Yesterday's Gone: Season One

mean short ones, before I start creating new ways to fuck you up, starting with ones that hurt most, followed by the ones that just make me laugh.”  
    Boricio introduced his heel to Moe’s jaw, hard enough to prove he wasn’t worried about getting caught, though he forced his fist in Moe’s mouth to muffle his cry anyway.  
    “I ain’t ready for them to get back in here quite yet,” he said.  
    Boricio grabbed another thatch of hair and said, “Squeal pig!” then started whistling the tune to Gimme One Reason.  
    Moe spoke in a whimper. “I was one of you. No different. Same thing happened to me when Veronica brought me here, just like all of you guys. Only difference was it happened to me on the first day. They told me I was gonna get spared so long as I played ball and told them what the prisoners was saying each time they was in here and so that’s what I’ve been doing since. I just told you the thing about my cheek because I didn’t want you to be suspicious. I’m not one of them, I’m just trying to stay alive.”
    Boricio stopped whistling. “Why don’t you have a blindfold?”
    “They want me to keep my eye on things. Let them know if I see anything weird. But I’m still locked up, no different.” Moe tilted his head back to gesture at his bound wrists.
    “That’s the sorta that’s all there is that makes a man stop breathing. I suggest you talk faster and actually start saying something, fucknut.”
    Moe swallowed, then continued to push words through a cry. “I think these people are survivalists, you know like the folks you hear about up holing away for the end of the world up in Montana. And this place is some sorta compound.”
    “Survivalists?”  
    “More than survivalists, though, I think they’re a cult. I’d reckon every group has a leader, but these guys kept talking about a Prophet or something.”
    “A prophet? Like Waco shit?” Boricio said.
    “Exactly. No one’s told me anything direct, but I heard a bit, including from some kid who disappeared the first day. Seems he was one of them until he had a change of heart up around 2:15 a.m. a few days ago. Guess it was family fun when it was all Kool-Aid and unicorns, but as soon as it was real, he wanted out. But there is no out, so Jackson was allowed to take care of things as he saw fit. I didn’t see how fit that was, but I could hear some of it, and it sounded awful.”
    “Solid job,” Boricio said, standing back up. “I’ll give you a B-. Course, you’ll need at least a B+ to keep breathing, so it’s a good time to step it up. Tell me, what makes Señor Prophet so special, and what are they doing with the people they toss in here to trade bullshit with you? And don’t give me none of that ‘I don’t know shit,’ because the only thing that’s gonna keep you from earning a big fat C is some solid info. Now.”
    “I can only guess about why they’re bringing people in here. For sure they’re looking for information. But it also seems like they’re waiting for someone in particular to show up. They also seem keen to know everything they can about everything, but I’ve no idea how much they actually know. But they seem to have some big plans.”
    “What plans?”
    “I don’t know...”
    Boricio’s nostrils flared.
    “But everyone here does, and I know it’s something bad. They’re sorting things out; seems like they’re gearing up to go after someone, but I don’t know who. As far as what makes the Prophet so special, I think he dreamed about whatever happened before it actually happened. I can see how that would give a man a mighty lot of power. I know it ain’t much, but it’s the best I got, and it’s honest to the word.”
    Well now, I don’t think that’s what I ordered at all. Dreams have been daffy as a diseased duck for days, which probably wouldn’t mean shit if they weren’t so goddamned Technicolor. And it’s a sour gallon of fucking milk that I don’t have a clue what they mean.
    Boricio tried not to think about his own weird ass dreams. Wasn’t like Moe was gonna be much help figuring shit out. That fucker rode the short bus and licked the windows on the trip. “What else can you tell me about the grounds? How many guards?”
    “Not sure how much more I can help,” Moe said. “I’ve never been out of this room, except for about 15 minutes on the second day when they were cleaning this one, though it didn’t look no different when we came back in. I guess I