by Sean Platt
“So, can I get home?” Charlie asked.
Boricio said, “No.”
“Why not?” Charlie said, almost whining.
“Because you’re infected. If you go over there, this could spread. Then it would wipe out your planet like it did mine.”
“So, what will it take to cure me?” Charlie asked.
“We’re working on that. With your help, perhaps we can figure this out.”
Boricio put his hand on the pad outside the door and opened it for Charlie. “You’re not going to do anything stupid again, are you?”
“No,” Charlie said.
“Good, I would like to show you something so you can understand what we’re up against.”
Boricio led Charlie down the hallway and out the door. He watched as they passed two Guardsmen. “Have someone mop up that mess in there, eh?” hazmat-suit Boricio said to the two men, referring to Foster’s corpse.
Four other doors were on either side of the hall, then another at the end, which looked like an elevator. They turned through the first door to the right, then walked up a steep incline along a narrow but well-lit hallway until they came to another door, to a room that — if Charlie had been charting the course correctly in his head — was directly above, or close to above, his own cell block.
The room was dark until Boricio said, “Lights.”
Lights illuminated the cell block. It was smaller than his own, with two glass cells, one of them empty. The other held a mutant, equal parts human and monster — legs were human, one arm a clawed appendage, his torso appeared split almost down the middle between human and black, monstrous flesh. His face, however, was entirely human. He opened his eyes, weary, and dull.
“Hello, Ryan,” Boricio said. “How are you today?”
“Today’s been a bad one,” Ryan said, his voice full of gravel. “Who’s this?”
“This is Charlie Wilkens. And he might save your life. Or,” Boricio said as he turned to Charlie, “Ryan might be the end of yours.”
Twenty-Nine
Mary Olson
Mary was shocked.
Maybe shocked wasn’t enough. Dumfounded might be better.
She held the spaghetti in her mouth, almost scared to chew too fast and miss a detail of flavor.
The pasta in her mouth wasn’t just the best she’d had since October; it was the best meal she’d had period. And the aroma reminded her of a small Italian restaurant she used to eat at, which served the best food ever. And seeing how Boricio had “exactly dick and six curly ball hairs to work with,” the dish was that much more amazing.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” she asked Boricio.
He shoveled a full fork, twisted full of pasta, into his mouth, then answered. Red-stained spittle slurred his speech. “I went to the Institute of Culinary Education in New York,” he said. “Spent six years perfecting my craft.”
“Really?” Mary was shocked. Paola and Luca both looked up from their plates, their faces as filled with surprise as she imagined hers was.
Boricio cackled then slapped the table. “Fuck no. Boricio don’t need no Rachel Ray to show him how to rip shit the fuck up. I learned how to cook by loving my taste buds like they were a perfect pair of titties, and I learned to cook by working in a million and one restaurants, making everything from grilled cheese to arepas.”
“Arepas?” Paola said, before Mary could. “What’s that?”
Boricio lit up. “Shit, girl, your tongue is a crap pile until it’s tasted an arepa. They’re these corn-dough patties. Least that’s the canvas. Cheese and tomato and avocado and meats; shredded chicken, carnitas, steak; that’s all the paint. The dish is Venezuelan, and the most beautiful thing about the country outside of the bi ... the boobies.” He smiled and took another bite of spaghetti and smiled.
“You’ve never been to Venezuela have you?” Mary asked.
“Do you need to see a pile of shit to know it stinks?”
Mary was as shocked to find herself enjoying the last few verbal spars with Boricio as she was by the quality of his cooking. While she didn’t ever expect to lose the edge she felt while around him — or the anger for what he’d done — at the moment Mary thought Boricio seemed more loud than dangerous.
She opened her mouth to challenge him, but was cut off by a sudden roar of motorcycles from outside. Boricio’s fork clattered on his plate, and he bolted from the table, his back against the wall and his finger lifting the curtain as he peered outside a second later.
