The Invasion

6 | Grief

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 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 mess. 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.

We huddle in our little groups, shaken and fearful. The child's crying, the women are sniffing and the men are frightened and edgy. None 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."