That same evening, Michel gathered the group members around a campfire, seizing a rare moment of calm to restore some cohesion among the Survivors after the tragic events in the village. Fatigue was etched on their faces, but most listened attentively.
"We need to talk about the path ahead," Michel began, his tone measured yet firm. "I'm going to show you the direction we're following. Not the destination, because we don't know it yet. But the direction."
He spread out an old road map of Europe on a flat stone, its edges worn from time. The Survivors' eyes fell on the intricate web of roads and cities. Michel pointed to a location marked in red pencil.
"We are here," he said, tapping lightly on an area southwest of Béziers, France. "About fifteen kilometers from Béziers. So far, we've followed a clear direction: southeast. And if we continue more or less along this path..."
His finger slowly traced the map, crossing the Mediterranean. It passed through Italy, skimming Rome, before pointing toward the Balkans.
"If we extend this straight line, we reach Istanbul."
A murmur rippled through the group. Some looked puzzled, others anxious. Alan remained silent, observing the map with little reaction.
Michel continued.
"Of course, we won't be able to follow this trajectory exactly. There are mountains, seas, and uncertain areas. We'll need to take safer routes. But roughly, this is the direction we're heading."
He paused, scanning their reactions.
"How many days will it take? Impossible to say. We have no final destination. Only this direction. The Beacon."
The faces around the fire were tense. Some exchanged worried glances. The idea of walking for weeks, maybe months, without knowing what awaited them at the end, was hardly reassuring.
Michel tried to soften his words.
"We've survived this far. We will keep going. The Beacon is our guide. It gives us a purpose, a reason to move forward."
Rose nodded slowly, but many remained silent.
Alan, however, remained motionless, eyes fixed on the map, his mind seemingly elsewhere, far from the group's concerns. He was already considering another option.
Jennel, seated beside him, didn't take her eyes off him. She noticed his lack of enthusiasm, the weight of his thoughts visible on his face. Unlike the others, he didn't seem convinced by Michel's speech.
When the meeting ended, the Survivors dispersed into small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Michel carefully rolled up the map and tucked it into his bag.
Jennel approached Alan.
"You didn't say anything."
Alan shrugged slightly.
"Because I'm not sure that following a straight line is the best idea."
Jennel gave him a small smile. "You're thinking of another path, aren't you?"
Alan nodded. "Maybe. But for now, I'll follow. Michel is doing a good job."
They exchanged a long glance, a silent understanding passing between them.
"For now."
As the group settled in for the evening, Jennel approached Alan, her gaze calmer than usual.
"I'm spending the night with Rose," she announced simply. "On the grass near the village hall."
Alan raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Why?"
Jennel gave a faint, melancholic smile.
"Because she'll bring me the peace and clarity I need. My mind is still chaotic."
Alan remained silent, feeling slightly disappointed. He hadn't expected anything specific, but the idea that she wanted to distance herself for the night unsettled him.
"I need to find myself," she continued. "To leave behind my old way of thinking. I want to be with you, Alan. I want your love. But for that, I need to first let go of what's holding me back."
She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.
"Don't worry. I'll come back."
Alan nodded, unable to find the words. Jennel leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before disappearing into the night.
Alan stood motionless for a long time before resigning himself to setting up his tent a little further away. As he prepared his campsite, he let himself be enveloped by the sounds of the evening.
The gentle murmur of a fountain echoed in the village hall's courtyard, its steady trickling blending with the distant sounds of the camp. Voices whispered, light laughter drifted through the cool night air. Then, suddenly, a few notes from a guitar broke the monotony of the nocturnal sounds.
Alan turned his head, surprised. The melody was soft, hesitant, as if the player was still searching for the right chords. He let himself be carried by this unexpected music, appreciating this rare moment of simple beauty.
A sudden flapping of wings brought him back to reality.
A lone raven perched on a wooden beam overlooking the hall. It ruffled its sleek black feathers, their glossy surface shimmering under the dim moonlight. Its dark eyes, almost inquisitive, locked onto Alan, as if judging the intruder.
The raven tilted its head slightly, letting out a harsh, low caw. It seemed to be the last of its kind, a survivor in a dying world. Alan watched the bird with fascination, wondering what it might be thinking as it observed this camp of weary Survivors.
