sure as s.h.i.t knew a Boricio FM wasn't broadcasting his name across all hours of f.u.c.k all.

If that were all true, and Boricio figured it was, he was safer in this room, even if it meant staying on his knees a little longer. He was a king now; this was his kingdom. It just might take a bit longer to claim the throne.

Another click and whine from the door, followed by a fresh gust of warm, stale air. A new scent entered the room. This scent had teeth. Boricio could smell it, under the sweat: mean, s.a.d.i.s.tic and cruel. If Testosterone reeked of a.s.shole, this guy was steeped in the scent of pain and misery. He was c.o.c.k of the walk, and was all too happy to strut his stuff.

"Time to eat," Boricio heard the voice a split second before something was forced into his mouth. Earthy and unfamiliar.

Boricio spit it out, then heard the sticky THWAP!! as it hit the man's face. "Not hungry," Boricio said.

It was nice to hear the guard's laughter, good to know a nice kitty cat was there who wanted to play.

A sudden slap at the side of each of Boricio's ears rolled thunder through his head.

"You dropped something from your c.o.c.khole," the voice said. "Good thing I'm a generous teacher willing to help you learn more control."

Boricio's lips and jaw exploded in pain as the a.s.shole took a cheap shot, and for a moment he wasn't sure whether or not he'd have to swallow a tooth. Between his nose and lips, he probably looked like Halloween. Not good. Boricio gave exactly two s.h.i.ts and a half a tinkle about his good looks, but knew the value of an effective weapon and a convincing disguise. His looks were both, and in a dead world, a pretty face looked like an angel.

Boricio laughed. A crazy, cracked, drunken alligator of a laugh.

Dead Guard Walking, that's what I'll call this special breed of f.u.c.ker. Bag of s.h.i.t won't just be any old corpse either. I'll be taking as much of my sweet time as I can afford. Won't have the minutes I need to make it biblical, but I'm gonna get creative, believe it, b.i.t.c.h. That's all I need, one minute to make this bag of s.h.i.t wish he'd died as a child.

Boricio's laughter quieted to a dying rumble.

The voice cackled back. "Glad to see you've got a bit of fight in ya'. This might just be fun," he said. "The rest of you f.u.c.kers were a bit vanilla for my taste."

Boricio felt a slap at his throat, not too hard but hard enough to make him open his mouth in reflex. The earthy s.h.i.t was back, followed by a second slap to the throat. "Chew on it, f.u.c.ker. I'll be back."

A whine, a thud, then seven or so minutes of silence followed by, "I think that a.s.shole's name is Jackson," from the voice all the way to Boricio's right. "And I don't know it for sure, but I think he's the one who killed the guy who was sitting right where I'm sitting, round this time yesterday. I don't think he meant to, and I think he may have even gotten in some trouble from Brock, that was the other a.s.shole who was in here earlier, but he gets carried away and they let him. Might even be his job. Gave me a gash on my right cheek. Feels creek deep, too. My name is Moe, by the way."

Moe paused, as if he were waiting for someone to say something. When n.o.body spoke, he continued.

"You all can't see it, but it's a bad one, and bled so much I expected I'd die right there. Happened right when that a.s.shole Jackson hauled me in. And ain't no reason, neither. Asked me why I was smirking and I said I wasn't smirking. Guess he didn't like me talking back cuz he started whooping me on the top of my head. I was just gonna take it, but then I got to hearing my daddy in my ear telling me not to be such a b.i.t.c.h, so I tried to swing, but forgot my hands were tied behind my back so I fell flat on my a.s.s. That Jackson f.u.c.ker just started laughing his a.s.s off. He told me he'd teach me not to fight. A second later I felt the worst pain I ever felt, no warning or nothing. My cheek was in a couple of pieces, and blood was spilling from my face like a busted faucet. I started screaming like a hog. Even p.i.s.sed myself; ain't no shame in it either way, 'cuz I was bleeding. They gave me some sort of shot, I guess to sedate me. Next thing I knew I was in here, same as I am now."

"s.h.i.t!" another man to Boricio's left said. "My name is Jack. They didn't do nothing to me, least that I remember. I just woke up in here with my eyes covered and hands tied, about as scared as I've ever been."

"What about you?" Moe asked.

"Me?" Boricio said.

"Yeah, how'd you end up at the End of the World Inn?"

"Not much to tell. I spent most of the last few days hiding in a bas.e.m.e.nt. Would'a stayed there, too, least if I hadn't got so G.o.dd.a.m.ned hungry. You all are the first people I've seen since whatever happened happened, least if you don't count the b.i.t.c.h that brought us all together."

