Boricio Goes Camping (Dark Crossings) by Sean Platt & David Wright

Author:Sean Platt & David Wright [Platt, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Collective Inkwell
Published: 2015-02-24T05:00:00+00:00

**

There were plenty of things Boricio enjoyed as much as or more than the open road, but most were available when on it, and nowhere else was the scent of freedom so strong. Any asshole could have a sack of problems strapped to their back, give that asshole a full tank and five 20s, and those problems were halfway to solved.

Boricio rarely drove anywhere straight. It always took him longer to go wherever he went, but he figured that helped him stay invisible. As always, Boricio sidetracked and lingered as he followed his nose to Colorado. He was a rambler and had driven the states since he could, but the impossible had happened a couple of Octobers before and changed the meaning of empty. Boricio couldn’t drive through any sort of lonely sprawl without remembering the other world’s vacuum, and his old craving to hunt in a world of scarce prey. The feeling was worst in western Kansas, after Boricio found himself barreling down a narrow dirt road, flanked on both sides by towering trees haunting the black sky above. Boricio was trying to see a dick hole in the dark, peering through the windshield at the blackness as it draped the world outside in its neverending blanket.

Boricio finally fled the thin strip of nothing and returned to the highway, slipping in between the red and white of two cars, the pair of them helping him to forget the other world and Luca, Brother Rei, Prophet, Charlie, and Adam and all of the rest of everything else, though it was hard to bury those thoughts entirely on his way to help Mary and Paola.

Boricio was exhausted, but wanted to keep driving. To stop in the dark with his heart beating fast was in a way conceding defeat. And Boricio wasn’t willing to do that. He would make it into the city’s edge, then stop and sleep for a few hours before finishing his business.

Mary was at some weekend survivalist thing, and taking Paola to a kid’s wilderness camp they were holding next door, for all the kids of all the survivalist wackos. Paola said the timing was perfect, there was no way they’d be around. Boricio figured she was right, and that he’d be in and out like a quickie, and leave with a smear at the end just the same.

Boricio paid for a room in the first place that looked like they kept shit records — those sort of places were easy to spot — then slept until the sun was just high enough in the sky to start spreading her legs.

He stopped into the nearest diner that looked good enough to give him what he wanted, ordered a scrambler plus the tortilla to wrap it in, and headed toward Fairfield, where the diddler made his home.

Hank Carol had spent three years in prison for kiddy diddling, but was let out early, apparently so he could do it again. Kiddy diddlers were always fun to kill because they deserved it like a whore deserved herpes and because Boricio barely had to clean up.

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