“Get the fuck on the floor,” Boricio barked. “All of you!”
They all hit the floor, Paola assisting Luca. Mary said, “What is it?”
“Looks like we have ourselves an intruder alert at Boricio’s Clubhouse,” he said. “Too bad we can’t call in G.I. Fucking Joe.” Boricio clucked his tongue. “Ain’t no never mind. Looks like there’s four of them, and even with two bleeders and a feeb, that seems like an even match for Team Boricio.” He looked back out the window and whooped. “Holy shit, one of them thinks he’s King Fucking Arthur!”
“What do you mean?” Mary whispered, her heart hammering inside her chest.
Boricio was crazy enough to wear a smile.
“Three of them fuckers are smart enough to come packing, two with sawed offs and another with what looks like a .45, though I’m not sure from here. But the biggest fucker is wearing a sword on his back like he’s goddamned He-Man!”
Boricio laughed again.
One of the bikes went quiet, then the other three followed, seconds apart. Boricio pulled his head from the window, dropped to a crouch, then started to whisper. “All right, Team Boricio, it’s showtime. I’m gonna need you to hightail it upstairs and stay up there until I deal with the Dreadnoks. Take your guns but stay away from the windows. Keep your backs to the wall and shoot any fucker who comes into the room, in case something happens to me outside — which it won’t.”
Boricio paused, then added, “They’ll be handing Pluto back its planetary status before four dumb bitches on bikes can fuck with ole Boricio.”
“We have guns,” Mary said. “Why don’t we just shoot them from inside?”
“I shouldn't have to explain myself while death is waiting to be dealt outside, so I’ll just say this once and hope you’ve got your listening cap turned to high, Miss Mary.” He took another quick look outside, then turned his eyes to the three of them on the floor. “Never mind. They’re about to come inside this house. You all need to scoot your asses upstairs — right fucking now. And get your guns ready!”
Without another word, Boricio kicked open the front door, then went outside and hollered, “Well hello there, weary travelers, welcome to Motel Boricio where roaches check in, but they don’t fucking check out!” Mary pictured him spreading his arms like wings and twirling around.
“Come on!” she whispered, crawling toward the stairs while Luca and Paola crawled behind her. She paused at the first step, waiting for Paola and Luca. Paola went up the stairs first, then Luca. Mary followed behind. By the time they were upstairs, peeking out the window like Boricio told them not to, Mary could clearly see that Boricio was even crazier than she thought.
He was surrounded by a semicircle of four men, who all looked like they were from that Mel Gibson movie from the ‘80s that she couldn’t remember the name of — the one from back when Mel Gibson was handsome and not yet crazy. Like Boricio had said, all four men were armed, three with guns, while the tallest, largest, and obvious leader wore a sword in a scabbard at his back.
Boricio said, “I’ll admit, since I don’t have much company these days, I’m easily flattered. But I also have to confess to all sorts of warm fuzzies seeing as how you could smell Boricio’s Famous Sloppy Spaghetti from whatever side of Mad Max Island you’ve all come riding in from.”
Mad Max, that was it!
The leader grunted into Boricio’s bravado. “How many people are in the house?” he snarled.
Boricio laughed. “Ah, I wish
there was more than just me, because I tell you what,” Boricio leaned closer to the leader in a growling whisper that was loud enough for Mary to hear, upstairs and behind a window, “man, woman, or something with fur, it’d be nice to give ole Rosy Palms a break. But sadly for me, my many calluses and our bottle of Jergens, it’s just us.”
“Bullshit,” the leader said. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, how many people you have in the house?” He pulled his sword from its scabbard and waved it in front of Boricio.
“Ha,” Boricio cried. “Aren’t you gonna say, ‘I have the power’? That’s how He-Man does it, you know.”
Mary might have laughed if she wasn’t terrified; half certain they were minutes from dead. He may have been scarier than the Boogeyman himself, but Mary had to admire Boricio’s unvarnished grit.
