The cabin smelled of blood. It clung to the air, sour and metallic, refusing to leave no matter how wide Amal opened the shutters. Morning light filtered through the gaps, pale and thin, but it could not wash away the shadows left behind.
The boy's body lay still where Soufiane had struck him down, wrapped hastily in a blanket. His father sat beside him, rocking back and forth, murmuring broken prayers under his breath. The woman had not spoken since the scream had torn from her throat. She sat slumped in a corner, eyes hollow, as if a part of her had already died.
Soufiane had moved little. He sat near the window, knife in hand, the blade now clean. His face was set in stone, unreadable, but inside, a storm raged. Every sob from the father stabbed at him. Every flicker of Meriem's wide-eyed fear reminded him of Younes. Every sound in the cabin hammered against his chest with the weight of what he had done.
"You shouldn't have," Amal finally said, her voice low, brittle. "We could have forced them to leave. We didn't need to—"
"He was bitten," Soufiane interrupted, not looking at her. "You saw it. All of you. I did what had to be done."
Amal clenched her fists, jaw tight. "That doesn't mean you had to be the executioner."
Her words echoed through the cramped space. Meriem flinched at the sharpness, pulling her blanket tighter. Abderrazak shifted beside her, arm resting lightly behind her back, steadying her trembling body.
Soufiane's gaze flicked to Amal at last, eyes bloodshot, hollow. "Do you want us all dead? Because that's what would have happened if we hesitated. I've buried enough people already. I won't bury any more."
Amal looked away, jaw tight. Deep down, she knew he was right—but the brutality gnawed at her anyway.
Abderrazak's voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. "It's done. What matters now is what comes next. We can't stay here. That scream carried. If the infected didn't hear it, someone else might have."
The father snapped his head up, eyes blazing. "You murder my son and now you throw me out? Animals! You're no better than the monsters out there!"
Soufiane stood slowly, chair scraping against the wooden floor. "I didn't want this," he said quietly, voice hard. "But survival doesn't care what we want. You stay if you can live by our rules. If not… you walk out that door."
The man surged to his feet, fists clenched, but Amal stepped between them. "Enough!" she shouted, voice cracking. "We're all broken. We've all lost someone. Fighting each other is only going to kill us faster."
For a long, tense moment, no one moved. Only the father's ragged breathing and the faint groans of the forest filled the cabin. Finally, he sank back down, burying his face in his hands.
Soufiane exhaled slowly, shoulders heavy with invisible weight. He turned to the window, scanning the treeline. Birds erupted from the branches, startled into flight. Something moved out there.
"Abderrazak is right," he muttered. "We leave at dusk. Pack what you can carry."
Meriem's voice was soft, wavering. "Where will we go?"
Soufiane's eyes stayed fixed on the shifting shadows between the trees, as though the forest itself were listening. "Somewhere safer," he said finally. "Somewhere we don't choke on blood every time we breathe."
Amal swallowed. She knew there was no such place anymore, but she did not have the heart to say it.
As the group began gathering what they could carry, Abderrazak lingered with Meriem. His hand brushed hers, fleeting—neither intentional nor accidental. She looked up at him, and for a brief, fragile moment, the fear in her eyes eased. He offered a faint nod, a silent promise: I will protect you, whatever comes.
Soufiane noticed the exchange from across the room. He said nothing, but a flicker of something unreadable passed over his face—resentment, or perhaps reluctant understanding.
The father's quiet sobs continued in the background, the blanket over his son unmoving. The weight of death pressed down on every soul inside.
Outside, the forest stirred.
The infected had caught the scent.