Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

right?”
    Luca swallowed, then slowly nodded.
    “Think about it, man. Do you really want to be any older than that? One more time with you raining sunlight, or whatever the fuck it is you do, and you’re gonna be old enough to cash all the social security checks you ain’t never gonna get. One after that, and you’re a bad cough from lining a coffin ain’t no one gonna lay you in. If you’re gonna save the girl no matter what, and I can see by staring at that too stupid to know what the fuck you’re doing face of yours that you’re going to, then fine, save your girl and let’s get the fuck outta’ here. But do not save Mary.”
    Luca shook his head. “I can’t do that, Mr. Boricio. I have to save Rebecca, and Mary.”
    Boricio shook his head, though he wanted to shake Luca, at least long enough to rattle a lick of sense to the center of his insides. Not enough beatings in his life had clearly turned the Tiny Tim half-stupid.
    “Listen man, I’m serious.” Boricio held his hands in the air. “No ulterior motives. Honest injun and all that shit.” He made the peace sign. “I think you should put yourself first for a second. It isn’t like you’re going around chopping fuckers up. They’re already dead. You’re not making them any deader than they’d be without you.”
    “Sorry, Mr. Boricio,” Luca said again, still shaking his head, like he didn’t know how to do anything else. He turned from the car, went to Mary’s body, then knelt on the ground beside her. Luca ran his hands along Mary’s face, then over her hair as he stared at her. After what seemed like a surprisingly long time, Luca finally closed his eyes and started rocking slowly back and forth.
    Probably in the woman’s head. Like he was in mine. And now I’m fucking broken. Boricio don’t like to be broken.
    Her eyes fluttered and her lip twitched. Then her right hand spasmed, followed almost immediately by her left. She started to murmur.
    Luca stood up, his head down, and walked toward the stairs leading up to the basement, his head in his hands. Boricio couldn’t see his face, but he looked to be crying. Boricio looked away from Luca and back to Mary and Paola, who were hugging one another.
    “Oh my God,” Mary cried. “Is everything okay?” She lifted her head and looked around. “What happened?”
    She was pinching her eyes as though that made remembering shit faster.
    Paola said, “We’re going to be okay. Luca saved us!”
    Mary turned to Luca, who was still turned away from the group. “Thank you,” she said. She swallowed, then said, “You’ve helped us more times than I can count.”
    Luca nodded, though he was turned away from them still.
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    Luca nodded. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, turning to them.
    Mary and Paola both gasped. Boricio stared in disbelief. Luca had aged a hell of a lot more than he should have. The pepper was all gone. Luca’s whiskers were pure white, everywhere on his face, and long. His hair wasn’t quite as white, more of a dirty silver gray, hanging slightly past the tips of his shoulders, and spilling toward his chest along both the front and back.
    He looked close to 90.
    “What?” Luca asked, his voice creaking.
    Boricio went over to Luca and helped him up the steps and back to the car to see his reflection.
    Luca’s eyes widened in disbelief.
    Boricio stayed silent, letting Luca go toe-to-toe with the truth. Finally, Luca couldn’t take it anymore. His bottom lip started to tremble and both of his eyelids started to twitch. His shoulders rose, then fell, then rose higher. For a second, the old kid looked as if he would manage to gather his strength and force the moment to pass. But he didn’t, or couldn’t, and collapsed into tears instead.
    It was a heaving heap of horrible shit, watching the man-kid cry. Part of Boricio wanted to slap the crying right out of him, maybe even kill him to shut him the fuck up. But those impulses were faded, barely there, and far from doing a titty dance like they’d done for Boricio’s entire goddamn life.
    It was the weirdest fucking thing in the world, but Boricio couldn’t deny it — he was tuned into the pain. Like when some asshole’s stomach growls and you feel hungry, or how when a bitch yawns in line it would make you yawn too.
    That’s what Boricio felt as he stared at the old man in front of him crying, staring at the mirror like it showed anything more than a Santa without any