The wind came first — a sharp whistle that sliced through the night, rattling the ship's hollow bones. Then came the rain, heavy and cold, slamming against metal with a furious rhythm. The deck was slick, the ocean below black as oil.
Soufiane stood near the railing, scanning the dark horizon. Waves were swelling higher now, each one lifting the vessel with a violent lurch. "We can't stay out here much longer," he shouted over the storm.
Amal was tightening a rope around one of the deck ladders, her hair plastered to her face. "If we stay inside, we drown with the dead. If we stay here, we drown with the sea!"
Julien staggered toward them, clutching a soaked map. "There's an island on the radar—small, but close. Maybe five miles south."
"Five miles in this storm?" Zahira cried out, holding Younes close as the boy buried his face against her chest. "We won't survive half that distance!"
Soufiane turned toward her, his voice calm but iron. "If we don't try, we die here."
The next wave hit them hard, sweeping across the deck. Cynthia nearly lost her footing, slipping toward the rail — but Soufiane grabbed her arm at the last second, pulling her back. She crashed against him, chest to chest, her heartbeat wild against his.
"Stay close," he said, barely audible through the rain.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere," she replied breathlessly.
---
Below deck, the sound of pounding had turned into chaos. The infected had reached the stairwell, clawing upward in mindless rage. Every shudder of the ship only seemed to drive them closer to the surface.
Amal pointed toward the lifeboats. "Two are still intact. We can lower them manually."
Soufiane nodded, barking orders. "Julien, help me with the cables. Zahira, take the boy and prepare the supplies."
Thunder rolled across the sky. The sea lit up white for a second — and in that brief flash, Soufiane saw the truth of their situation. The lifeboats looked small, fragile. The ocean was alive, monstrous.
Still, there was no choice.
Amal worked fast, unhooking the rusted bolts. "Boat's ready!" she shouted. "We'll have to lower it by hand!"
Julien pulled the lever, and the lifeboat groaned, beginning its descent. Soufiane turned toward the others. "Cynthia, Zahira — go first."
"No," Cynthia protested. "You first."
He shook his head. "If something happens, you'll need me down there."
Their eyes met for a moment, lightning flashing between them. Then she nodded and climbed in, clutching Younes against her chest. Zahira followed, silent but trembling.
Amal and Julien joined them, and Soufiane gave the final push, releasing the ropes. The boat dropped with a violent splash into the raging sea.
Now only he remained on deck.
He turned toward the stairwell — and froze.
Hands. Dozens of them. Pale, shredded, reaching through the doorframe. The infected burst through, howling, their eyes glowing in the stormlight.
Soufiane raised his rifle, firing into the swarm. Bullets tore through flesh, but there were too many. He backed toward the railing, the deck flooding under his boots.
"Soufiane!" Cynthia screamed from below.
He looked down at her — saw the terror in her eyes, the outstretched hand. The rope still hung loose beside him.
"Jump!" Amal shouted. "Now!"
Soufiane turned, the nearest infected lunging forward — its mouth wide, teeth broken, skin gray with rot. He swung his rifle like a club, smashing it aside, then grabbed the rope and leapt over the edge.
For a heartbeat, he was falling — air, rain, lightning. Then the ocean swallowed him whole.
---
The sea was a roaring, endless abyss. The cold struck like knives, forcing the breath from his lungs. He kicked upward, breaking through the surface with a gasp.
"Soufiane!"
Cynthia's voice. He turned, saw the lifeboat bobbing wildly among the waves. Amal reached for him, her arm outstretched.
He fought the current, every stroke a battle. His fingers caught the boat's side just as another wave hit, nearly overturning it.
"Pull him in!" Amal shouted.
Julien grabbed one arm, Cynthia the other. Together they hauled him over the edge, collapsing in a heap of seawater and exhaustion.
For a long moment, none of them spoke — only the storm howled, merciless and vast.
Soufiane coughed, wiping the salt from his eyes. "Everyone alright?"
Zahira nodded weakly. "We're here."
Younes whimpered softly in her arms, but he was alive.
Cynthia leaned close, touching Soufiane's shoulder. "You almost didn't make it."
He gave her a faint, tired smile. "Almost doesn't count anymore."
---
The ship was now a silhouette in the distance, half-sinking, lights flickering. The moans of the infected were swallowed by the storm.
Amal steadied the rudder, turning the small lifeboat southward. "If Julien's right, the island should be there — past the storm front."
Soufiane looked toward the horizon, the waves breaking like teeth around them. "Then that's where we go."
Cynthia followed his gaze. "And if it's not there?"
He didn't answer.
The rain fell harder, washing away everything — fear, hope, even memory. All that remained was motion. Survival.
And far behind them, the ship finally disappeared beneath the waves — taking with it the dead, the noise, and one more piece of the old world.