Norman struggled to maintain his position in this cramped space. Beside him, Lloyd, growing impatient, increasingly huffed through his nose. They had been there for hours, languishing.

Outside, the army advanced slowly, only stopping to let convoys pass from the north. From their gutter, the two companions could easily observe who they were facing. Only one entity was capable of mobilizing so many men willing to venture into these cursed lands. Despite their varied uniforms, indicating a hastily launched operation, they all bore the intertwined letters G and C, symbols of the Global Cortex, the main subcontracting company for regular armies.

The "collection and cleansing" troops, as they called themselves, were an eclectic conglomerate of the world's most unstable individuals. Among the crowd pressed in front of them, all ethnicities of the globe were represented. They moved in tight formations, armed to the teeth, without any protective masks. An enigmatic dark halo enveloped them, and around them, time seemed frozen.

Norman knew these individuals all too well and wanted by no means to fall back into their hands. Thus, they waited, concealed among the debris of what had once been a sewer, just a few meters from the seemingly never-ending column.

The night had left Lloyd in a pitiable state. His thick white locks were soaked with sweat and mud, forming a sort of disheveled helmet that engulfed the bandage of his eyepatch. Without his mask, dust had accumulated into a crust on his skin. The chiseled features of his face stood out under this patina, highlighting the scar that crossed it. His remaining eye twitched frantically in its socket, making the faded blue of his tormented gaze dance. They were buried up to their waists, to the point that one could believe they had buried themselves for fun, like during an afternoon at the beach. This image added a grotesque aspect to the scene. Thinking about it, Norman could almost laugh, if it weren't for the fact that, lacking sand, a thick scoria was gradually engulfing them, seeping into their boots, their clothes, even into the most intimate folds.

Meanwhile, Lloyd seethed internally at finding himself trapped in such a situation. It had been two days since they left the camp, without eating anything. Their path had been littered with hungry predators and those damn Goliath snails. To make matters worse, their satchels and the precious loot they contained remained stuck in a bubble of eternity. Farewell lithium, lanthanum, and other rare earths, farewell Ether, and more dreadful still, farewell to the fine bottles of wine he had managed to salvage along the way. By all the devils, he would give anything to savor a delicious Gargantua rabbit stew, a plump chicken, or better yet, his guilty pleasure, a drunken duck... Damn it, at this point, he would even be willing to devour one of those damn Goliath snails.

Next to him, Norman seemed exhausted. His pale complexion, barely accentuated by the traces of dust and soot on his skin, gave him the appearance of a corpse rather than a human being. His long black strands hung sadly over his skull, weighed down by the particles accumulating around them. Despite that, a thin smile adorned his face, which was starting to resemble a death mask. His large black eyes stared intensely, as if they could read the thoughts stirring in his mind. He tried to return the smile, but quickly gave up when the metallic taste began to tickle his taste buds. Instead, he offered a knowing look that seemed to greatly amuse Norman.

After an hour, then two, then three, the first signs of the convoy slowing down began to be felt. The lines scattered, and the vehicles became fewer. Gradually, there was nothing left. Finally, when the void had lasted long enough for the last dust clouds to settle, they allowed themselves to emerge from their hiding place.

"Damn, I thought those idiots were going to parade in front of us until we suffocated in the dust!" spat Lloyd as soon as he climbed out of his hole.

Norman glanced at their makeshift shelter, already half-filled with ashes. "I'm sure that if that were the case, you would have preferred to die underneath it rather than facing those lunatics," he replied.

He seemed to ponder for a second before responding, "Yeah, probably. If I'm going to die, might as well do it naturally, with a mouthful of shit." A coarse laugh escaped his lips, then his face darkened. "By the way, did you see their equipment? They slaughtered everyone. That poor girl... She didn't deserve that..."

"She was about to kill me, yeah! And I suppose her hand didn't dissolve on its own..."

"Losing a hand is always better than losing a life. If she survived, Marie is going to lose it."

"You knew them, didn't you?" Norman asked with compassion.

"More or less... It doesn't matter anymore," Lloyd evasively replied.

Norman investigated the distance. The cylindrical trace left by the column in the landscape was still visible.

"Any idea what that could have been?" asked Lloyd, who had joined him.

"It looks like ethereal umbrellas, as I told you. They use Ether to keep particles suspended in the air," explained Norman.

