Yesterday's Gone: Season One

again. After a pause, he asked Will, “Does she have to die?”
     
    Will shook his head. “No, that’s what I call a tomorrowbility; it may or may not happen depending on the variables in the equation.” Will shook his head and started over. “Sorry about that. I mean, no. It’s a possibility, but it definitely doesn’t have to happen.”  
     
    “What can we do?”
     
    “Get to the trees as fast as we can. We’ll be there soon.”
     
    Luca said nothing. Will sank into his seat. An odd current crackled between them. Luca could tell that Will had dreamed more than he had said. Will was afraid to tell him something.
     
    But Luca was starting to sense it.  
     
    Something bad was going to happen to the girl and her mom, real bad.  
     

     
    * * * *

 
    BORICIO WOLFE
     

     

     
    Boricio woke, lids gummed behind what felt like a thick wall of a cheesecloth blindfold. His head was buzzing and the hallucinogenic sludge was still swimming its way out of his head. A thin strip of plastic was digging its teeth into his wrists, which were crushed between the floor and his back.
     
    His nose twitched at the smell of prey. He couldn’t tell how many people were in the room, but he definitely wasn’t alone, and it was more than just that big-nippled bitch who had tricked him. In fact, he didn’t smell her at all.  
     
    The room was slightly musty, and felt large. Boricio would lay a Benjamin that there weren’t any windows. He felt the fabric beneath him. Burlap.  
     
    Well, where in the fuck-all am I?  
     
    Nope, Boricio don’t like this one bit.  
     
    His ears prickled and the short hairs on the back of his neck whispered that he was being watched. No way to know how many, but eyes were on him, no doubt.
     
    He could either play it Sam Jackson and let the room know who was boss, or play smart and show the claws later.  
     
    “Where... where are we?” Boricio stuttered weakly.  
     
    “He’s awake.” A man’s voice said from Boricio’s right.  
     
    “You’re okay,” a second man’s voice, slightly farther and barely a whisper. “Keep your voice low, they’ll be back any moment.”  
     
    “Who is they , and how many are there?” Boricio let his bottom lip quiver, just in case he was the only one with his eyes covered.  
     
    “Don’t know who they are, but they know what’s going on. Three of ‘em snuck up behind me while I was taking a shit. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the floor in here.” This final voice was closest to Boricio, just a few inches away.  
     
    Predator’s guess put five people in the room, including him. One to his left, another three to his right. Silent Bob was on his left, breathing like a lab with a belly full of pups.  
     
    “We’re waiting to get processed.” It was the guy furthest to Boricio’s right again. “They come in here and take us out there to whatever’s waiting. No clue what it is, but I’m pretty sure I’m next. They come in every five or six hours. And there’s always five in here. One comes in, one goes out. So far, there ain’t been any girls except the one I imagine brought you here, just like she brought all of us.”
     
    A click and a whine came as a door opened and a gust of stale heat rolled inside. And on that heat, a familiar scent of perfume.
     
    Well, ain’t that just a tall stack of pancakes worth of perfect. Big-nippled bitch was coming into the room. And someone with her. A guy. Smells like sweat and too much testosterone.  
     
    The mystery guest opened his mouth. “Well, lookie who’s awake!” Boricio could smell the testosterone suddenly centimeters away. “You ready to tell us what you know?”
     
    Boricio knew nothing, which is exactly what he said.  
     
    Testosterone cackled, “Fine by me, boy. You’ll get to talking once you’re outside and in the box.” He finished his sentence with a slap at the back of Boricio’s head.  
     
    Keep going, because when I’m through with you, I’ll be staining this floor with slippers made from your face, you fuck.  
     
    Boricio must not have been able to keep his curled lip to himself, because before he knew it, bad breath was curling through his nose and Testosterone himself was snarling in his face.  
     
    “You got something you wanna say, boy?” The way he said “boy” was almost like the word had two syllables. Redneck fuck. “I know your mama told you if you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say than don’t say nothin’,