The leader growled, and it looked like he was about to start swinging his sword, when Boricio took a giant step back and said, “Wait!”
Boricio held his hands high in the air. “Now, not to alarm you,” he said, “but I’m gonna reach behind my back and pull out my Beretta. Then I’m going to set it right here on the driveway. If I point it at you, or make a move that looks like it has a ball hair of danger, I grant you full permission to open fire on my stupid ass. And you can keep pulling the trigger until I finally stop twitching. If not, then let me set my gun on the ground so you can give me a minute of your time.”
Boricio didn’t wait for anyone to agree, just reached his hands behind his back and pulled out the gun like it wasn’t suicide, then set it flat on the ground like he said he would.
“Now,” he said. “You strike me as a smart bunch of young men. And since you’re smart men with intelligent transportation and a brilliant set of weapons,” Boricio grinned and nodded his way from the pistol to the shotguns, then back to the sword in the middle, “I figured you might appreciate a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join Team Boricio.” He waited for a second then added, “So, what do you say?”
All four looked confused. The leader looked like he was seconds from lobbing Boricio’s head off and into the garden.
Mary’s heart continued to race. She wanted Boricio to take a step back, so he was at least clear from the sword’s orbit, but she knew Boricio well enough even after only a few days to know that in his mind even a small step back was retreat, and retreat was a recipe Boricio would never cook.
“I can see your confusion,” he went on. “And I don’t want you to be confused, so I’ll explain.” Boricio cleared his throat. “Team Boricio is the winning team at the finish line of the world, and I’m the team captain.”
Boricio’s back was to Mary, but she could picture him beaming, and was pretty sure he was pointing at his chest. Why the three men with guns hadn’t opened fire on him already was beyond her. Then again, it was beyond her how they could circle so calmly around Boricio, with none of them seeming to worry whether there might be people at the windows with guns, waiting to shoot. Like they should be doing now.
“So, I’m giving you one chance to join.” Boricio turned from the leader to his men on either side and added, “Now, I’m not asking you to overthrow nothing. This isn’t a mutiny in motion. I’m just letting you know your options, and seeing if maybe you want to take advantage, and join right now while we’re still offering a free membership package.”
Mary looked to Paola and Luca, who both looked as amazed as she was. How Boricio could keep the men from killing him, simply by spouting sentence after sentence of uncut nonsense was simply astonishing.
Boricio had no weapon, and all of them were armed. And she had no idea what his plan might be. Short of a miracle, Boricio was seconds from dead, and the three of them were minutes behind, if lucky.
“First thing I’m gonna do is cut your tongue out,” the leader said, finally speaking.
Boricio hollered. “Woo-hoo! Now that’s what I’m talking about. That’s exactly the sort of initiative I’m looking for with new recruits. Now,” he shook his head, “don’t get me wrong. I do understand why you wouldn’t want to surrender your leadership role, and I also get how your ‘boys on the side’ there might not realize how it’s in their best interest to join me, so I propose a little battle between us.”
The leader raised his eyebrows. Mary might not have seen it all the way from the second floor if it wasn’t right above the obvious scrunch in his nose.
“You three cowboys can keep your guns all aimed on me, while He-Man and I punch shit out. If I win, all four of you become proud members of Team Boricio.” He smiled over at the leader. “You can be the General, or maybe we’ll make up a title if you’d prefer, like Cobra Commander or Optimus Prime or some shit. If I lose, then I’ll join your team, Team Taco, or whatever the fuck it’s called. You can pick my team name, though I rather like Boricio. Destro would be cool. I also like my last name, Wolfe, like the thing that can rip your throat out while growling, but with an E.”
Boricio paused, and Mary was certain the next thing she’d hear was his final cry as the leader’s sword separated his neck and throat. There was nothing but one bird answering another until Boricio spoke again about 20 seconds later.
