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

someone’s not infected. So they told him to come to the van with me and when he started walking, they shot him in the back of head. Pow! Just like that. Dead! How the fuck is that you being the good guys?!”
    Boricio stared at Charlie like his eyes were lie detectors. After a long moment, he asked, “Which of my men did this?”
    Charlie remembered the man’s name clearly on his badge. “Foster.”
    Boricio pushed a button on the side of his helmet and instructed someone over the radio to send Foster to Level Nine.
    Moments later, Foster appeared, in his black uniform, gun holstered at his side. He wasn’t wearing a helmet like some of the other Guardsmen on the block.
    “Yes, sir, you wanted to see me?” Foster said, looking at Boricio. If he’d noticed Charlie at all, he wasn’t showing it.
    Boricio turned to Charlie, “Is this the man?”
    Foster turned, meeting Charlie’s eyes. Charlie swallowed as the man’s steely gaze almost dared Charlie to say something. He wondered if Foster knew why he’d been called by Boricio — if he knew that Charlie had ratted him out.
    Imaginary Boricio piped up, “Yeah, that’s the fucker, right there! Only a dick with no balls would be pussy enough to shoot a kid!”
    Charlie nodded. “Yes. That’s him.”
    “What?” Foster said, his facade cracking.
    “Did you shoot a child in the back of the head?”
    Foster swallowed, saying nothing at first.
    “And don’t you dare lie to me. You know I can sniff your lies like shit in your crack,” hazmat-suit Boricio said.
    Foster swallowed again, his eyes wide and unable to break from Boricio’s gaze.
    “Yes, sir. But …”
    “No buts!” Boricio shouted, so loud Charlie leapt back involuntarily.
    Foster zipped his lips.
    “Give me your gun,” Boricio said.
    “Why?” Foster asked.
    “I said, GIVE ME YOUR GUN!” Boricio shouted, spittle flying from his mouth and coating the inside of his helmet.
    Foster cowered. If Foster could have shrunk and run away, or melted into a puddle on the floor, Charlie was sure he would have. He handed Boricio his pistol, his hand trembling. Only when Charlie saw the trembling hand did he realize what was happening. Boricio wasn’t asking him to turn in his gun like a police chief would ask a cop to turn in his badge and gun.
    “Why would you kill a child?” Boricio asked. “Who the fuck do you think you are to go around killing children?”
    “I dunno, sir, I was just …”
    “No!” Boricio said as he pulled one of his bulky yellow gloves from his hand. Beneath that glove he wore a slimmer, skintight black glove. Boricio took the gun, then checked the chamber.
    “You are a Black Mountain Guardsman, not some mercenary thug! Am I clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” Foster shouted like he was in boot camp.
    Boricio stared at the man while Charlie wondered what was going to happen. The tension was a fog in the room, and his heart a machine gun emptying its clip.
    Finally, Boricio said, “No, I don’t think you do understand, turn around.”
    Foster cried, “Why?”
    “I said, turn around!” Boricio snapped.
    Foster turned, slowly, his whole body trembling, waiting, and unable to see what Boricio was going to do next.
    “Leave,” Boricio said.
    Foster’s eyes widened, though Charlie wasn’t sure if it was a sign of relief or a deepening fear as he began to walk away.
    He made it six steps before Boricio took aim at the back of the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
    The gunshot crackled in the speakers above Charlie as Foster fell face first into the concrete ground, blood splattering on impact.
    Charlie jumped, but held his scream inside.
    Boricio looked back at Charlie. “There. Problem solved.”
    “Fuck yeah!” Imaginary Boricio shouted, pumping his fist in the air and prancing around the cell. “I fucking LOVE this guy! Now THAT is how you handle personnel conflicts! That right there was the goddamn Robocop of human resources!”
    Boricio leaned closer to Charlie, returning the yellow glove to his hand. “As I said, we’re not the bad guys. We’re here to help. And I won’t condone my men murdering anyone — especially children.”
    “What do you need from me?” Charlie asked.
    “Just work with us. Allow us to take your blood, and don’t pull any more stunts like you did. I now understand your fear of the men you attacked, but I assure you that we’re not going to hurt you. We need to keep you alive. You might be our only hope.”
    Charlie glanced at