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

on the large screen in front of himself, Will, and Sullivan in the control room on Level Eight; the same room they rushed inside on the early morning of October 15 when Will first told them about his dream: Something bad was about to happen.
    That was putting things mildly.
    “How many of our own people are left?” Will asked, pacing back and forth, stroking his beard.
    “Ten Guardsmen topside, five more on the mainland,” Sullivan said, looking at a computer monitor on the table, displaying a map of the island with several red dots detailing each Guardsman’s precise position, with a number assigned to each, hovering over the dots. Two dots side-by-side suddenly went dark.
    “Make that eight,” Sullivan said.
    They glanced at the monitors and saw two Guardsmen ripped into shreds by what could only be called a pack of wild mutants — running and killing together, decimating or infecting every Guardsman in their wake.
    They were down to just three Guardsmen in the Facility, protecting 15 civilians. The math was getting uglier by the minute. Ed wasn’t sure what Will was trying to calculate, and didn’t dare interrupt the man when he was working through a problem. Will was loony, but genius. If anyone could think their way out of this nightmare, it was him. Unfortunately, Will was also harder to deal with since Boricio took off. Boricio had been Will’s unofficial translator, the only person who could steer Will through some of his wackier behaviors and get him to focus on the productive stuff. Boricio also provided a much-needed buffer between Will’s sometimes gruff obtuseness and the others in the Facility.
    Will asked, “How many civilians topside on the island?”
    “I’m estimating there are 20 or so, still topside in their homes, with 35 having been brought to the mainland before the aliens crowded the dock, preventing the ferry from its safe return,” Sullivan said.
    “No sign of Dr. Williams?”
    “No,” Sullivan shook his head.
    Will continued pacing. Finally, Ed said, “Why are you asking about the number of people left?”
    “Because we need numbers on our side,” Will said, as if the answer was as obvious as daylight.
    “Why?” Ed said, glancing at Sullivan, glad to see his eyes as confused as Ed’s.
    “Because Luca’s coming back. And he’s going to need allies.”
    Ed shook his head, this shit again , then glanced at Sullivan who also looked as disappointed as Ed felt. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “And don’t say because you dreamed it.”
    Will looked at Ed, then put his fingers over his lips with a zipping gesture.
    “You dreamed it?” Ed asked, unable to control his rising temper.
    “Your son isn’t coming back,” Ed said bluntly. “He’s gone. They both are. And even if they did return, what are they going to do? Unless they bring an army, they’re as helpless as we are with our dwindling numbers. Why don’t you try to come up with something that doesn’t rely on dreams or hope, because it’s getting late and our options are running dry.”
    “They are coming back,” Will insisted.
    Ed sighed.
    Their last best hope at defeating the aliens just went full-blown senile.

    **

    Will left the control room and headed down the corridor toward the vending machine.
    Sullivan approached, glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected Will to pop back into the room at any moment. “We have to consider the Hard Reset Protocol.”
    “No,” Ed shook his head. “I’m not giving up hope. Not yet. We still have time to make a decision.”
    “No, sir, we don’t. I saw something just before you and Will came in. But I didn’t want to say anything until I showed you first.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Sullivan went to the monitor, then touched one of the squares and tapped out a sequence of four numbers.
    A moment later, the box widened taking up most of the screen, showing Camera 76, which looked out over the west side of the island’s shore. The footage was 12 hours old, from when it was still light, and showed several dark shapes dotting the water for as far as the camera could capture — about one quarter mile out.
    The shapes were moving.
    Toward the island.
    “What are those?” Ed asked.
    “Aliens.”
    Ed turned his head and squinted, his eyes straining for a better look.
    “Holy shit. They’re swimming?”
    “Yes,” Sullivan nodded.
    “There’s gotta be hundreds.”
    “Yes,” Sullivan said. “And that’s just this