Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

we bring an infected person into Level Eight right now, we will be jeopardizing everything. I never would have allowed that at Black Mountain, and I’m certainly not going to do it here. Besides, we head down there with an infected, and we’ll all get shot the minute those elevator doors open.”
    Asshole Boricio kept his gun on Boricio. Ed and Brent looked at Boricio for instruction, but he simply kept his eyes on the asshole in front of him.
    Boricio added, “We’ll leave him in this elevator bay, then lock it down. He’ll be safe until we get everything settled. Okay?”
    Boricio stared down Asshole Boricio’s gun, figuring the odds of the asshole firing were about 50/50. Clearly the other Boricio wasn’t a guy who really thought through things like consequences of his actions. At the moment, Boricio almost didn’t care whether he lived or died. He did his job — he delivered the message. Let his father and the others save the world. He was tired.
    Asshole Boricio must’ve seen the resignation in his eyes and lowered his gun, saying, “Fine,” then turned from Boricio as though he couldn’t be bothered to finish his sentence.
    Boricio looked down at Charlie and then nodded at Ed and Brent, who dragged Charlie’s body to an open elevator and then closed the door. Brent placed his hand on the panel beside the door and said, “Lockdown Elevator Bay three.”
    “Confirmed lockdown,” a computerized woman’s voice said.
    Boricio was glad that his security was reinstated enough to lock the elevator down. If Charlie woke up and got loose, things could get ugly. Things could get ugly anyway, however, given how Charlie had broken at least one containment cell, perhaps more if he’d broken out of Black Mountain. Fortunately, the elevators were also equipped with sleeping gas which could be administered if Charlie woke and started causing a scene.
    Boricio then opened the elevator two down from Charlie’s and the group stepped inside. As the doors closed and the elevator began its descent, Boricio’s stomach followed suit, imagining his reunion with Will. He wondered if Will believed him responsible for releasing the vial. Did he think him capable of such an act? He also wondered what Will would think about the old Luca and the other Boricio.
    The elevator whirred, along with the subtle drop in his stomach, then chimed and settled as the doors opened to Will waiting on the other side.
    Boricio expected Will to be angry, but thought that he’d at least hear a hello before the growling, “What in the hell have you done, Boricio?” slapping him in the face before the elevator doors were halfway open.
    Boricio fell into immediate apology.
    “I’m so sorry, Dad. I never meant for any of this to happen. I met a man, and I was foolish enough to let him steal the vial from me.” He shook his head, staring at the glossy white floor, trying not to let his guilty torment and undiluted rage push the welling tears from inside him. “I’m so, so sorry,” he kept shaking his head. “It’s all my fault. I wish I could take it all back.”
    Boricio felt every eye burning his back with the many questions that no one dared ask. Of all the eyes, Boricio only cared about Will’s.
    As angry as Will was, something about Boricio’s sorrow softened the old man. His eyes were nearly as wet as Boricio’s when he said, “It’s okay, Son. Everything will turn out okay.”
    It was Will’s nature to say it, but Boricio knew the truth: Nothing was okay. He had helped “The Prophet” murder their world, whether the old fucker had meant to or not. So no, it wasn’t okay, and would never be again. At least now Boricio had a chance to do whatever he could to right the wrongs he’d invited into the world.
    Boricio raised his gaze from the floor, then tried to index the thousand expressions etched into his father’s face. Will broke his son’s stare, then moved his eyes across the rest of the group. Most of Will’s reaction seemed stuck between horror and fascination when his eyes settled on the other Boricio.
    Then he saw the other, significantly older, Luca.
    Will gasped, struggling to stay standing. His eyes flashed to Boricio, before flying back to Luca where they held their study for another several seconds.
    “This is Luca,” Boricio said, patting the old boy on the shoulder, then nudging him a step forward toward the old man.
    The skin on Luca’s face was so brittle; his smile looked like it came with a deep