But I had to convince myself that it was just fear of the unknown that was fueling unbearable anxiety. I needed to calm down… And the only way to pull myself together was the simple act of self-suggestion, convincing myself that tomorrow everything would be better.

Because everything will be fine, right? Tomorrow Katherine will be taken away, tomorrow help will arrive. Tomorrow everything will go back to normal. Tomorrow we’ll get out of here. Tomorrow we’ll remember today with a smile, because tomorrow everything will be fine…

Heavens, give us the strength to survive this day and this night.

The feeling of emptiness and apathy. A state where emotionally you still can’t believe what has happened, while the mind coldly and cynically comprehends and weighs the outcome. As if neither alive nor dead, a piece of meat equipped with a brain that has lost the ability to think… In such moments, more than anything, you want to either lose yourself or scream, to howl, releasing what you can’t say out loud.

But we couldn’t scream. We couldn’t call for help, couldn’t help ourselves. I lost track of the time we spent in silence, sitting on the floor, glancing around nervously and afraid to breathe. Trying to escape by ourselves seemed impossible and insane, and passive waiting for the promised help, the mercy of the Heavens, or any resolution to this nightmare was the only option.

Resigned acceptance of our fate burned from within. The fear of unknown danger gave way to a monstrous anticipation of the end. The lights continued to flicker, and the lamps seemed to buzz louder.

The shelf with religious literature across from us. The Mother with outstretched arms.

Silence began to drive us all mad, and I spoke first in a halting whisper. About unrelated things. Anything to say something. Sam picked up the conversation. Katherine followed. We talked about books, about work, but not a word about what had happened, to avoid driving each other into even greater panic.

The girl soon dozed off.

The silence gave way to fear: what if salvation never comes? What if we have trapped ourselves in an even worse snare? What if we buried ourselves with our own hands? Closed the lid of the coffin with our own strength?

I jerked my head, pinched my wrist. Inside, everything tightened, and a chill wrapped around me.

Sam was fiddling with his dead phone – the battery had died – but that gadget was pointless anyway. The connection was gone. My legs had gone numb; I carefully stood up. Dort, flinching, looked at me in confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asked, but I didn’t answer, lost in my own thoughts. Sam’s handsome face had acquired a pained, tortured look, his golden hair seemed duller, and his favorite warm, bright hoodie with the little monster on it mocked all this madness.

The past was erased. The future had vanished. Political games, journalistic adventures, civic protests, ambitious plans – everything crumbled to dust in my hands, ash in my teeth. In the moment when death was breathing down my neck, even the State’s hell seemed like heaven, a place I wished to return to.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, took off my shoes, and tiptoed to the edge of the shelf, peering out from behind it.

The glass was smeared with dirty red streaks. In the grocery store – shadows of a few moving figures. Were they human? Their movements were slow, broken. There were no bodies of those attacked, those torn apart. Only blood. Its streaks. Shreds of flesh. Pieces of clothing.

I flinched. Where are they? Where are they?! It can’t be possible to get up and leave after that, can it? Could they have been eaten completely? With bones?! And, heavens forbid,