In the Black Rose Bar, we aren't the only survivors.

The owner, Charles, slams his fist against a button on the wall. As the thick metal shutter deploys and falls automatically, we assist him and a brunette woman—presumably his wife from the couple rings they are wearing—by pushing whatever furniture we can find in the bar against the entrance, hoping that it might help to shield us from the creatures in case they breach through our first line of defense.

A poster on the wall catches my attention. "Need a break? Have a beer. Want to forget? Have another beer."

I scoff at it. Yep, I definitely need a beer and a break from all this madness.

Ella, Leo and Avery... Everything is just a poor joke. I want to wake up from this nightmare and see my relatives and friends alive again. I want to hear their voices, laughter, and have us all hanging out again like good old times.

But those days are gone.

This is now our reality.

Mom is a regular customer at this bar and often brings her clients here. "Charles," she says breathlessly. Her voice is full of immense gratitude. "Thanks for taking us in."

"No need to thank me. It's much safer here than outside," he answers hoarsely, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. He whisks us all to the basement of his bar, where it opens up to a vast wine cellar. The sudden cold air sends a shiver through my body. The temperature is perhaps below 20 degrees, but it's not surprising since it's being used to store and age wine.

"We can hide in here for the time being. This place is used to store our perishables and wine," Charles explains. "Our staff would spend their breaks here, and sometimes, overnight if they needed to."

"Wait." I pause in my steps. Anxiety and worry pulse through my veins at the thought of the bloodshed happening outside. "Aren't–aren't we going to help others like us? There are several people out there, waiting to be saved."

Charles's face tightens with pain and remorse. "Sorry, young lady. If we open that door upstairs, we will all die. Trust me."

I gnaw on my bottom lip. He's not wrong, but I can't help feeling guilty for being safe inside here while everybody is dying outside. The brief silence that we four share between us is grave and profound until Charles clears his throat loudly.

He pats my shoulder lightly. "Look, I'm trying my best to house as many survivors as I can while we figure out this shit. You ladies are the last pair. The rest of them are holding out in the back room. Emily, can you lead the way?"

"Of course." The woman gives us an uneasy smile. No doubt she's trying to rein in her fear and remain calm despite what's happening out there. "Follow me."

We head to the back room, where it's slightly warmer. Just like Charles has mentioned, Mom and I are the last additions to our group. A quick count tells me there are nine of us stranded together—four men, three women, me and a young kid who doesn't look any older than seven years old. All of them are covered in sweat, grime or blood from our run.

All of us huddle in our little groups, shaken and fearful. The child's crying, the women are sniffing and the men are frightened and edgy. Neither of us understands what is happening around the town and the sudden attack from the seas.

We need answers, but where can we find them?

A tall, dark-skinned man with thick bands of muscles breaks the silence first, crossing his arms as he speaks. He looks to be in his thirties, and his physique is like those MMA fighters that we see on TV.

"Anybody care to explain what's going on?"

Charles answers him quickly. "Beats me too. Those things swarmed the streets in no time."

A second man steps forward. His facial features bear an uncanny resemblance to the first man from before, but he's a lot less intimidating. Brothers, I assume. "This is batshit crazy," he remarks. "Now we have evolved sea aliens chasing after our asses. Did you see that enormous catfish snapping at me earlier? With legs."

His brother pulls him back into his initial spot. "Matteo."

Matteo shrugs and retreats to the wall. Charles steps into the center of the room with Emily backing him up. Or more like sticking close to him for comfort.

He stares at each of us slowly with a somber, pained expression.

"This place may be a bit of a squeeze," he says, "but I hope we can all accommodate one another until we hear from the authorities before deciding on our next course of action. Also, keep your voices down. We don't want to attract those things again."

The last man, the one who's holding onto his wife and child, thanks him. "Thank you, Charles. You're a life savior. We wouldn't have known what to do without you."

All of us offer our words of gratitude as well until Charles holds up a hand to stop us. "You're welcome. I would have done that for anyone," he smiles weakly. "Emily, can you bring out the first aid kit? Roxie's little girl is bleeding."

His eyes zeroes in on me, especially on my injured arm. Immediately, everyone follows his line of sight and stares at me.

My fists clench tight, and my nails dig into my skin painfully. "I'm okay," I breathe. My voice comes out more stable than I thought, even though I'm falling apart on the inside. "I will not die from this. Besides, I'm not the only one who's injured."

I gesture to everyone, knowing that most of us suffered from scratches. Even the kid's knees are scraped and bleeding.

All of us check our conditions. Emily rushes off to get the first aid box, whereas Mom is forcing me to the floor. "Sit down, Delia. We need to clean your wounds. The last thing we want is for you to get a fever from an infection."

"Mom." My voice drops to a low whisper so that only she can hear. "You know I won't–"

She cuts me off quickly. "Hush, Delia. Rest. Let me look at your arm."

A minute later, Emily comes back. Mom cleans up the puncture wounds which I've gotten during my brawl with the serpent earlier. She wraps a thick bandage around my arm and checks my other hand and legs for other injuries. When she finds nothing that's serious, she urges me to rest.

My voice comes out like a squeak. "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I lost Maddie," I confess bitterly. "I didn't get the chance to find her."

Mom takes a deep breath. "Delia," she says softly, stroking my hair. "Maddie will be fine. She's smart and knows how to keep herself safe."

I shake my head hopelessly. "But what if she isn't? What if she hurts? What if she's dead?"

"She won't be. We'll look for her soon, I promise."

"What about Gramps? And Aunt Reese? You didn't manage to contact them?"

Mom has always put up a strong front before me, but this time, emotions slip through the cracks in her shield. Her face crumbles, and that's all it takes to give me the answer. "I tried, but the calls didn't get through. They weren't returned either. Not even a text."

I cuddle right up next to Mom and bury my face in her shoulder, unable to suppress my tears any longer. "You think they are still alive?"

She hugs me back, burying her face in my hair. "I don't know, Delia," she sniffles quietly. "But I sure hope so. We can only pray they're safe."

We exchange words of assurance for each other, but both of us know the situation will not get better. In fact, this is just the beginning. More blood is about to be spilled and we are losing out to an unknown race in terms of strength and speed.

Yet, there's nothing we can do about it. We're trapped here. Waiting for the government to provide instructions. Waiting to be saved.

And perhaps, in this inch of time we have, we can use it to mourn the dead.