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

Black Pieces’ Queen into his white rook’s square.  
    Check.  
    If Will wanted everyone to know, he would have told them. There was a good reason he hadn’t, Luca was sure. Will had to know that Luca knew, too. He would’ve seen it in the dreams. Hardly a night went by that they didn’t share the same dreams.
    Luca moved his king a square to the left, then moved the Black Pieces’ bishop.
    Check.
    Unless Paola, or anyone in his new family, was in danger, Luca would stay quiet. After all, Will knew the secret, the same secret Black Pieces and The Man both knew.  
    The secret they said would change everything.  
    Luca realized he was trapped. He moved his king one final square to the left, two away from one of the Black Pieces’ more aggressive pawns.  
    Checkmate.  

    * * * *

6 - BORICIO WOLFE

    Dunn, Georgia
    March 21
    6:29 p.m.

    Boricio, Charlie, and Vic roared down the highway in what Charlie had nicknamed “The Boriciomobile” since a few minutes after it was first unveiled by Harry, their resident welder back at the compound.
    There couldn't have been too many assholes left breathing who could do what Harry could do. When it came to tricking out cars, the fucker made the impossible possible, and did it with a shit eating grin. He used to have a warehouse-sized garage in Houston, but his last customer picked up their custom Porsche Cayenne - iPad console freshly installed - on October 14. Boricio was happy to make his acquaintance about two months after that. Harry had made it to Alabama with his own pimped out Land Rover, but Boricio wanted something custom and Harry was happy to comply.
    Harry got started with a Ford Expedition chassis, then leaned on Boricio’s scribbles and profanity-filled instructions followed by hundreds of hours of welding. Boricio loved Charlie’s nickname, but insisted from day one that Harry was not building the Boricomobile.  
    Harry was building the first car they’d need; the one that was safe to travel in as a group. Now that it was finished, the real Boriciomobile was under construction – built on the body of a beautiful gloss black BMW Z8 Boricio had brought back from a luxury dealer in Montgomery. Boricio spent a lot of the seconds when he wasn’t lamenting the lack of fresh pink meat to think up new ways to make the Z8 cooler than anything that little bitch, James Bond, had ever driven. But until then, he’d stay slap happy with the current model Boriciomobile.
    The Boriciomobile I was bulletproofed from head to toe and outfitted with side mounted machine guns on each side. The car only had four homemade missiles in its rear launcher, but that was all they’d been able to make and enough to demolish anything in their way. And like they were playing an old game of Spy Hunter, the Boriciomobile had a built in oil slick that dropped a thick layer of oil on the road behind the truck, giving any dumb shit dumb enough to follow a detour onto Fuck You Road. The Boriciomobile also had a smoke screen and spiked wheels; the only thing Harry said was a no-go was the caltrops. Boricio insisted Harry figure out a way to make the spiked metal mother fuckers launch from their built-in chamber in the Expedition’s side panel, even though Harry didn’t have the springs he needed. He worked on it for two weeks straight, but Boricio finally listened to reason once Harry told Boricio that, yeah, he could eventually figure it out, but it would delay him getting started on Boricio’s Z8.  
    Boricio said, “Do the fuckers still drop?”
    Harry said, “Yeah. They’ll drop. Tear the tires behind you to shit.”
    “Well then,” Boricio winked, slapped Harry on the back, and laughed loudly. “Let’s call this project complete, fully gassed, and ready to drive 95 miles an hour to fuck-all.”

    They’d been driving all day, searching for the gang of bitches who had robbed Boricio’s boys. Boricio wanted revenge, and hell if he wasn’t happy to get the fuck out of the compound for a hunt. And a group hunt at that! Boricio hadn’t really allowed the rest of the team to see the real him, the one that killed or fucked anything he wanted. The one that would scare the shit out of all of them except maybe Vic. If he ever allowed the fully unfiltered Boricio to be seen, he could have a hard time holding onto them all. And while he had originally intended to fly solo in the post-apocalypse, he was sort of enjoying this new role as leader. Plus, given enough time, they