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

Boricio? Get you're fuckin' act together. Who the fuck cares if those twats go their own merry fuckin' way. Team Boricio only needs its star playa to be a winner, and that's its hung-like-a-lion, blood of a pirate, captain.
    That pep-talk and his holier-than-thou surroundings had never made Boricio want to kill more.  
    No one was safe.  
    He wanted to kill all the Bible fuckers for fucking the Bible, the Stuck Up Bitch for looking like a stuck up bitch, and her daughter for sharing the bitchy DNA.  
    Boricio figured he’d have no choice but to kill the kid who could see to his middle.  
    But Boricio would have to start with Quiet Eyes, especially since he finally figured out what it was that pissed him off so much about the motherfucker.  
    Quiet Eyes thought he was better than Boricio.  
    Boricio could practically smell it, like a stench on his body.  
    And no one was better than Boricio.  

    * * * *

WILL BISHOP: PART 4

    Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
    November 11, 1995
    morning

    It was one of those dreams. The kind he hadn’t had since a year earlier, when he’d first been warned that Sam would be injured by the drunk driver.  

    In this dream, warning, or blackened promise, Sam died lying in his hospital bed. Never opened his eyes, never said a word, never saw that Will was beside him. He just faded into the long kiss goodnight. In the dream, Will cried out to whatever thing pulled the strings above the prophetic dreams that plagued him, “Why?! Why couldn’t you warn me?”
    “ We did, last year, and you found a loophole, ” an unknown voice whispered from the warm womb in the middle of his dream. “ We found a loophole to your loophole. You can’t change fate. And now it’s time to correct the error. Loopholes go round, Will. Everything in a circle. No escape.”  
    “But he wasn’t supposed to die in the original plan! He’d only been paralyzed,” Will shouted to the unseen voice.
    “And he was . . . until you interfered.”
    Will woke to the ache of the uncomfortable waiting room chair, the sound of Trudy’s voice pulling him from the mire. “Do you want to see him?”  
    “I thought I wasn’t allowed,” Will said, surprised.
    “Yeah, well, you know how I can be,” she said, attempting a smile. Her eyes and nose were red from a long night of crying.
    “How is he?”
    “Not good,” she said. “There is a lot of swelling in his brain, and right now, anything could happen. He could wake up and be fine, or wake up with brain damage, or . . . He could stay in a coma and be a vegetable, or . . . die.”
    Trudy’s mouth opened into a painful grimace, a long string of saliva hanging until it popped, as she let out a long wail.  
    Will hugged her, and held her tight as she cried on his shoulder.
    “I’m so sorry,” Will said, now crying himself.
    “He really loves you,” Trudy said. “I’m so sorry that I gave you such a hard time. He must hate me so much.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Will said, hugging her harder. “He loves you, too. He thinks the world of you, Trudy. He could never hate you. Not ever.”
    They hugged a while longer, until the nurse appeared, a broomstick-thin black woman who looked like she just started her shift. The same nurse from his dream.
    “Are you ready?”  
    “Yes,” Will said as she led him to Sam’s room. Trudy said she’d wait for him in the waiting room.

    **

    Will nearly fainted when he saw Sam getting eaten alive by an army of wires, all being fed by the bank of machines behind him.
    There was a tube in his mouth, electrodes crawling all over his body, IVs, and a catheter tube, which emptied Sam’s piss and stored it in a bag. His face was swollen and violet, a severe gash marked his left cheek, where surgeons had stitched his skin back together. His head was shaved and bandaged.
    Will’s knees buckled as he drew closer, and he swallowed his grief.
    The nurse hovered in the background, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If you need anything, just call down the hall.”
    Will thought about the dream he had before Trudy woke him. He shrugged the deja vu from his shoulders, recognizing the nurse from the dream. She had left him alone in the room in the dream, too. Minutes later, Sam was dead.
    No, no, no.
    Tears painted his face.  
    Please, God, whoever, don’t do this to him. He is such a good, kind, sweet man. I’ve never known anyone so selfless and caring as Sam. Someone who would give you the shirt off his back even if