The raven flapped its wings once more before soaring into the silent night, vanishing into the shadowy trees.
Alan closed his eyes, letting this suspended moment settle into his mind. The world kept turning, despite everything.
JENNEL 96.
I realize I struggle to put such strong emotions into words.
I killed a woman today. A woman I didn't know, who wasn't even threatening me. It's horrible.
Why did I do it?
Because I was about to lose the man I love.
There. It's written. I reread it, and I can't believe it.
I feel like screaming it, but something is holding me back. I'm spending the night with Rose. Maybe she can help me see things more clearly.
Poor Alan. He saw me leave with her. He had that lost look that always unsettles me. He's so adorable, except when he plays cowboy. He lacks common sense sometimes.
The next morning, Alan stepped out of his tent, stretching. The soft sunlight kissed the stone of the village hall while the first sounds of the waking camp filled the fresh air.
Jennel and Rose were watching him.
"That boy loves to sleep in," Rose teased with a laugh.
Standing beside her, Jennel gave a shy smile.
"I don't mind," she added, lowering her gaze.
Alan ran a hand through his tousled hair, surprised to see them up so early. He grabbed his bag and began sorting through his belongings.
Jennel approached him quietly.
"I'm taking rear patrol today. With Ibrahim."
Alan frowned. "You told me you didn't like being in the back. Why?"
Jennel smiled, her dark eyes glinting with mischief.
"To finish his training. He needs to replace me."
Alan blinked, surprised. "Replace you?"
Jennel nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.
"No more rear patrol for me."
"And why's that?"
She stepped closer, until their faces were nearly level.
"Because I want to be in the front. With you."
Alan felt his heart quicken. He stayed silent, searching for a response.
Jennel placed a light hand on his arm, an intimate gesture.
"With you, my heart," she murmured before turning to join Ibrahim.
Alan stood there, a little lost.
He turned as Rose approached, a knowing smile on her face.
"She seems different," Alan murmured, almost to himself.
Rose shrugged with a smirk.
"Maybe because she spent the night thinking about you two."
Alan narrowed his eyes, intrigued.
"What do you mean?"
Rose leaned against a nearby wall.
"Jennel asked to stay with me last night. She needed to talk, to sort out her feelings. She wanted to be sure of what she felt for you. And this morning, she was."
Alan stayed silent for a moment.
"So… this softness from her this morning…?"
Rose nodded.
"She wanted to shout it to you, Alan. To tell you she loves you. But she needed to hear from someone else that she had the right to."
Alan ran a hand over his face, a shy smile appearing on his lips.
"Thank you, Rose."
She eyed him mischievously.
"You know you're not the oldest in the group, right?"
Alan raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm 66," Rose said with a laugh. "I think that makes me the eldest here."
Alan burst into laughter.
"Well, you don't look it."
"Thank the nanites," she joked. "They did give us our best years back."
Alan nodded, amused.
"And the youngest? Do you know who they are?"
Rose's face darkened slightly.
"As far as I know, there are no children or teenagers among the Survivors. José is the youngest in the group; he's 23."
Alan frowned.
Rose took a deep breath.
"All the surviving women are sterile. The nanites stopped our menstrual cycles. None of us have ovulated since the attack."
Alan froze.
"And the men?"
Rose shrugged.
"We don't know. But without children, there is no future. And Alan, that might just be the worst consequence of everything that's happened."
A few moments later, he grabbed his bag and joined Bob and Johnny.
"Ready?" Bob asked with a grin.
Alan nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
The morning walk was unexpectedly pleasant, the group moving along a road flanked by ponds and canals. Tiny ports and fishermen's cabins dotted the landscape. Oyster farms formed geometric patterns on the calm water, while abandoned vacation homes were slowly being reclaimed by the wild vegetation.
Alan walked alongside Johnny, surprised by the usual chatterbox's silence.
But it didn't last.
"Well, well," Johnny said with a mischievous grin. "Jennel finally caught your eye, huh?"
Alan shook his head, annoyed. "You're seeing things that aren't there."
Johnny burst out laughing. "Come on, you can't fool me!"
He leaned slightly toward Alan, lowering his voice.
"I've seen how you look at her. And her, too, by the way. You're like two kids playing hide and seek."
Alan sighed. "It's more complicated than that."
