The pounding on the cabin walls grew louder, boards shuddering as clawed hands scraped across the wood. Shadows pressed against the windows, their guttural moans merging into a suffocating chorus. The survivors inside exchanged frantic looks.
"They'll break through soon," Abderrazak muttered, voice tight as he braced the door with a chair.
Meriem clung to Amal, who was sweating despite the cold night air, her face pale as she tried to hold the cloth tight against her bleeding arm. The wound already looked angry, red veins spidering outward. She whispered through clenched teeth, "It burns."
Soufiane crouched by the window, eyes sharp, mind racing. They had no time, no safe exit—unless he made one. His gaze fell on Javier's corpse, sprawled in a pool of blood on the wooden floor.
The others followed his line of sight. Silence thickened in the cabin.
"No," Meriem whispered, shaking her head. "You can't."
Abderrazak's brow furrowed. "You're not serious, hermano."
Soufiane stood, face grim. "They want flesh. Give them this, and they'll swarm it long enough for us to get out the back."
"Javier was one of us," Meriem said, her voice breaking. "You can't just throw him to them like garbage."
"He tried to kill us," Soufiane snapped, harsher than intended. His voice dropped lower, but it carried weight, unshakable. "If we stay here debating, we all die—including Amal."
The words cut through the argument. Even Abderrazak, who prided himself on cynicism, looked unsettled. But he said nothing.
Soufiane didn't wait for approval. He grabbed Javier's body by the shoulders, dragging it toward the back porch. The heavy thump of the corpse against the floor made Meriem flinch. Amal turned her face away, jaw clenched against pain and disgust.
Soufiane shoved the back door open and heaved the body outside. It landed in the dirt with a sickening thud. Almost immediately, the moans shifted, the horde surging toward the fresh offering.
"Now!" Soufiane barked.
The group slipped out into the night, sticking close to the cabin's shadow. The infected tore into Javier's body, snarls and wet ripping sounds filling the air. Soufiane didn't look back. He led them into the treeline, every sense tuned to survival.
They ran until the cabin's groans faded into the distance. Finally, Soufiane raised a hand, signaling a halt. The group collapsed in the underbrush, chests heaving, hearts pounding.
No one spoke at first. The only sound was Amal's labored breathing, the cloth on her arm now soaked through. The faint torchlight revealed her skin flushed and inflamed.
"We need antibiotics," Abderrazak said, eyes fixed on her wound. "Soon. That cut's turning bad already."
"And where do you think we'll find some?" Meriem snapped, her voice sharp with fear. Her eyes darted to Soufiane. "We don't even know where we're going anymore. You just… you just threw Javier to those things like he was nothing."
Soufiane met her gaze, unflinching. "He was already gone. And that bought us our lives. If you want to hate me for it, fine—but she"—he gestured to Amal—"is still breathing because of me."
Meriem's lips trembled, but she said nothing.
Abderrazak exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's right. Cruel or not, it worked. But she won't make it long without meds."
Soufiane scanned the dark horizon. Somewhere out there—maybe a village, maybe a forgotten pharmacy—there had to be what they needed. He tightened his grip on his knife, resolve hardening.
"Then we find it," he said. "Whatever it takes."
The others exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Fear of the infected was one thing. Fear of Soufiane's decisions was another.
But as Amal whimpered softly, fever rising, no one argued further. They followed when Soufiane stood, because in this broken world, survival didn't wait for consensus.
Soufiane led the way into the dark, every step echoing the truth that mercy was a luxury none of them could afford.