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Yesterday's Gone: Season One

Yesterday's Gone: Season One

Titel: Yesterday's Gone: Season One Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Sean Platt , David Wright
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out of control, he could hear the sound of water rushing below, and knew he was about to slide right off a cliff and into the rapids.
     
    Before he could roll right off the edge of the abyss, he jammed an elbow into the ground hard, causing his body to flip over and break momentum, stopping just at the edge of the cliff.
     
    Below was a river, flowing fast and full of corpses.
     
    Boricio had seen some fucked-up shit, even made a few artistic displays himself, but he’d never been anything so soul bleaching as that. Whatever was inside him had won. His head swam, the colors came back and Boricio fell.
     

     
    **
     

     
    When he woke, he was back in the house, his liquid nightmare covering the white room like spilled ink in snow. He smiled.  
     
    Yeah, that was some scary shit, but hell if it wasn’t the near side of fan-fucking-tastic too. Like the trippiest movie ever, no ticket required.
     

     
    **
     

     
    Boricio spent the next day taking tiny swigs from what was left of a second two-liter bottle of slop while tearing down the highway. He remembered the colors, but none of the hundreds of miles of distance, the full tank of gas, or the two bodies that somehow found their way into his trunk.  
     
    The one with the nose ring looked like she would’ve been a ferris wheel and a funnel cake full of fun. Looked like a screamer, and sorta mean. But it doesn’t look like I took much time, what with that hole in the middle of her forehead.  
     
    Whatever was inside the green/brown sludge wasn’t near as powerful on the second day. Or maybe Boricio was getting stronger or building resistance. The trips were definitely shorter and time wasn’t so fucking tangled. Plus they ended with something a helluva lot less fucked-up than a river full of bodies. Boricio stopped at a hotel, made himself at home in the best suite he could find, and decided to get another ticket to the Magical Mystery Tour.  
     
    This time, he found himself at an abandoned gas station with an old man with crazy hair standing next to a kid. This weird dog was there too. While neither the old man nor the boy could see Boricio, as he wasn’t really there, the dog stared right at him, growling.
     
    “Evil!” the dog said.
     
    What the fuck?!
     
    Boricio opened his eyes, his head swimming with the strongest sense of déjà vu he’d ever felt.  
     
    This is some weird ass third-eye shit, that’s what it is. Ain’t nothing to prove it, but I know it just the same. Shit I’m seeing in my head is somehow real, shit I could see now maybe, if I was in the right place.  
     
    Boricio was agitated that he had just a swallow of the liquid magic, but he took it in one gulp and spent the next several hours hovering just above reality.
     
    I’m not alone.  
     
    Something on this planet wants me gone.  
     
    When the world is dying, even the hunters get hunted.  
     
    Boricio smiled.  
     
    He’d always been a hunter, but the world had always deprived him of a challenge. Sure, he kept on the move because he sure as fuck wasn’t ever gonna get caught. But he’d be lying if he said the kills had the same joy they once did, the same sweet taste. It was still nice, but a bit like fucking the same redhead in the back of the same Impala for five years running. Only so long could you keep getting it up for the fuck.
     
    There weren’t many like him in the world. There couldn’t be. Only room for a few kings in the world. And now, it seemed, even fewer to challenge him.
     

     
    **
     

     
    October 17
     
    8:14 p.m.
     
    Somewhere in Alabama
     

     
    Boricio flew by the “Welcome to Alabama” sign going 106 [mph]. The highway was dead, had been for a while. No people, no cars. No billboards, no buildings. Just streets going dark as the world turned out the lights.
     
    Vanished people were enough what-the-fuck already, vanished cars were just plain beer-battered bullshit. When the seven horsemen first started galloping a couple days back, abandoned cars were everywhere. Boricio even saw several with their engines still running. But now, it seemed the cars weren’t nearly as plentiful.  
     
    Boricio sneered and stepped on the gas, frustrated that his own thoughts were a brew of confusion. He was feeling paranoid, like the springs of some trap had been sprung, and its claws were about to close on him. He was kinda glad that the   liquid was gone. As good as the trips were, the ride down was a bitch.
     
    Signs of

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