Morning crept in soft and silver, the sea breathing against the cliffs below. For a few rare hours, the world felt like it was healing. The camp still smelled faintly of smoke and salt, but the screams and chaos of London were a memory swallowed by distance and tide.
Mike was the first awake. He sat near the edge of the platform, a mug of something vaguely resembling coffee in his hands. The ocean wind tangled his hair as he stared out at the endless gray water. He wasn't smiling, not really, but there was a quiet awe in his face... the kind you get when you realize you're still alive.
Leina stirred next, wrapping her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "You're up early," she murmured.
"Couldn't sleep," Mike said. "Too quiet. It's suspicious."
She sat beside him. "You think everything's suspicious."
"Not everything," he said, grinning faintly. "Just peace."
From inside the tent, a soft cough answered them. Kazuma stepped out, already dressed, his movements precise even in exhaustion. He adjusted his glasses and scanned the horizon like the sea might change if he stared long enough.
"Wind's shifting east," he said. "We'll lose visibility by noon."
"Meaning?" Mike asked.
"Meaning we should check the tracks before the fog rolls in."
Dan emerged next, yawning into his sleeve. "Or," he said, "we could pretend the fog is romantic and stay here another day."
"You'd die of boredom," Mike teased.
Dan smirked. "I'd die doing what I love... nothing."
Luna followed quietly, blinking at the light, still half-asleep. Her hair was tangled, her expression soft. She looked younger in the morning — not the withdrawn observer, but someone rediscovering sunlight after years underground.
"Did anyone else hear… humming?" she asked.
They all paused. For a moment, only the waves answered.
Leina tilted her head. "Wind through the pipes, maybe?"
"Or the ghosts," Mike said, deadpan. "Every abandoned camp has at least three."
"Don't," Leina warned, suppressing a laugh.
Kazuma ignored them and walked toward the edge of the platform where the train rested... their battered, soot-streaked home. Steam still curled faintly from the vents; the engine ticked with cooling metal. He crouched to inspect the wheels and muttered something in Japanese under his breath, too soft to catch.
"Problem?" Leina asked.
Kazuma didn't look up. "The front coupling's cracked. We'll need to reinforce it before moving again. I'll need help."
Mike clapped his hands once. "Engineer's orders. Team train-fixers assemble."
Dan groaned. "I don't do manual labor."
"You do now," Mike said. "Think of it as… literature in motion."
By midmorning, the fog had begun to roll in... slow, thick, white. The world shrank to fifty feet of ghostly coastline and the faint clang of tools. Kazuma directed quietly while Mike fetched parts and Leina helped with the bolts. Luna wiped grime from the panels, determined to be useful, while Dan kept lookout, sketching something on the back of a map instead of actually watching.
"What are you drawing?" Luna asked, curious.
He tilted it so she could see. It was a sketch of the sea, rough but strangely beautiful. "Documentation," he said. "If we die, at least someone will find proof we noticed the view."
She smiled faintly. "That's… kind of poetic."
"Kind of," he agreed. "Mostly it's boredom."
When the repairs were finally done, the group gathered again by the firepit, eating the last of the warm rations from the night before. The air smelled faintly of the sea. Seagulls wheeled above, distant but alive proof that some things still thrived.
Leina broke the silence. "Do you think there are people across the sea? Survivors?"
Kazuma didn't answer immediately. "There should be. France evacuated earlier than we did. If their systems held, they might have containment zones."
Mike leaned back on his elbows. "And if not?"
Kazuma's gaze didn't waver. "Then we'll build one."
Luna looked between them. "You always talk like it's a plan," she said quietly. "Like there's still a world left to plan for."
"There is," Kazuma said simply. "Until there isn't."
Dan poked at the ashes with a stick. "Inspirational."
Mike threw a pebble at him. "He's right, though. We keep moving. That's our thing."
Leina smiled faintly. "Nomads of the apocalypse."
"Catchy," Mike said. "We'll put it on T-shirts once civilization reopens."
Their laughter faded into the steady crash of waves. For a little while, they just listened... to the wind, to each other's breathing, to the strange quiet that had replaced all the noise of before.
By afternoon, the fog had thickened into a pale wall. Kazuma stood near the tracks again, hands in his coat pockets, eyes fixed inland. Somewhere beyond the mist, the rails curved south... toward the unknown.
Leina joined him. "You're thinking of leaving soon."
He nodded. "This coast won't stay quiet. Nothing does."
She followed his gaze into the fog. "You ever get tired of being right?"
"Constantly," he said, almost smiling.
Behind them, Mike's voice echoed faintly through the mist. "Hey, Kaz! If we're leaving tomorrow, I'm claiming the window seat."
"There are no window seats," Kazuma called back.
"There will be when I break the wall panel!"
Kazuma exhaled softly, the closest thing he allowed to a laugh. "He'll break something."
"Probably," Leina said. "But not the mood."
The fog swallowed the horizon completely. The last light of day turned gray, then gone. They stayed like that a while longer... five silhouettes framed by steam and sea air, the sound of heartbeat of the train ticking behind them.
Then, somewhere deep within the mist, a low vibration rippled through the rails. So faint at first it could've been the tide... but it came again, steady, rhythmic.
Kazuma's eyes narrowed. "You feel that?"
Mike stopped mid-joke. "Yeah. What is that?"
Luna pressed a hand to the metal siding, her expression tightening. "It's not wind."
The sound faded as quickly as it came, leaving only the hush of waves and the whistle of distant gulls.
Kazuma stared into the fog for a long moment before turning back toward the campfire. "We move at dawn," he said quietly.
No one argued.
The fog curled around the camp like a warning.
And beneath their feet, the rails stayed warm long after the sound was gone.
None of them slept well that night.