Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) Read Free Page A

looked down at Luca, confused as an odd new feeling flooded his body, filling him with something he couldn’t remember feeling before — sympathy.
    Fixed me? More like he took out my batteries!
    Fuck.
    Boricio felt tears welling in his eyes.
    What the fuck is this shit?
    He turned away, wiping his eyes. The anger returned, and he shoved the barrel of his shotgun at Will’s head.
    “Why the hell did you shoot him, you Sasquatch looking pile of shit? He trusted you!”
    “I had to. The dreams told me.”
    “Dreams? If I did everything my dreams told me to, Brad Pitt’s head would’ve been an ashtray on my coffee table watching me bang Angelina sunrise to sunset. The fuck you talking about? Start speaking English, or I’m gonna shut you up permanently.”
    “Tell me. Did he try to heal the others?” Will asked.
    “Yeah, a couple. But he said it’s not working now.”
    “Yes,” Will nodded, “that’s what I saw in the dreams.”
    “You wanna stop speaking in ancient Chinese secret and tell me what the fuck you’re goin’ on about, old man?”
    “You can save him,” Will said. “In fact, you will save him.”
    Boricio laughed.
    “ Me? Save him? Clearly you’re new to this program, hombre. I ain’t the fucking hero. I don’t save the day.”
    Will shook his head, pointing back at Luca. Blood was spilling from Luca’s mouth.
    “Hurry!” Will said.
    “What the hell am I supposed to do?!” Boricio asked, annoyed, and suddenly feeling a need to try and save the man-kid. “Tell me what to do!”
    “Put your hands on him,” Will said, his voice rising in anger or urgency. “Like you saw him do with the others.”
    Boricio was going to argue, but something in his head, maybe instinct, or remnants of Luca playing puppet master, pushed Boricio to a kneel beside Luca. He saw in his mind what to do next, like a memory.
    How do you have a memory of shit that ain’t happened?
    Boricio felt like he was on another trip like when he drank that shit back in the rich fuck’s house.
    He leaned down and put his hands on either side of Luca’s face, feeling warmth like liquid fire spreading through his limbs and into his fingers. And then from his fingers and into the man-kid.
    Boricio stared at his hands, as if they were being moved by another. He wondered again what in Hell’s sweet honey pot Luca had done. He had fixed him, but he’d sure as shit done something else too.
    Luca’s eyes shot open like someone had flipped a switch inside him, and he started coughing up blood then sucking at air and gasping for breath.
    Boricio started to pull away, but couldn’t. His hands were locked onto Luca, as some sorta whatinthefuck kept flowing from Boricio and into Luca — as if the boy were sucking his life from him. Warmth turned to pain and started shooting like a scattergun through all of Boricio’s body, as he clenched his teeth and tried to work up the strength to break the connection.
    Let go!
    Boricio pulled, but felt as if someone had glued his hands to Luca and if he pulled too hard he might rip the kid’s face off. The pain, however, gave him no choice but to keep trying to break free.
    Finally, Boricio was able to wrench himself away. He fell back into the snow writhing in pain.
    Luca rose from the dirt, staring at Will, who was still sitting on the ground from when Boricio knocked him down. He looked at Boricio, then back at Will, his face twisted in confusion.
    “Why?” Luca asked, his voice caught between confusion and anger.
    “I’m sorry,” Will said, wiping a tear. “It was the only way.”
    “Only way for what? ” Luca asked.
    “For that,” Will said, pointing at Boricio, rising to his feet, body feeling like it was on fire.
    “Why you all looking at me like that?” Boricio asked.
    Luca’s eyes were wide, as if he were staring at a two-headed demon sucking on a dick made of fire. Luca opened his mouth, but said nothing.
    “What the fuck you looking at?” Boricio growled.
    “I’m