"It's always more complicated," Johnny replied with a shrug. "But it's nice to see someone smiling in this messed-up world. Even if it's just a shy little smile."
Despite himself, Alan found himself smiling.
"You're unbearable."
Johnny laughed, pleased. "I try my best."
The rest of the morning passed in lighthearted banter. Johnny threw out terrible jokes and gave absurd advice, none of which were taken seriously. Alan, initially irritated, found himself responding in kind, unexpectedly comforted by the camaraderie.
The scenery remained captivating, weathered wooden fishermen's cabins, fishing nets abandoned and fluttering in the wind. The group progressed slowly, but each step brought them closer to the sea.
Suddenly, Alan spotted a Specter, an indistinct silhouette lingering off the path they were following. He stopped briefly, trying to gather more information, but the presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He shrugged and continued walking.
"Something wrong?" Bob asked, throwing Alan a curious look.
"Nothing important," Alan replied, keeping the details to himself.
Rose had insisted that the group detour toward two supermarkets marked on an old map. Alan, Bob, and Johnny went ahead to scout them out.
The first, located inland, had partially collapsed and had long been looted, a truck crashed into its facade.
The second, closer to the sea, seemed more promising. They took a quick look inside. The doors were blocked, but the intact glass windows revealed shelves still stocked with canned goods, bottled water, and other essentials.
Rose would be pleased to hear this.
"It's worth the detour. We'll return tomorrow morning," Bob said, a renewed energy in his voice.
Finally, after hours of walking, the group reached the sea.
The place was breathtaking. A long stretch of white sand extended as far as the eye could see, bordered by low dunes protected by wooden fences. The dunes were covered in tall grasses that swayed gently in the sea breeze. The emerald waters shimmered under the sun, with small waves rolling onto the shore.
But there was silence. No birds calling, no seagulls soaring above the waves. As for the fish, it was impossible to tell if they still inhabited these waters.
Not far from the beach, a small vacation residence stood, empty. The shutters were closed, but the structure remained intact. Signs indicated room numbers, communal areas, and a neglected playground.
"We can settle here for the night," Alan suggested. "Everyone can find a small room. There's even a rainwater collection system for the showers. But we'll have to ration the water."
The patrol scouted the area, each member finding a space to rest. Alan, however, felt drawn to a row of small wooden cabins lined up along the shore.
Most were in disrepair, collapsed roofs and, shattered windows. But one seemed to be in better condition, as if someone had maintained it recently.
Alan approached cautiously, pushed the slightly creaky door, and stepped inside.
The cabin was simple. A single room with raw wooden walls. A metal-framed bed stood in one corner, missing a mattress. A rickety table, covered in dust, still held an old ashtray. A kerosene lamp hung on the wall, waiting to be lit.
In another corner, several fishing rods leaned against the wall, their lines tangled. A woven basket contained a few hooks and spare fishing line. Alan observed the place in silence, picturing the cabin's former occupant.
He placed his belongings on the bed, assessing what needed to be done.
"This will do," he murmured to himself.
When he returned to the main residence, Johnny greeted him with a mischievous grin.
"So, did you find your palace?"
Alan shrugged. "A small cabin on the beach. A bit rustic, but it suits me."
Johnny burst out laughing. "You want to play Robinson Crusoe?"
Alan met Johnny's gaze seriously.
"No. I think we need to take a break here. A full day of rest. To regroup. To enjoy this."
Johnny blinked, surprised by Alan's firmness.
"Are you going to ask Michel?"
Alan nodded. "Yes. And I'm going to insist. Because everyone needs this."
Alan returned to the cabin.
A broom sat in a dark corner. He grabbed it and, with quiet determination, began to clean. He swept away the accumulated debris, dusted off the furniture, and restored a sense of order to the space. The raw wooden floor regained some of its former warmth under his methodical care.
Once the cleaning was done, he went back to the main residence and returned with a mattress, which he placed on the metal bed frame. He also found a pillow—then a second.
That's when he hesitated.
Should he take two pillows?
The thought of an invited guest crossed his mind. But was it presumptuous? Too soon?
Alan sighed and placed both pillows on the bed, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.
"We'll see."
Then he sat at the wobbly table, picking up one of the fishing rods. The tangled lines reminded him of childhood afternoons spent by the river, struggling to untangle the same kind of mess.
