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

beyond her. Then again, it was beyond her how they could circle so calmly around Boricio, with none of them seeming to worry whether there might be people at the windows with guns, waiting to shoot. Like they should be doing now.
    “So I’m giving you one chance to join.” Boricio turned from the leader to his men on either side and added, “Now, I’m not asking you to overthrow nothing. This isn’t a mutiny in motion. I’m just letting you know your options, and seeing if maybe you want to take advantage, and join right now while we’re still offering a free membership package.”
    Mary looked to Paola and Luca, who both looked as amazed as she was. How Boricio could keep the men from killing him, simply by spouting sentence after sentence of uncut nonsense was simply astonishing.
    Boricio had no weapon, and all of them were armed. And she had no idea what his plan might be. Short of a miracle, Boricio was seconds from dead, and the three of them were minutes behind, if lucky.
    “First thing I’m gonna do is cut your tongue out,” the leader said, finally speaking.
    Boricio hollered. “Woo-hoo! Now that’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly the sort of initiative I’m looking for with new recruits. Now,” he shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I do understand why you wouldn’t want to surrender your leadership role, and I also get how your ‘boys on the side’ there might not realize how it’s in their best interest to join me, so I propose a little battle between us.”
    The leader raised his eyebrows. Mary might not have seen it all the way from the second floor if it wasn’t right above the obvious scrunch in his nose.
    “You three cowboys can keep your guns all aimed on me, while He-Man and I punch shit out. If I win, all four of you become proud members of Team Boricio.” He smiled over at the leader. “You can be the General, or maybe we’ll make up a title if you’d prefer, like Cobra Commander or Optimus Prime or some shit. If I lose, then I’ll join your team, Team Taco, or whatever the fuck it’s called. You can pick my team name, though I rather like Boricio. Destro would be cool. I also like my last name, Wolfe, like the thing that can rip your throat out while growling, but with an E.”
    Boricio paused and Mary was certain the next thing she’d hear was his final cry as the leader’s sword separated his neck and throat. There was nothing but one bird answering another until Boricio spoke again about 20 seconds later.
    “I imagine you’re probably thinking that your little foursome is a perfect set, ready for all four corners of the blanket; I can promise Boricio is an asset to any picnic. In this particular instance, I can promise you some nicely gift wrapped, sweet pink meat. And by gift wrap I mean panties, in case it’s been so long that you didn’t know what I meant by the meat. Now I know I said it was just me and Rosy, but I was lying. I’ve actually got two peaches in my garden, one that’s nice and soft and another that’s not quite ripe. Not my taste, but I’ll let your tongue be the judge.”
    Mary felt a sudden flush of fresh hate race through her body. Luca put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “He’s just going fast enough to keep them from thinking.”
    The four bikers all started laughing. The leader dropped his sword to the ground, then took a step toward Boricio and swung. Boricio dodged what Mary thought seemed like a surprisingly slow throw, then took a step back and said, “I suggest we move over yonder so we have ample room to brawl.”
    Boricio nodded at the gunpowder trio, said, “You guys can keep your guns pointed on me,” then turned to the leader and pointed over toward a spot by the garden about 50 feet away. “We’ll take this over there.
    The leader nodded, then headed toward the clearing. Boricio followed, then turned back, and for one half a second, when nobody else was looking, turned his eyes to Mary’s window and winked.
    Mary didn’t believe she could read Boricio’s mind, but her usual knowing was spoke in Boricio’s voice.
    It’s just like shooting bottles from the fucking fence. Even your sweet little lamb can do it. But not Rip Van Creepy. The kick’ll be too much. The two of you will do fine.
    Paola knew what they were about to do before Mary said a word. “I’m ready, Mom,” she said.
    “You make your momma wait this long before you fuck her?” Boricio said, dancing from