Sofiane descended carefully from the ridge, keeping to the shadows. The village below was quiet now, the faint movements he had noticed earlier slowed as the evening deepened. The scent of damp earth and charred wood hung in the air. Every step was measured, every movement deliberate.
He approached the small courtyard where he had seen the two figures helping the elderly man earlier. Mouna, a woman in her late twenties, had dark hair tied back in a practical braid, eyes sharp and assessing. Julien, slightly younger, with lean muscles and nimble reflexes, moved with the quiet precision of someone accustomed to survival. They were cautious, wary—but Sofiane knew caution didn't mean weakness.
He stepped forward, hands raised slightly to show he meant no harm. "I'm not here to fight," he said, his voice low but confident. "I'm looking for survivors. For a boy. He's alone—well, not completely alone—but he needs help."
Mouna stiffened, eyes narrowing. "How do we know we can trust you?" she asked, her voice calm but guarded. "There are people who wander these villages pretending to be helpful, only to steal or worse."
Sofiane met her gaze steadily. "You don't. Not yet. But you can watch me. Observe my actions. I don't ask for trust. I ask for cooperation. And if you want, I can show you I'm capable."
Julien shifted slightly, glancing at Mouna, then back at Sofiane. "We've been on our own for weeks," he said. "We've avoided more dangers than I care to remember. Why come to us now?"
Sofiane's jaw tightened. "Because you're survivors. And I need people like you. Not just to protect me, but to survive this journey together. There's a boy—my son. He's alone, waiting. And the path ahead is dangerous."
Mouna studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke. "Alright. You're not lying… yet. But you need to prove it. We'll come with you, but on our terms. We watch, we decide when to fight, when to hide. Agreed?"
Sofiane nodded. "Agreed. No surprises. We move together."
Julien let out a quiet breath, tension easing slightly. "You're lucky," he muttered, half to himself. "We've been looking for someone like you… someone with purpose."
As they moved through the village, Sofiane noticed the small ways they had adapted to survive. Barricades made from carts and debris blocked key streets. Scavenged supplies were organized neatly, clearly cataloged. Signs of careful planning were everywhere. These weren't just survivors—they were strategists, fighters, and pragmatists.
The three of them settled briefly in a small, abandoned bakery to rest and plan. Sofiane shared what he knew of the route ahead, sketching a rough map in the dust with a stick. The path would take them along rivers, abandoned roads, and through forests where the infected moved freely at night. Every stop would be dangerous. Every decision could mean life or death.
Mouna leaned over, tracing the lines with her finger. "This area has been quiet," she said. "Mostly empty villages, few survivors. But we know pockets of infected move through these roads. And some humans… they're worse than the infected. Desperate people."
Sofiane nodded. "I've already seen that. We move cautiously. We avoid direct conflict unless necessary. Our priority is the boy. Everything else is secondary."
Julien finally spoke, his voice quieter now. "We'll follow. But you need to know—this isn't a safe mission. Not even close. You've got determination, sure… but determination alone won't keep anyone alive."
Sofiane met his gaze steadily. "I know. That's why I need both of you. Skill, caution, and intelligence. We survive together—or not at all."
Night fell fully over the village, shadows long and oppressive. The faint howl of distant infected echoed across the rooftops. Sofiane, Mouna, and Julien gathered what supplies they could carry and prepared to move at first light. Each was aware that the journey ahead would test them in ways they could not yet imagine.
Yet beneath the tension, an unspoken bond began to form. Trust, tentative and fragile, grew from necessity. And for Sofiane, it was the first step toward building the team he would need to find his son—and face the dangers that awaited in the Netherlands.
The village, quiet and watchful, seemed almost to approve, its empty streets holding the promise of both peril and possibility.