Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

He would have little problem ruling this roost. But for now, he’d examine the situation.
    Patience wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in Boricio’s box. And while he liked playing character, and watching gullible fucks suck on his lies like they were the throb of a cock, he’d waltzed through the front gates looking for answers. But he had yet to find a single fucking one. No Charlie, no Adam, no Vic. And the bitch he killed back in New Orleans on October 14, the one he’d seen two times since, both up in that window in the house across the way, and on the side of the road – both places fucking with his ability to see shit clearly – well, she was nowhere to be found either.  
    Boricio also wanted to know how many of the motherfuckers behind the walls were sipping the Kool-Aid because they liked the sweet taste of the sugar, and how many of them were pretending to like it since they weren’t serving it outside The Sanctuary, where the “demons crawled through the forest.’” Boricio smiled. To hear the folks in charge tell it, the world was crawling with monsters like crabs in the cunt hair of a French Quarter whore. But that was bullshit. They were out there, sure, but any cocksucker with a few full clips had little more than dick to worry about. Boricio could smell bullshit, whether it got flushed or not. And it was ripe as a maggot covered body behind the gates of ye ole’ Sanctuary.  
    Of course, the place did have a few amenities.  
    Even though he’d been close enough to smell the slick of a slit, he’d not tasted the dew. And there wasn’t much worse than getting clearance from Mission Control and losing the blastoff. Fortunately, The Sanctuary had a few women Boricio could split right open. Even better, they were the sort of bitches Boricio liked. Churchgoing chicks were always the biggest sluts in the bedroom, down and dirty, and ready to do the kinkiest shit. Took them a while to start, but once you got them going, well ye-fucking-haw!  
    Boricio figured he had everyone’s number, except the fucker with the quiet eyes full of ideas, the one who knew Boricio was beer battering a pan full of bullshit. Boricio had played the I should’ve known there was evil in the house, what with all those Demons circling their part of the woods banshee ripping off a bandaid bullshit with just about every fucker in the place. Quiet Eyes was the only one who’d stared right through it.  
    The one fucker, John, he knew Boricio was full of shit, too. His eyes said so. But whatever his game, Boricio’s seemed to fit in with his plans, whatever they were..   That wouldn’t keep John alive forever, but it would sure as hell keep him alive for now.  
    The Sanctuary seemed to be split into three camps. Those with The Prophet, which Boricio hadn’t seen hide nor hair of yet, and those with Brother Rei. There was a revolution coming, Boricio could smell it like a rotting corpse. Then there was the third group, led by Quiet Eyes. The fucker with the quiet eyes had a few other fuckers in his group, though Boricio couldn't tell exactly who all quite yet. The Godfather had taught Boricio a helluva lot of shit worth learning, but none more important than keep your enemies closer. He had a lot of shit to figure out before he burned the haystack to ash. Who better to ask than the one fucker in the place who probably wouldn’t want him to know shit.
    Boricio slid between Quiet Eyes and the stuck-up looking bitch, who were knee deep in private conversation. The two of them had been trying to grab some minutes together all day, and you’d have to be retarded, blind, or all of the above not to notice. Boricio wedged himself between them, then pointed out the window toward the large wooden box it seemed like everyone inside Sanctuary was trying too hard to ignore. Boricio knew what it was, figured it was the same box Dead Guard Walking had been talking about when he had ‘ole Boricio on his knees, just before Boricio made him eat the fat side of his baseball bat.  
    “What’s in the box?” he said.
    “What do you think it is?” Quiet Eyes didn’t turn from Stuck Up Bitch.
    “I think it’s a punishment box,” Boricio said.  
    Quiet Eyes moved from Stuck Up Bitch to Boricio. “A punishment box? You say that with familiarity.”  
    “Oh, yeah,” Boricio nodded. “I went to school up in Arkansas. Was a small school that my daddy said would give me a good education, of the sort that came with The Good