Yesterday's Gone: Season Six (45 page)

Boricio didn’t miss either of them.

Boricio turned to find his next target when out of the corner of his eye he saw a big, black blur — a horse — coming right at him, with one of the bandit fuckers laughing maniacally.
 

The horse slammed into him then barreled over Boricio, trampling him as he went.

Boricio felt like he’d been hit by a truck, but there was no time to inventory aches or pains. He had to stand and fight.

But his pistol was gone.

He scanned the ground and heard galloping coming his way.

Boricio looked up in time to see that same fucker on horseback returning to finish the job.

He jumped out of the way, barely in time, and rolled to the ground.

Luck, for a change, was on Boricio’s side.

He landed right beside his pistol.

He fired at the horse’s ass — an easier target than the jockey — and watched the horse rear up with a piercing
wheeee
, sending the man from its back.

Boricio fired, missing at first, and kept squeezing the trigger until his magazine was empty and the fucker was down.

Boricio grabbed the blade at his back and spun around, searching for any asshole who wanted to step in the ring.

But the horses were all galloping off, and the bandits on foot were retreating.

Boricio laughed, dusting his hands off: a day’s work done.

He looked around for Emily, hoping she hadn’t teleported too far away.

Something moved behind him.

Boricio turned, just in time to see the bat flying at his head.

It missed, just barely, as Boricio fell to the ground.

The bandit, a giant ginger cunt of a man, swung again before Boricio could escape, hitting him hard in the ribs.

“Fuck!” Boricio screamed, and collapsed to the ground.

He flipped himself over, quickly, before Ginger Cunt could swing again.

But he wasn’t swinging.

The man leaped on top of Boricio, straddling him, trading his bat for a hammer.

As the hammer came at his face, Boricio swung his left arm up to block it then came in with his right hand, holding the blade, stabbing it straight into the man’s right arm.

Ginger Cunt screamed, yanking his arms back and dropping the hammer.

Boricio tried to retrieve his blade, but it was stuck in the man’s arm. He threw two jabs into his gut instead then reached down to squeeze the asshole’s nuts.

Ginger Cunt didn’t back down. Instead, he pulled the knife from his arm and came at Boricio’s throat.

Boricio moved quickly, almost blindly, raising his hands and seizing Ginger Cunt’s wrists, stopping the blade just inches over his chest.

They were in a mortal struggle, with Ginger Cunt pressing down with all his weight, trying to plunge the knife into Boricio.
 

His mind scrambled, searching for some way to get the fucker off of him, but Boricio couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t give the man the leverage.

Their eyes locked.

Ginger Cunt’s bloodlust was deep.

Spit flew from his mouth as he growled, pushing harder.

Boricio’s hands shook as the blade inched toward his chest.

Boricio grunted, trying to push back.

The blade pressed into his flesh.

No!

The man’s eyes went wide with shock.

He released the knife and reached up to his head, where a knife was sticking out the back of his skull.

Emily stood behind the man, staring, horrified at what she’d done.

Ginger Cunt started to rise, as if he were going to pull the blade out of his head, turn around, and stab Emily.

Boricio’s eyes spotted the fallen hammer, seized it, and brought it up fast, right into Ginger Fuck’s cheek.
 

Direct impact with his eye socket.

The man screamed, falling back and off of Boricio.

Boricio leaped to his feet and brought the hammer down again and again, smashing Ginger Fuck’s skull and face, over and over until he was sure the fucker was down, without any identifiable eyes, nose, or mouth.

Boricio’s heart raced as he turned, searching for anything else that needed a killin’.

Then he heard the loud jet-like engines above, approaching fast.

Shuttles on their way.

Soon, he and Emily would be aboard the alien ship — assuming the Guardsmen didn’t see his bloody body and take him for the threat Boricio was. In which case, he’d be put down like one of the horses.

* * * *

CHAPTER 9 — Paul Roberts

Paul watched as the shuttle doors opened and his daughter stepped out into the cargo bay, escorted by a pair of Guardsmen.

“Oh, God, Emily!” He ran and embraced her, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You’re alive!”

He kissed Emily all over her face, hugged her tighter, then pulled away, looking her up and down for signs of abuse.

“Did they hurt you? Did
he
hurt you?” Paul glared at Boricio being led from the shuttle by another two Guardsmen, hands cuffed behind his back.

Paul ran up to Boricio and got in his face. “I swear to God if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

Boricio gave him an asshole’s grin — the smug sort that said he thought Paul was all bark and no bite.

Paul would make him regret that grin.

“He didn’t do anything, Dad,” Emily whined behind him. “He wanted to return me, in exchange for the others.”

“So, how ‘bout it, Pops? You gonna let my friends go?”

Paul ignored Boricio, turned to Emily, and said, “We need to get you to medical. You must be starving, dehydrated, and sleep deprived.”

“I’m fine, Dad.”

“Just the same, you need to get to medical.” Paul needed to get Emily out of the room so he could deal with Boricio without interference.

“I’m fine.”

“Take her to medical, get a full work-up,” Paul told the two Guardsmen who escorted Emily from the shuttle.

“Yes, sir,” they said.

Emily whined about wanting to stay, but Paul didn’t have time for her mewling. She was back, and safe. These bastards would never hurt her again.

“Where do you want him?” one of the Guardsmen asked.

Before Paul could respond, Desmond emerged from the control booth, hands folded in front of him, pleased smile on his face.

