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

“What’s happening? Why is the ferry out there?”
    “The island is on lockdown. Two infected subjects have broken free from the Facility.”
    “Hold on,” Ed said, waving for Bishop to join them. “This is Boricio Bishop, Will Bishop’s son, who I was tasked with bringing back here. Please start from the beginning.”
    “The island is on lockdown. Two infected subjects broke out of the Facility and have infected, and taken control of, several Guardsmen and civilians. We believe Dr. Williams may be involved in the breakout. We evacuated one group of people to the mainland; they’re harbored back in the restaurant, but when we went back for more, several of the infected were waiting, blocking access to the docks. It’s like they’re working together.”
    “What’s the status of Keenan and Will Bishop?” Ed asked.
    “They’re secure in the Facility, along with some others.”
    “What about my brother, Luca?” Bishop said.
    “Luca?” the Guardsman said, his face confused. “Oh, the kid. No, no word on him. We’ve got his picture and have been told to keep a lookout, but no one’s reported anything.”
    Brent started to ask about Jane and Emily, but Ed cut him off, asking the Guardsmen, “You have a radio? I need you to get Keenan on the line.”
    “Yes, Sir,” the Guardsman nodded, then handed him the two-way radio.
    A gunshot split the moment of silence in the moment that Ed was taking the radio into his hand.
    Brent spun around to see the girl, Paola, now out of the other van, firing her pistol a second time. Fifty yards off, coming out of the very house Brent and Luis had stayed in a lifetime ago — the one with the car through the hole in the wall — an alien fell to the ground.
    Another five — aliens and mutants both, though they looked more or less the same the further they were into their mutations — charged toward them, shrieking and clicking.
    Wolfe fired next, dropping two aliens in two shots. Callie and Mary stepped forward, both firing. Charlie, looked down at his pistol, clearly confused, then lifted and fired at the aliens as well. Brent wasn’t sure whose shots hit and whose missed, but they’d killed the last of the aliens before Charlie even raised his gun. At least that’s what Brent thought in the following silence, as their eyes passed in a circle of congratulatory relief.
    A sudden shriek from Paola ended the quiet.
    More aliens poured into the street from the south and west. At least a hundred appeared, likely more, all moving slowly as though trying to untangle their next move — or waiting for instructions.
    “Run!” someone yelled.
    “This way!” Ed shouted, pointing toward the Boardwalk Diner & Cafe, where one of the Guardsmen who greeted them was already banging on a corrugated metal sheet covering the entrance. Brent saw that all the windows and doors were shuttered in metal sheets — a shelter they must’ve set up before they started their evacuation, since he didn’t recall seeing it the first time he’d been to the docks.
    Paola started shooting at the aliens as if her gun had infinite ammo. But her shots only angered the aliens. They started moving faster and with a bit more clarity, shrieking and clicking. Mary, sensing her daughter’s danger, spun around and joined the girl in shooting the aliens.
    Wolfe appeared between them, yelling, “Come on! We can’t shoot them all!”
    They turned, then sprinted toward the restaurant, as Brent and Ed helped assure Luca would make it.
    Once they were all inside the restaurant, a Guardsman slammed the door behind them, then locked it by sliding a bar into a metal brace, attached to the inside of the door, wedged against either side of the door frame. The dining hall was dimly lit by several portable lanterns, cloaking most of the 40 or so people in shadows.
    Brent expected the aliens to rush the building to try and break in. But only quiet followed, as if they’d decided not to pursue, or perhaps had already tried to breach the barrier before but had no luck. Maybe , Brent thought with a sick in his stomach, they’re just waiting us out.
    Brent turned and scoured the room, searching for Jane and Emily. Men, women, and a few kids sat at tables scattered around the restaurant, huddled together in separate groups of two, three, and up to five. Some were eating, but most were simply speaking in whispers, perhaps discussing what might happen next.
    Not able to tell who was who among the shadows, Brent