"Hmm, call me an idiot, but there are still leaves on that old oak tree. When you talked about those things, it sounded more like a small umbrella. Something a guy can hold and doesn't go beyond the tip of his dick. Not a damn force field barrier that stretches for kilometers! Where the hell did this shit come from?!" ranted Lloyd.

"No idea. The last time I ventured outside the Zone, technology didn't go any further than that. Guess they've found a way to replicate the process on a large scale," shrugged Norman.

"A fucking large scale, yeah. Norm, you saw it like I did, there were tens of thousands of guys in that troop! And don't get me started on the mess they're dragging along with them. I've never seen so many assholes gathered in the Zone, except maybe in Marseille."

"I agree, it doesn't bode well. In fact, we'd better get out of here before a convoy spot us," emphasized Norman.

"But after you, dear comrade," concluded Lloyd, gesturing toward the fields of wild grass stretching out before them.

*

Camp was not far away, and the journey went smoothly, which was rather rare in these troubled times. They had settled in the heart of the Alpine plains, near an old mill. Behind the camp, a hill rose, still bearing the remnants of a town in the Hautes-Alpes: its cathedral and partially collapsed bell tower, from which the top of a tree emerged. It seemed to defy the valley below, as if to say, "I'm still here." Some might have seen it as a sign of divine mercy, contemplating these ruins after the devastation they had endured. After all, many survivors saw the Events as a divine manifestation. But our companions had little interest in religion, and even mocked it.

They were rather attracted to the strategic aspect of this location: access to water, the forest that concealed them from potential patrol drones, the mountains offering a panoramic view of the region, and of course, the few bottles of wine that Lloyd had found in the mill. As they approached the camp, a familiar noise greeted them.

"Damn it, that old fool has fallen asleep again," exclaimed Lloyd as the snores grew louder. "I told you we shouldn't have left him alone!"

"That's strange. The old man is lazy, that's true, but he's also more cowardly than a Demeter goose. I doubt he fell asleep so easily when we left him alone."

"Come on! You don't know this specimen. When it comes to taking a nap, not even the Siren could wake him up. I almost found him under a meteorite one day. Wait, I'll remind him that we're not on a picnic," Lloyd declared, rushing in the direction of the snoring.

Norman tried to stop him but was interrupted by a sharp snap. He then saw Lloyd suddenly rise into the air, struggling and cursing. Old Venig revealed himself at the top of the tree, while Lloyd hurled a barrage of insults at him.

"Ahah! I knew you bastards wouldn't hesitate to come snooping around here. You're not so brave without your little GC buddies, huh, you scoundrel? People like you can't help but bother the honest inhabitants of the Zone. And if they take a well-deserved nap, it excites you even more, damn it! Well, not this time. I'll make you come down from there, just to teach you to mind your own business. It will give you a good story to tell your little comrades. And stop shouting, it won't improve your situation if you attract all the trash around," Venig taunted in a cutting tone.

"Venig! Venig! Venig!" called Norman, approaching quickly. "He's not a scavenger! You've caught Lloyd, you old bastard! We've come back early. We need to warn the others at the base. A massive column of the Cortex is moving north!"

"Yeah, I saw those bastards. I went to town to see if I could find something useful, like those excellent bottles the other day, and..." Venig began.

"That's enough, you two idiots?!" interrupted Lloyd. "Am I bothering you too much?! Just let me know, I can leave! I wouldn't want to spoil your reunion! Oh no... right... I'm tied to a damn tree!" he shouted while struggling even more.

Venig, laughing, replied, "Sorry, Lloyd, I didn't see you up there. Stay there, I'll get you down." He seemed visibly amused by the situation.

"You better hurry up, because I'm not going to hang here all day, am I...?!" Lloyd was interrupted by a thud, Venig's knife cutting into the bark. Painfully, he stood up, holding his back.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Descending from the tree by the rope that had held him, Venig landed on the ground with a mischievous smile still on his face. Norman greeted him with admiration, impressed that a man of his age and physical condition could still move with such ease. The two men exchanged a knowing smile as they observed Lloyd, who struggled to regain his composure after his misadventure. Lloyd, on the other hand, had trouble taking the incident lightly. He remained silent, shooting furious glances at Venig, who struggled to contain his laughter.