“Take him to the chambers, with the others.”

Paul watched as Boricio stared Desmond down. Such hate, so powerful, Paul could feel it wafting off the man in waves.

Desmond maintained a civil smile, though Paul could see a certain glee in his eyes at capturing this particular man.

* * * *

CHAPTER 10 —
It

It
stood in The Black Room, waiting for The Leader to show himself.
It
wasn’t sure if the lack of chairs in The Black Room was a slight against
It
, or if the aliens kept the room free of chairs so as not to interfere with the energies coursing through the large circular chamber near the ship’s crown.

The Black Room was named for its utter lack of light, except for the pulsating amber selvions buried within the walls and floors in the mid and upper levels. The selvions powered everything from the created aliens like
It
and the Ferals to the starship’s organic sections.
It
was bioengineered on the aliens’ home planet but was also sentient and helped in the aliens’ replication.

It
watched the lights pulsate faster and brighter, indicating that The Leader was coming.

Its
heart raced faster.
 

The circular door slid open, and The Leader — largest and grayest of the centipede-moth creatures — entered, its spindly legs skittering along the black floor, lights pulsating beneath its body.

“Hello, Leader,”
It
greeted the creature.

I’m told you have the boy.

“Yes, he is with the other prisoners. His mouth and nose are covered so The Light cannot escape. We finally have him. We’re close to winning this war against The Light.”

And how do you plan to do this?

“We will break him or coerce him by harming, or killing, the others. Then we’ll get him to lure the Ferals into a trap. Herd them all into The Wastelands and blast that spot to hell. After that, nothing will stand in our way.”

Do you think he can lure them all? Or is this only theory?

“The collective will answer to me, and the Ferals will answer to him. Between us, we can take care of them all.”

Good. And once you’re done, I want them all in The Cell. We can’t risk The Light ever escaping.

“Of course.”

The Cell was a pit in the bottom of the ship where no energy could escape. While it would serve as a perfect prison for their enemies, The Cell would also serve
Its
ultimate goal — to somehow turn The Light and absorb it into
Itself
. Then
It
would dispose of The Leader and his ilk before they inevitably turned on
It
.

The Pruhm wanted to enslave humans, no different than they’ve been doing for millennia.
It
planned an evolutionary leap to marry the best of both species.
 

Anyone standing in
Its
way would force themselves into extinction.

* * * *

CHAPTER 11 — Boricio Wolfe

One minute, Boricio was being led away in cuffs; the next, he was waking up in some sort of pod in a long, dark chamber straight out of Hell.

He looked around, seeing the others: Brent, Teagan, the kids, and Luca. The kids were directly across from him, ready for Halloween in some sort of fucked-up masks.

“What the hell is this?” Boricio tried but failed to move in the alien marmalade.
 

Brent said, “My guess it’s some kind of system where they’re draining our energy to try and wake Luca.”

“Is he alive? He don’t look too good.”

“He woke up once but then passed right back out,” Teagan said.

Boricio looked at the kids, what he could see of their sad faces in the pods.
 

Poor bastards. What kind of fuckers do this to kids?

“How ya doing, Goonies?”

“Not good,” Ben said, voice tired, eyes lacking any sign of life.

Becca didn’t answer.

Last time Boricio had seen these kids on a trip to The Farm, they were running around, laughing, somehow finding a way to
be kids
despite living lives in an alien apocalypse. Now they seemed as broken as their parents.

Boricio said, “We’re gonna make these bitches hurt when they dookie.”

“Do you have a plan?” Teagan asked.

Boricio wasn’t sure if there were cameras, or any way to monitor them hidden among the alien flesh walls. So he winked and said, “No, but trust me. We
will
get out.”

Brent asked, “Where are the others?”

“Well, let’s see … Marina was infected and sold us out. Pretty sure she killed Barrow and Jevonne. Mary, I have no idea. Lisa either.” Boricio left out details of Lisa’s injury in case someone was listening, going right to the one that would hurt Brent and Teagan most. “And Keenan … well, he didn’t make it.”

Brent stared, tears welling in his eyes. “Dammit.”

Teagan closed her eyes. Boricio couldn’t tell if she was crying.

Becca cried, “We’re all going to die.”

Ben started crying, too.

This shit was too much for Boricio.

He didn’t know which verbal treasures were apt to calm kids, especially ones as young as these. At least he could reason with Paola. But she hadn’t been prone to crying tangents.
 

Boricio was trying to think of something a bit more inspirational than, “Kiss your asses goodbye, we’re fucked,” when the door slid open and Desmond entered the chamber.

Boricio turned to the alien cocksucker, glaring, but momentarily holding his tongue. He wasn’t sure where Emily was with her part of the plan, if she’d pulled her daddy onboard or was still aiming to kill Desmond herself. He hoped not on the latter — that was a Hail Mary and a half sorta move, and he’d made that perfectly clear.

Either way, Boricio would have to watch his lip to keep them all from getting killed. If he fucked up, then Emily’s plan would fall apart faster than a bitch agreeing to “just the tip,” whatever it was.
 

Emily’s father stood behind Desmond. Boricio wondered if she’d had a chance to talk to him, convince him to help them out. Probably not. The schlumpy fuck was frozen, staring at them all, seemingly awaiting orders like one of Hitler’s Youth.
 

Boricio tried to send another thought to Emily, wherever she was.
 

Did you talk to your daddy yet?