Dawn arrived bearing an air heavy with conflicting emotions.
The team rose from their improvised resting spots and began preparing for the mission. Determination was visible on every face, despite the lingering shadows of doubt.
González, who had been the first to rise and continue working on his analyses, finally approached Binet with a serious expression.
"Binet, I've found something unusual," González said, showing some samples in his hand.
"These contain traces of a pathogen I've never seen before. It could be the key to understanding the disease we're facing. But we'll need better equipment to properly examine the information."
"Good work, González. Now more than ever, we need answers," Binet replied.
"We'll head to Ramón Gate, and we need to be ready. If the journey favors us—and I hope it does—we'll reach the capital soon, where the equipment awaits and we can start unraveling this mystery."
"Alright!" Torres addressed the troops with a voice filled with authority and urgency.
"We've kept the doctors and scientists safe across five caravans until now. But the circumstances demand a change: the doctors and scientists will move to the first three caravans, and the last two will act as decoys. We'll leave the supplies in the last ones; if there's an attempt to loot, we hope they go for the goods, buying us time to reach the other side of the wall safely."
"But Captain, losing the supplies would be just as devastating," Sánchez interjected.
"I understand your concern," Torres answered, "but protecting the lives of these promising men—and the medicine—is more important. I know the country is low on resources and we might not eat for a day or two, but that's a risk we must take."
No one objected to Torres's verdict, knowing life was a greater treasure than food—or at least, that's what those who hadn't endured the rot's chaos believed.
Within an hour, we were ready, embarking once again on a journey marked by a risky but promising plan—at least for the doctors, who at all times were protected by the guards. The convoy moved swiftly. The vehicles advanced cautiously through deteriorated roads, while López and Polanco remained vigilant along the perimeter. The shadows of tall, leafless trees cast eerie shapes on the ground, creating an increasingly tense atmosphere.
We circled the great wall, heading toward the northeast gate, adjacent to the forest.
Along the way, we spotted several settlements and villages in the distance. Torres deployed small units to conduct quick reconnaissance and check for enemies or civilians. The locations lay in ruins—eaten away and rotted down to the last piece of wood; bones of livestock and other unidentifiable creatures were piled everywhere, but no sign of threats… We continued.
"I feel an indescribable pressure in my chest," Santos broke the silence.
"We all feel it, Santos," Batista said, trying to comfort him.
"This plan doesn't bode well," Duarte added.
"With so many people desperate for help and others who chose to live like beasts… we're at a breaking point."
"I thought only González could be this negative," Batista accused.
"Once you study the human brain and its behavior," Duarte said coldly, "you realize they're not far from animals—that this society is just a costume to dress beasts who think themselves thinkers."
"That's exactly what worries me, Duarte. But I know a collapsing society has no sense of morality or ethics," Santos reinforced.
That conversation, far from comforting the anguished Santos, only deepened his fears.
Just kilometers from Ramón Gate, near Cape San Rafael, disaster struck without warning. Our smooth path turned into a storm, like a ship battered by furious waves. As we neared Laguna Redonda, a group of armed horsemen ambushed us from the left, forcing us between their attack and the lagoon on the right. They fired on the first caravan.
"Guards!!" Torres shouted, caught off guard.
"Left flank, arc formation!" he ordered.
The guards scrambled to position themselves and shield the vehicles, but their reaction time was too short. The bullets hit their mark—Yeremi Santos was shot in the head, González took a hit to the shoulder, and other guards were wounded before they could even form up.
Torres and his men returned fire, but the enemy horses weren't mere wild beasts—they were trained for the hunt, unlike the domestic mounts borrowed from Azula's citizens. The bandits held the upper hand, familiar with the terrain and enjoying the element of surprise.
We were cornered, taking heavy losses; several guards were knocked from their horses, unable to defend themselves. Others were surrounded and slaughtered like piñatas at a fair—only instead of candy, it was organs spilling to the ground in blood.
"Shit!!!" Fabiel Batista screamed, seeing Santos bleed out.
"We can't leave him! Duarte! DUARTE!!! Do something!" he shouted, clearly shaken, but Duarte remained in shock.
"Forget it. He's already dead," González declared, holding Duarte tightly while applying pressure to his own wound.
"We can still save him—use the med kit!" Batista pleaded.
"It's pointless. You'll just waste medicine, morphine, and bandages on a corpse. Better save them for the living," González replied with harsh pragmatism.
The argument between members of the C.D.E. and the W.H.O. escalated, but there was no time for disputes in such a critical moment.
Torres and his unit managed to repel some of the horsemen, but the uncertainty of another wave kept them on edge. With no clear alternatives, we veered toward the edge of the Laguna Redonda, trying to buy time while switching vehicles. That's when Torres ordered Yeremi Santos's body to be left by the riverside. The pain Binet must have felt watching one of his colleagues discarded like trash…
A swift exchange and new escape plan were imperative. The horsemen returned, this time aiming to kill the drivers. The few kilometers to the gate felt eternal. Torres, with three guards and two scouts, covered the left flank as human shields, while López and ten others held the rear; the front was clear after the fall of seven guards and two scouts.
Torres led us through the second wave, buying precious time to reach Ramón Gate. As expected, the gate was closed—but unlike Matías Gate, this one we could enter. The problem? The horsemen were closing in with reinforcements.
The sound of hooves drew nearer. The guards, aware of the danger, readied themselves to defend the gate with their remaining strength. The group's survival now hinged on fast, precise decisions.
With firm leadership, Torres organized a defensive line. We began loading the equipment as the transporters set up makeshift barricades with the caravans and opened fire to repel the enemy. López and a few guards tried forcing the gate open while Torres and the others fired from the flanks.
"Stay calm!" Torres shouted, instilling courage in his men.
"Give your life if needed—for the king and these men!"
"For the king!!!" the guards roared.
The enemy horsemen, now reinforced, charged furiously at the gate. The clash was inevitable. Gunfire erupted in both directions. The battle was fierce and chaotic—this time favoring Captain Torres, who used the vehicles as shields. Enemy casualties began to mount, and the fierce battle reached its climax.
González, despite his injury, fought to stay composed and assist the others. Meanwhile, the remaining doctors tried to care for the most seriously wounded. Every second counted, and resources were scarce.
"We won't hold them off for long!" Torres exclaimed, facing the enemy horsemen head-on.
The fighting dragged on, and the guards began to tire. Yet their resolve remained unbroken. Polanco and the others fought valiantly, forcing back each advance.
Torres knew this battle couldn't be sustained for much longer. Without a new plan in their favor, the outcome was obvious.