Yesterday's Gone: Season One

but it isn’t like that here.” He laughed again. “We’re friends here. You can say anything you want.”  
     
    Something thrust into the back of Boricio’s head. He let out a yelp, pissed to have given the man any pleasure in delivering the pain.
     
    “So, anything?”
     
    Part of Boricio believed he could free himself from his restraints, if he wanted to. He probably couldn't clear the room, though he’d be sure to end the fucker in front of him before anyone could stop him. But no, too many things he didn’t know, and it was the end of the world. Besides, it’d be nice to make the fucker see the steel in his eyes before he killed him. It was that personal touch which was the   trademark of Boricio’s attention to detail.
     
    “Nothing?”  
     
    Boricio stayed silent.  
     
    Boricio didn’t see, or even sense, the giant fist until it smashed into his face. He felt the hollow thud rock through his head, then a ringing in his ears followed by stars in his eyes. Blood gushed from his nose and swallowed his face.  
     
    “Chew on that until you find your tongue, fucktard.”  
     
    Boricio heard 15 steps, then a whine and a thud. Testosterone and the big-nippled bitch had left the building.  
     
    After a moment of silence, the heavy breather to Boricio’s left tried to speak, but wasn’t managing much outside a few labored rasps. The heavy breather went on breathing while Boricio continued to wrestle with his restraints.  
     
    Finally, as though pushing words from his throat with his entire body, the breather managed to make a few. “Drema buttle noggers son...”
     
    Well fuck if that didn’t sound like baby talk.  
     
    The three men to Boricio’s right were trading guesses, but it was still just pisses and babble. Boricio continued to twist at the plastic.  
     
    “Anything we can help you with?” It was the guy all the way to the right. His voice was full of compassion and Boricio wondered for a second what that must be like. More sounds came from the guy on the left, but the fucking idiot still wasn’t saying anything, until he was.  
     
    Boricio froze.  
     
    “Boooorrrriiiicccciiio,” the heavy breather moaned.  
     
    Like his name on the radio surfacing through a sea of static, once there, it was unmistakable. Boricio was getting this broadcast loud and clear. It took a lot to scare him, and he never ran. But Boricio found himself in such a sudden twisted grip of terror, he would’ve charged from the room right then if he’d not manage to calm himself down.
     
    Beer-battered fucking bullshit. What the fuck is going on here?
     
    He’d need to run, even if he had to kill everyone in the room first. Not for pleasure, wouldn’t be time for that, or anything else.  
     
    The restraints fell from his wrist and Boricio smiled.
     

     
    * * * *

 
    CHARLIE WILKENS
     

     

     
    The clicking inched closer. It sounded just a step from Charlie’s window. His body was shaking uncontrollably and his eyes were starting to water.
     
    He stared at the window, not remembering if he’d locked it and pretty sure that whoever, or whatever , was outside must have seen the glow of his light before the girl turned it off.  
     
    They’d been found.  
     
    Something was coming for them.  
     
    He opened his mouth, but the girl put her hand over it and shook her head and mouthed the words, “Do not let them hear us.”
     
    Her eyes scanned his room as the clicking sound outside intensified, then multiplied, as if drawing more clickers to his window. Charlie was frozen, listening helplessly, and waiting, his mind racing for some idea, any idea , of what to do.
     
    A thump on the window.
     
    Charlie jumped with a yelp.
     
    The girl’s eyes widened. Charlie immediately regretted the noise as clicking turned to shrieks outside his window. Another thump, and another, then a third, each one louder against the glass. Another came and Charlie swore the pane was about to shatter.
     
    “Run!" the girl screamed, out the door before he could get off his ass.
     
    “Bob! Bob!” Charlie screamed, following the girl from his room.
     
    Bob was sleeping on the sofa, in boxers, bare chested. He looked up, startled by the girl running from the room with Charlie close behind. He had the shotgun in his hand and aimed at the girl in less than a second.
     
    “No!” Charlie yelled, “There’s something outside!”
     
    “What?” Bob asked in a slur.
     
    “They’re monsters,”