He focused on the task, his fingers skillfully working through the knots and loops. After several failed attempts, he finally managed to free one rod, its line perfectly unraveled.
A satisfied smile crossed his face.
Shortly after, the rest of the group arrived at the camp. Alan intercepted Michel and pulled him aside.
"I've been thinking," Alan began. "We need a break. A full day here. To rest, to recharge, to really connect."
Michel raised an eyebrow. "A whole day lost on our route?"
Alan nodded firmly. "Yes. But we'll gain much more in morale and strength. A change in routine can make all the difference."
Michel studied him carefully, weighing the argument.
"You know what? You might be right. I'll bring it up with the others."
Alan gave a satisfied nod and walked back to his cabin. He took the repaired fishing rod and headed toward a small wooden pier stretching into the sea.
He sat at the end of the pier, letting his legs dangle over the water. He cast the line into the emerald depths. Without bait.
He wasn't trying to catch anything.
It was the act itself that mattered.
There, alone with the sea, he let his thoughts drift, carried by the soft lapping of the waves against the wooden beams.
For once, the silence was comforting.
From the end of the pier, Alan spotted the patrol led by Jennel returning to camp in the distance. He could make out the silhouettes, but his eyes were drawn to Jennel's figure, moving with a brisk, confident stride.
A gathering had formed around Michel. The group was engaged in conversation, but Alan couldn't hear their words. He watched attentively, curious about the unfolding events.
Then he saw Jennel break away from the group and run toward him.
She wore a delicate white top, partially made of lace, revealing her shoulders, and a long skirt in shades of orange and yellow that swirled around her with every step. Against the dazzling backdrop of the sea, the contrast was striking.
Alan averted his gaze slightly, pretending not to notice. Yet, he felt his heart quicken.
Jennel wasn't fooled. As she approached, she slowed down, breathless but radiant.
"You just won us a day of vacation!" she exclaimed, a bright smile lighting up her face.
Alan shrugged, feigning modesty.
"Seemed like a good idea."
Jennel looked at him with amusement. "Are you fishing?"
Alan gestured toward the fishing rod planted in front of him.
"Not really. There's no bait."
Jennel burst into laughter, the crystalline sound echoing through the stillness around them.
"You're crazy!"
Alan met her gaze, a soft smile forming on his lips.
"About you."
Without another word, Jennel stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him deeply. Alan felt his entire being relax under her touch, the world around them fading into nothing for an instant.
Shouts rang out from the beach, pulling them back to reality.
Jennel and Alan slowly got up. Without letting go of each other, they intertwined their fingers and walked toward the beach.
But as they neared the cabin, Alan sensed a slight hesitation from Jennel.
He turned to her, searching for an explanation. She lowered her gaze for a moment, then lifted her eyes to meet his.
Alan gently squeezed her hand.
There was no worry in his eyes. Just quiet certainty.
Alan was leaving Michel after their discussion about the camp's security. He had assured him there were no intruders nearby, that all was calm. But Michel had said nothing about the following day. He had simply acknowledged the information.
Despite this, the overall mood was one of relaxation—both physically and mentally. The group was enjoying the sea air, relishing a rare sense of peace. Rose, in particular, was enthusiastically organizing her expedition to the supermarket for the next morning. She was rallying nearly everyone with her contagious energy.
"We'll bring back everything we can. And in the afternoon, we'll need cakes!" she declared, her eyes sparkling. "That is, if we can find the ingredients!"
The mere mention of sweet treats seemed to lift the group's spirits even further. Johnny cracked jokes about his supposed baking skills, drawing laughter from those around him.
Then, the conversation shifted to music.
José, a man who had remained relatively quiet until now, reminded the group that he had a guitar with him. He pulled it out of his bag. It was slightly worn but still perfectly tuned. He strummed the strings, producing a melodic sound that caught everyone's attention.
"Any volunteers to sing?" he asked with an encouraging smile.
The silence that followed was telling.
Jennel turned to Alan, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"Do you want to sing?" she asked, her eyes glinting with challenge.
Alan took a step back, raising his hands defensively.
"Oh no. Absolutely not."
Jennel laughed at his almost panicked reaction.
Then, as always, Rose stepped in, her exuberance filling the space.