“I imagine you’re probably thinking that your little foursome is a perfect set, ready for all four corners of the blanket; I can promise Boricio is an asset to any picnic. In this particular instance, I can promise you some nicely gift wrapped, sweet pink meat. And by gift wrap I mean panties, in case it’s been so long that you didn’t know what I meant by the meat. Now I know I said it was just me and Rosy, but I was lying. I’ve actually got two peaches in my garden, one that’s nice and soft and another that’s not quite ripe. Not my taste, but I’ll let your tongue be the judge.”
Mary felt a sudden flush of fresh hate race through her body. Luca put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “He’s just going fast enough to keep them from thinking.”
The four bikers all started laughing. The leader dropped his sword to the ground, then took a step toward Boricio and swung. Boricio dodged what Mary thought seemed like a surprisingly slow throw, then took a step back and said, “I suggest we move over yonder so we have ample room to brawl.”
Boricio nodded at the gunpowder trio, said, “You guys can keep your guns pointed on me,” then turned to the leader and pointed over toward a spot by the garden about 50 feet away. “We’ll take this over there.”
The leader nodded, then headed toward the clearing. Boricio followed, then turned back, and for one half a second, when nobody else was looking, turned his eyes to Mary’s window and winked.
Mary didn’t believe she could read Boricio’s mind, but her usual knowing was spoken in Boricio’s voice.
It’s just like shooting bottles from the fucking fence. Even your sweet, little lamb can do it. But not Rip Van Creepy. The kick’ll be too much. The two of you will do fine.
Paola knew what they were about to do before Mary said a word. “I’m ready, Mom,” she said.
“You make your momma wait this long before you fuck her?” Boricio said, dancing from side to side around the leader.
The leader roared, then charged at Boricio, landing an easy blow to the side of his head that Mary was positive he could have avoided. Boricio moved like a cat even when he was going slowly.
The leader tackled Boricio, and they tumbled to the ground in a ballet of fists as they rolled across the grass.
“Ready?” Mary said. Paola nodded as Luca crawled toward the corner. Mary stood, opened the windows. There were no screens to get out of the way — just nice open space to fire.
Distracted by the brawl, the three bikers never saw the shots coming as Mary and Paola fired at them.
All three painted the ground in crimson before managing to fire a single shot. Boricio started to cackle, taking control of the scuffle by climbing on top of the leader’s body and launching both of his fists repeatedly into the man’s pasty face.
Boricio climbed from the leader’s crumpled body, then turned
his face to the window. “Woo-hoo!!!” he screamed. “Too bad every fire department in creation is on permanent retirement, because Team Boricio is on fucking fire!”
He looked down at the leader’s face, then pointed and laughed, turning back to the window. “Looks like Boricio’s Famous Sloppy Spaghetti!”
The leader started squirming on the ground. To Mary’s horror, she found herself hoping Boricio would do exactly what he did a moment later.
Boricio walked over to the leader’s sword, picked it up from the concrete while wearing a giant smile, then walked back to the body and thrust the blade deep into the leader’s chest.
“One hundred thousand sperm in your daddy’s shot, and you were the fastest?” Boricio howled as a fountain of blood erupted from the leader’s twitching body.
Boricio turned back to the house and took a bow for his audience.
Thirty
Other Ed Keenan
Ed raced along the dirt road leading to the north side of the island. The moment Sullivan said the infected had been seen in the north end, Ed knew where he had to go: the old monastery tucked inside the woods. He doubted the infected would have gone there — not on their own, anyway — but Williams would have. It was the oldest structure on the island and a historic destination back when the island was public.
It was the only other place on the island not monitored by Guardsmen. Most newcomers wouldn’t even think to look there, let alone know it existed, which gave Williams the perfect reason to go.
He had gone rogue. The question was — why? Had he been infected, or did Williams now feel differently about their research? He knew Williams and Will had gone head to head a few times during the past few years, most notably following what happened last summer. Whatever the case, the doctor was the most likely suspect in the escape of the infected. Ed prayed he hadn’t gone after Will Bishop.