"And you, heavy breathing dude?" Moe asked. "You ain't said s.h.i.t that makes sense yet. Someone f.u.c.k you up bad when you got here?"

"My name's Adam, sir, And no, not hardly. I've had no problems other than getting tossed in here to start with. And I may be a prisoner but them folks out there saved me from something that was pure pitch black evil, I tell you what."

Silent Bob's name is Adam. s.h.i.t, and he ain't so silent now, way to f.u.c.k up a nickname. Oh well, not like I'll need to remember his name much longer.

Manny asked Adam, "What do you mean? That what you were trying to say earlier?"

"Yeah," his voice about cracked in half. Something in the tone made Boricio uneasy. "I seen some things that I don't even know how to explain, though I expect I'll try once they make sense inside my head. Are you okay, Mister... what did you say your name was?"

"Boricio," he said. No sense in lying, as none of these f.u.c.kers were likely to get out of here alive. "And yeah, I've dealt with tougher women than that p.r.i.c.k."

"That Jackson guy seems like a real sore wound of a fella," Adam said. "But I swear on everything I know we're better off in here than we are out there, unless these guys are as crazy as the things I've seen. And they were horrible, but a fat step up from my old man. World's gone; I'm a prisoner of who knows who, and I seen evil walking on two legs sure as I'm breathing earlier today, and I still say this is a better than average week."

Boricio should've known the second he referred to Moe as "sir," but hadn't realized until just that moment - Adam was only a boy.

"How old are you Adam?" Boricio asked, no disguise.

"I'm 16, but big for my age. Was my job to get the beer, no matter who was asking."

"Your old man sounds like a ripe old gash of an a.s.shole."

Adam made a sound, might've laughed, though Boricio wasn't sure. "Yeah, have to say I'm not sorry to see him go at all. Gary was an a.s.shole and beat the s.h.i.t out of me on days ending in Y and f.u.c.king my little sister once a month when my mom wouldn't put out. Ma was busy pretending she didn't have a clue what was going on, when the truth was she was just too scared to do anything about it."

"How old was your sister?" Moe wanted to know, as if it mattered.

"Just turned 15 last week of September."

"How many times have you imagined killing him?" Boricio asked "Not once until last year, but once I started, every day since. Before then, I thought things were maybe somehow my fault. After that, it was clear he was some sorta demon."

Boricio felt something, maybe curiosity. He hoped it wasn't anything bulls.h.i.t like compa.s.sion, though he'd guessed he could understand it if it was. "What happened?"

"We had just moved to St. Pete. Grandpa, the original a.s.shole you might say, died and left Gary some land. A real dump, but paid for. There was a big trophy case in the house from when he was a kid. I was looking at the trophies, trying to see what the big one on top was for. I accidentally fell against the case and brought the whole thing down. I swear it was an accident, but before I knew it, all the trophies were on the ground, broken, and Gary came running in the room."

"He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me through the house, kicking me the whole way. When we got to the kitchen, he flicked on the garbage disposal and grabbed my hand and shoved it into the drain, and I thought for sure, my fingers were gonna get caught up in it." Adam started to cry, and f.u.c.king beer battered bulls.h.i.t, Boricio kinda felt bad for the kid.

"He kept calling me a liar and yelling at me to tell him what really happened. I kept telling him I wasn't lying. He told me if I ever lied again, he'd bring me right back to that same spot and let the blades tear my fingers up."

This day was getting all full up with f.u.c.kers to kill. Would be nice to find Gary and build a whole new kind of fire to hold his a.s.s to. Would bring back the sweet taste for sure.

Boricio had a special place in his dark heart for evil f.u.c.k fathers ever since he paid his dear ole' dad back for his childhood of h.e.l.l.

Ears burned with cigarettes. Forced to drink shampoo. Three toes bent so bad the doctors considered amputation. A third-degree burn by way of blow dryer. A miserable f.u.c.king childhood raped of every molecule of joy. Yeah, it'd be nice to skull f.u.c.k some other a.s.shole just as deserving.

"So, Adam," Boricio asked. "What do you think happens when they take you out of here, then? What's in the box?"

"World's been s.h.i.t miserable so far; maybe outside is some sort of hallelujah to make up for it, you know, if you're the right kind of person."

"What kind of person is that?" Boricio asked.

"Maybe the world owes some of us a new beginning."

The room went silent, as if in the aftermath of an uncomfortable truth. Boricio wanted to laugh at the kid's delusional pipe dreams because as sure as s.h.i.t, there was no G.o.d in the sky, no angels waiting to take you to heaven, and the world never gave you what it owed you. No, the only thing on the menu was s.h.i.t and more s.h.i.t.

However, perhaps fortune had smiled on Adam, as Boricio reconsidered his plans to kill every f.u.c.ker in the room.