Now that the small group was reunited, Venig gestured for the others to follow him to the river, about ten meters behind them, where the mill ruins were located. They walked through the remains of the old building, the right side completely collapsed, revealing the remains of the blade control system that had almost disappeared. Only the control console, firmly anchored to the ground, had been spared by looters. Its darkened screens seemed to observe them through a thick layer of moss and dead leaves.

On this makeshift table rested a smartphone connected to a speaker, still playing the snores that had trapped Lloyd. He groaned at the sight of the device, but his face quickly lit up when he noticed a crate of full bottles next to it. Reluctantly, he wiped the grimace off his face, then waved for the others to join him. He sat on an old cinder block and poured himself a glass.

Shortly after, Venig joined him, still wearing his mischievous smile. He turned off the recording with one hand and leaned against the console. While sipping his drink, Lloyd addressed Venig.

"It seems that even if you're too dumb to tell the difference between us and the GC guys, you can at least distinguish between wine and vinegar, you old boar of Broceliande," he said, gradually losing his sulky demeanor as he emptied his glass.

"If only your mother had known the difference when she was carrying you, maybe you'd know where you're stepping, you kargedoull!" Venig retorted.

Lloyd almost choked on his wine. "At least she introduced me to the pleasures of this world," he said between hiccups, refilling the glasses. "Did you find this up there?" He gestured to the crate.

"Yes, just before I spotted that merry gang. Something is brewing; I've never seen so many scavengers in one place. And their machines, it's incredible, it's as if the storm cleared a path for them to pass..."

"The kid thinks they've improved their parasols, um... umbrellas," Lloyd added, visibly intoxicated. "If you ask me, this doesn't smell good. We really need to warn the others. By the way, where's Norm?"

""He's already on his way to the camp, I think he's going to prepare the balloon. He wants to try launching it from the old town to avoid being thrown off course by the winds and hitting a tree or something. I told him about the bell tower, the spire is still intact, which will protect him from lightning. I haven't attempted the ascent yet, but it looks sturdy enough to give it a try. However, it won't be a walk in the park, the gusts are fierce in this area. We'll have to pray that it holds up.""

"Damn yeah, it's going to be a mess again," sighed Lloyd, sharing the rest of the bottle.

*

The bridge that crossed the river, located about a kilometer from the mill, was in very bad condition. Only the steps leading to the structure were still standing in front of Norman. Normally, he should have taken the ford they had crossed the first time, a large bridge that divided the town located about ten kilometers downstream. However, the GC column was advancing rapidly, and he had to warn the others as quickly as possible. For that, he had to return to the camp, which was just on the other side of the water body.

Climbing the few remaining steps, Norman reached the edge of the ruined bridge. He examined the mass of metal below, hoping it would allow him to cross. At the bottom of the brackish water, traces of the concrete pillars that supported it could still be seen. When they had given way, a large part of the bridge had collapsed, forming a tangle of floating debris and creating a precarious passage to the other side. It had clearly been submerged for some time. The paint had abandoned most of the surfaces, now corroded by rust.

The current didn't seem very strong, but the darkness of the unknown waters didn't appeal to him. To his right, he spotted a service ladder still in place. The ladder led down, where only a small jump separated him from the reefs. Testing its stability with his foot, Norman decided to use it. It showed signs of aging, with only a few scattered fixtures keeping it in place. Carefully, he slid down the steel. When he reached the last rung, he turned to the first protruding beam, about a meter away. Leaning on the rung, he launched himself with all his might, but it gave way under his weight. Losing balance, he still managed to reach his goal but couldn't avoid falling into the icy water.

His hands desperately sought to grip the slippery metal. Finally, he managed to grab hold of the edge of the structure. Just as he began to pull himself up, a rumbling sound emerged from the water behind him. Panic-stricken, Norman climbed as quickly as possible onto the artificial reef, while a thick, slimy head emerged from the water. With a snap of its jaws, it closed where his leg had been just moments before, before plunging heavily back into a splash of water.

Questions raced through his mind: "What is this thing?!" "A mutant?!" He knew he had to find shelter and looked behind him, realizing he couldn't climb back up. His only escape option was to move forward and cross. Terrified yet alert, Norman struggled to get up. The creature had disappeared. He adjusted his backpack and set out to reach the other side.

