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

He walked right through Boricio as if he weren’t even there.
    “He can’t see us,” Luca said.
    Boricio looked at the kid as they followed him into the kitchen, watching him set the sacks down on the black granite counters. The kid looked up and called out to someone who was still outside, “You got it all?”
    “Yeah,” a man’s voice said from outside, “Just getting the mail.”
    “OK,” the boy said as he began to unpack the groceries.  
    “He looks so familiar,” Boricio said, stepping just inches away from the kid. “Holy shit! Is this me?”
    Luca’s eyes widened. It was Boricio, a 12 year old version.
    “It is me! He’s got the same scars on his arm,” Boricio said, pointing to two circle scars on his left forearm, identical to those on his own arm.
    “Joe gave me these when I was six,” Boricio said. “So, is this the future me? I’m a happy kid in this nice house?”
    “I dunno,” Luca said, confused. Something was different about this dream, and this Boricio, than the others, but Luca wasn’t sure what.
    Suddenly, the eight year old Boricio was joined by a second Boricio, an adult version.
    “No, this shit never happened,” the adult Boricio said, staring at the house. “This isn’t my past or my future.”
    The 12 year old Boricio finished unpacking and looked toward the living room. “Any mail for me, Dad?”
    “Dad?” adult Boricio said, his brow knotted in confusion. “I got a Dad who owns a rich bitch pad like this?”
    “No, it’s just junk mail,” a man said, still out of sight.  
    His voice is so familiar.
    Something weird was happening. Weirder than any of the dreams or mind trips Luca had been on. Luca racked his brain trying to figure out what his brain was only sensing.
    Boricio’s dad emerged from outside and closed the front door, “Just junk mail,” he said, throwing the junk mail on the counter. “Thanks for putting the groceries away.”
    Luca stared in disbelief at Boricio’s dad. It can’t be!  
    But it was — Will.
    Adult Boricio’s eyes stared in disbelief, “What the beer battered bullshit?”
    Twelve year old Boricio looked at both versions of himself, now seeing them.
    “What the...?” they all said in unison.
    The blue light that had engulfed Luca and Boricio erupted like lightning, buzzing and crackling, then struck all of them at once, including Luca.
    And in a flash, they were back in the dungeon.

    **

    Luca opened his eyes, his body alive with electricity flowing like fire. He looked down. The wounds on his chest were gone.
    “What the . . .?” Desmond said.
    Everyone was staring at Luca and Boricio in a daze of confusion, or awe, or both.  
    Boricio stared back, eyes wide and frightened. “What did you do?” he said to Luca.
    “What happened?” Brother Peter asked.
    Boricio turned to Brother Peter, and shook his head, then looked back at Luca, staring as though his gaze could solve the puzzle.
    Suddenly the door swung open, footsteps clopped down the steps, and Mary and Paola appeared, with Brother Rei behind them, holding them at gunpoint. “This shit ends now,” he said. “You are all going to tell me who is planning what, or I start shooting, starting with the children.”

    * * * *

RYAN OLSON: PART 2

    Ryan stared at his arm, watching the worm-like shapes swimming beneath his flesh.
    He pressed hard, trying to squish one of the fuckers, but it was too quick, or his skin too fleshy, to do anything but force the worm to redirect its path. There were maybe 15 or more shapes writhing beneath his skin, on his left arm alone.  
    God knows how many are inside the rest of my body.
    Panicked, Ryan moved closer to the mirror, flashing a light across his face, searching for movement. Nothing there,.
    Yet.
    He pulled his shirt up to check his chest, and nearly vomited when he saw hundreds of tiny shapes moving beneath his chest, stomach, and sides.
    “Fuck!” he screamed, feeling invaded and disgusted.  
    He felt a burning need to find something sharp to tear them from his body. Now!
    Seconds after Ryan screamed, Carmine knocked on the door, “You okay?”
    “Yeah. Just go!” Ryan said, unable to keep the escalating panic, revulsion, and rage from his voice.
    He had to do something to get these things out of his body.  
    Ryan’s disgust of insects, and anything else that slithered through dirt, was borderline phobic. The thought that these things, now splashing in the toilet, were also inside him, was too much to