Yesterday's Gone: Season One

darted around the room, but couldn’t see the gun.
    Three monsters surrounded her, each with a differently-misshapen horrifying face, and all of them shrieking like banshee vultures ready to feed.  
    “I love you, Mommy,” she said and closed her eyes.
    A shot rang out. Callie’s eyes opened just as one of the monster’s chests exploded and hot black blood splashed onto her.
    She spit out the rancid liquid, glanced up as the other two creatures looked back to the doorway, where Bob stood with a shotgun. He shot again, blasting another of the monsters, then dropped the shotgun, raised a pistol and fired four times until the last creature’s head was gone and its body was left twitching on the ground.
    Callie, still lying on the ground covered in black gore, stared in disbelief at Bob, who stared down at her with a look she couldn’t quite comprehend.  
    Is he mad? Does he know I drugged him? He’s going to shoot me, isn’t he?
    “You okay?” Bob said, reaching out to help her up.
    “Thank you,” she said, still stunned, and nervous. She hugged him, breaking down in tears. Real tears.
    He didn’t embrace her, which caused her to pull away. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “Why’d you leave?” he asked, a flash of anger ... or maybe confusion ... in his eyes.
    “I wanted to find Charlie,” she said. “I thought I saw someone peeking out the window here.”
    “Probably one of those fucking things,” Bob said, picking up her pistol and handing it to her.
    “Let’s get the hell out of here. Charlie is on his own now. He chose to leave.”
    Bob started down the stairs, Callie following slowly behind.
    “Did you want to go after him?” Bob said, “You’re free to go if you want, but I’m not gonna be there next time some of these creepy crawlies come a calling.”
    She was trapped. He knew it. She knew it. The only thing in question was whether or not he knew she’d drugged him. Apparently the drug didn’t do much to dull his senses. Or perhaps, he never even finished the laced beer. She would give anything to know, but couldn’t think of a way to ask if he’d drank the beer without calling unwanted attention to what she’d done.
    She’d have to play dumb, go home with Bob, and hope he didn’t have a clue.

    * * * *

BORICIO WOLFE

    Dead Guard Walking would be back in no time, so Boricio kept his stint as team captain short, telling the prisoners to keep still no matter what. Everyone needed to act like they were still bound, and stay that way until he made his move.  
    He finished just in time.
    The door whined open and Dead Guard Walking sauntered inside. He was alone, but his feet clopped on the concrete with the rhythm of a man looking forward to detonating a two-ton dirty bomb of downright nasty.  
    “Miss me, fucktard?” Dead Guard Walking was inches away, circling behind Boricio, trying to make him nervous. But Boricio was all calm with steady breath — in and out, in and out, in and out...
    “Where’d that smart mouth of yours run off to? I didn’t beat it out of you yet, did I? Figure I’m not quite ready for you to quit.” Boricio heard a dull thawp and peered between the narrow slit he’d made in his blindfold and saw the baseball bat Dead Guard Walking was smacking into his open palm.  
    Bullies hate to be ignored, so I’ll just keep right on ignoring him, least until it’s time to shove the fat side of that bat right up that fucker’s bunghole. He ain’t gonna be walking for long. He’ll be a Dead Guard With Bleeding Anus Crawling in minutes.
    “Well, truth of the matter is I don’t much like tugging my pecker myself. Shit, that’s the only reason I got married. And since you seem inclined to give me the ole frosty, how about we play a little game to loosen your juices? We’ll call it ‘Wheel of Misfortune,’” Boricio heard another thwap, then the sound of the bat dragged across concrete.  
    “Here’s how we’ll play: I’m gonna circle myself round the room like I’m playing Duck Duck Goose, ‘cept when I get round to choosing a duck, I won’t be patting no mop tops. What I’m gonna do instead is take this bat and make me a fresh batch of brain stew. See, me and this bat have been through some times together, what with me being a bouncer at the Cock Pit and all. Difference is, the Cock Pit had a lotta rules. My boss Jeff didn’t want no lawsuits or police who weren’t there to drink. So Robin here,” another thwap as the bat hit his