Water slowly leaked through the stone walls and we prayed the gates would hold. All the paths and roads were flooded and swarming with eel-like creatures who developed a taste for human meat within the first day of arriving in our small town.
After almost a week of rain every house had become an island, hastily barricaded with whatever we could throw together before half the town was drowned, eaten or escaped to higher grounds. The rest of us learnt to fish, skinning the creatures and using them to reinforce our defences.
It's been two months now and the water shows no signs of receding. The creatures have begun to build floating nests in abandoned cars and dragging furniture out into the streets, making new roads and using our homes to mock us.
They know I can see them through my binoculars and they wait in every window they can, staring out at me with tar black eyes and gaping mouths. Some of them have taken to waving severed limbs at me, somehow recognising the gesture as a greeting, beckoning me towards the flooded roads.
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