The night pressed heavy over the forest, damp with the scent of moss and smoke from the pharmacy they had fled hours earlier. Soufiane led the group along a narrow path, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the underbrush like a knife. Behind him, Amal leaned on Abderrazak, her steps unsteady. The wound on her arm was wrapped in a strip of fabric torn from Soufiane's shirt, the makeshift bandage already dark with blood and pus.
They found a hollow clearing and settled there, exhausted. No fire—smoke would be a signal, and a signal would bring attention. The air was filled with Meriem's restless breathing and the faint chirping of crickets, the small remnants of life in a world that was already gone. Soufiane crouched beside Amal, checking her bandage again.
"You'll make it," he said firmly, though worry seeped through his calm. "Once the antibiotics settle in, the fever will break."
Amal managed a weak smile. "You always talk like you know the outcome."
"I don't need to know," he muttered. "I just make sure it goes that way."
Abderrazak, sitting nearby, let out a sharp breath. "Or you force it that way. Like with Javier."
The name dropped like a stone in still water. Meriem froze, eyes darting between the two men. Soufiane's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away.
"What did you expect me to do?" he asked coldly. "Let him stab Amal? Let him ruin everything we've survived for?"
"You didn't even hesitate," Abderrazak shot back, voice low but sharp. "You cut him down like he was already one of them. And then you threw his body to the infected like trash."
Soufiane's tattoo itched beneath his sleeve, the angel and his son's name a burning reminder. "I did what had to be done. He was a danger—not just to me, but to all of us."
"And what happens when you decide I'm a danger? Or Meriem? Or Amal?" Abderrazak's eyes glinted with a mix of anger and fear.
The silence stretched, broken only by Amal's ragged cough. Meriem edged closer to Abderrazak, aligning herself with him, though her gaze flicked nervously back to Soufiane.
Finally, Soufiane stood. "If you think I'm the problem, then go. No one is forcing you to follow me."
Meriem's voice trembled as she pleaded, "Stop. Please. This… this isn't helping. We can't fight each other—not now."
Abderrazak's fists clenched, then slowly unclenched. He didn't speak, but his gaze remained fixed on Soufiane, wary, untrusting.
The group settled uneasily for the night. Soufiane took the first watch, sitting on a rock at the edge of the clearing, listening to the forest breathe around them. Distant groans drifted through the night—infected wandering, never far away. His hand rested on his knife, fingers tapping restlessly against the hilt.
Behind him, Amal stirred in her fevered sleep, whispering something he couldn't make out. Abderrazak lay awake too—Soufiane could feel the weight of his stare even in the dark. The unity they had fought so hard to preserve was fraying, thread by thread.
Soufiane closed his eyes for a moment, Younes's unscarred, smiling face rising in his mind. He had promised himself he would see that smile again. But each choice, each step, only darkened the path ahead, making survival less about safety and more about trust.
As dawn approached, the tension in the clearing didn't ease. They were alive—but Soufiane knew that surviving the world was no longer enough. Now, they had to survive each other.