Yesterday's Gone: Season One

madder.”
    John took another drink, then continued. “We spent the next two hours fighting, saying some horrible, horrible things. Things we’d never said before. She told me that I wasn’t a real man because I didn’t know how to do the things that real men knew how to do. And as the Man of the House, I should’ve looked after the car and made sure it was always serviced and the Auto Club dues paid.” John swallowed. “So, I told her maybe she ought to service her man a bit more often, but it didn’t really matter anyway, because she fucked like a corpse.”
    “Ouch,” Desmond said, taking another shot for himself.
    Though he was no longer crying, John felt utterly defeated. “And that was pretty much that. She left the room and I made myself comfortable on the couch. When I woke the next morning, she was gone. So was everyone else.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Desmond said. He remained still, waiting to see if John was through.  
    “No, I’m sorry,” John said. “I shouldn’t be putting this on everyone else. I should have buried it already. You’ve been right from the beginning — I’m not serving anyone, including myself.”
    “We understand,” Desmond said putting a hand on John’s shoulder.  
    Though John would’ve shrugged off Desmond’s friendly touch just moments ago, now that they’d had this moment, John found Desmond comforting. He could see why Desmond had become the de facto leader of the group.  
    “You’re grieving,” Desmond said, “and your circumstances are making mourning that much harder. Go to bed; sleep it off. You’ll feel like a new man in the morning, and if not, I’m here for you. Anytime.”
    John smiled back. “Thanks Desmond, for everything. I’ll pull myself together, I promise.”
    They shook hands, then John turned and headed toward his room, both comforted and embarrassed that Desmond had seen him so vulnerable.

    * * * *

BORICIO WOLFE

    October 18  
    Evening
    Somewhere in Alabama

    Boricio opened the cellar door to the cool dark of a late Alabama evening. Free, at last.
    Like Moe said, the compound had a farm and silo, and what looked like a communications building, and a large hangar. The cellar they’d been in was beneath a large three-story home, smack in the middle of two others that looked just like it. And another building Moe hadn’t mentioned was there — long, shotgun style, beside the three houses. Additionally, a high brick wall neatly circled the compound.  
    “This way.” Boricio motioned toward the steady roar of a generator rumbling from behind the house. Team Boricio followed.  
    The escapees huddled in the shadows behind the house. Between night’s shadows and the loud hum from the generator, they were almost invisible.  
    “What do we do now?” Adam whispered.
    Boricio hadn’t a fucking clue, and that made him want to break teeth. Too many things he didn’t know; too many things could go wrong.  
    “I’m thinking that house over there’s our best bet,” he said, pointing toward the one at the far end of the row, near the front gate, which was the only house with its windows lit. “I’m guessing that’s where the rabble sleeps,” he said, nodding toward the longer building. “That means whatever’s in these houses is mucho importanté. The lights are all on over yonder at 1313 Mockingbird Lane, so I’m guessing that’s where the king is probably holding court.”
    “All the windows are barred.” That was either Manny or Jack whispering. Boricio couldn’t tell over the generator, and wouldn’t have cared anyway.  
    “So we get close and wait,” Boricio said. “We’ll see something. And when we see something worth seeing, we’ll do what needs doing. We assume this place is a Rambo factory, you can be sure as a Friday night fuck in the ass, these shit heels’ll be shooting to kill. But that doesn’t mean you can go popping off and thinking you’re gonna see sunrise. Shoot when you know it’s right, maybe a second before. But never pull the trigger just to pull it, and always use your nose. And don’t think too much.”
    “What do I do?” Manny asked. “Shoot ‘em with my dick?”
    “I’m sure that’s a miniature fucking weapon,” Boricio laughed. “If you hadn’t been such a throbbing cock, I wouldn’t have had to put you on time out. Just stay out of the way and if you can get a gun from one of the guards, take it and use it… but not on me.”  
    Boricio called clear and they