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

the fourth soldier before sending an unnecessary bullet into the fifth Charlie had already finished.  
    “Well lookie who’s been learning to bulls-eye something besides Callie’s face,” Boricio said, slapping Charlie hard on the back. Charlie grunted and turned to the warehouse.  
    Boricio had called dibs on “whichever fucker was stupid enough to talk into a walkie talkie.” Vic and Charlie were silent as he took careful aim.
    Boricio pulled the trigger and the walkie talkie flew to the concrete, followed a second later by its handler. The scream was deafening as the team leader’s kneecap shattered, pooling the already bloody parking lot with a new, wider river of blood. Boricio pulled the trigger again, turning the guard’s hand into a sloppy slab of meat. Boricio started to laugh. “You see that fucker flapping like his hand was made of fish. That’s what happens to stupid fuckers who start shit they don’t know how to finish.”    
    Boricio was cut off by the sudden screeching of monsters, clicking in deafening waves surging toward the still screaming cars and crashing through the center gate of the warehouse, which the dead bikers had left open.
    “Ramblers, let’s ramble,” Boricio said, pointing to the Boriciomobile.  
    A whole lot of pants must’ve been meeting a whole lotta shit from behind the warehouse walls, judging by the way the bikers started pouring out the open bay door. And they were armed a lot more elegantly than Boricio expected: Agrams and Bruggers and Hecklers; expensive foreign shit Boricio hadn’t expected to see in the sticks.
    Boricio gunned the engine and rolled down the ravine, smashing through the chain link fence surrounding the warehouse before plowing into the warehouse door, which crumpled like a beer can beneath a boot.  
    “Well, how about that,” Boricio screamed, “they sure don’t build shit like they used to.” Boricio laughed to himself, slapped his knee, then revved the engine in reverse, running down a pair of the monsters, tearing their leather with a sickening THWTHWIIIPSH.
    “The fuck you pureed pussy meat waiting for?” Boricio yelled. “Shoot some fuckers!”
    Vic and Charlie lowered their windows and fired their guns, barely taking aim. Monsters and soldiers dropped into piles while Boricio continued to laugh, firing the side machine guns until they were empty, then launching a missile into an adjoining garage just because he could. He would’ve sent the missile sailing straight into the warehouse, but he didn’t know if there was a prize inside the box and didn’t want to ruin it if there was.
    “Stop!” Charlie yelled, pointing out the window to a huddle of three women and several more children hunched low and moving fast behind the smoke to count. They were headed toward the tree-line. “There are children out there,” he said. “We don’t kill kids. We can’t kill kids.”  
    “Kids ain’t nothing but future adults waiting for pubes. That makes them early bird fucking specials.”
    Charlie said nothing. Boricio ignored the huddle, parked the truck, and jumped from the cabin of the Boriciomobile. The three of them stood, guns raised, waiting for more men to come pouring out of the warehouse, which was now burning. Dark smoke began to billow out and Boricio smiled, “That ought to drive the rats out.”
    A figure appeared in the smoke, then rushed out of it and toward them.
    It was an eight year old boy, rushing the three of them, waving a Beretta in the air. Boricio, without hesitation, pulled the trigger on his .45 and sent the eight year old into a bloody skid along the cement floor. He turned to Charlie. “See that shit? He was gonna shoot me! There’s your fucking kids for ya.”
    Boricio went back to the car, fished out his megaphone, turned it on and spoke into it.
    “Bring me One-Eyed Willy or I’m gonna shoot every one of you fuckers in there. And I ain’t gonna save you a trip to the Pearlies just because you ain’t voted or you happen to be wearing a pussy in your panties. My bullets will fuck your shit up with equal opportunity, and that’s as real as the cousins you think about while fucking your brothers.”  
    Flames licked the warehouse walls, causing many of the monsters to flee the warehouse and run back into the woods.
    “You’re running shy on time,” Boricio said. “There’s only one way out that ain’t got monsters waiting, and that’s the front door. And I’m gonna shoot every last