No reason he couldn't take out most of the room, leave one soldier behind. Maybe a second set of hands was just what Boricio needed. Maybe Boricio could be a mentor. A special kind of mentor like Boricio had while growing up.

It felt good to think about Tom again. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to remember the man who taught him to kill and never get caught.

EDWARD KEENAN.

October 15 Early evening Somewhere in North Carolina Ed and Teagan were 60 miles from her home in Cape Hope, North Carolina when she finally decided to break the ice that had frosted their air since the fallen bodies at the gas station.

"Why aren't we going to find your daughter first?"

"What?"

"Well, if my dad were looking for me, I don't think he'd stop to help a stranger and get sidetracked from doing what he set out to do."

"It's complicated," he said. "Can we talk about something else? Anything. Like your favorite bands or what movies you like, or what you like to do? Do you play any sports?"

"Had to give up football with the baby and all, " Teagan said with a laugh, patting her belly. Another moment of silence pa.s.sed before she finally said what she'd wanted to say in the first place. "You killed those people like it was nothing. I mean, no hesitation whatsoever. How can you do that? What are you?"

"What do you mean, what am I?"

"You said you were kinda like a cop, but cops have to go by rules, right? Even now. My cousin Jeb was a cop, and I can't imagine him, or any of his cop buddies, pulling the trigger like that, no questions asked."

"I can't really say what it was that I did, but I worked for our government. And I was one of the good guys. And despite what you see on TV and in the movies, the good guys aren't necessarily the same as the nice guys."

"So, you're not a nice guy, then?"

He kept his eyes on the road. Teagan's resemblance to his daughter made the conversation every bit the biting through nails it would've been if it were Jade's mouth moving instead, so he tried not to look at her any more than he had to.

"I'm just a guy who does what needs to be done. You said your cousin Jeb was a cop? What do you mean was?"

"He was killed by a drunk driver a year ago. Tell me, why were you arrested?" she asked, so out of the blue he nearly swerved off the road.

"What?" he asked, playing stupid.

"The rings on your wrist, someone had you in cuffs, I a.s.sume?"

Ed smiled.

"You're observant."

"So, are you going to tell me?"

"Man, you just cut right to the chase, eh?"

Teagan was smiling, but just barely.

"You're right, I was arrested. But I didn't do anything I wasn't told to do."

"Then why were you arrested?"

"Sometimes, the people who make up the rules of the game change them on the fly depending on which a.s.ses need kissing, the political gestures that need to be made, and you know, all the usual bureaucratic bulls.h.i.t. Well, maybe you don't know. At any rate, when the rules change and your bosses are caught playing by the old rules, well, that means shifting the blame downwind to someone else. A guy like me."

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

Ed had to laugh at the knots of confusion on her face, though he was pretty sure she thought he was laughing at her expense.

"The less I say, the better. Trust me. When the world returns to normal, people will be looking for me. They find out I was with you, they'll haul you in, ask you more questions than a week's worth of SAT's, and make your life a living h.e.l.l. The less you can honestly answer, and trust me when I say they can tell when you're lying, the better off you are."

Teagan stared at him for an uncomfortably long time as if she were still trying to figure out exactly what he was. She needed him to fit neatly into some preconceived notion of good or bad because that's the way light spilled against the prism of her sheltered adolescent worldview. Few layers of gray existed in her world of blacks and whites.

"So, how did it feel the first time you killed someone?"

Ed moved his eyes from the road, let up slightly on the gas, then looked to his right. To his relief, her expression wasn't that of a vulture searching the carca.s.s for morbid details; it was the sparrow-like curiosity of an innocent child.

"What do you think it's like?"

"I can't even imagine it; it has to be awful."

"Yeah, it is that. It's also scary."

"You're scared?" she said, surprised. "But you shot those guys like you were picking up a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk."

"It's scariest the first time. But it's never not scary. You're always looking at two choices - run or act. With each choice comes a consequence. What happens if you run? Will those people continue to threaten you or those you're protecting? If so, then you really don't have a choice, do you? You must deal with it in the moment, unless you're outnumbered or have too many variables to deal with. And when you kill, you must always be prepared for the fallout. And you have less than a millisecond to make the right choice."

"Did you feel guilty about killing those men at the gas station? I mean, they might not even have meant us any harm. Maybe they were just like us; they had guns to protect themselves from the bad guys."

"Maybe," Ed said, "But I can't think about that. I can't cry into the rearview. If I ponder all the what-ifs, that leads to guilt and my instincts get dull. It makes it that much harder to act decisively the next time. Soon, I'm dead. Or worse, someone I'm protecting is dead."