The crossing was perilous. The water around him churned unnaturally. The crumbling metal beneath his feet slid, weakened by rust and time. He had to be careful, one misstep would lead to certain death. He progressed slowly, nearly stumbling several times. Nearby, a gigantic wake formed, and at times, a giant dorsal fin pierced the surface of the water. This creature was massive, measuring at least ten meters. For now, it didn't seem to want to attack again, content with observing him. Lurking in the shadows, its watchful eyes were fixed on him. This juicy meal was eagerly anticipated.

Finally, he reached the center of the river where a dense mass of metal and concrete formed an island large enough for him to stand on. Here, he should be able to wait for the beast to lose interest without the risk of becoming fish bait. He sat cross-legged, his legs heavy and trembling. Closing his eyes to try to calm himself, he focused on his breathing. He took a deep breath and tried to release his stress. All his senses remained alert. His heartbeat eventually slowed slightly. He knew the creature would probably give up eventually. It wasn't the first time he found himself in such a situation. Having grown up in the Zone, he had witnessed firsthand the mutations caused by the Events on the fauna and flora, transforming even the most harmless creatures into deadly threats to those who were unprepared. For him, it had become routine.

Moreover, he had no idea what the world was like before the Events. The pre-Event world was not a popular topic of discussion in the Zone. Upon reflection, he wasn't even sure if he had ever talked about it with anyone. There had been a few children's books after his extraction, but they hadn't taught him much. However, he had enjoyed how the authors described the world: the blue sky, the fresh air. Ah, if they had only known what was going to happen to them... Lost in his thoughts, he remained in that position, waiting, and meditating.

Five, ten, then fifteen minutes passed. When he opened his eyes again, he felt calm and serene. He stood up and looked around. No sign of the creature, the water was peaceful again. A smile appeared on his face, and he proceeded to finish the crossing. Just as he was about to set foot on the first beam leading to the shore, the waters stirred once more. In a sparkling burst, a twelve-meter-long catfish emerged from its aquatic lair, attempting to catch him. Norman barely had time to throw himself to the ground. The creature's sharp teeth snapped at his ears; its enormous whiskers brushed against the back of his skull before crashing down with a deafening noise. The turbulence nearly tipped over the precarious structure on which he stood. This time enough was enough!

Unlike others, he didn't particularly enjoy attacking the creatures populating this world, but clearly, this one was not willing to let him go in peace. He hastily opened his backpack and pulled out his staser, which he ignited. Slowly, heat began to radiate from the weapon, making it glow red. Norman crouched down, waiting for the opportune moment. He had to be precise. On one hand, missing the shot would only anger the creature, and on the other hand, after this morning's mishap, Ether was still in short supply. Each shot had to count.

In the water, the creature thrashed, showing its discontent toward this small worm that resisted it. It was now trying to knock him down by violently attacking the island. Norman held his ground against the repeated assaults, which eventually exhausted the giant fish. Then, out of impatience or desperate hunger, the creature leaped out of the water again, attempting to finally finish off this stubborn prey.

This time, Norman was ready. At the precise moment when the giant jaws closed, he quickly rolled to the side and fired, aiming for the heart of the giant fish. The shot pierced through the creature's head before getting lost in the rocks on the other side of the river. The heavy carcass crashed brutally onto the reef, narrowly missing him. He struggled to get up, his hands marked by the scorching weapon. He let out a cry, mixing pain and joy, relieved to have come out unscathed. His gaze fell on the lifeless carcass of his adversary. Crackling still emanated from the smoking wound, from which the creature's entrails began to spill out. The slimy skin trembled. The charred jaw rested a few steps away. Norman grimaced but didn't linger any longer. He had already wasted enough time and needed to get to the camp as quickly as possible.

*

The rest of the journey to their hideout seemed almost peaceful after the excitement of the encounter with the fish. Upon arriving at the location, Norman was immediately greeted by the enchanting scent of the flowers surrounding the shack. Delicate and colorful wildflowers emerged here and there from the ground, mingling with the thick grass. The passage of time had allowed nature to reclaim its rights, transforming the former meadows into a profusion of shrubs and young trees. Two majestic fir trees framed the farmhouse, adding a touch of nobility to the scene. Although the shack showed signs of its age, its red-tiled roof was still securely anchored on its yellow stone walls, providing meager protection against the winds. Like the surrounding landscape, it was covered in a thin layer of deep black, blending harmoniously with the grass and undergrowth. Once an active and lively place, it was now a silent witness to a forgotten past, an already-played scene. An abandoned setting.

