It was dark when I woke up and everyone else was dead. Aside from fresh bodies, there was no sign of the Cearcetung itself. I only survived by sheer luck of having found the safest place to sleep in the old storeroom and being a deep enough sleeper that the massacre hadn't so much as stirred me in the vent.
I had to move Mr Simmonds out of the way to get out again, mentally making a note to either roll him back or find something else to cover my entry point in case either the Cearcetung or its carrion fledglings came back to pick at their latest kill.
Unlikely as that was. They like their meat to be a little more grey than the poor folks who'd let me travel with them these past few weeks. If this had happened during the early days of the attacks I might have grieved but now they're all just more meat among rotting meat piles left all over the damned world.
I did as I usually did when I outlived a group - I took their supplies, checked that the coast was clear and headed out to the closest place a Cearcetung would hate to be. In this instance it was a partially sectioned-off bend in the river. The water was too deep for those creatures but plenty shallow for me to wade across.
So I spent their main active hours on a little inflatable raft while they tore about the shoreline trying to reach me with their unsettlingly long arms until they gave up and went back to their meat piles. A couple tried to camp by the river but my water pistol put them off enough that I had safe passage back to my vent.
Don't know how long I'll spend here but any night I live through is a night well spent.
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