Dawn crept in slow and colorless. The beam of the lighthouse had died hours ago, leaving behind a tower of cracked stone and rusted metal. Around it, the beach stretched endlessly — black sand, broken ships, the skeletons of a civilization that had tried to flee the sea.
Soufiane stood at the waterline, dripping wet, staring at the horizon where the ocean met the sky. For a long time, no one spoke. The air smelled of salt and burnt fuel.
Cynthia was the first to move. She pushed her soaked hair back and looked at the ruined structures beyond the cliffs — what had once been a harbor, now little more than twisted cranes and gutted warehouses. "We made it," she whispered, half in disbelief.
Amal gave a bitter laugh. "If this is 'making it,' I'd hate to see what dying looks like."
Zahira sat in the sand beside Younes, wrapping him in her coat. He was awake but silent, eyes fixed on the waves. The boy had stopped crying long ago — and that scared her more than tears ever could.
Julien coughed blood into the sand. His wound was worse than anyone wanted to admit. Cynthia knelt beside him, tearing strips of fabric from her shirt to clean it. He grinned faintly through the pain. "I told you… I'm not built for the sea."
Soufiane crouched down, pressing a hand on Julien's shoulder. "You'll be fine. Once we find shelter."
"Shelter?" Amal asked, scanning the coast. "There's nothing left."
But Soufiane wasn't looking at the ruins — his eyes were on the hills inland. Beyond the charred remains of the port, faint smoke rose. Human smoke. Controlled. Organized.
"Someone's still alive," he said quietly.
The words hung in the cold air like a fragile hope.
Cynthia frowned. "Or something else is."
Soufiane nodded. "Either way, we have to move. If we stay here, we'll freeze — or worse, whatever followed us across the sea will find us again."
Amal adjusted her pack, her expression hardening. "Then let's move before it gets dark again."
They climbed the cliffs slowly, carefully, every muscle screaming from exhaustion. The wind up there was sharp, carrying the faint hum of flies and decay. Once atop the ridge, the land unfolded before them — a wasteland of gray fields and scorched forests, where the skeletons of wind turbines creaked in the breeze.
Spain had not been spared.
Zahira's breath caught as she looked over the landscape. "It's… all gone."
"No," Soufiane murmured. "There's something still standing."
He pointed toward a distant structure — a cluster of buildings, half-collapsed but fortified with scrap metal and walls of burned cars. From afar, they looked like teeth in the earth.
A settlement.
They began their descent through what had once been farmland. Charred olive trees stood like black fingers. Abandoned tractors rusted beside cracked irrigation lines. Amal stopped to touch the dry soil. "Nothing grows here anymore."
"It doesn't need to," Cynthia replied softly. "Not for the dead."
As they approached the outskirts of the settlement, they noticed movement on the walls — human silhouettes, rifles glinting in the afternoon sun.
Julien tried to stand taller, but the effort made him collapse. Cynthia caught him before he hit the ground. "Soufiane," she hissed, "we need help now."
Soufiane lifted his hands slowly and called out in Spanish. "¡No dispares! We're survivors! We come from across the sea!"
There was no answer — only the sound of shifting metal and murmurs behind the barricade. Then a voice called back, deep and wary:
"Prove it."
Soufiane froze. "Prove what?"
"That you're human."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Amal's grip tightened around her axe. Cynthia's pulse pounded in her neck.
Soufiane swallowed hard. "How?"
The voice replied, colder this time: "Step into the light. Let us see your eyes."
Soufiane hesitated — remembering the infected they'd fought, the creatures with hollow pupils and unnatural light behind them. He understood now. The survivors here had learned to test. To doubt everyone.
He took a breath and stepped forward into the open, the setting sun burning gold across his face.
A moment passed. Then the gate creaked open.
"Welcome to the Coast," the voice said. "If you're still human… you might survive the night."