"We actually have a real singer among us! A choir soloist!"
Her gaze landed on Jennel.
Jennel immediately tried to disappear behind Alan, her cheeks turning red.
"Jennel!" Rose called out enthusiastically. "How about a song tomorrow? Please!"
Clearly flustered, Jennel pressed herself against Alan, who instinctively placed a protective hand on her shoulder.
She murmured, barely audible:
"We'll see."
Alan felt his heart soften at the moment. Jennel, always strong and composed, was revealing a more vulnerable side.
It was a brief moment. But precious.
The evening stretched late into the night. One by one, they all drifted off to bed, their laughter and whispers fading into the darkness. Jennel found refuge in one of the residence's rooms with a real bed for the first time in weeks. Alan, meanwhile, returned to his cabin, appreciating the relative solitude it offered.
Lying on the mattress he had moved from the residence, he closed his eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm of the waves. His mind wandered, and for a moment, he imagined himself in a villa by the sea.
But the idyllic image quickly faded when he remembered that he was alone.
"We'll see," he murmured to himself once again.
Sleep only came in the middle of the night, when he finally stopped overthinking.
The next morning, however, there was no sleeping in.
Rose, up at the crack of dawn, had already begun organizing the supermarket expedition. She was rallying her teams, determined to maximize the number of trips and gather as many supplies as possible.
"We don't know when we'll get another chance like this!" she proclaimed as she moved from group to group, checklist in hand. "Grab anything that can last, and this afternoon, we cook!"
Alan, still shaking off his drowsiness, joined the main group. He looked around for Jennel, but she was already busy loading bags and baskets onto an old cart.
No time to be together.
Rose was relentless, giving orders with natural authority.
Jennel briefly caught Alan's gaze and offered him a light smile before turning away, swept up in Rose's boundless energy.
Alan sighed, amused by the situation.
He had wanted to spend more time with Jennel.
But he knew that this morning, a different kind of teamwork was needed. One that ensured their survival.
The afternoon unfolded in a relaxed atmosphere, just as Rose had promised. The morning's haul from the supermarket had been a success, and the idea of baking treats for everyone quickly became a top priority.
Rose, always brimming with energy, organized an impromptu baking workshop. With limited supplies and no electricity, they did their best to prepare several sweet treats.
But the challenges were plenty.
The attempt to make golden corn cakes on a skillet began with an unfortunate discovery: one of the pans they had salvaged from the supermarket was punctured. They had to improvise by heating flat stones over the fire to use as a cooking surface, which considerably slowed the process.
"This is going to take hours if we keep going like this," Johnny grumbled as he stirred the batter.
Rose, unfazed, responded with a smile, "Patience, big guy. It'll be worth it."
The shortbread cookies required several attempts before they managed to create a dough that didn't stick to their fingers. Alan, watching from a distance, found himself smiling as he saw Jennel struggling with an improvised rolling pin, an empty bottle.
"Do you need a hammer too?" he teased.
Jennel stuck her tongue out at him, amused.
The highlight of the afternoon was their attempt at making a dried fruit tart. But the dates and walnuts they had found at the supermarket were sticky and difficult to work with.
"What is this stuff?" José asked, holding a handful of dates that had fused together.
"Nature's super glue," Johnny joked, making everyone laugh.
Once the treats were ready and tasted, the afternoon continued with more lighthearted activities.
A soccer match was organized on the beach, with impromptu teams mixing men and women. The game was chaotic, filled with laughter and spectacular falls.
"Johnny, stop playing like a bulldozer!" Rose yelled after the big guy sent Yann tumbling to the ground.
The volleyball match that followed was even more competitive. The women, led by Rose and Jennel, crushed the men.
"We'll never see them again, their pride is buried somewhere in the sand," Jennel joked, high-fiving her teammates.
An attempt to fly a homemade kite, crafted from plastic bags, ended in failure.
"I think it's better suited for fishing than flying," Alan remarked as the kite crashed into the sand yet again.
Johnny, as always, ended the day with some mischief.
"Time for a swim!" Rose shouted, pushing Johnny into the waves.
He resurfaced, drenched but laughing, shaking his hair like a wet dog.
Many took the opportunity to swim, while others simply basked in the sun's warmth on the beach.