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

know,” Paola said, then went into the story about how Luca had come to them at the Drury; how he’d saved her and, in the process, had aged. And then aged again when he saved Scott.
    “I feel something special with him because he was in here,” Paola said, pointing to her head. “He saved me and we got to be good friends. I like him a lot. He’s the sweetest kid. But I don’t like like him.”
    She wasn’t sure if she was convincing on that last part, either to Rebecca or herself.
    Rebecca stared, “That is so weird. What did he do to heal you? It sounds like a miracle!”
    “I don’t know how it works. He doesn’t either. He was as surprised as anyone when he did it.”
    “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Rebecca said, staring up at the ceiling, as if pondering His powers.
    Paola stared too, thinking not about the Lord, but rather, Luca. In the past two days, she’d hardly seen him at all, and she was surprised by how much she missed him. Perhaps it was just as well, though. Truth was, in his last transformation, he’d gone from an awkward kid who looked close to her age to an older teen who was a hunk. If she’d just met him, she’d be all jelly inside just looking at him. But knowing him as she did made her feel weird, something between a crush and how a sister feels about a brother. The mix of the two feelings was confusing. She was half drawn to and half repulsed by Luca. She’d never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, and she didn’t want either feeling leaking out to Luca. What was happening to him wasn’t his fault, after all.
    “He wants me to meet him,” Rebecca said, seemingly out of the blue.
    At first Paola thought she meant Luca. She asked, “Huh? Who wants to meet you?”
    “Carl. He found me after dinner tonight, and said he wanted to meet me by the creek, where there’s a rope swing. Have a picnic.”
    “Ooh, are you gonna go?”
    “I don’t know. My mother would kill me if she found out.”
    “Well, you’ve gotta make sure she doesn’t find out,” Paola said.
    “I don’t even know if that’s possible in this place. There’s guards all over, and everybody know’s everybody’s business.”
    “Well, he must think there’s some way you two can sneak off if he’s asking, right? Maybe he’s in with the guards or something and has a plan?”
    “You think?”
    “He must have something in mind if he asked,” Paola said.
    Discussion quickly dimmed, and Paola was soon sound asleep and dreaming of Luca. Again.

    * * * *

5 - BORICIO WOLFE

    Dunn, Georgia
    March 22
    3:20 a.m.

    Boricio slipped from the house and into the garage, quietly, but with just a fraction of his usual bounce. He didn’t want anyone waking, but fuck them and the Apocalypse that made this shit a reality show if they wanted to stop him. Boricio eased the unfinished Z8 from the garage, quietly drove out and to the edge of the compound, then down a winding half mile where he finally pressed the pedal as far as it would go.  
    Hunting time.  
    It had been too long since he’d seen a fucker’s head roll for the grease and grins of it. Sure, they’d taken care of the bikers nice and proper, but that was business. And there wasn’t no pussy worth taking; well, not without causing a scene. Hopefully, a hunt would give him a nice store of pink meat. Given the slim pickings of late, Boricio was starting to worry he might never see another woman worth fucking. But the warehouse gave him hope that there were more out there, hiding and waiting to be found.
    If he didn’t get off soon, he might not be able to restrain himself from the pussy back home.
    Watching Callie pirouette across the house in those tiny shorts, looking like the cover of Low Rider , transformed the hangout into the hard-on hotel. Ain’t no way he was gonna be around that another 10 minutes without wanting to slam the Tampon Tunnel with the Boricio Express. And once the Borico Express was booked, you could bet the ball sack and both balls in it that shit arrived on schedule.  
    Callie would like the Boricio Express just fine; the problem was that cock blocker, Charlie.  
    Boricio fucked like he cooked: better, spicier, and with thicker broth than any mother fucker within a 400 mile radius. Callie might not like it at first because it wasn’t her idea. But if he forced her to start sucking at sundown, she’d be lapping up fourths by sunrise and panting for fifths – you could bet your ball sack and both balls