The infected poured into the street like a flood of nightmares. Their pale faces twisted in hunger, mouths open wide, jaws snapping in anticipation of flesh. The cousins pressed themselves against the barricade, eyes wide, chests heaving, fear pressing down like a physical weight.
"There's no way through!" Zak cried, panic sharp in his voice.
"Climb!" Anas shouted, already scrambling up the twisted, blood-slick metal of the barricade.
Nabil fired his stolen rifle wildly, each shot tearing through the closest bodies. But for every one that fell, three more surged forward, relentless, unthinking.
Soufiane grabbed Zak's arm, yanking him toward the barricade. "Move! Don't think—just climb!"
Zak obeyed, clumsy but quick, adrenaline sharpening his fear into motion. Anas reached down from the top, hauling him over the jagged metal, pulling him up with surprising strength.
Nabil's rifle clicked empty. "Shit!" he growled, swinging the weapon like a club, smashing skulls, spraying blood across his jacket.
"Go!" Soufiane yelled, stepping forward to cover him. The fishing knife in his hand glinted in the firelight. A pale, snarling hand clawed at his shoulder, teeth snapping inches from his neck. He shoved the creature back, slashing with practiced precision. The wet resistance of flesh and bone under his blade sent a shiver through him.
Nabil cursed again, slipping on blood-slick metal, but he scrambled upward, boots pounding against the barricade. Together, they hauled themselves over just as the first wave of infected slammed against the structure from below, their shrieks a terrible chorus of hunger and frustration.
They hit the other side hard, dust rising around them, lungs burning. For a brief moment, the street lay silent, eerily still, a haunting contrast to the chaos they had left behind.
Soufiane bent over, gasping, arms trembling, shirt torn and damp with sweat and blood. He wiped the blade on the ground, glancing back through the cracks in the barricade. Dozens of pale eyes glowed in the firelight, pressing against the metal, shrieking in unison. For now, the barrier held.
"For now," Anas muttered grimly, voice low, eyes scanning the horizon.
Soufiane turned his gaze toward the Atlantic, where the first light of dawn touched the water. Somewhere beyond the burning city, past the death and ruin, lay a fragile promise—a boat, a path, a chance to reunite with Younes, Zahira, and maybe even his parents.
But here, amid the ruins, dawn felt like the beginning of hell.
He looked at his cousins: Anas, calm but tense; Nabil, bloodied and exhilarated; Zak, pale, still trembling yet alive. Each had shared laughter and fear, fleeting moments of humanity in a collapsing city. Their faces still held fragile hope, the stubborn spark that refused to die even in the inferno.
Soufiane swallowed, his throat tight. The path ahead could not include them all—not if he wanted to reach the sea alive, not if he wanted to save the ones he loved most.
He spoke, calm but resolute. "Listen… I have to continue alone, or with a smaller group," he said, voice carrying over the faint crackle of fire. "There are priorities I cannot delay… people I need to find."
Anas's jaw tightened. "We understand, we will look for your parents here." he said quietly, eyes shadowed with concern. "Just… be careful."
Nabil spat to the side, grinning darkly. "Lucky bastard. Go save the world, cousin."
Zak didn't speak. His eyes met Soufiane's briefly, full of fear, admiration, and a silent question: will I see you again?
Soufiane took a deep breath, letting the weight of his choice settle. Beyond this barricade, the medina's streets stretched into fire and ruin, but beyond that, the Atlantic shimmered faintly, promising survival. Every step from here was perilous. Every decision could mean life or death.
And as the first tendrils of smoke rose against the rising sun, Soufiane stepped forward, leaving the burning medina behind, and carrying with him the impossible burden of choice.