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

in his hands as blood pooled beneath him, spreading like an angry dark stain in the snow.
    “How do you get off swinging a sack of sorry, you Santa Claus looking pile of shit? You’re the motherfucker who shot him!” Boricio stepped forward to hit the old man, but stopped when he nearly lost his balance.
    His head was still dizzy from Luca being inside, and odd as a smiling bitch who wasn’t asking for crap, Boricio still felt a lingering need to protect the kid. He wasn’t sure what sorta voodoo bullshit Luca had done in his head, but he’d definitely done something.
    Luca had said he’d “fix” Boricio, but what in the fuck all did that even mean? What was there to fix? Ain’t no one ever had any complaints about the way Boricio worked before. At least no one still breathing.
    Boricio took a step closer to Will. “He said he fixed me. You wanna tell me what in the hell that means? I’m guessing by the way you tore in here like Steve McQueen, you have a pretty good goddamn idea.”
    Will looked up at Boricio, eyes watering, as if he were going to break down and cry. “I don’t know. But you’re a killer, aren’t you?”
    Boricio showed Will all his teeth. “I’m a heartbeat adjuster. What in the fuck does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
    “You haven’t killed me yet,” Will said, an odd smile crossing his face, like one of those fuckers who thinks his IQ has another digit to keep his shit from stinking.
    Boricio stepped forward, craving a pull of the trigger, and barely resisting the urge.
    See how he smiles with half a face.
    “No, not yet ,” Boricio growled.
    Will said nothing, staring down at Luca’s closed eyes. Then he looked up to Boricio and said about the dumbest fucking thing that could’ve come from his mouth, “He’s dying.”
    “No fucking shit!” Boricio said, and this time he couldn’t resist. He swung the barrel of the shotgun and hit Will hard in the forehead, knocking him back to the snow.
    Boricio looked down at Luca, confused as an odd new feeling flooded his body, filling him with something he couldn’t remember feeling before — sympathy.
    Fixed me? More like he took out my batteries!
    Fuck.
    Boricio felt tears welling in his eyes.
    What the fuck is this shit?
    He turned away, wiping his eyes. The anger returned, and he shoved the barrel of his shotgun at Will’s head.
    “Why the hell did you shoot him, you Sasquatch looking pile of shit? He trusted you!”
    “I had to. The dreams told me.”
    “Dreams? If I did everything my dreams told me to, Brad Pitt’s head would’ve been an ashtray on my coffee table watching me bang Angelina sunrise to sunset. The fuck you talking about? Start speaking English, or I’m gonna shut you up permanently.”
    “Tell me. Did he try to heal the others?” Will asked.
    “Yeah, a couple. But he said it’s not working now.”
    “Yes,” Will nodded, “that’s what I saw in the dreams.”
    “You wanna stop speaking in ancient Chinese secret and tell me what the fuck you’re goin’ on about, old man?”
    “You can save him,” Will said. “In fact, you will save him.”
    Boricio laughed.
    “ Me? Save him? Clearly you’re new to this program, hombre. I ain’t the fucking hero. I don’t save the day.”
    Will shook his head, pointing back at Luca. Blood was spilling from Luca’s mouth.
    “Hurry!” Will said.
    “What the hell am I supposed to do?!” Boricio asked, annoyed, and suddenly feeling a need to try and save the man-kid. “Tell me what to do!”
    “Put your hands on him,” Will said, his voice rising in anger or urgency. “Like you saw him do with the others.”
    Boricio was going to argue, but something in his head, maybe instinct, or remnants of Luca playing puppet master, pushed Boricio to a kneel beside Luca. He saw in his mind what to do next, like a memory.
    How do you have a memory of shit that ain’t happened?
    Boricio felt like he was on another trip like when he drank that shit back in the rich fuck’s house.
    He leaned down and put his hands on either side of Luca’s face, feeling warmth like liquid fire spreading through his limbs and into his fingers. And then from his fingers and into the man-kid.
    Boricio stared at his hands, as if they were being moved by another. He wondered again what in Hell’s sweet honey pot Luca had done. He had fixed him, but he’d sure as shit done something else too.
    Luca’s eyes shot open like someone had flipped a switch inside