Norman took a moment to savor the atmosphere and nostalgic beauty of the place. He felt a certain serenity mixed with a tinge of sadness as he contemplated the shack that had once been the heart of a vibrant life. He took a few steps through the pastures, observing the flowers, trees, and farmhouse with a mixture of admiration and melancholy. Then, he made his way to the front door, almost stumbling over debris from agricultural equipment. He gently pushed the door, which creaked slightly, echoing the solitude of the place.

Inside, a particular atmosphere prevailed. A long wooden table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by three camp beds. Heavy metal crates were stored under these beds, containing various devices. The floor had been roughly cleared of dust, leaving large piles along the walls, almost reaching the openings that had once housed windows. Sturdy tarps replaced those windows, preventing the winds from infiltrating and protecting the interior of the shack from dust and drafts.

Norman lit his torch to illuminate the room and made his way to his bed. He pulled towards him a first crate labeled "communication equipment" and used the master key he kept preciously around his neck to open the padlock. With caution, he began to search meticulously, hoping to find the balloon. However, to his great disappointment, he found instead a pair of wooden crates bearing a faded drawing of a grape cluster and the name of some random estate. He cursed inwardly against Lloyd but decided to continue searching the other crates.

He grabbed a second trunk, which turned out to be equally disappointing. His hope briefly returned when, after opening half of the crates, he felt a familiar crinkling sensation beneath his fingers, but it turned out to be just a bag filled with old pairs of glasses. Norman wondered who could possibly collect such things and briefly imagined Lloyd or Venig wandering around the Zone with two hundred pairs of glasses. He suppressed a laugh and refocused on his search.

Only after opening five more crates without success did he notice, from the corner of his eye, a silver reflection coming from beneath Lloyd's mattress. Without hesitation, he seized the object to see what it was. To his surprise, he realized it was the long sought-after balloon. He examined it from all angles, exclaiming aloud, "Well, well, the rascal still has some tricks up his sleeve! You're good as new!" Indeed, the balloon, although damaged from a previous altercation with the Awakened, had been carefully repaired. The tear in the aluminum armor had been patched up, and the coating had been resoldered. Even the control unit had been restored, leaving only a slight twisted dent on its shell as evidence of its previous fall. Norman felt a mixture of relief and gratitude towards Lloyd for taking care to repair the balloon and realized that when he wasn't consumed by alcohol, Lloyd could accomplish remarkable feats. With the balloon repaired, all that was left was to attach a battery to it.

He went outside. Norman assessed the imposing heavy truck standing behind the farmhouse, concealed under a tarp. He lifted it easily, revealing a fuselage with multicolored reflections dancing in the light of the setting sun. Each element seemed to come from a different vehicle but was perfectly arranged, forming a variegated patchwork of sheet metal and scrap metal. The cabin of the truck was reinforced, adorned with heavy grilles that protected the windows and windshield. The welds were rough but solid, creating a contrast with the finesse of the materials used. Only a small opening had been left, allowing the driver to have a clear view. At the front of the vehicle was a massive bull bar, composed of a tangle of scrap metal and barbed wire. Collision marks were visible, and sharp spikes emerged from the ensemble, some worn, others broken, and a few recently added. Many of them were stained with dried blood.

After agilely climbing onto the driver's seat, Norman faced the springs that were starting to come loose from the seat. A small air freshener tree swung from the rearview mirror. He leaned towards the hatch between the seats and unlocked it, thus opening a narrow but passable passage to the back of the vehicle. Once inside the trailer, he turned on his flashlight to illuminate the path through the piled-up equipment. Finally, he reached the stock of batteries, still connected to the charging terminal. Among the hundred batteries present, he selected three and slipped them into his bag. He preferred not to burden himself further.

Passing through the narrow opening again, he quickly placed the tarp back on the heavy truck. Without wasting time, he decided to test the batteries on the repaired balloon. With some apprehension, he connected the first battery to the control box and pressed the power button. After a few seconds, a diode blinked, then a second one. Finally, the screen lit up, displaying a simple welcome message: "Hey, you dumbhead! Welcome to the communication balloon control software. Version 5.01." A spontaneous smile appeared on Norman's face. "Damn Lloyd! Well done, you bastard, we'll be able to inform the others!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. Without wasting time, he wrapped the balloon in a large burlap bag he had retrieved from inside the heavy truck and set off.