They moved cautiously through the old medina at dawn, each step raising clouds of smoke and dust. The alleys were narrower than memory allowed, their vibrant blues and whites now blackened by soot. Once-familiar walls were scarred and crumbling. Shutters hung broken, and debris littered the cobblestones. Cats slunk through piles of trash, their eyes reflecting the chaos around them like tiny amber lanterns.
Soufiane's mind drifted back decades, to another life. He remembered strolling these streets as a boy, hand in hand with his father, Mohamed, while Naima haggled for spices in cheerful, confident tones. Those memories felt like they belonged to someone else, in another world that had no place here anymore.
Now, the medina had become a hunting ground.
A sudden shriek pierced the air, high and sharp, slicing through the haze of smoke. From behind a row of overturned carts stumbled a woman, her hair matted with blood, her jaw slack and unnatural. She ran with no hesitation, her eyes clouded, her movements jerky and frighteningly fast.
This time, it was Zak who acted first. His hands shook violently, but he swung a metal pipe he had grabbed from the ruins. The pipe connected with the woman's skull. She collapsed instantly, her body hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud.
Zak froze, chest heaving, eyes wide. His cousins stared at him, mouths slightly agape.
"I… I did it," Zak stammered, voice trembling. "I… I killed her."
Nabil slapped him on the back with a wild, cruel grin. "Took you long enough," he said, teeth flashing. But there was no real malice—only exhilaration mixed with relief.
Soufiane stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Zak's shoulder. His voice was calm but firm. "You did what you had to. Don't dwell on it. Just keep moving."
They pressed deeper into the medina, stepping over burned stalls and abandoned homes, the acrid smell of smoke filling their lungs. Shadows shifted among the ruins, threatening and silent. The alleys opened gradually into a square that had become a battlefield.
Dozens of bodies lay strewn across the open space. Both infected and human corpses littered the cobblestones. A military truck sat abandoned in the center, its rear doors hanging open. Soldiers' rifles glinted in the dirt beside uniforms still caked in blood and soot.
Anas's eyes lit up with grim determination. "Weapons."
They hurried forward, scavenging whatever they could carry. Soufiane found a handgun, heavy and unfamiliar in his grip, the cold steel strangely grounding him. Nabil slung a rifle over his shoulder, a wild grin spreading across his face, fueled by the thrill of power. Zak, hands still trembling, clutched a pistol awkwardly, his fingers fumbling with the mechanism.
For a fleeting moment, the distant sound of helicopters rose above the ruined city. The cousins looked up, hope flickering in their hearts. Perhaps the army was still fighting. Perhaps order could be restored. Perhaps someone was still looking out for the city.
But that hope was short-lived.
As the helicopters passed, they released not supplies, not aid, but fire. Napalm streaked across the horizon, setting entire blocks ablaze. The sky glowed red and black, and flames leapt hungrily from building to building. Screams rose above the crackling infernos. The familiar city that had nurtured them, the streets Soufiane had known since childhood, burned beyond recognition.
Soufiane's heart sank. The government had not come to save Casablanca.
They had come to erase it.
The cousins pressed forward, weapons ready, lungs burning, hearts pounding. Each step carried them closer into the unknown, deeper into a city where danger came from every direction, human and infected alike.
And over the medina, the fire raged like a living thing, a terrifying reminder that in this new world, survival meant facing horrors both from the outside… and from the very people you might once have called brothers.