The early morning sunlight struggled to pierce the dense smoke clinging to Berrechid. The ruins of the city glowed in a muted haze, and each step Soufiane, Amal, and Meriem took felt amplified against the eerie quiet. Broken cars, charred furniture, and shattered windows lined their path, creating a labyrinth of debris and danger. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, dust, and decay.
Soufiane's grip on his machete was firm, his eyes scanning every rooftop, every shadow, for movement. Amal swung her pipe lightly, ready, while Meriem, younger and more vulnerable, followed closely, her wide eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
"This street is too exposed," Soufiane whispered, voice low but edged with authority. "We'll stick to the alleys and shadows. Stay close, and don't make a sound."
Amal nodded. "We need supplies for the journey. Food, water, anything that can carry us through the night and get us to the coast."
They split briefly, each moving in different directions through the abandoned district. Soufiane entered a small convenience store, its glass doors shattered and shelves half-empty. Cans of beans, bottles of water, and a few untouched medical supplies were quickly stuffed into his backpack. Amal discovered a stash of biscuits and a couple of first-aid kits hidden in a corner, while Meriem uncovered a few blankets and a worn backpack.
When they regrouped, their packs were modest but sufficient for the immediate journey. Soufiane surveyed the street, noting subtle disturbances: footprints in the dust, broken glass scattered differently than before. "We're not alone," he murmured, a shiver running down his spine.
"Could be survivors… could be infected," Amal replied, eyes scanning the shadows, her jaw tight. "Either way, we move fast. This city won't stay quiet for long."
The streets twisted and narrowed, forcing the trio to crouch behind crumbling walls and duck through skeletal doorways. Distant cries echoed from abandoned buildings, intermittent and haunting, a reminder that danger was never far. Every corner turned brought tension, every shadow threatening sudden violence.
By late afternoon, the old industrial district loomed ahead. Rusted warehouses and shattered factories marked the outskirts, their walls etched with smoke and graffiti. Soufiane led them down the familiar path to the pier, heart pounding as he scanned for threats.
The fishing boat waited, bobbing gently in the water, deceptively serene compared to the chaos that surrounded them. Soufiane approached first, inspecting the hull, oars, and engine for signs of damage. Amal moved beside him, checking the ropes and securing their small cargo. Meriem lingered near the edge of the pier, fear tempered by a flicker of hope she hadn't felt in days.
"This could get us out," Soufiane said at last, voice steady but urgent. "But we need to move before nightfall. The horde won't wait, and neither can we."
Amal's eyes met his, a determined glint burning through exhaustion and fear. "We survive together. We leave together."
They worked quickly, securing supplies, testing the boat, and preparing for the journey ahead. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the water, and the burning city behind them glowed with orange and black. Soufiane took a final glance back toward Berrechid, the streets empty yet filled with lingering threats—the smoke, the distant moans, the silent promise of danger.
As the sky darkened, a heavy tension settled over them. Every sound—the lapping of the water against the hull, the distant crackle of fire, the whisper of wind through broken windows—reminded them of the urgency. They were about to leave not only a city in ruins but a life they had known, however fractured.
Soufiane exhaled, adjusting his grip on the machete. "Let's go," he said. "The sea is our only chance now."
Meriem clutched Amal's hand, drawing courage from her sister's presence. Amal nodded at Soufiane, the pipe now held with a firm resolve. Together, three figures slipped into the boat, ready to face the Atlantic and whatever waited beyond the horizon.
The world behind them burned. Ahead, the ocean whispered a fragile promise: escape, survival, and the faint hope of reunion.